My fangs punched down. I wanted to taste more than her pussy. I wanted everything.
She tugged on my hair, and I lifted my mouth from her collarbone, grazing her neck with the tip of a fang before sinking back into the kiss.
This wasn’t the awkward first kiss of friends trying to pull off a con. This was pure, unleashed hunger. Our tongues swirled and stroked. Our hands gripped and explored. I knew her body, knew the tone and shape of her muscles, but each touch felt like a discovery, a revelation.
She groaned when I kissed her hard and deep. Her hips rocked into my touch as my thumb caressed her inner thigh. Her heartbeat skyrocketed when I pulled her tight against me.
Fuck the midnight feast. We weren’t going. I’d dine on her.
I felt her fingertips like tiny licks of flame on my bare chest and realized she’d unbuttoned my shirt.
“Ransom,” she whimpered as I grazed the neckline of her gown with my hand, then cupped her breast over the shimmering fabric.
Her nipple was hard, and I flicked it with my thumb, then kissed her even deeper, needing to be inside her in whatever way I could. My control was slipping, all thoughts of why we shouldn’t be doing this—shouldn’t be pushing it this far—scattered when she sucked on my tongue and grabbed my ass.
I’d never let myself imagine what kind of lover Olivia would be, but now I knew. She would be just as wild and confident as she was in the sparring ring. She would give just as much as she got, and I wanted to give her everything.
“Olivia, it’s time!” Someone knocked at the door a second before it opened. I yanked my mouth from hers and angled my body to hide Olivia from view, but it wasn’t nearly fast enough to escape notice. “Oh, wow. Um…sorry!”
I bared my teeth and glared over my shoulder at her sister Zasha.
“We’ll be there in just a second,” Olivia called out, her chest heaving to catch her breath.
“Right. Sorry! I’ll um…” Zasha glanced at my face and flushed bright red. “I’ll wait outside.”
“And knock longer next time!” Olivia snapped, gripping my shirt in her fists.
“Yep!” Zasha disappeared, closing the door behind her.
Olivia made quick work of my buttons, and I counted to ten as I slid my hands from the warmth of her thigh and breast.
What. The. Fuck. Had. Just. Happened? My cock throbbed in answer. My blood was molten with need, and my fangs ached with craving.
“Okay, well, I think we’re good,” Olivia said, her voice even and calm as she gently pushed at my chest.
Right. I had her pinned to the damn bed. Why the fuck wasn’t I moving? I concentrated on my feet, making myself back away from her one step at a time while my instincts screamed at me that I was going the wrong direction.
She stood from the bed and fluffed her dress, color high in her cheeks as she brought her gaze to meet mine. They were bright, but clear. “Think we’re believable enough?” She smiled like we’d just sparred a dozen rounds in the ring.
My stomach pitched sideways. She was…fine? Her blood wasn’t thundering through her veins? Her body wasn’t on fire?
I took a deep breath, dragging her scent into my lungs. There was the light but decadent fragrance of her body’s arousal, but not the sweeter perfume of desire that came from the release of pheromones in our kind. Her body had responded to my touch, but not her mind.
“Ransom?” She clasped her hands together and looked up at me with worry in those beautiful eyes. “You think we’ll be able to fool them, don’t you?” she whispered just loud enough for me to hear, but not for the sound to pass through the door to where her sister waited.
“Yeah. I think we’ll fool them,” I said slowly as I tried to force my body back under control. The jacket would help, but it wasn’t going to completely cover a raging erection.
“Great. Then let’s go.” She offered me a carefree smile and walked out of the bedroom.
I grabbed my coat from the chair and put it on, fastening the top button with fingers that felt like jelly. Yeah, we’d be fine at fooling everyone. After all, with one kiss, I’d somehow managed to fool myself.
6
Olivia
The violin's beautiful vibrations filled the vast ballroom with melody, a haunting tune depicted by the ballet dancers on the stage at the far end of the room. Spotlights illuminated the graceful dancers, their movements ethereal, powerful, and hypnotizing.
I’d seen this historical piece before, a ballet depicting the island of Kranitel’s rise to glory out of the ashes of ruin. It never ceased to amaze me, the beauty that had come out of such a tragic past, and I never grew tired of the dancers either. Marisha and Katya were up there, making our mother as proud as she ever could be. They were the perfect daughters—mated, one with a child, and both with prominent positions in the arts community within our people.