Chapter 41
BELLE éPOQUE
We pulled in just after half past midnight, not exhausted but giddy—worn thin in that breathless way that follows too much joy, too much feeling pressed into a single day.
Baird opened my door and lifted me easily into his arms, carrying me over the threshold and nudging the door closed behind us.
Bunny raised her head in sleepy acknowledgment—but something immediately felt different.
The fire was lit, casting a warm glow across the room, and yellow rose petals traced a path down the hall.
I stared, speechless, and Baird only grinned at me—wicked, satisfied—having once again pulled off a small miracle right under my nose.
He loosened his tie, his golden-brown hair tousled from a night of dancing, our heady kisses stolen between hugs from friends and family.
He tugged open the top buttons of his shirt, and reached for my hand, pulling me toward the bedroom with that grin that promised trouble.
“Let's get ye out of that dress,” he murmured as we passed a silver ice bucket—a bottle of Perrier-Jouet Belle époque Rose chilled and waiting, two flutes standing ready on a low table near the bed.
“Wait,” I said, my voice catching with laughter as I pulled the hairpins free securing the flower crown and laid it aside. I took his hand and guided it to the neckline of my dress, tracing the detail that had drawn me in from the start.
“A bee?” he asked, blinking—clearly as stunned as I'd been—his gaze fixed on the golden threads stitched into the patterned lace.
I turned, fanning out the train as I craned my neck over my shoulder. “Look.”
He sank to his knees, eyes widening as his fingers brushed the rabbit stitched in the same shimmering thread at the center of the train.
“Buns,” he whispered, awed. “I've never seen anything so perfect. So…you. Did ye have it made?”
“No,” I said softly when he looked up at me. “It was just there. Waiting. Exactly like this.” Even now, I couldn't quite believe it.
His hand found the ribbon on the hidden zipper at the back of my dress, drawing it down slowly before he leaned in, his kisses cool against warm skin as the straps slipped from my shoulders.
I gathered the fabric and stepped free, laying the gown carefully across the chair before reaching for the hanger.
Baird took the dress from me and hung it on the closet door, where it lingered like a piece of art—a sentinel waiting to witness what came next.
Baird's gaze devoured me—the creamy Swiss dot of my strapless bra and thong, the crystal-encrusted heels still strapped to my ankles.
He tore at the last of his shirt buttons, but I remained still, a silent challenge, letting the heat of his gaze wash over me.
I watched his eyes, glittering green, darken until they swallowed the light.
I knew the part of him he'd stopped fighting was rising, ready to claim his bride.
I popped the champagne cork, the sound a sharp crack in the charged air, and set the bottle back in its bucket.
He answered by stripping off his trousers and flinging them aside, a careless discard that made me laugh and contrasted sharply with the reverence he'd shown my dress.
I walked to the bed and, with a single hand on his chest, pushed Baird down.
His eyes flared, his muscles coiled tight, and the tip of a single fang showed in the shadow of his smile.
A low growl rumbled in his chest—a protest against my control. Tonight, the beast had met its match.
I lifted my leg and straddled Baird, settling myself atop his cock, letting him feel the g-string between my legs slip across his hardness as I slid myself along his length.
He made a move to grab it but I caught his hand.
“Tsk, tsk…not this time,” I chided. “This pair has sentimental value.” I tugged at the bow tied at my hip.
One end slipped free, then the other, and with a knowing smile I let the ribbons fall, tossing the small wisp of fabric onto the pile of Baird's clothes on the floor.
Even with the vampire so close to the surface, I caught the smirk—that familiar glint of Baird beneath it all, remembering more than one moment when his restraint had failed him entirely.
I reached behind me and unhooked my bra, letting it fall to the floor to join the small, careless trail of discarded clothing a few feet away.
Then I lifted my hands to my throat and unclasped the emerald necklace.
I held it there for a moment before setting it down.
I'd made it the week I met him—worn it the night before I left, before I ran home, away from something too big, too powerful for me to understand. Something I hadn't been ready to believe in.
But he had known. Somehow, in the quiet intimacy of that night, he'd known exactly what to do. He'd asked me to wear it. He touched it. Left something of himself behind. Changed it, blessed it. Turned it into something more, a message of love only I could read. The final proof I'd needed.
The ring on my hand was anointed in the same way I realized, and an exquisite pain bloomed in my chest, the undeniable truth that we were fated to be one. Two people changed by loving each other, greater than the sum of our broken parts.
I sank onto him, slicking my wetness along his length.
I let the head of his cock catch, then pulled back, drawing a ragged inhale from him each time.
I was enjoying this—teasing him, feeling his control fray.
The next time I let the head slip inside, his hands clamped onto my hips like a vice.
He bared his fangs, twin points of white that meant only one thing: my blood was his to take. His sustenance. His drug.
He drove into me. The sudden, full intrusion made me gasp, stealing my breath.
Even with my own slickness, there was no time to adjust. He held me fast, grinding up into me, a brutal mix of pleasure and pain that left me reeling.
I tried to shift, but it was a token effort.
I didn't want to escape this; I wanted him to take me.
This wasn't submission. It was a tactic. I let him believe he'd won, let him revel in his power while I studied every inch of him, every darkness he tried to hide. I was awestruck by his raw claiming, and I wanted all of it. This was my move in the game, letting him think he was the one in control.
Baird surged upward, sitting until his chest was flush against mine. He hooked an arm under my ass, hauling me up and forcing my legs to wrap around his waist. With every powerful thrust, he lifted me, impaling me deeper. My head fell back, spineless, my body surrendering to his brutal rhythm.
His hand found my breast, his grip rough as his fingers closed around my nipple, pinching hard.
A gasp tore from my throat. I retaliated by sinking my fingers into his hair and fisting them, yanking his head back until I met his eyes—dark and utterly animalistic.
I slowly licked my bottom lip, my mouth a breath from his.
Then, I tilted my head, baring my neck and shaking my hair free in a clear, deliberate invitation.
I tightened my grip in his hair, pulling his mouth toward the offered flesh, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
This was what I wanted. This was what I would take.
My blood pulsed hot under my skin, a familiar tingle where his lips touched me, fusing with his dark intent. But tonight, it was different. Something was driving me, something waiting to be born of this union.
When he hesitated, I commanded him to drink.
The voice that emerged was not my own. It was lower, deeper—not the harmonious convergence of the goddess within me, but something else entirely.
It was a dark, ancient sound, echoing the primal force that came from Baird in his moments of pure instinct, yet this was older.
Vaster. It was a voice from the origin of the cosmos, speaking through me.
He didn't need to be told twice. He surged forward, fangs bared, and when they pierced my throat and he latched on, the world dissolved into pure sensation.
With every pull of his mouth, pleasure flooded my veins, a bright, overwhelming tide.
Iridescent light flared across my skin, emanating not just from my limbs, but from the very points where his mouth held me fast. It was as if he weren't just drinking my blood, but drawing the very fire of my magic into himself, consuming me from the inside out.
We'd only been joined for minutes, but there was nothing slow about this.
A frenzied coupling had seized us both, a raw collision of need, neither of us bothering to control the storm.
He tore his mouth from my neck, and the imagined tether between us—the trail of fire I'd always felt—ignited into a living, physical connection.
Blood and light merged, searing my skin.
I gasped at the pain, my body arching. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the champagne bottle—just an arm's length away.
Our bodies still joined, I stretched with one hand to grab it—my pace never faltering.
I ground against him, chasing my own release even as I tilted the bottle, pouring the icy liquid down the side of my neck to quell the fire.
Frothy pink rivulets streamed down my chest, my blood mingling with the champagne, parting around and between my breasts.
Between thrusts, Baird leaned in to lick the mess from my skin.
I arched my back away from him, his large hand planting firmly against my low back to hold me, letting me cantilever my body for his view.
I was on display: firm, flushed mounds; tight, rosy nipples; the faint traces of blood; a small well of pink bubbles caught in my navel.