Chapter 12
Severin
I DIDN’T BOTHER WITH MY sword practice. Instead, I stood in that damn stairwell until my cock went soft enough that I could walk back to my staff apartment. Now, I sit in my armchair, staring out the window at the star-speckled sky, holding a glass of blood in one hand.
For the last hour, I’ve been asking myself what the fuck happened. How could I be so foolish, so reckless? Decades of control, gone in a single moment of weakness.
My only point of pride is that I didn’t tip Maeve’s head back and sink my fangs into her neck.
Oh, I wanted to. Even now, my gums ache at having not tasted her.
Her scent was intoxicating, wrapping around us in the cramped dark stairwell, and it took every bit of restraint I’ve harnessed over the past few centuries to not plunge my fangs into her throat.
Do I regret it now? Perhaps.
But more than anything, I want to know why this witch has such unwavering power over me.
I can’t count the number of women I’ve had over my long life, can’t remember most of their names or faces or how we met.
But I know with absolute certainty that none of those women made me feel like this, like I’m on fire from the inside, like I might spontaneously combust at the mere thought of her skin on mine.
With a growl, I drain the rest of the blood in my glass, tipping it down my throat. And it’s tasteless—like water when what you crave is wine.
I shove to my feet, stalk into my kitchen, and pour myself another glass. At this rate, I’ll have to start purchasing twice the amount from the blood bank, more than I’ve ever needed. Because Maeve Vandermere is making me sick with want for her. I feel if I can’t have her, I might actually die.
The thought makes me scoff and tip back another glass.
We may have long lives, but vampires aren’t immortal. Nothing lasts forever. That is the foundation of life.
And right now, I feel like Maeve could be the end of mine.
I pace into my sitting room, glare out the window, and then pace back to the kitchen and take another drink, each sip more tasteless than the last.
What the fuck am I going to do? I know what I should do: Cut this off immediately. Refuse to get caught with Maeve in private. Refocus on my mantras and get my urges reined in, the way I’ve kept them for centuries.
But everything in me rages at that thought. At the thought of not touching her again, not kissing her again. And I know I won’t be able to resist her. If she comes to my office hours, like she threatened, if we’re left alone for even a moment . . .
My dick is getting hard again, the tight ache in my balls making me grit my teeth.
When she trailed her fingers over my hard-on, teasing me through my thin cotton trousers, I thought I was going to lose it. I could’ve shredded the clothes from her perfect body, could’ve sheathed myself inside her until she forgot her own name.
But I didn’t. Though I desperately wanted to.
Not for the first time this week, I stride to my bed, shove my trousers to my ankles, and collapse back onto my mattress, staring up at the dark ceiling as I wrap my fingers around my cock and wonder what it would feel like if they were hers.
I remember her lips on my throat. My name in her mouth. The way she gasped when I wrapped my fingers around her waist.
I pump my cock, anger and frustration making me rougher than usual. It hurts, but I don’t care.
When she had her legs wrapped around me, I could’ve taken her. I could’ve fucked her against that wall until both our bodies were trembling and spent. I want to make her cum around my dick, want to show her how it feels to have a real lover, a man who knows exactly what he’s doing.
I clench my teeth and release my load, my muscles spasming, sending cum all over my hand and low stomach.
And though there’s a hint of relief, I still feel those embers inside me, ready to catch fire with one word from Maeve’s pretty mouth.
She’s bewitched me, body and mind.
And I don’t think I can stop this now that it’s started.