The Bleeding Dusk (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles 3)

“I didn’t know you had it here in the Consilium—”

“But you knew I had it.”

He shrugged, graceful and unhurried, unaffected by her anger and her accusations. “I am not your keeper, Victoria. Unless you want me to be. In which case we can certainly discuss the terms.” The smile he sent her was lascivious and meaningful.

She whirled away in frustration, nearly cried aloud in pain from her wrenched knee, then spun back, gesticulating in frustration. “Sebastian, can you never—”

Her words were cut off as she found herself suddenly pitching toward him, yanked off balance by a strong hand closing over her arm as she’d pivoted back. The combination of her weak knee and being taken by surprise landed her half on top of him on the narrow bed, hands splayed one on the blanket and the other, the one he’d pulled on, the unbandaged one, smack in the middle of his chest. She barely missed slamming her head into the wall behind him.

“Do you remember, Victoria,” he said, grasping her wrist before she could pull away from touching him, “that first night in the carriage, in London? Before we were interrupted by the vampires?”

She tried to pull away, but he had no reason to hide his Venator strength now, and it was difficult. Especially since he’d quickly scissored his legs around her good knee, leaving only her injured one with any mobility, wrapped in tangling skirts. His fingers were tight over her wrist, holding her hand stamped on the warmth of his chest, half on skin, half on linen. He was leaning over her from his half-sprawled position, and she looked up into his amber eyes.

“Do you remember? You were just as angry, simmering under the surface with frustration and guilt and need, just as you are now.”

“Let me go, Sebastian. I don’t want to hurt you.” She’d stopped struggling, but the tension hadn’t left her body. His weight, half on her, wasn’t unpleasant; nor was it confining or even threatening. She suddenly felt drained and resigned. And expectant. Alive.

“And you might, at that, but not in the way you imagine,” he murmured, never taking his eyes from her face, never giving an iota of release. “You were angling for a fight then, that night in the carriage, just as you are now. That’s why you came down here to me. You can admit it.”

“You’re mad.” Her heart was thumping so hard surely he could see it, feel it, as it pounded through her body.

“Mad…yes, indeed, I don’t deny it. I am mad.” Those last words came out like a confession as, with one smooth movement, he shifted his weight and bent his face to hers.

The smell of cloves came with him, faintly, as it always did, along with tobacco and something else that was Sebastian. He was close enough that his lips hovered above hers, but he didn’t touch her. “This is what you wanted, really, isn’t it?” His voice was low, not quite a whisper, feathering over her skin.

“No,” she replied.

She felt, rather than saw, his mouth curve into a smile. “All that passion and heat and anger…this is the best way to let it all out. You know that. You’ve missed it.”

“It was only one time, Sebastian.”

“Twice.”

“No…we only…just once, in the carriage, last fall.” He was so close, yet he still didn’t kiss her. She would not lift her face that last bit to meet his.

“I seem to recall,” he murmured, now brushing his lips ever so lightly along her jaw in a quick swipe, “having to stifle your cries of pleasure in that small parlor of your villa.”

“But…that wasn’t…” He’d moved back so that when she talked her lips brushed against his when they moved.

“It was enough for me.”

His mouth, just as coaxing as she remembered, covered hers with a deliberate firmness that told her he wasn’t going to let her change her mind. She kissed him back, assuring him she didn’t intend to, and then she gave way and let herself enjoy the moment—and all of the lovely sensations that came with it.

He released her hands and moved her closer, driving his tongue in deep as it swept and swirled around hers. The slick movements tugged down through her belly, sending pleasant little pangs between her legs.

“I want to see your vis bulla,” she whispered against him.

Rolling partly away and up against the wall, he smiled with such pleasure that her stomach dipped again. He pulled off his shirt, and for the first time she saw his golden chest bare—lightly haired and muscled and square-shouldered, tapering into lean hips. The dark blond hair grew down around his navel, where the small silver cross nestled, and a slender line led down into his breeches. The rest of his torso was as bare and firm as Michelangelo’s statue of David.

Victoria’s mouth dried, then moistened as she skimmed her hands up and over his shoulders. Pleasure indeed.

Clearly enjoying her touch, Sebastian pulled her down so that she lay on top of him, her br**sts smashed against his bare skin, their legs mingling with her skirts, her left arm scraping against the rough stone wall. He kissed along the side of her jaw to her ear as his clever fingers flipped open the two fabric-covered buttons at the back of her bodice.

The neckline gaped away, and she lifted up from Sebastian’s mouth as he tugged at the edges of her gown, pulling it down over her shoulders. The subterranean air was cool on her bare skin, raising little prickles there in the hollow of her collarbones. With two quick motions he yanked down her corset and her br**sts tipped free, hovering and trembling above his face.

Hands sliding to hold her at the hips, pressing the juncture of her thighs into the bulge between his, Sebastian lifted his head to take her breast into his mouth. His tongue slid over the tip of her nipple, sending a renewed rush of pleasure down to where their hips ground together. She was breathing faster now, feeling the sweet build as he tugged and sucked and licked. Her arms trembled as they held her upright, and at last Victoria pulled away from his demanding mouth, sitting back on his thighs to look down at him.

His face was flushed with pleasure and his lips swollen, and when their eyes met a most mischievous grin quirked his lips. “Well, now,” was all he said as he groped under the mess of cotton and lace and muslin to slide his hands up her bare thighs. She lifted so he could pull the skirts up, placing her hands on the center of his chest for leverage and rustling her nails through the hair covering it…but when he slipped his fingers in and around the moistness between her legs, Victoria bent forward to kiss him with a ferociousness that spoke of her impatience.