Page 21 of Sweet Nightmares (Wicked Mirrors #2)

“Oh, fuck Jane.” He leaned his forehead against hers, blood still dripping from his mouth. “I liked it. But if you continue down that road, I will fuck you on this loveseat. Rough, hard, and unforgiving.”

“Please do.” A desperate need clung to her voice.

“I will help you with your carnal desires—if that is what you want—after you calm down.” It was like he forced the words out of his mouth. “I do not take advantage of women.”

“I am calm,” she begged, her eyes flashing down to his still-hard cock.

“I told you never to lie to me,” he snapped. “Never, Jane.”

She panted and leaned her head against the wall, her arms still trapped by his strong, large hands.

Sucking in a shaky breath, she tried to calm herself and let go of the cloud of lust plaguing her brain.

“Vampire bites can elicit many reactions. Fear, peace, even lust.” He sighed as if the sentence pained him. “It would seem you are the latter.”

Only for you. And somehow, she knew that to be true. Emrys could bite her, and she’d feel nothing like that.

“It’s not real.”

It was. Too real . But she didn’t have control of her voice yet to say it. Anything she tried to say would just come out as begging. Because she still very much wanted him to fuck her on that loveseat.

A sigh mixed with a whine came out of her mouth. And she pinched her eyes shut in embarrassment. How was he always so cold, so unbothered, and she was a fucking mess?

It wasn’t fair.

“What was that?” She blurted out because she needed to say something.

“What?”

“That, um,” oh gods, how did she phrase it? “That trembling. What was that? Another vampire thing?”

He coughed. “Do you mean pleasure?”

Yes, she nodded, her eyes still shut.

“The orgasm?”

“Orgasm?” she parroted back.

“Oh gods,” his voice was a dark baritone. “You don’t know what an orgasm is?”

“I…” She shuddered and opened her eyes, her gaze locking on his molten silver irises.

“You’re saying not a single one of those bastards gave you an orgasm?”

“Sex has always been painful and unpleasant.”

“Painful? Do they not get you ready?”

Jane scrunched her nose. “Ready?”

Anger painted across his face. “What are their names, Jane? I’m going to kill them.”

“No, you aren’t.” She should have let him know, but she couldn’t, and she didn’t know why. It wasn’t like she was against violence. The gang murdered people frequently.

“I am a villain, yet I still treat my women well,” he growled. “Men who don’t treat women well deserve to die.

“Please, Alexei, don’t.”

“Sex isn’t even good without your partner experiencing pleasure. Not to mention, it’s atrociously boring.” He shook his head. “For that alone, they deserve death.”

“Perhaps we could solve some problems without murder.”

The glower he gave her was twisted like a tree branch in a forest of rotting trees.

Completely ignoring what she said, he asked, “Red, my little doe, have you ever even been kissed?”

“Of course. You kissed me on our wedding night.”

“Truly kissed?”

A flash of hurt heated her chest. Did he not consider that a true kiss? Was it that bad? That unremarkable to him?

“Would you like to be?”

“I—what?”

“Would you like to be passionately kissed?”

“I thought,” she stammered, “I thought you didn’t want to be passionate with me tonight.”

“I changed my mind. But I still won’t fuck you.”

With that, he dropped her arms, clasped her face tightly, and brought her mouth to his. It was dominant and powerful and left no room for argument. His tongue plunged inside and danced with hers like a passionate tango.

Quick, quick, slow, twist, pleasure. They were dance partners in lust and delight.

His fingers laced into her hair, and he tilted her chin back so that he could have more access to her.

He let out a rough breath, and then he bit her lip, and a drop of blood mingled into their passion. An iron scent combined with the whiskey on his breath and the black tea and musk of his cologne.

He kissed her like he was building a castle, and she kissed him like she was losing a war.

It was an exploration, a scientific study of one another. Constant discoveries, from the way she curled her fingers into his back as she whimpered, to the way he softened only for her.

A new heaviness dropped between Jane’s legs, her core once more becoming slick, wet, and ready for something.

Is that what he meant by ready?

Nightmare picked her up like he was about to carry her over a marital threshold, but he didn’t move far. He gently laid her down, but his lips never left hers the whole time. His talented tongue never stopped its ministrations until she was fully lying on the couch.

When his lips left hers, she whimpered, but he moved south, exploring her body. First, playing with her breasts and then moving even further south to her core, which demanded friction.

Nightmare dragged his hand up her leg, bunching her skirts as he caressed her. He kissed the inside of her knee before continuing to pull up her skirt, petticoats, and chemise. He licked a trail up the inside of her thigh, and she shivered, another moan escaping her ruby mouth.

But when his mouth touched her folds, she jolted, tensing up like a turtle retreating into its shell. He ran his tongue along her clit, and Jane tensed again, a cloud of tears tracking down her face. Nightmare stopped, his head appearing above her skirts.

“No, please don’t stop.” Her voice cracked. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” He sat on the chaise and pulled her into his lap, kissing the top of her head. “You’re not ready.”

“I am,” she sobbed.

“No, little doe, you’re not.” Then, without warning, he disappeared into smoke, leaving her reeling in his absence.

She reached a hand out to thin air like she could catch him and keep him near—but of course, it didn’t work. It would never work.

Jane stood up and lowered her skirts back to the ground. Then, she began to fix her hair.

Jane tried to process everything that had happened, but it was too much. Blood Mirrors, wicked witches, and an orgasm. It was too much. Yet she knew she would have to look into all of it when the storm calmed.

She needed to find out what happened to her parents and who Helene was. Somehow, she knew both things were vital.

Jane let out a squeak as Periwinkle appeared behind her. Oh gods, had she seen what had just happened? Had she heard?

“Gosh, you scared me.” Jane placed a hand on her chest.

“The information you seek lies in the rooms you cannot find.”

“What?” Jane’s brow furrowed as Periwinkle once again disappeared.

Fucking vampires and Mirror Gods. Were they all the same? Utterly confusing.