Page 33 of Wicked Chains (Serpentine Academy #2)

Thirty-One

Lucien

"So," Rose says, her fidgeting hands telling me she is, in fact, nowhere near as nonchalant as she wants to appear. "Now what?"

The frog, Hank, whose memory I suspect will one day outlive even me, has fallen asleep in my lap, a fact that makes the whole tableau more than a little surreal.

In all my years on this earth, I can honestly say I did not expect to be gently holding a frog named Hank in my lap, as if it were a tiny child.

I lift it with care and place it on the desk.

Rose watches me do this with interest. Vampires are not known for their gentle care. The paradox is not lost on me. But then, I have never known a man who was purely one thing or another, no matter how well he convinced himself otherwise.

I remain seated. She stands, arms folded. Her posture is pure performance, but I notice the tremor in her legs, the rapid throb of her pulse visible just beneath the delicate skin of her neck. I fixate on this. I cannot help myself.

"I can leave as well, if that's what you wish."

"You want to go?"

"Not particularly," I say. "But I will not impose my company. You have had quite enough of impositions lately."

A smile, small as it is. "So polite. Where is the Lucien who once threatened to ruin me?"

I meet her eyes, letting her see it, the hunger that never quite recedes. "He is here," I say. "He is always here. I am simply giving you a choice."

She considers this. I see the moment she decides to test me, to press until she finds the edge of my restraint.

"Come here," she says.

So I do. I move to her, slowly and deliberately, enjoying every inch of the distance closing between us. I tower over her, and I watch her throat as she swallows.

I edge her chin up, forcing her to look at me. Alive. So alive.

"What are you afraid of?" I ask.

A laugh. "You want the truth?"

"I do."

She inhales, as if preparing herself for what she’s about to tell me. "I'm scared of myself. Of what I do when I'm with you."

I consider this, the admission. "And what do you do, Rose Smith?"

She licks her lips. "I forget that I'm supposed to be fighting you. That I'm supposed to hate you for what you've done."

I do not know what happens next. I suspect neither of us does.

Then I kiss her. Rose responds with her entire body, fists grabbing my shirt as she drags me closer, lips parting to invite my tongue inside.

I walk her backwards to her bed, and she sits, pulling me down with her.

When I pull away to look at her, her lips are already bruised and swollen.

"You never do anything halfway," I say.

"Neither do you." She starts working open the buttons of my shirt, but her hands are shaking, and after a moment she gives up and simply yanks, sending buttons skittering across the floor.

"Impatient," I murmur, shrugging off the ruined shirt. "That was bespoke."

"Then you shouldn't have worn it," she says, and attacks my mouth again.

Her own clothing is next. The hoodie goes first, then the T-shirt beneath. I take a moment, just a moment, to appreciate the sight of her.

"See something you like?" she asks, lifting her arms so I can pull the shirt over her head.

"Many things," I reply, and press my lips to her shoulder, following the line of her clavicle with my tongue. I savor the taste of her skin, salt and heat and a wildness that is hers alone.

And then I am biting her.

Rose moans, the sound primal and deep.

Her blood fills my mouth, hot and alive with power, a taste unlike any other in my centuries of existence.

I drink slowly, fighting the monster that wants to drain her dry.

I pull back, forcing myself to stop before I take too much.

The puncture wounds on her shoulder are already closing, and I lick the remaining blood from my lips, watching her eyes follow the movement.

"You taste like starlight."

Rose's breathing is ragged, her pupils dilated with desire. "Is that a vampire pickup line?"

I laugh despite myself, with her blood on my tongue.

Her hands are on my chest now, nails dragging down in angry red tracks. She is not gentle, she is not timid. She fights for control even now, even as I force her back onto the bed and pin her wrists above her head with one hand.

My restraint is a fraying thread, barely holding together as I watch her beneath me.

Her wrists are delicate in my grip, but there's nothing delicate about the way she fights against my hold, testing me.

The contradiction that is Rose Smith—fragile human body, unconquerable spirit—has fascinated me from the beginning.

"Let go of my hands," she demands, but her body tells a different story, arching up to meet mine.

"No," I say simply. The word falls between us like a gauntlet.

"You think you know what I want?" Her breath comes in short, heated gasps.

"I know your body’s needs better than you might wish.” My grip tightens just enough to let her know that I am capable of restraint, but also of the opposite. "You're mine, little one," I whisper.

She writhes beneath me, testing the strength of my hold, but there is no fear in her eyes. Only want.

"Do it," she challenges. "Show me."

I press her hands into the mattress and release my tie from my neck, removing the silk length with one hand. Her eyes widen, and I see the anticipation bloom in the way she bites her lip.

I bind her wrists together, knotting the tie firmly, and anchor her arms to the iron bars of the headboard.

I watch her test the restraints, and something base and animalistic in me roars with satisfaction at the sight of her bound by my hand.

The black silk of my tie looks exquisite against her pale skin.

"Beautiful," I murmur, tracing a finger down between her bared breasts. She shivers at the contact, her body arching toward my touch despite her bound state.

Her breasts are perfection. Full and firm, with delicate blue veins visible beneath translucent skin.

Her nipples are tight, dusky rose peaks that harden further under my examination.

I have seen countless women in my centuries, but none have affected me quite like this witch beneath me.

I lower my head, breathing in her scent, that incredibly sexual, earthy scent of life and death.

"You have bewitched me, Rose Smith," I murmur against her skin.

The rapid flutter of her heartbeat calls to me, a siren song I can barely resist.

Her breasts rise and fall with each breath, tempting me, demanding my attention.

I circle one finger around a nipple, watching as she moans.

She is so responsive, so alive. The blood rushes to the surface of her skin, painting her chest a delicate flush of pink.

I take one perfect nipple into my mouth, rolling it with my tongue before biting down just hard enough to make her draw in a sharp breath.

Her back arches off the bed, pressing herself deeper into my mouth.

I suckle her teat, drawing the sensitive flesh between my teeth, marking her as mine.

"Lucien," she breathes.

I lavish attention on both breasts, alternating between gentle kisses and sharp bites that make her cry out. Each sound she makes feeds the growing need to claim every inch of her body. My fangs have descended fully now, stabbing points that scrape against her tender skin as I worship her.

"Please," she whispers, tugging at her restraints.

"Please what?" I ask, lifting my head to look at her. Her eyes are wild with desire.

I take my time removing the rest of her clothing, loving how slowly each inch of skin is revealed.

I want to devour her, and I want to protect her from every cruelty the world can devise.

I slide her jeans down her hips, slow, deliberate.

Her underwear is black, simple, a tiny scrap that barely covers anything.

"You're staring," she says, voice trembling now.

"Yes," I say. "And I intend to do more than stare."

I peel the fabric away, revealing her fully. The scent of her arousal is heady and potent. I spread her thighs with gentle but firm pressure, and she complies without resistance. The sight of her, open and ready for me, nearly undoes me. She's beautiful everywhere, pink and wet with want and need.

I lower my head between her legs, and dart my tongue out to taste her. She cries out at the first contact, her hips bucking upward.

"Hold still," I command against her sensitive flesh. "Let me take care of you."

I continue to work her with my mouth, tongue circling her most sensitive spot before delving deeper. Her taste is addictive, and I find myself growling against her as I feast. The vibrations make her moan louder, pulling at her silk chains.

I hold her down, forcing her to take it slow, to let me dictate the pace.

Her thighs quiver as I hold them apart, and I can feel her trying to close them against the intensity of the sensation.

I press harder, refusing to allow it. She will take what I give her, all of it.

"Good girl," I murmur against her cunt. "You’re doing so well, Rose. "

I fill her with two fingers, curling them towards her front, never letting up with the ministrations of my tongue. Her wetness coats my hand as I press deeper, watching her face contort with pleasure. I feel her inner muscles clench around my fingers, drawing me in.

"You're close," I observe, feeling her body tense.

"Let go, Rose. Give yourself to me." She arches off the bed as she climaxes, hands still above her head, a broken cry escaping her lips.

I don't stop my attentions, working her through the waves of pleasure, prolonging her release until she's trembling, begging me to stop.

Only then do I withdraw my fingers, bringing them to my mouth to taste her essence once more.

Her eyes, heavy-lidded with satisfaction, watch me with a mixture of fascination and renewed desire.