Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Then I blink and my eyelashes press against something and I realize that the room isn’t dark—I have something over my eyes.
I gasp, trying to move, to bring it off my face, but my arms are above my head, my wrists tied to each other.
I open my mouth to yell but suddenly a rush of cold comes at my face and a large, cool palm is placed over my lips.
“Shhh,” Valtu says quietly, his voice rich and soothing. “It’s just me. Professor Aminoff.”
I breathe heavily through my nose, trying not to panic as he presses his hand over my mouth harder.
Oh my god.
He found out, didn’t he?
He knows what I am. The glamor slipped during sex last night and he knows I’m a witch, he knows I was sent to kill him.
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.
He’s going to kill me.
“You’re trembling,” he remarks in surprise.
He pulls his hand off my mouth and I gulp for air as his fingers go to the side of my face, lightly touching my cheekbones. “Have you forgotten last night already? Have you forgotten what I am to you?” he whispers.
I swallow hard, trying to regain my breathing. “Why…why am I tied up?”
“Because,” he says.
That’s all he’s got?
“Because what?”
You’re a psycho?
“Because I wanted to see your fear,” he says, dragging the last word out. “I told you that I would push you beyond what you were comfortable with.”
“I believe you used the word terror, actually.”
Does my fear turn you on? I want to ask. But I know the answer. Of course it does. Perhaps this is the only way he can be with me without feeding on me, to ellicit fear in some other way. Maybe he feeds on my fear just like he does on blood.
“Terror is subjective.”
I try to move my arms over my head again but find them attached to something, maybe the headboard, and I struggle a little. I can practically hear him smile.
“When did you do this?” I ask, trying not to panic. “I would have woken up.”
“You were out like a light,” he says. “And I would have done your ankles next. Kept your legs spread. Then I would have ensured you woke up while you were coming on my tongue.”
It doesn’t sit right that I didn’t wake up while he both slipped a blindfold over my eyes and tied my wrists together and to the bed, but I have no choice but to accept it. Either he did something to me, compelled me to stay asleep, or I was just that exhausted from all the sex last night.
Okay, considering how it went last night, getting completely fucked downstairs on his rug, then against his piano, then on the table in the kitchen, then giving him a blowjob in the shower, it could totally be the latter.
I just hate that I can’t see him. What if I’m not alone in this room? What if there are other vampires in here with him? I’ve seen what they do in their vampire sex dungeon, how they share humans like a piece of meat. Is that what they’re going to do with me here? Sure I was aroused when I was watching it, but being an unwilling participant is something else entirely.
I mean, it’s one thing to be willingly blindfolded when you know what the room looks like around you. It’s another to literally wake up that way. I don’t even remember getting into his room last night, we were too busy smashing our bodies and faces together in a hurricane of deviant lust.
Because that’s what last night was. I’d never been treated so roughly during sex before, never felt so debased and primal. Valtu was determined to call up my darkness, but more than anything I felt like I wanted to drown in his. I would have done anything he said, because in those moments he was my lord. The words felt good to say—my lord—like I’ve said them before, like I’ve let him take control some other time.
And now that darkness has come for me again.
He’s brought it.
Literally.
“Relax, my dove,” he says to me softly and the phrase makes my brain jolt.
Why did that sound so familiar?
Has he called me that before?
Last night he called me love but this…this is jogging my memory and bringing up nothing except the most intense feeling of déjà vu.
I hear him take in a shaking breath and my skin leaps as he brushes his fingers over my breasts, my nipples growing tighter.
I’m naked. Of course I am.
“I love to see you like this, Dahlia,” he says. “Do you know that you bloom, just like your namesake? Makes me want to bury myself in your petals. There isn’t a more beautiful sight than seeing you open for me.”
His head dips down so I feel the stubble of his chin and he brushes it over my breasts, my skin tingling and on fire, my heart leapfrogging in my chest. He blows gently, his breath cold and I gasp.