Gypsy Truths (All The Pretty Monsters #6)- Kristy Cunning Page 0,64

like fire is licking my veins, while wrapped in ice cubes, when he kisses the side of my neck that I happily give him more access to.

He groans against me, the vibrations doing all sorts of crazy things to the center of my thighs.

“Are you truly brave enough to hold this bubble of illusion right in front of her?” he asks me in a tone that suggests he’s wildly excited by the concept.

I don’t know this Vance. It makes me long for the real Vance, while also getting embarrassingly turned on.

This Vance sees me as a powerful, daring, alluring creature. Damn. He’s going to feel so stupid when he realizes it’s just Violet. I stifle a smile, but the urge to grin fades quickly, when he tugs at my hair, putting his lips to my ear.

“Answer me,” he murmurs, his hand running down my stomach, dragging a lick of those metaphorical fiery ice cubes with it.

“I’m brave enough,” I tell him, deciding to feel a little badass for a brief moment, since that’s clearly what he thinks I am right now.

If I’m honest, it’s empowering for Vance to think I’m badass. I like it.

Going with it, I angle my neck more.

“Then how are you so submissive that you’ll give me your throat?” he asks in a quiet but demanding tone.

“You don’t have a tendency to bite, so why does it matter if I expose my throat?” I point out in deflection.

I feel him grin against my neck. Usually, that would draw a bored stare.

See? This is why first impressions are so damn important. I can walk, talk, and act the same, but he’s seen me as something else in here.

I’ll blame Anna for how the real Vance sees me.

She’s the one who had me stuttering a defense to an orgy misunderstanding.

“If you’re really worth this terrible decision, then I’ll name a ship and a horse after you,” he tells me like he’s giving me a compliment.

I resist the laugh, mostly because he’d feel insulted.

He’s important.

He’s fierce.

And he’s definitely the highest expectation of man for this era.

He’s supposed to be that arrogant.

“I’ll remind you of that,” I tell him, meaning it.

I bet Vance gets embarrassed for the first time ever—

Great. Now I’m doing the same thing Idun does.

Only for a different reason and with different motives. Also, I’m trying to break a painful curse for him.

“You’re too certain of yourself,” he says against my ear, even as he slowly eases inside me, his breath hissing between his teeth.

My mind damn near blanks.

“And I want you too much to be natural. Be glad I don’t hold very many grudges against women as enchanting as you. This is surely some masterful trickery.”

It’s a little harder for me to form words, because his hips are already moving in all the best ways, and I grip the edges of the table tighter.

A cry escapes me when he finds the perfect angle, and he works me into a frenzy in a short amount of time.

A guttural sound passes through his lips, almost tortured relief, and his grip on my hips tightens.

It’s all hazy, almost as though I’m stuck in a dream within a dream, for several long minutes.

Over and over, I almost reach that peak, but the orgasm escapes my grasp each and every time, until I’m almost whimpering in misery.

Vance turns me, dropping me to the table so hard my back claps it, and he comes down on top of me, eyes just as desperate as mine. Our lips crash in perfect unison, and he hungrily devours me, as I drink him in.

He shoves back inside me, fingers clutching me with an iron grip, as he works his hips in that perfect, unnaturally well-timed rhythm that should send me rolling over the edge so effortlessly.

Another whimper escapes me, even as I drag my claws up his back, needing him closer, desperate for that release.

“What madness is this, woman?” he growls, eyes narrowing on me, as he slams a hand beside my head, his hips relentlessly working. “Why can’t I—”

A breath hisses out of him, and he groans in near misery, just as I do, when yet another orgasm is stolen from me. We had them stolen at the same time this time, it seems.

I can feel my pulse in every inch of me, almost as though I’ve been set on fire and put out numerous times.

It’s misery and almost-perfection at the same time, until it becomes an unbearable nightmare.

Once again, he slams his hand down