Chapter 17
Seventeen
TALULLA
The sheets smell like Flynn—vanilla, tobacco, and something darker, something that makes my brain whisper predator—and I’m tangled in them like a frustrated burrito.
Another week has passed and this damn vampire won’t get close to my lady bits even if I legitimately sit on his face.
Which, by the way, I tried doing, and failed.
Flynn got away so fast I swear it almost looks like he’s scared of me.
The memory makes me groan into my pillow. The way he’d moved—that supernatural speed that should terrify me but instead just pisses me off—leaving me straddling empty air like some kind of horny ghost.
Did I mention he also won’t let me touch him? No, because we’re at that point. He won’t let me do anything for him.
And it’s driving me insane.
The October air seeping through the cracked window is crisp, carrying the scent of dying leaves and summer being over, at least in this part of the world.
London in the fall is beautiful in that melancholy way that makes you want to either write poetry or commit murder.
Right now, I’m leaning toward the latter.
We’ve been training every day for the past week because that seems to help me get my energy in check, and I’m getting ready to start working in about a week, which I guess is helping me not think about sex.
He’s right, I do sound like a teen just hitting puberty.
The training room downstairs still smells like sweat and the rubber mats Flynn installed.
We aren’t fully moved in, but at least I can train like I want without humans thinking I’m strangling my vampire to death.
It’s foreplay, boys, just foreplay, the sadistic supernatural being actually loves every second of it.
My muscles ache in that good way, the way that says you’re getting stronger, more dangerous. Every punch, every kick, every stake throw—all of it designed to keep my mind off the fact that the most attractive man, vampire, I’ve ever seen is sleeping ten feet away and completely off-limits.
I know I’m the one who requested the punishment, I know he won’t budge, and I do feel for him, being around me on another level is truly what this entire situation is for.
He wants me to see that I’m not just a piece of meat for him, and I get that, I do… but fuck it’s hard.
The floorboards creak as I pad across the bedroom, my bare feet cold against the hardwood.
Flynn is standing by the window, backlit by the gray London morning, looking like some kind of Gothic romance novel cover.
His platinum blond hair is slightly mussed, his profile sharp enough to cut glass.
He’s wearing those fitted black trousers that should be illegal and nothing else, his pale skin almost luminescent in the weak sunlight filtering through the clouds.
“You know, you don’t have to punish yourself as well,” I say, caressing his cheek. His skin is cool under my palm, smooth as marble but somehow still yielding. Still him.
“This is exactly how it needs to be, Talulla. If you have to suffer, well, I suffer with you. That’s what I’m trying to show you,” Flynn replies, his voice gentle and husky, making my ear tickle. The sound vibrates through me, settling low in my belly like warm honey.
I gasp at his words, truly not expecting that kind of reply, but who am I kidding? He’s the king of surprises. My torment is his torment.
“But—”
“No buts, Talulla. You’re my everything, and there’s no reason for me to find pleasure if you’re not getting it in return.”
I snort, the sound inelegant and very human in the quiet room. “You’re actually ridiculous. I asked for the punishment.”
“You find all this ridiculous?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement makes his muscles shift under his skin, and I track the motion like a hawk watching a field mouse. Unfair. Everything about him is unfair.
I can’t help but smirk and wrinkle my nose.
“A little.” Then I grab his belt buckle but his hands grab my wrists so fast and bring them above my head.
I’m now against a wall, the cool plaster pressing against my back through my thin tank top.
Well, that’s hot. And I can’t do anything about it. Damn him.
His grip is firm but not painful, his thumbs pressing against my pulse points. He can probably feel my heart hammering, can probably hear the blood rushing through my veins. The thought should scare me, too bad I’m just as sadistic as he is. Instead, it makes heat pool between my thighs.
“My own punishment is nothing but my complete and total devotion to you,” he says, no, breathes on my lips. I can smell the faint copper tang of the blood bag he had for breakfast, can feel the coolness of his breath against my mouth.
“And my willingness to pleasure you is nothing but my devotion to you,” I spit back, my heart rate picking up speed. The words come out breathier than I intended, and I see his pupils dilate in response.
“Talulla,” he growls in my ear, and the sound goes straight to my core. “You know I don’t particularly like being interrupted.”
“But—” Flynn’s mouth is on mine before I can get more words out.
I’m completely speechless and lost in his taste as he deepens his kiss.
His lips are all I can think about in this very moment, and how perfect they move on mine.
He tastes like copper and something uniquely him, something I’ve become addicted to over the past year.
His tongue slides against mine, and I moan into his mouth, my body arching against him instinctively.
Unfair.
He knows he can silence me so fast like this. The effect that this vampire has on me is absolutely terrifying. He wanted to finish the conversation and he knew he would like this.
Fucking beautiful bastard.
“No buts,” he whispers, his hand now covering my mouth as his incredible smirk appears.
His palm is cool against my lips, and I can feel the calluses on his fingers—remnants of his human life that somehow survived the transformation.
“You can absolutely survive another week, and so can I. Now let’s get ready for this party you can’t wait to attend. ”
I know I should find his attitude very noble, and I do. Still, I find him infuriating because he just accepts me no matter the cost.
Like give me a flaw.
A big one.
Come on, dude.
How can I resist this freaking punishment when he acts like this? Dammit. “Are you sure you’re okay with the Halloween party? I know being around people isn’t well…your favorite thing.”
The understatement of the century. Flynn at a party is like a cat at a dog show—technically possible but deeply uncomfortable for everyone involved.
“You want to go, so I want to go as well.” He tilts his head to the side a little, and the movement is so distinctly predatory that my hunter instincts flare for just a second. “I’m trying to get out of my shell, isn’t that what you called it?”
That didn’t just make me chuckle. It made me full-on laugh, the sound echoing off the high ceilings of our bedroom.
I do want him to be socializing more, it’s not a bad idea, especially if we want to stay here in London and make this place our home.
Which we want to do. He loves it here, I can tell he does.
The way he looks at the Thames at night, the way he navigates the narrow streets like he’s lived here for centuries. “I don’t deserve you.”
“My red ruby, I think it’s quite the opposite,” he starts, and the nickname makes my chest tight.
He only calls me that when he’s being serious, when he’s letting me see past the walls he’s built over decades.
When he wants me to believe what he’s about to tell me.
“I’m not worthy of you, but trust me when I say that I’ll do anything in my power to get closer and closer to being what you deserve.
” He slowly brushes a chunk of my blonde locks behind my ear, his fingers trailing down my neck in a way that makes me shiver.
And it pains me to hear him say those words.
Because I know he still has skeletons in his closet and things from his past that haunt him to this day.
But I’m not going anywhere and I truly hope he’ll believe me at some point.
“You’re worthy of me, Flynn,” I say before tiptoeing and brushing my lips to him.
“You’re so worthy of me. You’ll see after I show you the costume I chose for you to wear. ”
“Don’t tell me it’s a vampire one.” One of his eyebrows raises, just like the corners of his lips. His devilish smirk appearing once again catching me as always.
“Nope.”
“Firefighter?”
“As hot as you’d look in a uniform, I only need you putting out one kind of fire,” I say, sliding my hand toward the apex of my thighs. The friction of my own touch makes me bite my lip, and I watch his eyes track the movement. “But I decided to go with something more classic…and sarcastic.”
“Well, you’ve got me intrigued, that’s for sure.” He leans against the doorframe, crossing his right ankle over the left followed by his arms over his chest.
He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt and fitted trousers. Which makes him look way too attractive because of course that’s all I look at.
And the veins that pop out of his exposed forearms.
Fuck. Me. Literally.
Those veins are a roadmap I want to trace with my tongue, want to feel pulse against my lips. I know they don’t actually carry blood anymore, not the way human veins do, but they’re still there, still visible, still driving me absolutely insane.
I clear my throat before I can get the words out. “You’re dressing up as Van Helsing,” I start, my smile growing as his does. I turn to open the closet and get his costume out, and lay it on the bed.
The costume is perfect—all black leather and silver crosses, a wide-brimmed hat and a long coat that I know will make him look like he stepped out of a horror film. The irony is so delicious I can taste it.