Her head rolled back, giving him better access and further tearing open her own wound, something which he was certain was also practiced.
Her arms started to steal around him and he lifted his head without stroking her wound with his tongue to stop the bleeding. The blood poured down her throat, staining her gown.
“Don’t touch me,” he growled. Her eyes caught his and he saw uncertainty before his mouth went back to the wound.
He fed beyond what would have been healthy for Leah this early in their Arrangement but where he knew he could take this woman. She’d regenerate by the time she wandered into The Den, once invited, open to feeding by anyone.
Then he swept his tongue along the wound, the bleeding stopped and the skin started knitting together. His arms fell away from her, she sagged to her knees in front of him and he made to move to the door.
“Is that it?” she whispered, her hands shooting out to hold him at his hips, her head tilted back, her eyes beseeching, her desperate need to service Lucien in more than just feeding written all over her face.
His eyes dropped to her cle**age and his body responded in spite of his thoughts.
He’d misused her. Even with the mortals at A Feast he had better manners. Hell, even with Wats and Breed he had better manners.
It was Leah and his frustration with her that he was taking out on this creature and it was inexcusable.
Therefore, his tone gentled when he asked, “And what would you like, pet?”
Her eyes flicked to his trousers then back to his. “Anything you want to give me,” she breathed.
Lucien thought of Leah, her stubbornness and the likely weeks of torture ahead for them both.
Lucien was a vampire. Vampires weren’t even expected to be faithful to their mates, another frustration Lucien had with Katrina, certainly not their mule-headed concubines.
Then he shrugged off his jacket.
“Stand up and take off your dress,” he commanded.
At once, she did as she was told and Lucien was far later getting back to Leah than he’d recently decided he would be.
* * * * *
It was an hour away from dawn when he arrived home.
Upon entering the kitchen, he heard the television and saw the flashing lights coming from the family room.
He moved in that direction, entering the room, seeing a late night movie playing, the volume turned low.
Leah was asleep on the couch on her side, her hands in prayer position tucked under her cheek. She was wearing a pair of drawstring pajama bottoms in a paisley of muted colors intermingled with bright pastels with a tight-fitting camisole in robin’s egg blue, one of the colors in the pants.
She looked innocent and adorable, the latter of which she was some of the time, the former, only in her sleep.
Laid out on the coffee table with some of it escaping onto the floor were the remains of what had been an eating orgy. Microwave popcorn, open chip bags, cookies, candy wrappers and a small tub of ice cream, half eaten and now fully melted.
Lucien was not one to partake in junk food, except, as tonight, at A Feast.
A delicious, finely-crafted dessert, definitely.
An orgy of chemically saturated savories and diabetic coma-inducing sweets, never.
He decided he’d have a word with her later about this, if he found the right time, which would likely be in the next decade.
He lifted her and, as had happened last night, she didn’t wake. She simply settled into him, her temple on his shoulder, her forehead pressed into his neck.
He walked with a mortal’s slowness, taking the time to savor her scent. His eyes moving over her profile, his arms curling her soft body closer, enjoying everything that was her after having his fill, several times, of her poor relation tonight. This enjoyment strengthened his resolve to be far more patient while he made her understand and brought about her taming.
Carefully, he pulled back the covers and put her in bed. Swiftly disrobing, he joined her there.