Killer Temptation (18 page)

Chapter 10

His hand secured her wrist, so tight, no doubt bruising her skin. Her breath caught in her throat. She had been a little harsh with the comment about his people. After all, Cynthia had been nothing but kind and considerate since she arrived.

When Tristan first escorted her into this grand room, the other vampires had smiled with a true look of excitement in their eyes, as though honoured to meet her. They all still held that wide-eyed stare, but now from shock rather than delight. She’d called them demons out of anger, a slip of the tongue. Why the music had to die when she spoke was just bad luck.

"I'm sorr—
ow
!" His grip tightened and he dragged her through the mass of speechless vampires. Most of them stumbled out of his way as they headed off the dance floor. The high heels she wore abraded the back of her feet with each quick step, causing not just a fiery sensation over the skin, but blisters, too.

Lord Sylvestre stood to the side. His pale face held a strange calmness, withholding what he thought or felt. Tristan gave the leader a curt nod without slowing his pace. Should she classify it as an apologetic nod, or an,
I'll take care of it,
nod? She could not be sure, and was afraid to find out. Power radiated from Tristan’s body, each step vibrated along the floor, as though the stone tiles quaked under his determination and ruthlessness. They shot through the exit, past the ballroom foyer and down the long hallway. His pace never slowed, and she struggled to keep up. The tip of her shoe caught in the hem of her long dress. She stumbled forward, but he yanked her upright before she landed on her knees. He continued to march. Couldn't he see how difficult it was for her to match his pace? The hem of the chiffon material got in the way again, and she stumbled a second time.

An impatient grunt echoed off the rocky walls. He spun to face her, green eyes blazing. She drew back in fear, swallowing hard. He bent, scooped her up into his strong arms. Vertigo made her world spin, and she bounced over his shoulder as he continued down the hallway.

Too nervous to utter a single word, or even breathe, she kept herself rigid and stared at the smooth floor. No amount of apology would subdue his current hostility.

When they paused, she recognised the lower half of a thick wooden door. It swung open and he strode inside. Familiar grey stone tiles, warmer atmosphere, the scent of burning candles…Tristan’s room? Or had he taken her elsewhere, perhaps a lion’s den?

Floor, walls and ceiling sprinted past her vision as she bounced against something firm. Propelling herself to an upright position, she confirmed he had thrown her onto a bed, and not just any bed. She recognised the red silk sheets, and the large room with its decorative, ancient furniture of dark colours.

Shuffling back, the silk beneath her palms made her slip and fall flat on her back. A flash of darkness, then his thick muscular thighs aligned over hers. His large hands flattened into the red silk pillows on either side of her head. He bent forward, mouth just a whisper away from hers. Like the prey cornered by a vicious tiger, escape was not an option.

Pain etched in his eyes, lips curled back, teeth gritted, and his jaw trembled at the brink of breaking. "This must stop." He forced the words through his teeth. "When will you accept I'm your mate?"

A terrible ache rose in her chest, so potent she had to catch her breath. The warmth of his body was an undeniable truth. His sweet aroma filled her nose, jasmine and labdanum; a strange fragrance for a man, but nonetheless captivated her, stirred her senses and worked through her bloodstream like an aphrodisiac. Every quivering limb begged for his touch. But her heart and mind were stronger and more capable of rejecting him...she hoped.

"You want to, don't you?" Something proprietorial flashed in his eyes. "You feel it." He sounded so sure of himself. "You feel your soul reaching for mine. It's our bond. Don't ignore it, welcome it."

She didn’t want to understand what he said, but a part of her recognised the pull, as though every cell in her body played tug-of-war with his, wanting to connect with him in the spiritual sense, emotional, and yes...physical. Why did she want him? He took away the one thing that meant everything to her; the only sister she had in this world. Shouldn’t that override all other emotion and douse the lure tugging her?

"Answer me, Brianna."

She couldn't even do that, too focused on air filling her lungs, and exhaling with low, shallow breaths. She must do something. He waited for a response. The rigid lines of his expression demanded one. She wanted to respond. Not by words, but with her hands, her body, her mouth. Almost shaking with an urge so profound, she gave into her weakness, her desperation for release, for him.

Spreading her thighs, she let him sink between them. More blessed contact. Green eyes grew wide, then narrowed when fixed on her parted lips. Cradling his erection against her hidden desire, she arched her pelvis. He hissed through clenched teeth, fangs elongated. The wonderful sensation rolled through her, and she could not stop from doing it again. She whimpered, wishing the tulle of her dress didn’t prevent the extra contact.

As if reading her mind, he caught the hem of her gown, dragging it higher. He did this with gentle care, livid eyes on her face, maybe anticipating her consent, or a protest. She did not give him one, but even if she had, she doubted he would have listened. He seemed beyond exasperated and wanted what she denied him for days…
her
. His fist curled around the tulle material, and with a forceful jolt, yanked at the skirt. A rip sounded. Cool air brushed the sides of her legs. He threw the black remains off the bed. In nothing but the trim corset and a pair of black lace panties—
very thin,
black, lace—she was exposed. A cry trembled past her lips as he drove his hips into her, his erection clad in the stretched pants gliding over her front.

"
Je veux t'embrasser."

Wasn’t it bad enough she had no sense of control? Did he have to speak in that beautiful language and melt her insides all the more?

"You want to kiss me?" She thought that was what he said. When she’d travelled with her family to France, her cousin, Amber, bought a phrase book on “How to pick up French men.” She remembered Amber practicing a similar line again and again.

His gaze ran over her face. The soft, sensual look made her heart ache. “More than anything I’ve ever wanted in my three-hundred years.”

She took hold of his chin, fingers trembling and unstable. “God forgive me,” she whispered, bringing his mouth over hers. Those firm lips were soft and sweet, coaxing her with gentle care. Like this, she was able to forget everything and just feel. Yes, just like earlier when her body numbed, unconcerned with what took place around her. She would lose herself in his arms, and save the regret and shame for later.

He raised his head, and stared into her eyes. “I need more,” he panted, his thickness nudged her centre, driving her crazy with hot desire. "I need to kiss every inch of you."

Unable to voice a coherent response, she gave no reply. His mouth journeyed to her neck, kissing and nipping the sensitive skin. She bit her bottom lip when he clutched her knee, scanning her thigh before grasping her hip.

"I think we should remove this." One finger trailed from her right breast, over the black organza corset, to the left one. He lowered his head, tongue roaming over the smooth, pale slopes of her cleavage. Heat flushed her cheeks.

His hand slid around her waist, palm flattening against her lower back. Not breaking the closeness, he drew back, dragging her with him. Their low breaths mixed with one another, singing in her ears like their very own music, a composition of their unyielding need.

Sitting up, his hand worked at the small buttons on her back, unhooking them one at a time. Electricity sparked through her veins, made her entire body tense. The last button released, allowing the corset to fall open and warm air brush her bare skin.

His eyes lowered.

Her heart pumped faster.

With gentle hands, he took her arms and drew them aside, allowing the corset to fall over her thighs.

Her small breasts were now on display. No smile met his lips, his expression impassive and serious. Her gaze danced over the tense tendons along the pale flesh of his neck, travelling to his cheek and over the faint, indented scar there. It was a beautiful perfection rather than a flaw. How did it happen? Had he obtained it from childhood, or as an adult? The thought never occurred before, but made her eager to learn more about him. His round, green eyes sparkled with heat and passion. In them she felt illuminated by beauty, and that frightened her more than she dared to admit.

"Is there something wrong,
mon amour?
"

She shot a look at her small breasts, the tan nipples still peaking from earlier arousal. "The way you look at me..." she said, and the heat radiating within her body harmonised her husky tone. “Tell me what you like about me…about my body.” Never in her life had she been so blunt. Surprise made her blink, but she didn’t take it back, too eager to learn his answer.

"
Tu es belle
."
You are beautiful.

He placed a hand over one breast, cupping her with the heat of his palm. Her breath hitched, her nipples strained to hard points.

"They're perfect.” He gave a gentle squeeze, palm abrading the hard bud and making it peak further. “Round, firm, yet with skin softer than powder.”

His other palm fit over her free breast. “It’s as though they were made for my hands.” The low, soft tone of his voice filled with a detectable tension. Her gaze shot to his face once more.

He focused on her body, mesmerised. “The tips are like pearls, beautiful, begging for my mouth.” He sucked in a sudden breath, as though to control himself. “You are perfect."

Perfect? Had anyone ever used the word to describe her? Not that she remembered. The corners of her mouth twitched and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The way he spoke, and yearned for her made her crave him more.

Tristan lowered his lips over hers. Once again all thought escaped her mind. His kiss coaxed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, crushed her breasts against his chest and held him close. Oh yes, she wanted him. Every fibre of her being ached to feel him against her, taste him in her mouth. Her fingers trailed up his front, clasped his collar and struggled with the silk cravat. The warmth of his hands covered hers, and helped loosen the tie. She hurried to remove his jacket and shirt, undoing most of the buttons until her patience failed and she tore the material apart. The last four buttons sprang off his shirt and onto the silk sheets. He yanked the clothes off his shoulders—shoulders that worked like engines, highlighting the rotation of his muscles—and threw them across the room.

Could there be anything more flawless? Her tentative hands ran over the grooves of his abs and up the planes of his pale chest. Now this was what she called perfection. Touching him, enjoying the constriction of his chest at her simple caress.

A small tear left the corner of her eye. He tilted her face, eyes following the wet trail along her cheek. Its warm weight hovered at the edge of her chin. She kept herself still as he closed the space between them, firm lips giving a chaste kiss over the teardrop.

Strong arms slid around her waist, guiding her along the mattress. Brianna inhaled. Open mouth kisses made a slow trail down the slope of her neck and clavicle until he hovered over her breasts. His soft mouth closed around one nipple, and sucked with gentle torment. A whimper shook past her lips.

“Tristan.” Her hips rose of their own accord to cradle his erection, thrusting against him, and he sucked harder. He released her nipple and blew a swirl of air over the hard peak. Lower, he kissed the flatness of her ribcage, nudging the lace panties along her thighs with firm hands.

She raised her bottom, her stomach made contact with his chest as he wrenched the underwear down her knees and ankles. Feathered kisses caressed her hipbone, tongue trailing from the top of her sex to her moist centre. She stilled when he stroked her over and over…then, the earth quaked, trembling through her body in white-hot bliss. Taken to extreme heights, she craved the experience again and again.

A scream almost surged past her throat when he backed away. Why did he stop when she desperately wanted contact? A faint click sounded in her ears. She shot Tristan a look. He stood beside the bed, unbuckled his belt before kicking off his pants.

A flash of movement made her blink. He straddled her, chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis. His arm slid between them, knuckles brushing the top of her sex as he grabbed his erection, guiding it over her entrance. He did not surge forward, but rubbed the head of his penis between her sleek folds, over the little nub. A whimper trembled past her lips, nails scratching at his shoulders and back.

“Do you want me?” His hoarse voice filled with red-hot desire.

“Tristan,” she said, unable to say anything else through her harsh breathing.

“Answer me, Brianna.”

“Yes.” She would rather die than lie right now.

“Do you need me?” Again, he brushed the head of his penis over her, making her tremble and cry out. “Do you?”

She stared at him, wishing she could freeze his expression, savour every detail of his firm lips, wide emerald eyes, and the absolute adoration they expressed. No man had ever, and probably would never look at her the way he did now. The most shocking part; she didn’t want any other man but him gazing at her like this.

He wanted to enter her and she wanted him to do it. Not so she could rock against him and build an intense orgasm, but to be as close to him as humanly possible, needing the contact she denied herself for days. As much as the thought caused her pain…it pleasured her more. The answer he sought released in a whisper. “You know I do.”