Page 16 of Bite

He’s dressed down in a t-shirt and jeans, eyes sharp and dark hair deliciously disheveled. Honestly, his appearance screamsfrat boyfar more than it doesvampire, but I suppose that’s by design. No matter their true age, vamps are scary good at blending in.

“Marilyn,” Sebastian purrs, stepping closer. “Thank you for coming.”

My stomach flips as he closes the space between us, his intense dark eyes locked on mine. Like Lucien, he’s even better looking in person, and suddenly the idea of him biting me doesn’t seem nearly as bad as it should.

“I was about to pour a glass of red, would you like one?” he asks, cocking a brow.

I blink back at him. “Wine?”

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Of course, what else?”

He hits me with a sexy-as-fuck smirk, beckoning me with a flick of his head as he pivots toward a small sitting room just off the foyer.

I follow, eyes drinking in every detail of the space as he moves toward a bar cart in the corner. Sebastian may look like a frat boy, but his home is a far cry from a frat house. Everything is sleek and modern, almosttooclean.

“Please, make yourself at home,” he says, gesturing to the low-backed leather sofa in the center of the room.

As if I could ever afford to live in a place like this.

I lower myself onto the sofa while he pours two glasses of red wine, returning to offer me one with a dashing smile that feelsfar too practiced. I take it, the glass heavy in my hand as he sinks down beside me– close enough that I can smell the faint spice of his cologne mingling with the fresh scent of aftershave. My nerves coil tighter when he reaches out, fingers grazing my wrist before sliding slowly up my arm.

“Relax,” he murmurs.

Easier said than done.

His touch wanders higher, fingertips ghosting over my neck, the skin flawless and smooth courtesy of the Rapi-Gen cream. My pulse flutters beneath his touch, breath catching.

“Nervous?” he asks, amusement dancing in his dark eyes.

“Uhm, a little,” I admit.

“Completely natural,” he reassures, the gleam in his gaze suggesting he likes that. His eyes drift down and back up again, slow as a caress. “I’d offer to help take the edge off, but your donor profile says your interests don’t extend beyond blood donation.” His eyes ping back up to mine, simmering with wicked promise. “Pity.”

Heat prickles down my spine. I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to say to that– especially since I’m currently caught somewhere between wanting to bolt for the door and climb into his lap. Neither option seems particularly smart.

So, I hide behind the wine instead, lifting the glass to my lips and hoping the alcohol might help assuage my anxiety. Rookie mistake, since the first sip nearly drags a moan out of me. Bex and I think we’re fancy when we splurge on boxes of cheap cabernet, but the stuff inthisglass? It’s life changing.

No wonder rich people love wine.

“You like?” Sebastian asks when I lower the glass, gaze locked on my mouth.

“It’s delicious,” I breathe, licking the last trace from my lips before I can stop myself.

His grin sharpens, satisfaction flashing across his features. Then he leans forward, setting his own glass on the coffee table.

He doesn’t pick it back up. Instead, he turns fully toward me, one arm draped casually along the back of the couch. His fingers toy idly with the tail of my braid, drawing it between his knuckles like he’s testing the texture.

“You braided your hair,” he muses, voice low.

I swallow, the wine suddenly thick in my throat. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

His thumb drags lightly over the woven strands of my chestnut hair. “Yes, but not all donors are willing to take instruction. Some make it a point not to.”

My brow furrows. “But isn’t that the whole purpose of this…arrangement?”

“For some,” he replies with a shrug that’s far too casual paired with the dangerous amusement glittering in his gaze. “Others just seem to enjoy flirting with danger.”

Every muscle in my body coils instinctively as he leans in.