I shook his lapels roughly and pressed closer, going up on my toes, so much in a state I didn’t measure my words. “Promise me, Lucien. What happened last night is something special, something that should be between us, not reflected in a f**king mirror for anyone to see.”
At my words, his face gentled, his fingers came to my hairline at the side of my head and slid in, stopping, curling and holding me there before he whispered, “Sweetheart –”
I was too rocked by what I just witnessed, knowing how it felt, seeing what was likely my ecstasy of last night on that woman’s face, I didn’t let his actions register. Or his tone. Or the endearment he’d used last night and this morning which I thought, regardless of the outcome of both events, was achingly sweet.
It was too humiliating by half. Or it would be if he did it to me.
“Please,” I begged on a frantic whisper.
“I won’t feed from you here,” he murmured and with his agreement my relief was so great, my body collapsed into his. My arms went tight around him and I pressed the side of my face to his chest.
He bent again, his words stirring the hair on top of my head. “Do you want me to take you away?”
I nodded, my cheek sliding against his chest and his hand, still in my hair at the other side of my head, tensed reassuringly then slid away.
He took my hand and we were away, leaving the scene behind us, quickly snaking back through the hall.
I found my heart was beating wildly. Without my panic overcoming my being I felt it. In fact it was beating so hard I fancied I heard it.
Then I realized what I’d done and a new panic surged through me.
The panic was so strong I yanked at his hand, planted my feet and stopped.
Lucien stopped with me and looked back at me. “Leah –”
I cut him off yet again, saying, “I don’t want you to think I’m a miss priss.”
He didn’t respond. He just stared at me.
I continued, taking a step closer, tipping my head back to look at him. “It was beautiful. Those things always are. But they’re also raw. That, particularly, was raw. And revealing. And I don’t want anyone to see me that way.”
“Leah –” he started but I kept on talking.
“It’s private and it’s okay if they,” I looked behind me, throwing my arm toward the hallway we’d walked through for emphasis before I turned back to him, “want to give and share and… whatever… but, if you do it in front of others, you give it away and it’s not just yours anymore. And I’m yours, you said so yourself, and I don’t want anyone to have me, not even a little piece of me, not anyone, just you.”
I was so panicked, desperate to give him my explanation, not wanting him to think I was a prude, or worse, to offend him by casting aspersions on his culture, I didn’t even realize what I was saying.
And furthermore, I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did.
But it did.
And Lucien took it a certain way.
I knew this because one second I was standing with my hand in his.
The next second I was against the wall, his body was pressed to mine, his hand in my hair yanking my head back in an arc that was painful not only at my neck but in my hair, and his mouth was on mine.
This wasn’t like the kisses we’d shared before. This one was demanding, bruising, possessive, branding and undeniably savage.
And, it might make me a freak, but I loved every, f**king second of it.
His mouth tore from mine and before I could even take a breath, he asked, “You’re mine?”
I tried to salvage something, anything, “I didn’t mean –”
He cut me off with a growl. “You’re mine.”
Now what had I gotten myself into?