Chapter 6
Iroll to my side on the couch, and a bolt of pain shoots through my lower back. Groaning, I flop onto my back again, and my eyes blink open to find the dark wood beams running across the ceiling. Fuck, that was the worst night of sleep I’ve ever had.
Tenting the crotch of my sweatpants and throbbing in time with my heartbeat, my cock reminds me of his presence. And of the rut I’m currently stuck in.
Literally and figuratively. Snowed in with Vanessa Bielski while sporting a permanent boner. Putain de vie.
Soft humming from behind the couch cuts off my spiraling thoughts. She’s already awake. So much for a little privacy to deal with my problem. The obscene bulge in my sweats pulses at each lyrical note that trickles through the air.
Swiping a hand down my face, I force every last puff of oxygen from my lungs, only to regret it when I fill them again. Eucalyptus. Rain. Each distinct marker of her scent has the ache growing in my groin. Mon soleil.
I tuck my raging hard-on into the waistband of my sweats and school my features before standing from the couch.
But what I find in the kitchen somehow makes my cock harder. Not sure how that’s possible when I’m already smuggling a lead pipe in my pants.
Red flannel barely covers her ass, the bottoms of her pale pert cheeks peeking out from below the hem.
The worn fabric hangs off one shoulder as she presses onto her tiptoes.
Arm extended above her head, her fingers reach for something in the upper cabinet.
Her creamy, mile-long legs are on full display.
Saliva pools on my tongue, knowing she’s bare beneath my shirt.
My shirt.
If the fabric rides up any farther, her perfect ass and cunt will be on display for me.
It’d be so easy to drop to my knees behind her, wrap my hands around her hips, and pin her to the counter. I’d take my time, dragging my tongue up the backs of her thighs until I got to her succulent center. I bet she tastes so sweet.
Stop it! You’re not going to find out what she tastes like any time soon.
Crossing my arms over my bare chest, I lean against the wall. “What are you doing?”
As she drops down onto flat feet, she peers over her shoulder and… smirks. What the fuck? “I was wondering how long you were going to lurk in the doorway, staring at my ass. Did you get a good glimpse?”
Esti, the mouth on this one. I’d love nothing more than to show her a different use for that bratty mouth, like wrapping her lips around the thick head of my cock and drinking down my cum.
Instead, I grunt, stalking across the kitchen until I have her trapped between me and the counter. Her plush mouth falls open on a gasp, and she arches her head back to keep those gorgeous garnet eyes locked on me. Heat flares in them, along with her usual defiance, but she doesn’t say a word.
Reaching blindly into the cupboard, I pull down the sack of flour I keep up there. With my height and bulk, it’s not an issue for me to grab it down whenever I may need it.
“This what you needed, mon soleil?” I plunk the bag onto the counter and keep her caged between my arms. So much for keeping my distance.
But I’m drawn to her like a ray of sunshine. Like a poor, defenseless moth to a raging inferno.
Her chest rises and falls in a quick motion, each heaved breath causing the soft, worn flannel of her shirt to rub against my bare chest. It chafes against the golden bars in my nipples until the sensitive flesh peaks to nubs.
“Yes.” Lightning fast, she grabs the bag and ducks under my arm in a cloud of white hair, but her intoxicating rainwater scent is left behind.
Steadying myself, I brace my hands on the counter and a shuddering breath saws from my lungs.
My dick rages behind the thick fabric of my sweatpants, begging me to give in to my earlier thoughts and bend this bratty vampire over the island and impale her on my length.
I’m so close to giving in, but a clattering behind me pulls me from my lust-fueled urges.
When I turn toward the island—and Vanessa—every mixing bowl I own is strewn across the countertop, along with various ingredients. I’d been so distracted by the sight of her in only my shirt when I walked into the kitchen, I hadn’t even noticed the mess.
“What are you doing?” I wince at the bark lacing my tone, but she doesn’t seem phased as she continues to flit around the kitchen like she owns the place.
“I’m making Christmas breakfast.” She cracks an egg into the biggest mixing bowl, and I cringe when a large piece of shell falls in, too.
A haze of flour fills the room when she dumps a heaping mound into the same bowl. No measuring cup in sight; I can’t take it. Irritation wriggles under my skin, making my blood sizzle. “Vanessa.” I grit out her name through clenched teeth.
“What?” Whisk gripped in her fist, her hand blurs as she stirs the lumpy contents of the bowl. What the fuck is she making?
Whatever it is, I doubt it’s edible.
“Is this how you repay me for opening my home to you? By trying to kill me?” Leaning over her, I grip her hand, stopping the splatters of batter from flying over the sides of the bowl and onto my clean countertops.
She lets go of the whisk, and I brace my hands on her hips, spinning her to face me.
Wide eyes peer up at me through long dark-blonde lashes. “Cooking isn’t really my strong suit.” She pinches her pouting bottom lip under one fang, and I about cum in my pants right then and there. “But I thought maybe I could get on your good side by making you something special.”
My gaze lands on the bowl next to us. A bubble of batter pops, and a pungent smell hits my nose. I have no idea what was in that bowl before I walked into the kitchen, and I’m not about to find out. “What exactly were you making?”
She sucks in a gasp when I tighten my hold on her hips and boost her onto the counter. Her butt lands on the only clean spot in sight. “I don’t know. I was just going with the flow.” More of her pale skin is exposed when she lifts one shoulder and the flannel shirt slips down.
I run my thumb over my bottom lip, catching any stray drool as my eyes devour the creamy, smooth expanse of her flesh. She’d look so perfect wearing my cum.
Clear as day, I can picture it now… straddling her chest while I pump my cock and spray my load all over her tits.
Nope, not gonna happen. Turning my back on her, I adjust my erection and grab a sponge from the sink. “Why don’t you leave the cooking to me?”
Her eyes stay locked on me as I clean up her mess and start a fresh batch of batter in the largest mixing bowl. While the skillet heats on the stove, I chop fresh strawberries and whip some heavy cream.
“What are you making?” From her perch on the counter, she swipes a strawberry and dips it into the whipped cream.
I hold in my growl when her fangs sink into the juicy fruit, red staining her lips and tongue.
…And there goes my damn cock again, hijacking my brain and trying to take control of my body. This rut will be the death of me.
Shaking my head, I remember that she asked a question. “I’m making crêpes with strawberries and cream. It was a Christmas tradition when I was growing up.” I’m not sure why I share this piece of my past with her. No one here knows much about my life before I left Quebec, not even my boss, Maggie.
Something about Vanessa makes me want to spill my guts. It’s a good thing she’ll be gone soon, so I won’t have a chance to tell her about my past heartbreak.
A strawberry flashes from the bowl in my periphery, pulling me from my thoughts. Little minx. Thinks she can sneak another taste. This time, I catch her wrist.
Her lips form a perfect O when I bring her hand to my mouth and bite into the tip of the berry. Juice trickles over my bottom lip and down my chin, but my eyes remain on Vanessa’s.
Dark pupils overtake her already dark eyes, fangs peeking out when she gasps. “You’re playing with fire, Luc.”
Luc. No one has ever called me that before.
And I don’t hate the way the nickname falls from her tempting lips.
“Mon soleil, when you fly this close to the sun, you’re prepared to get burned.
” My voice is lower and rougher than I expected.
The damn magnetism between us has me leaning into her strawberry-stained lips.
Before I can do something crazy, like get a taste of her mouth, a shrill beeping fills the air. Faster than I can blink, Vanessa pulls back and slams her hands over her ears. “Turn it off!” she shrieks, face scrunched.
On the stove, a shroud of black smoke billows up from the skillet. Fuck! The butter I greased the cast iron with is on fire.
Wrapping a dish towel around the handle, I grab the pan and rush out the front door. The snow sizzles and pops when the hot pan hits the ground.
Damn it! This female has me all kinds of distracted. It’s not just the rut. Although, that’s a huge part of the pure lust I’m experiencing. It’s this damn mate shit!