Chapter 21
Dorian
“Edie, let me in,” I shout, my fist hammering at her door as thunder rumbles overhead and rain pours down in relentless sheets. I’m soaked within seconds. Not that I give a fuck. I’d rather be struck by lightning than walk away without speaking to her.
“Go away, Dorian,” I hear her reply.
“Let me in. We need to talk.”
“Talk? Isn’t this you just doing damage control? Were you ever going to tell me what you did?”
“It’s no excuse, but I had urgent matters to deal with—”
“Discarding bodies, you mean?”
“Actually, no. I was caught up with Sybil.”
“Of course you were.”
“Not like that. Sybil was out of line that night at the club, so I made absolutely certain she understood I won’t tolerate that kind of behaviour.”
“And that took weeks, did it?”
“It took longer than necessary,” I concede, choosing my words carefully.
Even after our most recent discussion, Sybil had been defiant, protective of what we’ve built together, but most of all afraid.
She warned me, again, of the consequences of pursuing Edie, and I assured her I’m well aware of what’s at stake.
In the end she conceded, not because she wanted to, but because she had no choice.
Now I just have to figure out how the fuck I’m going to handle this mess.
“I don’t care. Just go away.”
“I’m not going to leave anytime soon, so unless you want me to break down this door, I suggest you let me in.”
“You might be built like a brick shit-house, but even you can’t get past the numerous locks on my front door,” she snaps back.
As much as I’d like to prove her wrong, I’d rather not draw too much attention to myself. Instead, I say, “There’s always your bedroom window.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
Moments later, I’m scaling her kitchen extension. By the time I’ve pulled myself up onto her balcony and cranked open her window, she’s stepping into her bedroom, a carving knife in her hand. At least she had the good sense to grab something sharper than a butter knife.
“You’re insane,” she snaps, waving the knife between us as her eyes narrow to angry slits.
“Says the woman brandishing a knife at me,” I retort, stepping into her bedroom and shrugging off my sodden suit jacket. It lands with a wet slap against the wooden floorboards, and her eyes widen as I reach for my shirt and rip it open, the buttons scattering around the room.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m wet. I’m taking my clothes off,” I explain, reaching for the zipper of my pants and undoing them.
Her gaze drops to my legs and the thorny vine tattoos winding around them, the same tattoo that wraps in a continuous vine around my chest, arms, and neck. I kick off my shoes and trousers, a pair of silk boxer shorts, the only item of clothing covering my very obvious erection.
“I swear to all that is holy, if you come any closer. I will stab you.”
Fuck, she’s exquisite in her anger.
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. But know this, I’m not leaving until we’ve cleared the air.”
I throw my arms out in an invitation for her to do her worst. Whatever punishment she chooses to inflict, I’m ready to accept it.
Moments pass and her eyes trail over every inch of my skin, the heat of her stare thrilling, her wrath intoxicating.
Something in her expression shifts, and desire flickers beneath the mask of her anger.
“You’re incredibly hard,” she mumbles, then scowls, shaking her head as though trying to free herself from the thought. I’m not entirely certain if she’s talking about my cock, or the rest of me.
“And you’re soft in all the right places,” I reply, my gaze trailing over her body covered by loose pyjamas that shouldn’t be sexy but are.
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“It’s most definitely a compliment,” I reply, taking a step towards her.
She takes a step back, her hand lifting as she jabs the knife in the air between us once again. “Take one more step and I’ll be forced to cut off that pretty cock of yours,” she warns.
What is it about the Valenti sisters threatening to cut off cocks? I almost ask her, but nod solemnly instead. If she needs to hold on to that knife to feel safe, then that’s the least I can give her.
“Please don’t,” I say. “I’m rather attached to it, and I think you are, too.”
“Don’t do that,” she snaps.
“Do what?”
“Try to charm your way out of this.”
“What can I do to make you feel safe?” I ask. It’s an offer I wouldn’t extend to anyone else.
“Safe? Are you insane?”
“I think you know I wouldn’t hurt you,” I say, edging closer until I’m standing before her.
“Yet you broke into my home, and watched me while I slept,” she rightfully points out, though surprisingly doesn’t mention the murders. “What else did you do while I was vulnerable?”
Her fingers tighten around the handle of the knife, and yet her pupils are blown wide, her cheeks are flush, and her chest is heaving.
Despite everything, she’s fighting the connection between us, and if I’m reading her correctly, she’s not as upset by my intrusion as she’s trying to convince herself she is.
“Technically, I didn’t break in. You left your window open,” I say, reaching for her hand holding the knife. My fingers gently brush against her skin as I cup her wrist.
“Semantics,” she mutters, as I raise her hand and press the blade of the knife against my throat.
She doesn’t try to remove it when I release my hold. Good.
“If I’m being brutally honest, I wanted to do far more than I did.”
“Then why didn’t you?” she asks, her gaze flicking to the knife.
“Because you didn’t give me your consent. I may be a dangerous man, but I’m not like those bastards Logan and I killed, and I’m not like your husband.”
“That’s debatable.”
“It was wrong of me to enter your home while you were sleeping without your express permission. I’m sorry, Edie.”
“And was it wrong of you to lie to me about my husband’s membership at your club? Was it wrong of you to lie to me about those men you murdered?”
“I didn’t lie. I was protecting you from the truth.”
She scoffs. “And what about your reaction at the club? Was that wrong too?”
I heave out a breath. “I admit, I didn’t handle myself very well.”
She hesitates, the blade’s edge biting into my skin and coaxing a bead of blood. Warmth trickles down my neck, igniting my instincts, but her weary sigh dissolves the tension. Neither of us truly wants to cause the other pain. Doesn’t mean we won’t though.
“You’ve betrayed my trust, Dorian. I don’t even know why I’m still entertaining this. I should scream. I should stab you with this knife. At the very least, I should call the police.”
“But you won’t. Why is that?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
“I think you do,” I persist.
“You don’t get to know what I’m feeling if you’re not willing to do the same in return. Now tell me exactly what you did,” she demands, stepping closer, and I know she isn’t asking me about the recent murders, but when I was in her room the other night. “I want the truth.”
“Then you’ll have it.”
“Well?” she persists, narrowing her eyes at me.
“I…” I pause, trying to find the right words. Fuck, this is harder than I thought.
“Stop stalling, or so help me. I’ll stab you!”
I raise a brow, suppressing another smile at her savagery. “I stood on your balcony for a long time at war with myself. You have to believe me when I say I was prepared to leave. I was about to, but you called out my name, and then…”
“And then what?”
“You touched yourself, and I couldn’t… Fuck, I couldn’t leave, Edie. I wanted…”
Her cheeks flush and desire flickers behind her eyes, but she shakes her head, no doubt in an attempt to fight it. “You wanted to do what?”
“It took everything in me not to wake you up with my lips pressed against your pussy. I wanted you so fucking badly. Instead, I rested my hand against your ankle, needing to feel your warmth, if only for a moment. Your dildo was lying beside you, and I…”
“What did you do, Dorian?”
“I placed it beneath your hand and watched you use it on yourself.”
I fail to tell her that I nicked her skin with my fangs and tasted her blood. That’s a truth she wouldn’t recover from.
“I thought it was a dream, Dorian.” She pauses, frowning. “I didn’t recall what happened until our conversation today triggered something.”
“I’m sorry for breaking your trust. You’re right to be angry. I deserve your wrath.”
“I hate you,” she says, stepping closer, her actions belying her words.
“You don’t.”
“Don’t tell me how I feel,” she warns, and I hiss, the knife cutting me deeper. Edie’s eyes widen, her gaze snapping to the knife pressed against my throat. “You’re bleeding,” she exclaims, drawing her hand back and dropping the knife to the floor. “I’ve cut you.”
“I’ll live.”
“Christ, what the hell have I done?” she says, her warm fingers reaching for the cut on my neck.
“It’s fine, Edie. I’ll heal.”
“It’s not fine…” Her voice trails off as she blinks up at me, then she grabs a discarded t-shirt on her dresser and presses the material against my skin.
“This is the least I deserve. I’m sorry for the way I reacted that night in the club, for breaking into your home. For every stupid, thoughtless thing I’ve said or done since we met.”
“How can I trust anything you say?”
“I don’t know. But I want to earn your trust. Please, Edie. It’s important.”
She sighs, and I can feel the hardened points of her nipples scrape against my chest, and the scent of her arousal lifting into the air between us.
“I should ask you to leave,” she says.
“Then why don’t you?”
“You’re bleeding, that’s why.”
“Is that the only reason?”
She flicks her gaze away, a whole host of emotions lancing over her face. Then she seems to come to a decision. Rising up onto her tiptoes, she presses her lips against the cut. My whole body shudders.
“Fuck,” I exclaim, completely taken aback by her tenderness.
“Does it hurt?” she asks, stilling.
“No, Edie. It doesn’t hurt,” I say, and on instinct I wrap my arm around her, cup the back of her head and pull her even closer.