Chapter 24 Arabella ‘Then’ #2
The backs of my legs hit the bed. Gideon’s eyes briefly break their lock on mine to gaze at my large, four-poster throne.
As they should.
My bed is a true masterpiece, fit for a queen.
It’s bedecked in gold silk curtains, with an Egyptian god and raunchy cherubs carved in fine mahogany by some reclusive vampire in England named Lord Valerian. It was acquired by me at great personal expense because I deserve a bed fit for a queen.
Gideon’s nimble fingers graze over the wood as if it’s delicate tissue.
Terror plunges a cold knife into my chest at the thought that he’ll laugh at me – at this cocotte who dares to live like a queen, at the shabby facade of my life.
I realise with a start that he’s the first person whose opinion I care about.
Am I… falling for this human?
“This is… quite something.” Gideon’s peacock eyes flash with amusement. “I don’t know how you sleep at night with this giant crocodile-headed monster leering down at you.”
“I sleep like a little babe, and don’t you forget it.” I glance towards the coat rack in the other room. “Or I shall have Cleo II remind you.”
“What I meant to say is, terrifying animal-headed gods aside, this bed is beautiful.” Gideon reaches for me. “But not as beautiful as you. You are a mythological creature, Arabella. I can’t believe you’re real. I can’t believe you’re here in my arms.”
I expect him to kiss me then, to seal those fiery words with his tongue, but he hovers just out of reach, fanning my lips with his warm breath, making me mad with wanting him.
“Here you are, in the boudoir of a goddess. And yet you aren’t giving her what she desires.” I trail my fingers down the buttons of his shirt, letting him feel the faintest bite of my sharp, red-painted nails.
Gideon sucks in a breath as I smile. I glance down at his trousers, pleased to see his cock already hardening beneath them.
“And what is it you desire?” Gideon’s words are a whisper on my lips.
“I know what I desire. I want to spread you across this enormous, ridiculous bed. I want to slowly unlace your corset until the very sensation of silk ribbons pulling across your skin sets you on edge. I want to crawl on my knees between your thighs and worship you. I want you to scream my name until the night burns into the day. I want to kiss every infuriating insult from your gorgeous, poison-filled lips.”
“Then—”
“That’s not all I want.” Delicately, he puts his hand to my cheek, his warm fingers sliding along my sensitive skin and down my neck, resting right above the jewels of my necklace.
“I want to wake up beside you, not just today, but every day. I want to trace my name on your skin. I want to watch your belly swell with my child. I want to be a man worthy of being looked at the way you look at me now. I’m greedy, but I want all of you, ma petite déesse. ”
My little goddess.
His breath catches, his words dripping with want and a kind of aching sadness.
How I ache for those things, too, for things that can never be, for a future with this man that was stolen from me decades ago on a hot Egyptian night.
But my sire can’t take this night from me.
For one night, I can let go.
I can surrender.
I can be his.
“Then have me,” I whisper before crushing my lips to his.
His lips are so warm, so soft, his tongue a hot demand against mine. My fingers thread through his golden hair, fingering the locks with my nails as I pull him closer, our bodies pressing together. I taste every strained breath and smell every thump of his pulse surging in his neck.
Gideon’s hands roam over my body. His fingers reach behind me, working loose the lacing of my corset.
He moves slowly, keeping his promise of drawing out the torture of laces dragging across my skin as though he’s unwrapping a gift he’s anticipated all year.
And he’s right, damn him – by the time he loosens the final lacing and tugs the golden corset over my head, I am a mess of want.
Beneath, I’m wearing a gold silk chemise with delicate Chantilly lace along the hem.
The loose fabric kisses my skin as I shift beneath him.
His breath hitches when he slides the straps over my shoulders, revealing a hint of my breasts, framed in the glittering jewels of my collar.
He palms one breast and feels the nipple hard beneath the fabric.
Gideon traces the hard bud with his fingers, and I squirm against him from the delicious agony of sensation. The strangled moan that escapes his lips is pure, delicious, evil.
He tugs on one nipple, then moves to the other, rolling it beneath the fabric until pleasure and pain dance with each other.
I didn’t even know this is something I enjoy, because I’m so used to pretending and performing for clients that I no longer know my own body.
In Gideon’s hands, I’m rediscovering myself.
I’m learning that I have wanted for years, for decades.
That, for all the good luck my collar has brought me, it has never sated the hunger that grows and gnaws inside me.
That pretty jewels and a queen’s magic can never replace who I am inside.
That in his deep eyes I see myself as I truly am, and I’m ready to unleash her.
As much as I want to have all of him now, I take my time, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and letting it fall to the floor before my fingers roam the planes of his muscular arms.
I intend to memorise every inch of his beautiful body. He must be thinking the same as he peels away the golden silk to reveal my breasts. His hands graze my skin, soft but certain – an experienced lover.
It’s been so long since someone took care of me, since I wasn’t the one doing all the work.
An ache builds in my bones – they’re kindling stacked for an inferno.
Gideon breaks our kiss to trail his lips down my neck, tugging my chemise lower still. He scrapes his teeth along the edge of the collar before moving to my bare breast. His pulse throbs and I’m so aware of how vulnerable he’s made himself to me, and he doesn’t even know it.
He’s not the only one vulnerable.
I gasp as his tongue swirls around a hardened bud. His knees hit the floor with a thud, and he looks up at me, his eyes anchoring on mine. My chest is a raw wound of need and desire and honour that I’m the one he’s chosen to kneel for, that I might be worthy of him.
I moan, tangling my fingers through his hair and arching into him as he sucks me into his hot mouth. No matter how much he gives me, no matter how he splinters his chest open to reveal more of his gooey human heart, it will never be enough. I’m lying to myself that I will be able to give him up.
He’s human, he’s human, he’s human…
What of it? whispers the evil, monstrous side of me. So what if it’s forbidden by Upyr law? Where were they when you were taken against your will? Did they help you when you were broken? Why care for their laws when this is something you want?
If I offer him the Kiss, he may choose it.
I choose him. I want him.
I don’t want tonight to end.
Gideon takes his time with each nipple, making sure to give them equal attention before his lips trail down my stomach, pushing my chemise down to the floor as he moves along my body.
He remains kneeling, a supplicant at his altar.
Gently, he pushes me back onto the bed, his kisses trailing fire over my thighs as they near the aching need between my legs.
Men rarely go down on me. When they do, it’s to satisfy their egos.
They get off knowing they can make me crazy.
I’ve perfected the art of wriggling beneath their furious lappings and clamping my thighs around their faces as I scream through a fake orgasm.
Once, I forgot my strength and made a client pass out.
Jacques dumped him in the street, where he’d have assumed his wretched state was from the absinthe he’d imbibed.
(I kept his coin. I am a businesswoman.)
But usually, my pleasure is not even a distant thought. They expect me to blow their tiny dicks and if they don’t finish then I have to ride it and pretend I enjoyed it. Most of the time I do – there are far worse jobs on this earth than fucking a man who worships you – but I’m there for the coin.
Gideon is different.
He lays me back on the bed and slides an embroidered pillow beneath my head so I can watch. I think he likes me watching. His eyes never leave mine. They’re dark as night and hooded with desire.
He kneels between my legs, his warm hands pressing into my knees, driving my legs apart and holding me in place. His breath kisses my core, warm puffs of wanting as his restraint thins. Fire licks me from the inside.
With deft fingers, Gideon pushes aside my silk underthings before sliding his tongue over me.
His tongue is molten sin.
I gasp. When he strokes my clit again, I have no control over the way I writhe or the curses that fall from my lips. He laughs against me as he devours me like a starving man at a banquet.
I rake my fingers through his golden hair as my arousal perfumes the air, mingling with the metallic scent of his blood to create a libertine bouquet.
His tongue writes poetry against me. Everything about his touch has my body on fire, and when he adds a finger along with his expert tongue, I buck my hips against his mouth, desperate for more.
“Did you want something, ma petite déesse?” he murmurs, raising his other hand to play with a nipple, rolling it between his fingers while he curls his other finger inside me, stroking over a spot that makes my body feel like it’s seen the sun for the first time in decades.
Gasping, I buck my hips closer to his awaiting mouth.
“I’m afraid that I can’t quite hear you,” he murmurs, lifting his head so I can see that cheeky grin spreading across his features. “You’ll need to speak up.”
“Gideon, you b-b-b—” I gasp, the insult not quite able to slip past my lips as he kisses hot air against my needy flesh.