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“Fey,” he purred, rolling the name around in his mouth.He said it like a prayer, his finger trailing down her neck.

Goddess that was so much worse.

“I don’t think I need to beg,” Fey told him.

“Oh?” he cocked an eyebrow at her. His eyes glittered in challenge. “Stand.”

Fey didn’t move, didn’t shift from her seat, and Alastair’s smile slipped into something darker, more dangerous.

“Stand,” he repeated, and the persuasion in his voice brought Fey to her feet before him without a thought.

His eyes focused on her lips, his stare glazed and full of heat.

“Use persuasion on me again,” Fey warned, “and I will gut you, Alastair. I will fucking kill you. I won’t even hesitate. You know that don’t you?”

“Oh, I know,” he answered. His eyes never left her lips. “Do you remember what I told you I tasted in your blood, Fey?”

Fey swallowed hard. His voice was low and guttural, and it sent a heat through her body.

“What?” she asked.

“I tasted power,” he said, and every word was full of hunger. Desire. He moved closer, pressing his body against hers. “Is that why you’re here? Did you come here tonight to kill me?”

“I—” Fey couldn’t think. He felt so good pressed against her like this. That ache under her skin, that ache he’d ignited, thrummed in response to his presence.

“Tell me what you want, Fey”, he repeated.“Because I would be so glad to be of service.”

“I … I want...”

But she couldn’t. She didn’t even know what she wanted. She didn’t know what her body was demanding. She only knew that she ached and somehow, he could make it better.

Alastair watched her, unrushed. And when she still didn’t answer he reached up to brush the hair from her face. Even the light touch of his fingertips against her skin sent a wave of heat through her. “Why don’t I tell you what I want, hmmm?” he said, his voice soft and dark.

His body shifted against hers, and she couldn’t think anymore. She just nodded, swallowing hard.

“I want to kiss you, Fey.”

He leaned forward, towering over her, his lips brushing against hers softly, like a promise. Like a question.

“Yes,” Fey answered.

He kissed her. Gently, nothing like before. A sweet, soft kiss at first. And when she opened her mouth to him, he deepened into it with a groan, sweeping his tongue over her bottom lip.

Fey was falling into him, swept up in the kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Her tongue grazed his fangs and a shiver of fear coursed up her body. He laughed darkly, pulling back to kiss her cheek, her jawline, her neck.

“And I want to taste you,” he whispered into her ear. Fey whimpered, her toes curling. “I want to taste every part of you, Fey.”

His tongue darted out to lick her earlobe.She bit back a moan.

“I want to know what it tastes like to have you come on my tongue. Would you let me do that, Fey?”

Oh fuck, Fey thought, her head spinning. She couldn’t answer him, couldn’t trust herself to speak.

“And after that,” he whispered, pressing gentle kisses down her neck to her collarbone. “After that, I want to bend you over my desk and fuck you until you forget who you are.”

“Yes,” she gasped.

“Is that what you want, too, Witchling?”