Chapter 21
Chapter
Twenty-One
By the time I’m dropped off at the elevator in the underground parking garage of Elliott’s building, the creeping unease that haunted me on the street has dulled to a faint background buzz.
A different type of anxiety has wormed its way in instead– the gnawing anticipation of what awaits me upstairs.
I spent the entire ride home mentally rehearsing a conversation I’m still not convinced I’m brave enough to have, Taylor’s voice echoing through my brain on repeat.
Talk to him.
Clarify expectations.
Easier said than done.
When the elevator doors slide open to the penthouse, I half expect to find him waiting for me, annoyed that I disappeared before he woke up and am just now getting back. Instead, I’m met with silence.
There’s no clink of glass in the kitchen as he mixes his nightly blood cocktail. No rhythmic clang of weights from the home gym down the hall. No faint hum of equipment drifting from the lab upstairs.
It’s just… quiet.
Too quiet.
It wouldn’t be unusual if the sun were still up, but it isn’t. The sky beyond the wall of windows is dark, the city lights glittering like hundreds of stars.
Which means Elliott’s awake… or at least he should be.
A chill slithers down my spine as my gaze drifts toward the staircase. Since I moved in, I’ve never actually had the penthouse all to myself. Even during the day, there was always the underlying certainty that I wasn’t truly alone, thanks to the six-foot-six vampire asleep upstairs.
At first, the thought creeped me out a little.
Then, somewhere along the way, that certainty became oddly comforting.
I kick off my shoes and tiptoe across the hardwood, that lingering edginess creeping back beneath my skin.
The place has been cleaned up since I left.
The breakfast spread on the kitchen island is long gone, the marble countertops sparkling beneath the recessed lights.
I do a slow lap around it, listening for any sign of life, but all I hear is my own pulse thudding in my ears.
I consider calling out Elliott’s name just to prove he’s still here somewhere, lurking behind one of the many closed doors. Instead, I lean against the countertop and pull out my phone, staring at the void in my notifications while the silence presses in around me.
The elevator dings, and I nearly jump out of my skin. My heart does a kamikaze dive into my stomach as I whip around, eyes wide, breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat.
Elliott strides into the penthouse, his dark hair slightly mussed and a small black duffel bag dangling from one hand. He’s dressed in dark jeans and a black hoodie, his glasses perched low on the bridge of his nose. The instant his gaze meets mine, I’m pinned like a butterfly to a corkboard.
“Where the hell have you been?” I blurt.
He stops just short of the counter, one brow lifting. “Had an errand to run.”
My eyes drop to the bag in his hand, clocking the logo for the city’s premier blood bank stenciled across the canvas.
“Well, that’s rude,” I huff, folding my arms with a scowl. “I’m right here, ready and willing to donate.”
He steps past me, rounding the kitchen island and setting the bag on the counter beside the fridge. “Your blood type is AB positive,” he murmurs as he unzips it.
“So?” I scoff. “Is that a bad type or something?”
He glances up as he reaches into the duffel. “Not at all. It’s the universal plasma donor. But I prefer a mixture of positive and negative to dilute the Rh protein, and I was out of negative.”
His science word salad goes straight over my head, but I don’t ask him to translate.
Instead, I watch him unpack the bag with the same precise efficiency he applies to everything, one blood pouch after another emerging.
He arranges them neatly on the refrigerator shelf, my attention snagging on one already inside that’s different from the others.
Plain white cap, no blood bank label. My blood inside, drawn by Albert.
His fingers brush lightly over the pouch before drifting past it to select one with a red cap, then another with a blue one.
The refrigerator door swings shut with a soft thud, and he proceeds to go about his usual routine– retrieving a glass from the cabinet, twisting the caps off both pouches, and pouring them in.
“Is that why you drink it from a glass?” I ask, watching the dark red blood splash against the sides. “So you can mix the types?”
He stills for a moment, then looks up, his gaze catching briefly on my throat before lifting to meet my eyes. “Yes,” he says simply, swirling the blood once before lifting the glass to his lips.
I drift a little closer, leaning my elbows against the cool marble as I watch him. “Since when do you run your own errands?”
“Since my assistant proved he can’t be trusted with blood that belongs to me,” he murmurs, flicking me a glance over the rim of his glass.
My pulse skips at the reminder, any clever retort dying in my throat.
Elliott tips back the glass and drains it in two long swallows. For someone who goes on and on about savoring wine, he definitely doesn’t take his time with blood. It’s as if he drinks it purely out of necessity, without a hint of enjoyment.
I watch his throat work as he swallows and the slow sweep of his tongue over his lips afterwards, memories of last night creeping in uninvited. Heat unfurls low in my belly at the thought of having his mouth on me last night, my thighs clenching together.
Jesus.
I will myself to get a fucking grip, but then he turns toward the sink to rinse the glass, my gaze drifting to the broad line of his shoulders beneath the fabric of his sweatshirt.
He’s all lean lines and hard-earned muscle, and suddenly all I can think about is the way his hands felt gripping my hips last night– strong, steady, and completely in control.
He dries his hands on a towel before turning to face me, and I straighten so fast I nearly give myself a head rush, pretending I haven’t spent the last thirty seconds shamelessly checking him out.
His dark-eyed gaze finds mine through the lenses of his glasses, unreadable as ever. He holds my stare for a beat, then asks, “Did you receive the contract addendum?”
Straight to the point.
“Wow,” I snort. “No lube?”
He tilts his head, brow furrowing. “Excuse me?”
“You just went in raw,” I chuckle. “No warm-up, no foreplay. Just straight to the hard talk.”
He doesn’t dignify that with a reply. He just lets the silence stretch, studying me with maddening patience until I’m practically squirming beneath the weight of his stare.
“Yeah, I got it,” I finally say.
His gaze drifts over me, one dark brow arching as his eyes return to mine. “And?”
God, the last thing I want right now is to discuss the stupid contract details.
The impulsive part of me wants to throw caution to the wind and just sign it as-is so we can skip the awkward formalities and just take our clothes off. But Taylor’s nagging voice echoes in the back of my mind, along with the promise I made her to talk things over with Elliott before signing.
“I… have a few points of negotiation,” I mutter begrudgingly.
He nods once, like he expected that. “I thought you might.” He gestures toward the living room. “Shall we go over the details?”
I internally cringe at the suggestion.
“Can I make a drink first?” I ask.
He gives me another once-over, eyes lingering a little too long on my mouth before he answers. “Perhaps a water,” he suggests. “If we’re going to discuss contractual terms, I’d prefer you remain clearheaded.”
“Psh.” I wave him off. “I do my best thinking on a margarita buzz.”
Rather than arguing, he simply hands me a cold bottle of water from the fridge, which I accept without further comment. I twist off the cap, chug half of it, then lead the way to the living room, swishing my hips a little more than necessary just in case he’s watching.
Spoiler alert– he is.
I can feel his eyes on me as I round the couch and flop down onto it, sprawling out and patting the cushion beside me.
“Which provisions of the addendum would you like to discuss?” he asks as he takes a seat, leaving a respectable amount of space between us.
“I actually highlighted some things,” I murmur, fishing my phone from my pocket.
The barest hint of surprise flickers across his face, gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
Bet he wasn’t expecting me to actually take notes.
Unlocking the screen, I pull up the annotated addendum and scroll to the first highlight, hesitating for just a second before saying, “Restraints.”
He inclines his chin, waiting.
“What kind?” I ask.
“Handcuffs, rope, silk ties,” he rattles off. “I have no particular preference as to the implement, provided it isn’t injurious. I have no interest in hurting you, unless you want me to.”
My belly flips, my mouth running dry.
He says it so calmly, so clinically, as through we’re discussing lab equipment instead of the prospect of me bound beneath him. The thought sends excitement and apprehension crashing together until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
“I don’t know if I’d like being completely helpless like that,” I admit. “I’ve just… never done it before.”
He studies me for a long moment, tilting his head slightly as he considers that. “Is it a hard boundary?”
“No,” I answer immediately, shaking my head. “I mean… I might like it. I just don’t know. I guess I’d have to try it before I’d know for sure.”
He nods once. “Then we’d start with silk ties,” he says. “They’re difficult to tighten accidentally and easy to slip free from if either of us decides to stop. We wouldn’t move to anything more restrictive until we’d established trust and you were comfortable.”
Something in my chest loosens. It’s such an Elliott answer– every variable accounted for, every risk reduced before we even get to the fun part.
“Yeah,” I breathe, nodding a little too enthusiastically. “That works for me.”
He glances down at the phone in my hand. “What else?”
I scroll to the next highlight, pausing before I read it aloud. “Exclusivity.” I glance back up at him, trying to sound far more casual than I feel. “Taylor made me flag that one. She says I can’t be trusted to keep it in my pants.”
He averts his gaze, looking down at his hand and flexing his fingers once before slowly curling them into a fist. “I’m possessive by nature,” he grumbles. “Once I’ve had you, I’m not certain I’ll be capable of sharing.”
My pulse stutters. “Thought vamps were only possessive over blood?”
His eyes lift to mine again. “Not all vampires are the same,” he says evenly.
“I’ve already claimed your blood, but once I claim your body…
” he trails off, eyes flicking over me before returning to my face.
He drags in a slow breath, a muscle in his jaw feathering.
“… I expect my instincts will become considerably more complicated.”
My heart trips over its valves.
“If having other partners is important to you,” he continues, “I’m willing to negotiate occasional group activities, as detailed in subsection two. Those encounters would also be under my direction.”
“So threesomes are on the table,” I confirm, fighting a grin.
His jaw tightens. “Correct.”
I snort. “Good to know.”
He watches me for another long moment, as if he’s trying to figure out whether I’m bluffing or genuinely interested.
Joke’s on him– it’s both.
“Just one more thing, then,” I say, scrolling farther down the addendum to find the highlight. “No feeding during intimacy…”
“Non-negotiable,” he cuts in, his voice hardening. “I will not feed directly from your vein, during intimacy or otherwise.”
“Why not?” I challenge, pouting. “I like being bitten. You know, in a fun way.” I tilt my head. “And wouldn’t it be good for you, too?”
His jaw locks, a strained silence stretching between us.
“It’s for your safety,” he finally murmurs.
“Safety?” I echo with a disbelieving laugh.
“Not every vampire can maintain control while feeding directly from the vein.”
“You don’t strike me as the type who’d ever lose control,” I scoff, rolling my eyes.
“I did last night.”
The words hit like a slap, my mouth falling open before I can stop it. “You… did?”
He dips his chin, gaze never leaving mine.
“Do you regret it?” I ask, my voice coming out strained.
Something dark flickers across his face. “In a sense.”
My expression falters, and of course he notices immediately. I try to turn away, but he reaches across the space between us, capturing my chin in a hand and forcing me to meet his eyes again.
“Only because it made me want more, Beatrix,” he adds. “When it comes to certain indulgences, my hunger knows no bounds.” His gaze slips briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes. “ And for you…” His thumb shifts against my jaw. “I’m starved.”
My stomach flips, liquid heat unfurling between my legs.
“It’s Bex,” I whisper.
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Bex.”
Hearing my name in that low, gravelly voice sends another wave of heat rushing through me. His nostrils flare, tongue sweeping slowly across his lower lip as he regards me.
Damn vampire senses.
He probably catches every tiny shift in my breathing, every hitch in my pulse, every involuntary reaction betraying exactly what he does to me. Elliott Faulkner doesn’t miss a damn thing.
The air between us hums with tension, but neither of us moves. Neither of us looks away.
Finally, he clears his throat.
“Are there any other points you’d like to discuss regarding the addendum?” he asks, voice noticeably rougher than before.
I shake my head. “I think we’re good,” I mumble, the leather beneath me creaking as I shift my weight on the cushion. “I’m… pretty adventurous.”
“Good.”
I scroll down on my phone to the signature line, but before I can tap it, he plucks the device from my hand.
“You can sign tomorrow,” he says, switching off the screen and setting it on the coffee table. “When you’re sober.”
I frown, feeling weirdly called out. “What makes you think I’m not?”
One dark brow lifts. “Other than the fact you admitted to having a margarita buzz?” He pauses, gaze sweeping over me clinically. “Your pupils are dilated, and I can smell tequila on your breath. You don’t appear to be intoxicated, but you’re not completely sober.”
“I’m sober enough to know what I want,” I say with a smirk, sliding a little closer.
He raises a hand to stop me, giving a little shake of his head. “Provision 4B.”
I wrinkle my nose in confusion, and then it hits me.
Of course he’d have the addendum sections memorized by number.
4B must be the one about agreeing to let him take the lead, set the pace, and call the shots.
Fine by me.
I nod in assent, staying exactly where I am, and the corner of his mouth twitches with satisfaction. Then he slowly rises to his feet, turning toward me and extending a hand.
“Come with me.”