Page 62 of Even Vampires Bleed (Even Ever After #2)

Léandre

W hen the time to go to bed comes, Cassiopé is antsy. She’s been antsy ever since I got back from the forest, but she’s tried to hide it. But I’ve noticed her side glances and the fact that she keeps looking at the blanket that I know she hid in the living room dresser.

Closer to bedtime, it’s been even more obvious. She can’t stop fidgeting even now as she slips under the bedsheets.

It looks like she plans to sneak away during the night.

She might have tried that yesterday, but it obviously didn’t work since the smell of her on my skin was fresh when I woke up.

She’s silent, though. As if she was lost in her own thoughts and doesn’t know what to say.

It’s unsettling after days of her being at ease—at least with her speech—with me.

I watch her drop the long pillow in the middle of the bed, and I try not to smirk.

I’m not sure she would even notice, but I don’t want her to see I have plans tonight, too.

Quickly, I remove my shorts and my shirt, and she doesn’t even blink an eye before she lies on her side in the bed, her back to me.

Talk about anticlimactic behavior.

I slip under the bedsheets, too, but instead of turning my back to her, I very deliberately turn to look at her.

Still no reaction.

Well, it’s now or never.

I grab the pillow that wedged between the two of us and throw it away from the bed.

And I finally get a reaction.

“What are you doing?” she asks as she turns to face me. I can hear panic in her voice.

What is she so afraid of?

“I’m removing this stupid pillow,” I answer truthfully, as I move closer to her.

Tentatively, I brush my fingers on the top of her shoulder.

She’s wearing a tank top that is a bit too large on her frame, and I have the distinct suspicion that if I looked down now, I could see way more than what she’s willing to let me see.

For a second, Cassiopé closes her eyes, and a shiver shakes her entire body.

Then she opens them back, and it’s like a whole other person is facing me. I’m also not ready for her next words.

“You can’t do that.”

“Why?” I ask softly as I let my fingers trail against her arm. It’s innocent, and yet I crave the feeling of her skin under my fingers. I could spend hours just mapping her skin with my fingers and I would be content.

For Cassiopé, it seems different.

It looks like she’s doing everything in her power to keep her eyes open, to stay focused and have that conversation with me.

It makes me feel like she both loves my hand on her and doesn’t want it to happen.

My heart stumbles at that possibility.

“I can’t, Léandre. I can’t.” She sounds pained as she says that, and all I want is to know what is stopping her. All I want is to make things right and to make her feel better.

“Tell me what is wrong, Firefly,” I say, or more like softly demand. “What can I do to make you want this?”

I sound desperate—and maybe I am—but I don’t want to see her in pain. At the same time, I feel like an asshole for prying the information out of her.

“Nothing,” she answers, and I’m not sure which question she’s answering, but her mouth is contorting in what can only be pain.

I tuck my hand between her arm and her waist and tug her to me, but I’m stopped by both her hands on my chest and a hell of a resistance, so I don’t force her to me.

My heart breaks a bit this time.

“Stop,” she pleads, and I’m taken aback.

I thought that with what I had seen this afternoon, this conversation would go a lot better.

Hell, I didn’t even think there would be a conversation.

I thought it was easy. I like her, and she seems to like me, too, so why is it so difficult?

“Just let me hold you,” I tell her and once again I feel like I’m pleading with her for this.

Didn’t she want this, too?

I don’t know what to think anymore.

I’m lost.

My hand is still on her waist, and I have the feeling I should let her go and just turn on my side, but maybe I’m an asshole after all, because all I do is slip my hand under the hem of her tank top and hold her hip as my thumb moves on her skin with lazy strokes.

I don’t know what’s stopping her from giving in, but something must be at war inside of her because she doesn’t ask me to stop this time.

“Léandre.”

My name is like a prayer in her mouth, but I’m not sure I understand it.

I let my hand wander a bit higher and reach her waist under her tank top. The skin is so smooth, and I’m taking my time so she can make me stop if she wants.

“Tell me to stop, Firefly. Tell me, because I wish I was a better man, but I want you so much, and I’ll take whatever you’ll let me have.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, I reach the side of her breast and let my thumb stroke the underside of it.

It’s a mistake.