Chapter 20
Severin
WE LEAVE THE BAR TOGETHER, after Maeve has a chance to speak with her friends.
I don’t know what she said to them—I kept my distance, hoping they wouldn’t recognize me—but now we’re walking through the rain together, both tucked under my umbrella, as rain taps the fabric and makes the streets glitter all around us.
I didn’t tell Arella goodbye; she was no longer at the bar when I finally looked up from my dance with Maeve. But I can’t bring myself to feel bad about it.
Because I know who I want, and she’s walking beside me right now, her hand in mine, her shoulder brushing against me with every step we take down the rain-wet cobblestones.
“So, where are you taking me?” Maeve asks. She tips her head back to look up at me, and I meet her stormy purple eyes. Then my gaze drifts slowly to her smooth throat, and my fangs start to ache at the pulse I see thrumming there. I quickly look away.
“I have a room at Boar and Badger,” I say.
“Oh?” Maeve’s fingers tighten around mine. “Did you plan this, Professor?” Her voice lilts teasingly.
“Quite the opposite.” I flick a glance at her. “I was trying to get away from you.”
Her lips lift in a smile, showing her white teeth. “Running away from me, hmm? I’m not sure that worked very well for you.”
“No.” I shake my head, feeling somewhat foolish for thinking I could outrun this fire between us. “It didn’t work at all.”
It’s a short walk back to the tavern, and when we get there, I hold the door open for Maeve, then shake the rainwater off the umbrella before following her inside.
Thankfully, it seems like most everyone here is too deep into their tankards to notice us, and we’re able to slip up a staircase to the second floor without anyone taking much interest. And we’re still wearing the masks, so our identities should be concealed from anyone who may have seen us.
I’ve never been so grateful for a masquerade before.
Maeve follows me down the hall to my room, the floorboards creaking underfoot, and as I pull the heavy key from my pocket, I begin to feel the first stirrings of nervousness.
I’ve had many women in my long life, and I stopped being nervous about sex centuries ago. So why does this storm witch make me feel like an inexperienced youngling again? Like I’m about to do something I have no experience in doing?
I push the door open, then step aside, letting Maeve in first.
She doesn’t hesitate. Head high, shoulders back, she walks right in. Unlike me, she doesn’t look nervous at all.
How many men has she taken into her bed? How many have gotten to taste her skin, to touch her in ways only a lover can?
My chest gets tight, and a wave of possessiveness rises up inside me. My fangs ache more. I clench my teeth, trying to drive those thoughts away.
I follow her into the dark room and close the door with a click, then turn the lock.
The silence that settles around us is heavy.
My eyes adjust quickly to the darkness, but before I can move across the room to light the hearth, Maeve already has a flicker of fire in her palm, and she uses it to light the candles on the small table.
The flames dance, casting soft light and deep shadow across the quaint room.
Maeve closes her palm, smothering the flame, then slowly assesses the space.
It’s one of the nicer rooms the tavern had to offer, but it’s still humble, with a single table hugged by two chairs, a hearth for warmth, a wardrobe, and a bed.
Which is where her focus seems to go.
Then her eyes lift to mine, and a full shiver goes down my body.
I’ve never felt like prey before—I’m built to be the predator—but with the way Maeve is looking at me right now, I feel like I’m the one who needs to flee. I consider reaching for the locked door and escaping into the hallway before we do something we can’t come back from.
“Come here,” she says, voice both soft and demanding.
Her command makes my pulse stutter. But I stay rooted to the spot.
“Maeve,” I say, voice low, “are you certain you want to do this?”
She pops a hip at me, dark violet eyes narrowing. “Yes. Are you?”
My jaw feels tight. “No.”
Not for the first time, she surprises me by not reacting in the way I expected.
“You’re afraid,” she says. She takes one step toward me, then another.
Each soft thump of her footsteps makes my body coil tighter, like it’s considering whether to fight or flee.
“But what are you afraid of?” Now she’s right in front of me, and she reaches out with one hand to touch my chest. Her palm presses against my sternum, and I catch my breath.
“Of you,” I whisper. Then, before I can stop it, the truth spills out. “Of losing control with you. Losing control of myself.”
Something knowing and understanding flickers across Maeve’s expression. She appears thoughtful for a moment, lost in her own mind. Then she meets my gaze again.
“Then let’s lose control together.”
I search her face, trying to find any hint of trepidation. When I don’t find any, I try one final time to convince her away from this, from me.
“I’m too old for you.”
Her laugh is sudden and intoxicating. “You’re too old for everyone.”
I narrow my eyes at that comment.
Then she pulls me in, curling her fingers into my jacket and pressing her lips to mine. With that one kiss, my attempt at stopping this completely fails.
My hands find her waist, and I lift her into my arms, one arm around her back and the other beneath her legs.
She lets out a breath of surprise, then smiles against my lips, but she doesn’t break the kiss.
I carry her across the candlelit room and settle us both onto the edge of the bed.
The mattress dips beneath us, soft and welcoming.
As I lean back to look at Maeve’s face, she reaches up to remove my mask. Her fingers are warm as they move through my hair, and then she pulls the ribbon holding the mask on, and it comes away in her fingers.
Then I do the same for her, and when I remove it from her face and she blinks up at me, I feel something deep and painful thrum inside my chest.
Like looking at her is physically dangerous to me. Like I’m slipping into perilous territory every time her eyes meet mine.
But there’s no turning back now.
Maeve pushes up from the bed, moving to stand between my knees.
She reaches for the thin straps of her black dress, and my throat goes dry as she eases each strap down slowly.
Then she shimmies the dress down the length of her body, and with each inch of skin she reveals to me, I grow hungrier for her, my cock getting hard at the sight of her pale skin, her subtle curves, the way the candlelight dances across her.
My fangs beg me to sink them into her throat, where I can still see her pulse thrumming. I curl my fingers into fists atop my knees, resisting the urge.
Maeve drops the dress around her feet, wearing thin black panties but nothing else. Her breasts hang there before me, full and beautiful. I’ve felt them before, that day in my office, but to see them . . .
I can’t help myself. I take her around the waist and tug her closer, until she’s close enough that I can take one of her breasts into my mouth.
Her skin is silky smooth, like butter. I drag my tongue across her nipple, and she moans as it hardens in my mouth.
Then her hand is on the back of my head, pressing my lips against her more firmly, demanding I pleasure her.
I reach up, squeezing her other breast, rolling her nipple between my fingers. Her breathing gets shallow, and she tips her head back.
Now I’ve got a raging hard-on, and it’s getting uncomfortable in my slacks.
So I give Maeve’s nipple one final pass with my tongue, relishing the taste, then take her by the waist and turn us both around, tossing her onto the mattress.
She lands with a soft gasp, her long hair spread out around her, then smiles up at me.
“You look uncomfortable, Professor.” Her gaze darts to my cock, where it’s trapped in my slacks. “You should probably get naked.”
Goddess.
This witch . . .
I do as she says, slowly stripping out of each layer of clothing. When I get to my vest, inside which I keep my flask, I pull the canister out, then take a deep drink. If I’m going to get through this, I’m going to need all the help I can get.
Maeve watches me with an expression of curiosity rather than repulsion. Does she really not mind this, not mind that I have to drink the blood of other creatures in order to survive? If she does, she doesn’t show it.
I put the flask aside, then continue removing the rest of my clothing. When I get to my slacks, Maeve’s expression grows hungry. Sitting up on her elbows, she watches unflinchingly as I loosen the clasps and ease the fabric down, being careful as I maneuver it around my erect cock.
And then I’m standing there before her, completely naked, precum already beading at my tip.
Maeve gazes at my length, then looks up to meet my eyes. She beckons me with a wiggle of her fingers. And I don’t waste another moment.
I’m on top of her in a breath. She wraps her arms around my neck, bringing my body down atop hers.
Her lips are soft and warm, and when she tangles her tongue with mine, I groan.
She’s so much more intoxicating than the whiskey I had tonight, and I doubt glimmer dust would give me the same high she does.
Maeve has her legs open, her knees on either side of my hips. My hard cock presses against her heat, straining to slip inside, but there’s one piece of fabric left to remove.
I sit up onto my knees. Maeve is breathing hard, chest rising and falling in the candlelight. I meet her eyes as my fingers find the waistband of her black panties.
For a split second, I consider what I’m about to do. I’ve never fucked one of my students before, have never felt such an unquenchable thirst for someone. Do I really want to do this?
Of course I do.
Clenching my teeth, I rip her panties clean open, relishing the way her breath hitches as I tear the fabric from her body. My gaze flicks from her face to her slit.
She’s smooth except for one narrow strip of purple hair.
Her pussy lips are already glistening with moisture, and I reach out to draw my fingers down her slit, to see how ready she is for me.
She’s soaked, so wet that my fingers come back slick with her.
I hold them up in the candlelight, arching a brow.
She smiles and bites her bottom lip.
I want so badly to fuck her, but I also want to take this slow. So instead of sinking my cock into her, I lower my fingers again and watch her facial expression as I circle her swollen clit, then press one finger into her pussy. She widens her legs for me, then whispers, “More.”
So I add another finger, making her pussy stretch around them. Then I lean over her and capture her lips, still fingering her, slow and deep.
“You’ve done this before,” I say between kisses, and she lets out a breathy laugh.
“Yes, I’ve done this before.” She puts a hand on my chest and pushes me back a bit, one of her brows arching in the corner. “Jealous, Professor?”
Of course I’m jealous. The idea of some other man lying between her legs makes angry heat race through my veins.
The feeling is somewhat foreign to me; I’ve not been jealous of anyone in many, many decades.
I’d thought anger was no longer an emotion I had to feel—it was something I’d tamed, something I’d learned to control.
But Maeve Vandermere has proved that I have much less control than I once thought. Around her, I seem to have none. She makes me feral.
“Do you want me to be?” I ask her, and she closes her eyes for a moment as I use the wetness from her pussy and swirl it around her clit.
“Yes,” she finally says.
A rumble leaves me as I continue rubbing her, feeling her clit swelling even more beneath my touch. “Then yes,” I whisper. “I’m jealous. I wanted to break the fingers of the man dancing with you tonight.”
Her lips flicker into a smile, but she doesn’t open her eyes. “His name is Will. Handsome, don’t you think?”
Moving my fingers from her clit, I push them inside her, making her gasp at the sudden stretch. Her eyes flick open, and when she meets my gaze, I say, “Do you think?”
Her mouth still tipped into a smile, she reaches up with one hand and pushes her fingers through my hair. Then she whispers, “Not nearly so handsome as you.”
Sighing, I lean down again, but this time, I press my lips to her shoulder, leaving kisses across her collarbone, until I get to her neck.
Her scent is intoxicating, overpowering.
It would take very little effort to pin her to the mattress and sink my fangs into her throat, to quench myself on her blood.
The idea of it makes me harder, makes my fangs start to produce bitter venom.
Maeve seems to detect the shift in me. She gazes up at me, and for a moment, neither of us moves.
Then, slowly, I shift away.
I won’t drink from her. Not now. Not ever.
This is one thing I can’t lose control over. I don’t know what would happen if I did.
Maeve surprises me then, sitting up and pushing me over so I’m the one sprawled on the mattress. She puts a hand on my chest, then trails her fingertips down, down, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
“Tell me about the last woman you fucked,” she whispers.
A sudden laugh bursts out of me, the kind of laugh I wasn’t sure still existed in me. “What?”
“Did she touch you like this?” Maeve curls her fingers around my cock, and I hiss out a breath.
She starts to stroke me, her grip firm, her eyes focused on my face.
“How about like this?” She leans forward, her glossy purple hair shining in the candlelight.
And when she wraps her lips around my dick, I almost lose it.
I have to grip the comforter so hard that I’m quite certain I’m going to rip it.
Her tongue circles my head, and then she takes me fully into her mouth, drawing her lips along my length a few times before she sits up and smiles. The sudden lack of her mouth around me makes me grit my teeth in frustration.
“You,” I grit out, glaring at her in the semidarkness, “are maddening, storm witch.”
She keeps wearing that sly smile as she shifts on the bed and eases one leg over me, lining her wet pussy up over my cock. One of her hands finds my shaft, and she drags my tip through her lips, coating me in her wetness. Then she says, “I like a bit of madness.”
And she sinks onto me.