Sally’s eyes widened in shock. “But—”
“Yes?”
She looked . . . flustered, obviously not having expected to have the roadblock so easily knocked aside.
Then, she swiftly latched on to the next available excuse to keep him at a distance.
“You were the one who was having a hissy fit when I accidentally caused the mating,” she accused.
He arched a brow. “Hissy fit?”
“I thought you were desperate to get rid of me.”
His fingers trailed down her spine, dipping beneath the towel she’d wrapped around her damp body.
“Maybe I’m used to having you around.”
Her breath fractured, her eyes darkening with desire. “You just said you wanted an obedient sheep for a mate.”
“I said that’s what I thought I wanted.” His finger tugged at the towel, loosening it as his lips brushed over her cheek. “I’ve discovered there are benefits to having an autumn-haired beauty creating passionate chaos in my very boring existence.”
“You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to put myself in danger,” she said, her voice thickening, the enticing scent of her arousal perfuming the air.
“I’m saying it because it’s true.” His tongue teased at the pulse racing at the base of her neck. “And for the record, you’re not going to put yourself in danger.”
She made a sound of annoyance. “We may be temporarily mated, but you’re not the boss of me.”
“I just got you back, Sally.” With one smooth motion he had her flat on her back and he was straddling her hips. Holding her startled gaze, he pulled off the towel. “Don’t push me.”
She sucked in a deep breath. “Roke, what are you doing?”
With tender care he allowed his fingers to trace the prominent line of her collarbone, his cock already fully erect and throbbing to be deep inside her.
It wasn’t sex.
It was a critical need to be intimately connected to her. To reassure himself that she was here and that nothing was going to take her away from him.
“Making sure you weren’t hurt,” he murmured, taking a long minute to appreciate the sight of her spread beneath him.
The glorious gold and red satin of her hair spread across the white pillow. The dark eyes softened with a desire she couldn’t deny. Her ivory skin flushing with rising excitement.
“I told you I wasn’t,” she husked.
With a wicked chuckle he bent down to stroke his tongue over the tip of her rose-tinted nipple.
“Some things I need to see for myself,” he murmured, capturing the nipple between his lips until she arched beneath him in pleasure.
“With your lips?”
“Mmm.” He kissed a path down her stomach, using his fangs to lightly scrape over her skin. “And other body parts.”
She groaned, her hands grabbing the sheet beneath her in a death grip.
“We’re discussing how we can break the mating,” she breathed, her voice unsteady.
He lifted his head to stab her with a fierce glare. One more word about breaking their bond and he was going to sink his fangs deep into her neck and make certain there was no going back.
There was no doubt in his mind that this was the female fate had intended for him.
“No, you were assuming I’m in a hurry to break our mating and I’m proving we have all the time in the world.”
She bit her bottom lip, the vulnerability she struggled so hard to hide softening her expression.
“Because you want to have sex with me?”
“Because I’m not ready to let you go,” he admitted with blunt honesty, lowering his head to return to his determined path down her quivering body.
“Oh . . .” She breathed, her body melting as she willingly allowed him to spread her legs and discover the welcome heat of her core. “Goddess.”
Clamping his hands on her hips to keep her in place, Roke glanced up the length of her beautiful body, holding her darkened gaze.
“There’s a good chance I’m never going to let you go, my love.”
Chapter Twenty
Less than a mile from the Anasso’s estate, Brandel was settled in a leather wing chair that was pulled close to the roaring fire.
It wasn’t as if he needed the heat from the flames despite the chill in the night air, but reading in front of a fireplace suited his current image.
He glanced around the long library with towering shelves and heavy walnut furnishings. He’d arrived in Chicago the night before, drawn by the pulsing fey magic. At the time he’d been too drained to try to slip past the King of Vampires’ impressive defenses, and chosen the closest mansion to use as his lair.
It was only now that he had the opportunity to appreciate his surroundings.
The elegant house that was decorated to resemble an English country estate beat the hell out of dank caves filled with obnoxious Oracles. And best of all, he had a full staff of properly trained English servants who were eager to cater to his every need.
Even the sweet little maid who’d given him a professional blow job before breakfast.
They didn’t have a clue he wasn’t their employer who’d Brandel killed and stuffed in the pool house that was boarded over for the season. He’d become a perfect replica of the slender, gray-haired businessman with watery brown eyes and a prominent nose.
The stench of the rotting body would eventually blow his cover, but for now he intended to enjoy being surrounded by luxury.
Sipping the cognac that was perfectly aged, he was debating his options of bypassing the layers of security wrapped around the Anasso’s lair when an unmistakable vibration in the air warned him that his brief sense of peace was about to be destroyed.
Setting aside the cognac, he was prepared when the uniformed butler stepped into the room, his back poker-straight and his expression puckered, as if he’d just swallowed a lemon.
“There is a Mr. Raith to see you, sir,” he said, his toneless voice not able to disguise his disdain for the visitor.
Brandel clenched the arms of his chair.
“Tell him—”
“That you’re anxious to speak with your dear friend who has traveled so far just to see you?” a familiar voice drawled as Raith stepped into the room, still clinging to his Adonis form.
Brandel grimaced, understanding his servant’s blatant disgust.
Raith had left his halo of golden curls to tumble to his broad shoulders, which were revealed by a sleeveless vest stretched tight over his large muscles and a pair of jeans that had half a dozen rips in the faded material.