Just months before I start medical school in Boston, I decide to let loose for one night. A dark club, a loud band, strong drinks--and the attention of a dangerous-looking man who says he's in the city for only a week.
I know exactly what he is: a...
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We're breathing in tandem now, and I suspect we're both thinking the same thing.
Where is this going?
"What do you desire?" I whisper.
"For now? For today? Or in general?"
"For now." Maybe it's the light of the fire in this dark room, the way the shadows and the light of the flames play against his skin, but today I'm noticing small details of his face. Like his nose, which is subtly crooked and leads me to believe he was involved in something violent. Like the way his jaw is sharp enough to slice me in two.
It would be interesting to know what he desires in the long term, what goals and dreams an immortal like him has.
But for now, I want only one answer. "What do you desire right now?" I ask.
"You," he says.
That's exactly what I want to hear. He repeats it. "You, Evangeline. I want you. Naked and spread open right on this rug. You, for the taking. You, for hours, letting me do whatever I desire. And I have a lot of desires."
The red glint in his eyes sends a frisson of fear through me. It's an intense, almost furious stare, unblinking and unwavering. I have never been around a man who looks at me like this, who seems to want me so much that it angers him.
And I probably never will.
Knowing this is all supremely fucked up on my part, I do the only thing that's in my heart: I lean forward and devour Matteo's mouth again. He even tastes good. Some guys have slightly funky breath or taste a little sour. Not Matteo. He tastes mostly like nothing, with a subtle hint of coffee and chocolate.
I've also noticed that his skin temperature is different than mine. Not corpse-like cold, but a pleasing coolness that both quenches my own heat and makes me flare with want.
He laughs softly as I trail kisses down his neck.
"What?' I ask.
"I love how fucking eager you are. It's a huge turn-on."
"Show me how huge." Something about his brutal exterior makes me want to challenge him, like I'm playing with the devil himself.
Considering what Matteo really is, that's probably an apt description. But I don't care, because now he's kissing me back, pulling me toward him and lying back on the sumptuous scarlet rug so that I'm on top of him.
He sits up, and we're suddenly in a jumble of limbs and lips, with me grinding against him while he pushes my black sweater up my body and over my head. I feel like I'm burning on the inside, while my skin singes from the proximity of the fireplace and of him.
Thoughts tumble through my brain as frenzied as our movements.
Is this the moment where he'll bite me? Where he'll drain my body of all blood? Or will sex come first? I kind of hope it does.
"Take off your bra, I've never been good with those damn things," he mutters while unbuttoning his white shirt.
I laugh and rock against his hips. I can feel his hardness underneath our layers of clothes. His leather pants are making me glide against him, and a delicious thrill goes through me and coalesces between my legs. I'm wetter than I was last night, which I didn't think possible.
"What's so funny?" Even his smirk looks dangerous.
My hands are behind my back, on my bra clasp. I don't shed my bra right away, partially because I want to tease him, and because I think my breasts look pretty damned sexy and I want to savor this moment. I've never felt so...desirable, and it's quite heady. And the fact that this hot vampire guy is complaining about mundane bra clasps makes me giggle even more.
"You seem like such a practiced seducer. I figure you'd know how to unhook a bra with one hand."
His smirk turns to a laugh and he undoes two buttons on his white shirt. "A practiced seducer, hunh?"
He cups my breasts and squeezes. In the span of a millisecond he yanks at the fabric. My pretty black lace bra is in tatters and he flings it into the fireplace, which consumes the lingerie.
"You just ripped my best bra." I feign a gasp.
"I'll buy you a new one," he grinds out as his mouth finds my right nipple.
By the time he runs his tongue over the stiff peak, the bra is ancient history, and I'm arching my back, thrusting myself toward him like the wanton slut I apparently am.
Actually, I don't know what I am in the moment, other than his.
