Dark Seduction: A Vampire Romance (Vampire Royals of New York Book 2)

by Sarah Piper

  “Dorian…” She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, tears still streaking her face. Despite the darkness hanging in the wake of his confession, her body warmed at his sudden closeness, his seductive words slipping beneath her skin.

  “Evie’s deception destroyed me,” he said. “Destroyed my family. And though she died in the slaughter alongside my mother and siblings, hers is a betrayal I will never forgive.”

  Charley opened her eyes and searched his gaze for a lifeline, a faint glimmer of hope, but all she found was pain. Oceans and oceans of it, slowly pulling him under.

  “Do you know why I’ve brought you here?” He slid his hand around the back of her neck, his voice taking on an eerie tone. “Why I’ve brought you to the one room in my entire manor that turns my heart to stone?”

  Charley’s stomach bottomed out, her own secrets and lies clawing their way up her throat. She had to tell him. No matter how foolish and childish, no matter how ridiculous her bullshit seemed by comparison, she could not keep lying to him—not with words, not with omissions, not even with the stolen, breathless kisses that had started it all.

  “Dorian, I—”

  “I’ve brought you here, Charlotte, because in the face of the intoxicating power you hold over me, I need to remember the past. The mistakes. The utterly dire consequences that come from entrusting one’s heart to a beautiful woman.” He tightened his grip and lowered his mouth to hers, his hot whisper a warning against her lips. “And you, my little prowler, need to learn that betraying the vampire king carries its own consequences. Deadly ones.”

  Chapter Ten

  Before Charley could take her next breath, Dorian blurred out of her space, the sudden absence of his touch leaving her as cold and unbalanced as his warnings.

  He stood behind her now, leaning back against the side of the stone hearth, arms crossed over his chest, eyes blazing.

  She had no idea what Dorian knew, but it was clear he’d uncovered something about her. Her mind raced with possibilities, but in the end, it didn’t matter.

  By the time she left this room, he’d know everything. Every terrible truth.

  “I fucked up, Dorian,” Charley said. “Seriously, it’s the worst mistake of my life—and it’s not even just one mistake. It’s a truckload of them, and every day I keep piling on more, and I just…God. There’s so much I need to tell you.”

  “Oh, but there isn’t. You see, Charlotte, I have a great many connections, as you might imagine. Connections in the world of finance and government. In records and archives and law enforcement. In all manner of public and private sector agencies filled with people—human and supernatural alike—damn near tripping over themselves to do favors for the vampire king. In the time it took you to enjoy lunch and a leisurely Sunday drive with my brother, I’ve been on the phone.” He tapped his lips, his words measured and even. “And do you know what I’ve learned?”

  Charley shook her head, a tremble rolling from her shoulders to her feet.

  “There is absolutely no record of Charlotte D'Amico at any art consultancy in the tri-state area,” he began, “of which there are surprisingly few.”

  “I know. I can explain. I—”

  “There is no record,” he continued, taking a step toward her, “of Charlotte D'Amico ever having been employed in any capacity at any of the city’s hundreds of museums. Not in Manhattan or the boroughs. Not in New Jersey or Connecticut or Pennsylvania.”

  “I’m—”

  “In fact, no one has heard of you at any museum, gallery, art school, library, auction house, or antiques dealership on the entire eastern seaboard. As far as the legitimate art world is concerned, Charlotte D'Amico doesn’t exist.”

  He was right, and he’d rendered her speechless. All she could do was stand there, waiting for the guillotine to drop.

  “You live on Park Avenue,” he said, taking another step toward her. “You seem to be supporting yourself and your sister quite comfortably, yet you’ve got no verifiable source of income. You’ve never paid taxes on anything more than an inheritance from your father which, while sizable at the time, was hardly enough to sustain your current lifestyle.”

  The mention of her father unmoored her, immediately putting her on the defensive.

  “You were in my home one time, in the middle of the night, in a moment of extreme duress,” she said, as if she had a damn leg to stand on. It was stupid and desperate, but then, so was she. “You think that makes you an expert on my financial situation?”

  Dorian was towering over her now, glaring down at her with barely contained fury. “Everything about you is a bloody lie. Look at me and tell me it isn’t.”

  She met his gaze, but she couldn’t tell him anything. Everything about her was a lie, and they both knew it.

  “And you’re a fucking vampire,” she hissed anyway, desperate to feel something other than the guilt burning through her lungs. “Are we really making judgment calls?”

  She felt the instant pressure of his impossibly strong grip on her arms, and then the room spun, the floor disappearing beneath her feet. When she finally found her footing again, she was clear across the dining room, hands braced against the sideboard, Dorian standing ominously behind her.

  He leaned close and grabbed the edge of the mahogany, caging her between his arms from behind and meeting her gaze in the antique mirror.

  She glared at him, her own anger rising to meet his. “Whatever you think you know about me? I promise you, you’re not even scratching the surface.”

  “I very much doubt that.”

  “Then you can very much fuck off.”

  “Tell me, Charlotte,” he said, voice low and menacing in her ear, so fucking sexy it made her thighs clench. “What’s a suitable punishment for a liar and a con? For a woman who entered my life under false pretenses, and continues to stand here and lie to me in my own home, even now?”

  He fisted the back of her waistband, his knuckles brushing her bare skin, sending a hot rush up her spine.

  Charley swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. For all his anger—and hers too—it was obvious they both still wanted each other. They were like two planets orbiting the same star, set on a collision course that could only end in a fiery, monumental explosion, yet neither seemed willing—or even able—to change direction.

  “I could tear these clothes from your body and claim you right here,” he said. “But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He slid his hand around to the front of her jeans, deftly unfastening the button. Then, dipping his fingers into her underwear and sliding over her clit, “You’re already wet for me. Already imagining my cock slamming into you from behind, owning you.”

  “Please…” Charley was hot and breathless, her skin flush beneath the heavy sweater, her core trembling for his touch.

  “Please?” he repeated, dipping his finger lower, teasing her entrance. “Are you begging me for something, Charlotte?”

  “Yes. I…” She blinked rapidly, the last of her anger melting away as his fingers worked their devious magic. It was so easy to submit to him, to give him back the control he so desperately wanted. “Please, Mr. Redthorne.”

  With a swift tug, he pulled out his hand and yanked the jeans and underwear down to her knees, exposing her completely. In the mirror, she watched him lift a hand, and she bit her lip and held her breath, anticipation smoldering inside.

  The punishment came hard and fast—two swift cracks against her flesh that echoed across the vacant dining room, unleashing her cry of pleasure.

  He palmed her ass, rubbing away the sting as he nipped at her ear. “I always knew you were a bad girl.”

  “I… I am,” she whispered, her head spinning. She needed to put an end to this before things went any further—to tell him the rest of the horrible story he’d yet to discover. But his presence was so overwhelming and intense, she couldn’t think straight.

  And God, how she wanted this.

  But it wasn’t right. Not like this. Not when sh
e knew what had to be done.

  “Dorian, there’s more. I need to tell you the—”

  “Shh.” He reached for the button on his pants, quickly unfastening it and freeing his cock. A swift jerk of his hips, and the smooth tip slid between her thighs from behind, teasing her.

  Close, but not quite close enough.

  A soft moan escaped her lips. She couldn’t help it.

  “Is this what you want?” he whispered into her hair, his hand locking around her hip. The front of his suit jacket brushed against her backside, a cool contrast to the heat building between her thighs. “Me, fucking you hard and fast, one last time?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Say it. Tell me what you want. Demand it, Charlotte, and we shall see if the monster bends to your will.”

  “Please, Mr. Redthorne,” she whispered. “I want you to fuck me one last time.”

  A slow grin slid across his lips, his eyes glinting with malice and desire and anger and loss, all of it burning bright.

  “Then I will fuck you, enchantress. I will mark you. I will utterly ruin you for anyone else—mortal and immortal alike, from here to Manhattan to the very gates of hell. But I will not fall under your spell again, nor turn my back to offer a softer place for your treacherous blade.” He fisted her hair, his whispered warnings falling across the back of her neck and making her shiver. “Open the drawer—top left.”

  With a trembling hand, she followed his order, sliding open the sideboard drawer where she imagined they’d once kept the silver.

  But now, it held only papers. A notebook. Floor plans.

  She recognized it at once.

  Her intel.

  He must’ve discovered it under her bed. Until this very second, she’d completely forgotten she’d stashed it there.

  Fuck. Dorian knew about the heist. He already fucking knew.

  That must’ve been why he’d left last night—he’d found the evidence.

  The betrayal.

  Fear and shame twined around her heart like serpents, squeezing tight. But before she could speak again, he slammed into her wet, aching pussy from behind, then pulled back out, slow and agonizing and perfect.

  “I see we understand each other now, Ms. D’Amico.”

  Fuck… What game was he playing? He was furious—she could feel it coiled inside him, bunching his muscles, heating his skin, sending dark tremors through his voice. But his touch was as wild and electric as ever, his uncharacteristically slow thrusts forcing her to feel every hot, delicious inch.

  “I… I was going to tell you,” she stammered, knees weakening from the intense pleasure his cock delivered. “I wanted to…”

  She trailed off, losing the ability to speak as he continued his slow, gentle tease, one hand still gripping her hip, the other tangled in her hair.

  “Do you like that, Ms. D’Amico?” he whispered, rolling his hips against her backside.

  “So much,” she breathed. “You have no idea.”

  “And here I thought you liked it hard and fast.” He slid almost all the way out, then back in, so slowly she wanted to cry. “Perhaps even that was a lie.”

  Heat raced up her spine, her pussy throbbing as he held back just enough, clearly enjoying this divine torture.

  So was Charley. No matter what he thought, that wasn’t a lie.

  She let out a soft sigh as her eyelids fluttered closed, but Dorian tightened his grip on her hair, forcing her to meet his gaze in the mirror once again.

  “No, Charlotte. You’re going to watch me fuck you. Watch me take my time, inch by inch, breath by breath.” He pulled out, then slid back in, deeper this time. “And no matter how badly you want to come, no matter how close I push you to that blissful edge, you won’t dare. You’re not in a position to argue. You’re only in a position to obey.”

  She bit her lip to keep from crying out. God, he felt so fucking good. She arched her backside to meet his next thrust, but again he pulled back.

  “Is that clear?” he asked.

  “Yes, Mr. Redthorne,” she panted, dizzy for more of his brutal commands, his tortuous games.

  He slid inside her again, angling to get even deeper. His gaze was as fierce and unrelenting as his cock, and right now, she was a slave to both. She wouldn’t dare look away, wouldn’t talk back, wouldn’t come.

  She and her vampire had blurred the lines between pleasure and punishment long ago, and now, trapped against the sideboard, completely at his mercy, all she wanted was to obey.

  To submit.

  To let go.

  “Bloody hell, I hate that you feel so fucking incredible,” he growled, his breath turning ragged. “Everything about you drives me insane.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Redthorne.”

  “I’ll bet.” He dug his fingers into her hip and shifted his angle, hitting her in an entirely new spot, making her shiver.

  She watched him intently in the mirror, not daring to look away, no matter how badly she wanted to close her eyes and fall into this moment completely.

  Dorian glared at her, his fury simmering, the tension building between them. But despite his raw anger, he still couldn’t hide the desire raging in his eyes.

  Or the pain.

  Charley’s heart cracked in half. He’d trusted her—took care of her—and she’d betrayed him. In that way, she wasn’t much different from Evie, or even from his own terrible father.

  A tear slipped down her cheek, her chest tight with sorrow and regret, even as her body hummed with intense pleasure, still so desperate for more.

  Dropping the game for a brief instant, she reached behind her head and grazed his cheek. “I’m so sorry, Dorian. I never meant to hurt you.”

  A cocky grin twisted his lips, crazed and devilish as he continued to punish her with deep, masterful strokes. Without warning, he jerked his face away from her touch, and his eyes darkened, lips curling back as his fangs descended.

  Charley’s broken heart leaped into her throat. She’d never seen the transformation up close—after the attack last night, everything had happened so quickly; her only concern had been saving his life.

  It wasn’t just the fangs. The new brutality in his eyes changed his whole face—a chilling, ominous mask she hardly even recognized.

  “You think you could hurt me?” he whispered against her neck. “You think I would allow you—a mere human blip on the timeline of a vampire’s immortal eternity—to hurt me?”

  “I… I don’t know.”

  He dragged his mouth up the side of her neck, fangs grazing the skin just behind her ear, unleashing a flood of memories from last night.

  The skin at her wrist warmed, the euphoria of that deep, penetrating bite rushing through her again, making her shudder.

  Dorian pushed deeper inside, harder this time, his control starting to slip.

  Her thighs trembled, her pussy clenching around him, her heart thundering, her body warring with her mind. She wanted so badly to give in, to let the explosion of pleasure burst forth, but she couldn’t disobey him. Not now.

  It was their final time, just like he’d said. And she needed to make it last.

  She clenched her teeth and beat back her desire, muscles trembling with the effort.

  “Are you frightened, little prowler?” he groaned, those sharp fangs dangerously close to her artery.

  “Not of you, Mr. Redthorne.” It was the barest whisper, but an honest one, and Charley forced herself to hold his punishing gaze, even though the words left her even more exposed than his hands. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

  “You know nothing,” he growled, his skin gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat as his own pleasure built. “I’ve slaughtered foes for lesser offenses.”

  Charley swallowed the tightness in her throat. She didn’t need him to elaborate; she’d witnessed it firsthand the night of the fundraiser, when he’d ripped out the heart of a vampire who’d threatened her.

  He could do that, she reminded herself now. Rip out hearts, tear of
f heads, kill without hesitation or remorse. He was, as he’d warned her so many times before, an apex predator. And in his powerful hands, at the mercy of his bite, Charley could easily become his prey.

  Especially after what she’d done.

  Still, she wasn’t afraid.

  Charley had spent her entire life around vicious, terrible men. Men who’d hurt women for pleasure, or because they were bored, or because they had some sick need to assert their power. She didn’t have to look any further than her own fucked-up family tree for an example.

  But when it came to the vampire whose fangs grazed her flesh now, she trusted him. Completely and without question.

  “You won’t hurt me,” she repeated, her confidence growing, her blood still singing for the rapturous bite those sharp fangs promised. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Tell yourself all the pretty stories you wish.” He stilled behind her and buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, his cock heavy and thick inside her. “But pretty stories can only keep the nightmares at bay for so long.”

  Still fisting her hair, he slid his other hand across the front of her hip and dipped down between her thighs. When he brushed her clit, she cried out, leaning back against the solid wall of his chest.

  “How long, I wonder, can you hold out for me?” He nuzzled deeper into her hair and licked the back of her neck, his tongue a hot tease that sent tiny sparks skittering across her scalp. “I can feel it, Charlotte. You’re so tight, so close, you can barely breathe. All you want is for me to say the word. To order you to come. Isn’t that right?”

  Despite the truth in his words, she did not want to give in now. To let him win.

  But in so many ways—beautiful, impossible, dangerous ways—he already had.

  She arched her hips, pulling him in deeper, another soft moan escaping.

  Dorian growled behind her, and for a moment she feared he’d pull out completely—that he’d punish her for disobeying his commands by leaving her in this crazed, manic state of unfulfilled passion. Instead, he increased the pressure on her clit and rocked forward again, fucking her harder, the friction building, the heat making her gasp.