Page 29 of Unholy Gambit: Checkmate in Blood (A Paranormal Halloween #5)

Tonight, Axel had rented a home on the mountain, overlooking Chattanooga.

He’d had to tell Marco where he was staying, but no one else needed to know where he beds down for the day. With her thoughts so open, he couldn’t take her to his rented home, but this was better.

He looked around at the dozen-dozen red roses. One hundred and forty-four of them.

They made a nice backdrop for his plans.

He heard the limo in the driveway. Adelaide was playing chauffeur for him tonight. Keeping his Aurélie safe.

So brave. So strong. She’d stood and watched him whipped, watched another vampire carve his back with knotted leather and barbed silver.

He needed to show her how special she is to him. How much he values her.

The chef had left an hour ago, flown in from Provence and compensated so handsomely it bordered on bribery. Adelaide had called it sentimental madness. Maybe it was.

Tonight, he would feed Aurélie with his hands. Warm hands, because he’d spent an hour in a one-hundred-and-fifty-degree hot tub. Tonight, he would be warm for her.

He wanted her to see him and remember pleasure, not horror.

The duck breast had been prepared with near-religious care — rendered slow, flesh pink at the center, skin seared until crisp.

The cherries had been reduced with shallots and black wine, and finished with a final shave of truffle, flown in that morning, bundled in cloth and earth.

The scent filled the room. Sweet. Wild. Primeval.

He welcomed her inside, nodded to Adelaide, who would watch over them a few hours so he could focus solely on his Aurélie without worrying about an enemy surprising them.

She’d worn a black, sleeveless dress with red piping along the fitted bodice, and low red heels, which a dip into her mind confirmed felt sky-high to her.

She turned in a circle, looking at the roses, and met his gaze. Speechless.

“I love you, Aurélie. Let me show you?”

She nodded, and another dip into her head told him she didn’t trust her voice. He’d brought her close to tears, the good kind, and she didn’t want to ruin it by crying.

He pointed to two dining room chairs, placed at an angle, with a small table for her food and drink off to the side. She sat in one, he sat in the other, and he lifted the first decadent bite to her mouth.

* * * *

Aury sat in a sea of roses, the smell a backdrop to the Magret de Canard aux Cerises meal she could see and smell, and her stomach growled in expectation. He’d told her to dress up and come hungry, and she’d done both.

He was in a charcoal suit with a black dress shirt and charcoal tie with tiny little strips of red. They matched and hadn’t planned it.

She wanted to ask a million questions, but it would’ve spoiled the moment. The soft music, the flowers, the food, the exquisite home with the view of the river and city below.

He didn’t rush. Just cradled the meat over his palm, offering it between the fingers of the other hand, and she leaned forward to accept the rare delicacy.

The warmth of his skin met her lips a split second before the duck, and then the flavors hit.

Rich. Silken. Sweet.

Cherry and fowl and something deeper, darker — like earth after rain and secrets buried too long. The Truffe noire du Périgord unexpectedly hit next, not taste so much as scent curling up into her brain, making her dizzy.

She moaned before she meant to. And he smiled . Not with arrogance, with satisfaction.

Another bite. He fed her slow. Fingers brushing her mouth. His thumb ghosting the edge of her lower lip, gathering sauce and lifting it to her tongue. Heat traveled lower in her body.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t kiss her. He fed her bite after bite, somehow making each a little sexier than the last. More heat. More lust. More taste. More sensation.

He watched her with eyes like heat made solid when he lifted the final bite to her mouth. All the flavors again, maybe a little more truffles and less cherry, which made it even more perfect.

He’d bled for her, and now he was offering her pleasure from the same hands he’d offered up to the horrible shackles.

When she finished the last bite, she opened her mouth to speak — to thank him, or maybe to say something clever.

But he leaned in, eyes low, and whispered, “Not yet, dear Aurélie. We’ve barely started our evening, and it’s time for me to unwrap you, for our second course.”

He reached under the far edge of the plate and retrieved a small packet of wipes. No performance. No pretense. Just a quiet practicality as he cleaned the cherry-truffle sauce from his hands.

“You used different soap,” he noted. “Ruby’s doing, I’m guessing. I’ll have to send her a bouquet of wildflowers tomorrow. You smell of the Fae and roses with the barest hints of anise and vanilla. Spice and temptation.”

She laughed, breathless. A little flushed. He could feel her thoughts, flickering between self-consciousness and wild arousal.

He reached out, threaded his fingers through hers, and pulled her gently to her feet.

“Come.”

The soft fur rug in front of the fireplace waited; pale cream, thick-piled, so gentle underfoot it silenced her shoes. She bent to take them off, and he knelt again, brushing her hands away to do it for her.

When he rose, he walked a slow circle around her — his fingers grazing the curve of her arm, the edge of her hip, the small of her back.

He stopped behind her, lifted the zipper, pulled it down. Slowly, but without hesitation.

Unwrapping a present , he’d said.

When it slid from her body, he caught it before it hit the floor, helped her step out of it, and draped it over a nearby chair.

Then… silence.

And heat.

Ruby had insisted on taking her shopping.

Had made her buy a little black lace thong and a matching bra that cost more than complete outfits , but now that she stood in it, his eyes taking her in, his body still as a statue, and she thought maybe Ruby needed more than wildflowers tomorrow.

She’d bake her a damned black chocolate cake with salted caramel buttercream frosting.

His voice dropped into gravel. “Lovely, darling Aurélie.”

She needed to say something back, but didn’t know the protocol. “I wasn’t sure we’d… I mean, I hoped. But I didn’t want to look—”

“Perfect,” he finished, his hands hovering just inches from her. “You look perfect.”

She didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t him sinking to his knees, placing a kiss on her navel, then another, lower, right on top of the tiny little triangle of lace.

He eased her down onto the rug, one hand under her back, the other bracing her knee so she wouldn’t strain it. The fire popped. Not roaring, but alive. Contained. Like him.

And then he kissed her.

Everywhere .

The slope of her ribs, the arch of her hip, the swell of her breast. Over the lace. Under it. His fingers deftly unhooked the front clasp.

He didn’t rush. He didn’t ask permission, but he watched her . Checking every quick inhale, soothing every flutter.

When his mouth reached her belly, her thighs parted on their own.

She didn’t try to stop him when he slid her panties down, slow and smooth…

But then he kissed her, right there —

She gasped. Jerked her hips, on instinct.

It was on the tip of her tongue to protest. Mouths don’t go there .

But then his tongue licked all the way up her, from the bottom of her opening to her clitoris, and the unspoken words dissolved in her brain.

Another lick. Parting her.

Then again. Deeper. Firmer.

His lips sealed over her clit and sucked.

Her back bowed off the rug.

It wasn’t anything like she’d expected. Not gross or wet or embarrassing, it was heat and pressure. An intimacy that made her feel like the whole world had collapsed into the space between her legs.

She shook. Whimpered.

And when his hand came up to press against her hip, holding her steady, the fingers of his other hand sliding into her while his mouth worked her clit—

She came.

Just like that.

No warning. No time to think. Just light and heat and Axel’s mouth dragging her body to pieces.

Her whole being trembled from the aftershocks, his fingers still deep inside her, curved in just the right way, his mouth softening now — less pressure, easing her down.

* * * *

Axel kissed her thighs. Her belly.

He withdrew his fingers with exquisite care, pausing to brush his lips to the inside of her wrist. And slowly, he rose to his feet.

He didn’t speak. He simply unknotted his tie and slid it free. Unbuttoned his shirt. Belt. Trousers.

He didn’t hurry, but he was nude in seconds. His cock thick, fully hard. Veins visibly pulsing.

He knelt beside her again and took her hand, placing it over his hip, guiding it to his length. Letting her learn him. Skin so warm. Heavy in her hand.

Her grip was tentative at first, but he closed his hand over hers for just a moment. A little firmer. Slower.

She followed the cue, and he rewarded her with a low, trembling inhale through his nose, one that made his belly tighten and the muscles of his thighs twitch.

He’d promised to teach her how to pleasure him, and he kept his promises.

This first lesson would be short, but he understood his Aury enough to know she’d be unhappy at the end, if she hadn’t pleasured him at least a little.

Never mind the pleasure he’d get from sinking into her, his Aury needed this, too.

His cock responded fully to her, and he gave himself a few minutes to enjoy the entire experience. Her scent, the fire, her brain taking it all in, and her hand wrapped around his dick, tentatively moving up and down, experimenting with soft, firm, fast, slow, taking in his reactions. Adjusting.

Until he couldn’t sit still any longer, and he tilted her back down, flat on the plush rug.

He stroked her breasts, fondled a nipple, ran his hand down her flat belly to her mons, dipped into her folds.

One finger. Two. She was slick, easing the way, and he curled his fingers, brushed his thumb over her clit.