Page 200 of Vampire so Virtuous

Antoine winced, and she surprised herself with a giggle.

“And you call me a monster,” he said.

“Not anymore I don’t.”

He said nothing, his silence stretching out. “But I am a monster.”

She knew how he saw himself, and she couldn’t hope to undo the damage of so many lifetimes in one night—especially a night where she’d watched as he’d literally torn a vampire’s head off.

Instead, she licked at the side of his neck. “Then be a monster, Antoine. But bemymonster.”

He shuddered at her words and touch, his arms tightening around her almost painfully, then relaxing just as quickly.

Not long after, he touched down on the roof of his house, setting her on her feet. Yet no sooner had she straightened than he cupped her face in his hands, fingers splayed across the sides of her neck. His eyes were fierce with intensity, and then his lips found hers.

Cally pressed into him with a moan, opening to his kiss as their tongues tangled together, her hood falling back. The rain splashed on her upturnedface, and her body was so alive that every drop felt like another kiss. One hand slipped beneath his T-shirt, playing across his skin, while the other tugged him closer by threading through his hair.

It was he who broke the kiss, drawing back to look at her. His hands were gentle as they lingered on her. “You will undo me,ma chérie.”

“I hope not, just from a single kiss.”

His lips curled at the corners. “It will take little more than that.”

His hands slid away from her, brushing lightly against the sides of her neck as he strode past with urgency in his steps. He punched the code into the skylight’s keypad, as though the necessity offended him.

Antoine held his hand out as the skylight slid open. “Come.”

She took his hand, letting him draw her down into the warmth of the house below, the skylight sealing out the rain behind them.

He led her down the staircase to the floor where the bedrooms were. Not to the room she’d previously occupied, but into his. He guided her past him, into the center of the space. Then, as he quietly closed the door behind her, his movements became stiff and awkward.

He was still facing the door when he spoke. “I would like…” he began, then stopped himself, taking a breath. He turned to her, taking a single pace closer. His eyes flashed from pale blue to red and back again. Then he shoved his hands into the pockets of his wet jeans, as though he couldn’t trust himself not to touch her, and stared down at the floor between them. “I want you to know you can leave whenever you wish. The room opposite is yours, and if you wish it, I will never enter. Just because we are bonded—”

“I like this room,” Cally said quietly.

“There is no pressure,” he went on, as though she hadn’t spoken. “This has to be your choice. You must be sure you want—”

“What I want,” she said, taking a step toward him, “is this off.” Her fingers hooked through the rips in his sodden T-shirt, and she pulled. She underestimated her increased strength, and the wet material ripped, baring his chest beneath. He didn’t move, though she knew he could stop her if he wanted to. “I want this,” she said, trailing her fingertips down over his chest, over his heart. There wasn’t even a mark where he’d been shot. “I wantyou.”

“Are you sure?” His voice was hoarse, his eyes meeting hers with tentative disbelief, as though he couldn’t quite believe she’d ever say such a thing.

She turned away, swaying her hips as she moved. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said, pulling her drenched hoodie over her head, letting it fallfrom her hands to the floor. “And so are you.”

He made a noise behind her, a sharp intake of breath that was half pained, half needy, and so satisfying. She reached for the hem of her T-shirt, but his hands closed on hers from behind, his bare skin brushing against her back.

“Allow me, please,ma chérie.”

She turned within the circle of his arms, running both her hands up over his chest to his strong shoulders, and let him tug her T-shirt free of her jeans. He captured her gaze, his eyes not pale blue or red, but a mesmerizing lilac that made her catch her breath. She lifted her arms, and he slid it up leisurely, his fingers brushing her sides, a light caress that left a tingle of sensation against her skin. His palms grazed the sides of her breasts through her bra, and she closed her eyes, surrendering herself to the sensation.

He pulled the T-shirt over her head, but then gathered it tight around her wrists with one hand. His other brushed her cheek. She could’ve easily escaped, and he knew it too, but it wasn’t the game. Even if it was just symbolic, he wanted her held—ever the hunter, and she, his prey.

She wasn’t his prey, not anymore. But there was something about the way he captured her, something that reminded her he wouldn’t be intimidated by her strength, her speed, or her independence. Instead, he accepted them—accepted her. More than accepted—he reveled in it. So, she kept her eyes closed, struggling against his hold with a playful little whimper, until his lips found hers. Only then did he release her, letting her pull her arms free and throw the T-shirt aside, her arms wrapping around his neck.

Antoine unhooked her bra with a light touch she barely felt, the garment falling loose. He trailed his fingertips over her shoulders, down her arms, pulling the straps away and exposing her to his eyes.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low. Then, dropping to one knee, he reached for the button of her jeans.

“No,” she said, backing away, one arm coyly covering her chest. “Not until we’re clean. You smell of blood and I smell of… worse things.”