Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Charlotte
The Aerie
Draven’s Library
“I gather that,” she said.
He held her against him, her chest and soft belly pressed against his firm body. It was a lover’s embrace, but Charlotte only saw concern on his face. Shadows cast from the firelight flickered across his face. He had a refined profile, as handsome as anyone she had ever seen.
“Swear that you will keep your door locked. Do not roam the corridors at night. And cease your searching for my dungeons,” he said.
“If that wasn’t Miles, then who did I hear?”
“None of your concern. Do not go looking for answers. Swear to me that you will do this.” When she did not answer immediately, his grip tightened. “Swear to me!”
His lips curled back in a snarl, flashing fangs and rage, and Charlotte was suddenly very much aware that she was unable to escape his hold and he said he was hungry. She should be too terrified to speak. She had been in a position similar to this, with a frenzied beast threatening to tear her throat out. No one would blame her for fainting or crying or any reaction other than noticing how striking he looked wearing such a harsh expression with his hair a windswept tangle and rumpled clothing that had, no doubt, seen days of wear.
He was beautiful. Cold and remote, as lovely as the snowy mountains that surrounded his stronghold, and thoroughly inhuman. He was firm and demanding. Despite the fire, cold radiated off him. The scent of leather and snow clung to him. Just mere minutes ago, his lips had been pressed against hers, and she really wanted to repeat that. He overwhelmed her senses. His mood shifted in ways she failed to anticipate, but in that moment, when he held her tight and snarled his demands, she felt safe. Valued.
Worth protecting.
Charlotte pushed away, albeit reluctantly. He made it difficult to think clearly and he hadn’t answered her question.
“You won’t distract me with a kiss. Do you swear you’re not holding Miles captive?” she asked. Yes, yes, the letter. She was inclined to believe in its authenticity.
He growled, clearly irritated. That mood she could read without issue, yet she was not alarmed. Quite the opposite. Excitement fluttered in her chest and heat pooled within her recalling the way he had growled in her ear on their wedding night.
He had to be doing this on purpose to distract her.
“Please, I need to hear you say it.”
“I am not holding your friend captive. Now you. Cease trying to gain access to the dungeons.”
“I swear,” she said.
He tilted his head, contemplating her answer, and stroked the side of her face. His touch was cold. Firelight cast a golden sheen to his moonlight-colored hair. “That’s good, sweetness.”
Heaven help her, she went weak in the knees at that faint praise.
He noticed. Of course he noticed. His eyes narrowed. Could he hear her pounding heart?
Self-consciousness overwhelmed Charlotte, forcing her to look away from his gaze.
Draven held her chin between his thumb and index finger, forcing her to look at him. “You desire a monster, Charlotte.”
Not a question. A statement of fact, because they both knew it was true.
She gulped, her mouth too dry to respond. His hold dropped as she pulled away. She retreated until her back met the solid resistance of a bookcase.
He stalked toward her, casting a long shadow across the room.
“I know you do.” He leaned forward, bringing his mouth to the shell of her ear. “What attracts you? Is it the teeth?”
His words brushed against her. Charlotte tensed, unwilling to show any weakness. He growled softly and snapped his teeth. She couldn’t fight the full-body shiver that ran through her.
“Is that why you married your first husband?” His tone was both cruel and curious. She honestly could not tell.
Charlotte took a moment to calm her thundering heart. “If you must know,” she said, her voice chilled and utterly in control, “it was his library.”
Draven laughed, a too-sharp sound, all teeth. It was viscous, as clearly a threat as if he held a knife to her throat.
And yet she still was not concerned for her well-being.
Smiling seemed the wrong response. She was not practiced at seduction and it seemed odd to feel shy now, considering what they had done together. What he had watched her do to herself.
Honesty remained her best option. She would do what came naturally and trust her instincts.
Discuss the latest novel? Debate the best methods for the prevention of insects that infested too many libraries? Ask for another kiss? Demand more?
Oh, she definitely was interested in more.
She reached out and adjusted his cravat, using the time to gather her wits and because the disheveled fabric bothered her.
Draven snarled.
“Hold still. Your cravat is a travesty,” she scolded in a teasing tone. “Just to make my position clear, he had an expansive collection but nothing as impressive as yours.” She adjusted the cravat until she found it satisfactory. “Now, are you going to kiss me again? Because I was rather enjoying myself and I believe the wormwood has worked its way out of my system.”
“You like my collection?” He gathered her in his arms again. A leg wedged itself between her knees, prompting her to widen her stance. “You want to kiss me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not interested in a simple kiss.”
Charlotte seriously doubted that anything between them could be simple. She asked, “What are you interested in?”
He lifted her in an easy motion. She gasped at the strange sensation, wrapping her legs around his waist. No one had ever picked her up as an adult. It was disconcerting but not unpleasant.
His lips were at her throat. She stiffened, anticipating a bite, and relaxed when he licked downward. He pressed his hips forward, grinding his hard member against her.
“I hunger, and my wife is a feast,” he said, his voice low and throaty.
She absolutely shared his interest. “If you insist on having me against the bookcase, I won’t object, but there is a perfectly serviceable settee available.”
Draven
Draven walked backward, carrying Charlotte, and collapsed onto the settee, the springs groaning in protest. She straddled his lap.
Charlotte worked the buttons on his waistcoat and shirt. He was amazed the fabric did not rip in her haste. A million buttons later, she exposed his chest, while the buttons on the back of her dress foiled him. Growling in frustration, he tugged at the garment, scattering buttons.
Charlotte paused, her hands pressed flat against his abdomen.
“I’ll get you another dress.”
“I don’t care. Dresses can be mended,” she said. “Why are you wearing so many clothes?”
“I can ask the same of you.” He tugged at the bodice, encouraging the fabric to reveal its secrets. There was no time. He had to have her now. The civilized part of him, that desolate and unpopulated territory, cautioned him that he should go slow. Charlotte deserved to be cared for. Savored. Not devoured in his greed.
The greedy part of him—the majority of him to be honest—was on board with consuming her whole.
She opened the fall of his trousers, freeing his member. He bucked up, desperate for her to touch him.
Fortunately, she understood. She wrapped her hand around him. The grip was timid, almost delicate.
“Harder. Touch me with intent,” he commanded. “You won’t hurt me.”
“I’m not trying to hurt you.”
Such a sweet, precious bunny. She couldn’t hurt him. Not with her hand at least.
He placed his hand over hers, encouraging her strokes. It didn’t take long before the urge to spill threatened to cut their tryst short.
“Enough,” he said, moving her hand away.
“Was that incorrect?”
“No, sweetness, it was perfect. You’re perfect, but I’d really like to taste you now.”
He did not wait for her response. A squeaky surprised noise escaped as he flipped her onto her back, followed by a delighted giggle. “A little warning?” she teasingly asked.
Draven pushed up the fabric of her dress, petticoat, and shift. Entirely too many layers. Violet ribbons held her stockings in place, along with her discrete little dagger. “Plans?”
“A lady should always be prepared,” she replied.
Amused, he placed a kiss over the weapon. Despite the stocking acting as a barrier, the silver tingled his lips. He removed the dagger and set it aside.
Her thighs parted, revealing his destination. Dark curls glistened with want. His hands skimmed up her legs, enjoying the firmness of her calves and the soft give of her thighs. Leaning in, he pressed his nose to those curls and inhaled her scent: lavender soap and musk.
Her taste exploded on his tongue. He groaned at the taste of her. She tensed, then relaxed as he licked eagerly, releasing a deep sigh. Her hand rested on the top of his head. Slowly her fingers curled, twisting his hair and the tips digging into his scalp.
He circled her sensitive nub, relishing the way she shivered and moaned for him. He stroked her folds with a finger, pushing in to open her. She clenched around him as he worked in another finger. Her hips bucked as he slowly moved in and out. She fluttered and cried out as her pleasure crested.
Her hand flexed, then relaxed. She sighed, sounding utterly content.
Draven licked the inside of her thigh, right above the femoral artery. He could hear the blood rushing and the pounding of her heart.
“Are you ready for me?” he asked.
“Yes. Please.”
He stood to undress, kicking off his boots and tearing away the damn cravat.
She sat up on her elbow, watching him with hungry eyes.
“I want to see you. All of you,” he said. One day he would enjoy taking his time undressing her, unwrapping her like a gift, but not today. He wanted skin. He wanted to feel her. Soon enough he had the contact he craved.
Draven loomed over her, pushing her down on the cushions. He couldn’t stop marveling at the feel of her. She was soft, giving, and warm. The tan nipples of her generous breasts demanded his attention. Everything needed his attention. Soon, he fit himself between her thighs and pushed in.
Heat enveloped him. She gave a long, shaky sigh as he slowly sank deeper.
“Good?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied, her voice breathy with desire.
He drew back, then rocked forward, careful and tentative. Soon he picked up speed, losing the hesitation. She gasped and moaned, matching his movements. Her hands clutched at his lower back, dragging fingernails across his skin. His hips pumped, chasing that throaty moan Charlotte made, like she had never experienced anything so divine.
He understood. She was divine, absolutely luscious, and made for him. Their bodies moved like fate had stitched them together: two halves finally joined and made whole.
He lifted her and moved back, letting her straddle him. Her eyes went wide, and she planted a hand in the middle of his chest. He grabbed her hips, guiding her movements as he rocked up into her. Her movements were mesmerizing, the way she rose and fell.
She grabbed his hair, wrapped it around her hand, and pulled. Draven lost his rhythm, pounding upward until he felt his release tightening in his gut. She threw her head back, gasping, and her entire body trembled. He was there with her, emptying into her. Soon the base of his cock swelled, tying them together.
Charlotte’s eyes went wide. “What is that?”
Charlotte
“My knot,” Draven answered in a tone that implied it should be obvious.
It was not apparent. So very not apparent.
“Your. Knot.” Charlotte squirmed. Pressure built inside of her, not unpleasant but not entirely comfortable. It felt like he would split her in two. She tried to pull away, but that had the confounding problem of making it worse and so much better.
She was stuck. On his member.
“Cease moving.” He placed a hand on her back to calm her. “It will go down in a few minutes.”
“But what is it?”
“The base of my cock swells,” he replied in that same mildly exasperated tone. “It’s biology. Nothing more.”
“What possible biological reason could it serve?” The pressure verged on unpleasant as it continued to swell and stretch her.
“Honestly, it’s a mystery. Canines have a gland that swells when mating to ensure conception. The parallels are obvious, but I always thought it was to ensure my partner was immobilized for feeding.”
“That seems very inconvenient,” she said. “I can think of half a dozen ways to immobilize your food that don’t involve your member. Sedatives, for one. A swift knock over the head. Asking .”
He chuckled. This vampire had the nerve to laugh.
“Ah, but this is more fun.” He rocked his hips upward, and Charlotte moaned in pleasure.
Yes, this method was more enjoyable.
“You could have warned me,” she said.
“It doesn’t happen every time.” He stroked her back. “You’re doing well, sweetness. You’re taking my knot like you were made for me.”
Charlotte slumped against him, resting her head on his shoulder. His skin was warmer now, and she could hear the slow thump of his heart.
Thump.
Thump .
He rolled them onto their side and arranged them as best as possible considering their predicament with her leg hitched over his hips.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked. His hands skimmed over her like he was memorizing her shape.
Charlotte flexed a foot. The settee was wide enough for two. Barely. “For now. How long does this typically last? I’m not complaining, but it will be useful information for next time.”
“Not long. A few minutes.”
Long enough to feed.
He rocked forward, the tiniest movement. She groaned, stuffed to bursting. He ground the base against her. Before she could fathom, her hips rose to meet him. The movements were slow, controlled, and delicious. Sensation was reduced to the tiniest, smallest touch, minuscule progress as he pushed deeper and deeper into her. There was no way she could take more, but then he was all the way in, working his knot to stretch her and hitting every sensitive spot.
Draven whispered encouragement, making her come undone with his words as easily as his body. Soon, too soon, she trembled uncontrollably again. His lips claimed her, swallowing her cries of pleasure until there was nothing left.