One Bite Per Night

by Brooklyn Ann

  “Dear God,” he breathed.

  She stepped forward, closing the distance between them with seductive, graceful steps. The scent of her arousal was an intoxicating drug, taunting him to lay claim to what should be his. She moved until their bodies touched and she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.

  “Do I look like a woman, my lord?” Her southern American drawl dripped over his senses like warm honey, filling his loins with hot desire.

  Vincent wanted to pull her into his arms, grasp that tight bottom and bring her hips closer to his. Instead, he forced himself to grasp her upper arms, unable to push her away.

  “Lydia,” he ground out against clenched teeth, his body aching with the effort in holding back from ravaging her. “You do not know what you are doing.”

  “Yes,” she whispered and reached up, her fingers gentle torture against his chest as she began to unbutton his shirt. “I do.”

  ***

  Vincent’s chest hypnotized Lydia with every inch that was revealed. Then his hands seized hers, stopping her efforts to undress him.

  “Why are you doing this?” His voice was hoarse with desire. She recognized that now, for she heard the same need in her own.

  Her reply echoed the same roughness. “I want you, Vincent.”

  “Lydia…” The word came out a tortured groan.

  She could sympathize, for the hot pulsing between her thighs was sweet agony. Before he could refuse her, she took a deep breath and forced herself to confess it again, to lay bare her passion for him.

  “I want you. Please, if only for this one night.” Lydia stared deep into his intense blue eyes, begging him with her gaze as much as her words. “Please, before you make me go away.” Boldly she arched her hips against him. “I want my first time to be with you, not some strange man whom I do not lo—”

  She stumbled back as he released her hands, a cry of pain lodged in her throat at his impending rejection. Then his arm caught her about the waist, pulling her against him, and his other hand plunged into her hair.

  “Damn it,” he whispered before his lips came down upon hers with brutal force.

  Her cry turned into a moan of pleasure as his tongue darted inside her mouth, entwining with hers in sweet rhapsody. He released his grip on her hair, and his hands slid down her body to grasp her hips.

  Suddenly, he pulled her up so fast that she had to cling to his shoulders to avoid falling backward. Squeezing her hips tighter, he ground her pelvis against his. Another low moan escaped her as she felt his hardness pressing against her center. Lydia wanted more. She wanted, no, needed to feel him without any barriers.

  He continued to torment her with his deep, spellbinding kisses, devouring her mouth like a man long starved. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered between kisses.

  Lydia tangled her hand in his hair, reveling in its silken texture as she writhed against him, savoring the feel of his hardness. Vincent broke the kiss, and with a low growl, he buried his face against her neck, sending electric currents of ecstasy shooting through her as he licked and nibbled her skin. One hand held her securely as the other pulled up her skirt. The feel of his fingers toying with the top of her stocking made her want to scream in excitement.

  “Please,” she whimpered, reaching for the fastenings on his trousers. “Please, now!”

  He stiffened in her arms and set her down. “No.”

  Her heart plummeted. Before she could protest, he spoke once more. “Not here. I cannot have you naked in the duke’s library.”

  With that, he swept her back up in his arms and carried her from the room. Lydia sighed in delight and rubbed her cheek against his chest, inhaling his masculine scent of forbidden spices. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he muttered once more.

  He carried her through the dark corridor and to the bedchamber the duchess had assigned to Lydia. Instead of opening the door and carrying her over the threshold like the bride she wished to be, Vincent carefully lowered her to her feet.

  “Is this truly what you want, Lydia?” His eyes seemed to glow in the darkness.

  In answer, she swept her hand under his shirt, marveling at the feel of his heated bare flesh and pounding heart. “Yes, Vincent. I want it to be you.” And only you, she added silently.

  He towered over her, his gaze intent and predatory. “Say it again. Because if we enter this bedchamber, I do not know if I will be able to restrain myself should you change your mind.” His voice was savage with deadly promise.

  “Yes.” A hint of trepidation coated her whispered reply.

  This was really happening. Vincent was going to make love to her. Suddenly, Lydia regretted her worldly attitude with the duchess when the subject was introduced. She’d heard the first time was painful. How painful? Would she disappoint him in her lack of experience? Perhaps she should have asked Angelica a few questions.

  Her mind spun as he guided her inside the bedchamber. The sound of him locking the door was loud and final. There was no going back now.

  Then his mouth was on hers once more, chasing away every vestige of foreboding with his soul-searing kiss. Only one button remained on his shirt, and Lydia snapped it off in her eagerness to touch him.

  As the button clattered on the floor, Vincent broke the kiss and raised a brow. “Impatient, are we?”

  Lydia nodded, captivated by the sight of him as he shrugged out of his shirt. His hard, lean muscles brought to mind a feral jungle cat. Tentatively, she reached out to touch the firm, ridged plane of his stomach. He stopped her.

  “It is my turn now. Grasp the bedpost.”

  The rough command in his voice made her knees go weak, and her core became even wetter. With a shuddering breath, she obeyed.

  In the mirror, she caught a glimpse of him looming over her like a dark archangel. His eyes glowed tempestuous blue-green, and his hair shone like a silvery nimbus in the lamplight. Then, he moved her hair over her shoulders, obscuring her vision with black sheaves.

  Before Lydia could ask what he was doing, his lips caressed the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. “I need to see how to remove this gown.”

  Every touch of his long fingers felt like a naughty caress as he gently unlaced the back of her dress. Slowly, he lowered the garment, kissing every newly exposed inch of her skin.

  When the dress fell into a pool at her feet, he sucked in a breath. “You’re not wearing a chemise or petticoats. Only this…” His hands swept across the flimsy black corset, sliding down her bare hips, and then to the tops of her black silk stockings.

  Lydia felt the heat of his stare on her bare bottom as he fingered her red garters. “Does it please you, my lord?”

  “Oh yes,” he growled into her neck. “Very much. And now I want to see all of you.”

  With roughness that stole her breath, he jerked the laces of the corset, freeing her from the encasing material in astonishing speed. Gently, he turned her around to face him.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered, his gaze deep enough to drown in. “So beautiful.”

  Vincent sank down on his knees as if in worship, though his intentions were far from reverent. As if asking for permission, his hands hovered inches in front of her breasts. Lydia leaned forward in assent, gasping at the rough sensation of his touch.

  His eyes glittered up at her; his tongue darted out to lick his lips.

  “I want to taste you…all over.” And then his mouth was on her breast, kissing, nibbling, and sucking until Lydia was panting in mindless need. Her hard nipples throbbed.

  He lifted her onto the bed, rising up to claim her lips once more. Lydia gasped at his delicious weight on her, the feel of his bare chest against her sensitized breasts. Her hips writhed beneath him, grinding herself against his hardness. It wasn’t enough. She reached down to tug at his trousers. Vincent dragged his mouth from hers.

&n
bsp; “Not yet.” He licked her earlobe. “I said all over.”

  With languorous slowness, his lips trailed down her body, kissing her neck, her breasts, her belly. Lydia sucked in a breath as he progressed downward. Was he…? Then he unfastened her garter, sliding down her stocking to kiss her bare leg. She shuddered beneath him as he moved to give the other the same attention. Now she was completely naked.

  Again Vincent’s hands caressed her bare hips, then suddenly clamped down hard as his tongue plunged into her hot center.

  Lydia cried out at the intense sensation and tried to struggle. Vincent’s grip was like steel. She had no choice but to submit to his erotic ministrations, squirming beneath him as his lips and tongue explored her female secrets. Her core pulsed. Electric heat flared through her body, obliterating her senses until she could only moan and plead helplessly for release.

  “Vincent, please…” Lydia begged. She wanted him inside her, needed it. She needed to become his, if only for this night.

  After what seemed an eternity of his sweet torture, Vincent pulled away to unfasten his trousers. In mute awe, she stared as his erection sprang free. Then, his body covered hers once more. This time, there were no barriers, and she could feel his hot, hard length against her.

  His eyes were like the turbulent sea as he whispered against her lips. “You are mine.”

  The words weren’t a question. “Yes.”

  With a growl of triumph, Vincent plunged inside her in one smooth thrust, swallowing Lydia’s surprised gasp with his kiss. A momentary pain ebbed as his arms encircled her.

  The world vanished, leaving only the two of them, now one. She could feel him trembling in her arms, keeping his strength in check, allowing her body to accommodate him. She could feel his heart pounding in tandem with hers.

  Unbidden, her hips moved, finding a rhythm. Primal instinct took over, and her back arched in pleasure as he moved within her. The pleasure built and built, ascending into heights that would surely drive her to madness.

  “Yes, Lydia,” Vincent said roughly. “Let it come.”

  He thrust even deeper, and suddenly her universe exploded into particles of undulating light. With a feral growl, he bit her neck, shuddering in her arms as he reached his own climax. The sharp pain nearly brought her back to reality…then the feel of him pulsing inside her sent her back over the edge.

  For the longest time, they lay silent and trembling in each other’s arms. Gently, Vincent kissed the place on her throat where he had bitten her, as if in apology. Then he pushed himself up on his elbows and stared at her, tracing her cheek with his finger.

  “My God,” he whispered. It seemed he was going to say more, then he withdrew from her and rose from the bed to put his clothes back on.

  Lydia wanted to beg him to remain with her, but she was too overwhelmed to speak. Mournfully, she watched him cover up his delicious body with his rumpled shirt and trousers.

  The click of his boots on the wood floor was like a clock ticking away their final moments together.

  “I will send Miss Hobson with the carriage to bring you home tomorrow afternoon.” He came back to the bed and gazed at her once more, as if committing the sight of her to memory. His lips claimed hers with finality, rife with passion.

  Lydia moaned in protest as he broke away. She failed to sway him.

  “You should sleep now.”

  Her body obeyed his command. Against her will, her lids fell heavily as he walked out of the room. It was over.

  Twenty-one

  “Dear God, what have I done?” Vincent whispered to the empty London streets.

  Not only had he allowed his own ward to seduce him, he had bitten her as well. Ah, but her blood had tasted so sweet, so potent. Once his fangs plunged into her delicate throat, it was all he could do to take only a little. And when their lovemaking finished, every cell of his being cried out to take her again and again. Vincent had to use every vestige of his will to hypnotize Lydia and walk out of that room.

  “Please, if only for this night,” she had begged.

  What a fool he had been to believe that such a thing would be possible. After this night, after having her in his arms, touching her and tasting her, there was no way Vincent could let her go. And absolutely no possibility that he could bear the thought of Lydia giving herself to another man.

  A wandering cutpurse crossed Vincent’s path. He seized his victim swiftly, feeding as quickly as possible. The blood was impotent and flavorless compared to Lydia’s intoxicating nectar.

  The feeding cleared his head enough for him to realize that he needed to take some time and seriously consider what to do with Lydia. She was no longer a virgin. He had ruined her.

  Could he marry her, keep her for a few years? He frowned. It would only be a matter of time before she realized he didn’t age. What then? He would have to leave her and watch over her covertly…and see her slowly grow older and die. And what if she discovered his secret? What if she learned what she’d taken to her bed?

  Vincent cursed as further implications occurred to him. The Elders forbade mortals knowing of vampires. If Lydia knew the truth, they’d either order her to be killed or, possibly, Changed.

  He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall of a vacant shop. For once, he allowed himself to picture Lydia as a vampire…spending eternity by her side. A selfish part of his being reveled at the prospect. However, Vincent’s practical side intervened. Even if he had the permission of the Elders to Change Lydia, he would first have to tell her the truth, confess that he was a monster. And grant her the choice to become one.

  And what then? Would she be frightened or overcome with revulsion? Or…what if she agreed, only to go mad shortly after the Change, like the Siddons sisters? Hell, such had very nearly been his fate. In either case, Vincent would lose her just as surely as if he continued with his original plan to marry her off. Only, in this case, she would end up despising him.

  Vincent sighed and headed back to his town house. He could not return to Lydia this night. His capacity to resist her had completely dissipated. His mind raced with thousands of potential outcomes.

  Two facts stood out clearly in his mind. The first was that he loved Lydia. The second was that he’d ruined her. There was no other choice but to marry her.

  His mind tamped down his heart’s rejoicing. There were arrangements to be made.

  ***

  Back at Vincent’s town house, Lydia spent the entire next afternoon thinking. By nightfall, she had come to a decision. If she couldn’t have Vincent, she would have no one. It would be better to remain a spinster than to live a lie married to someone else. She couldn’t bear the thought of sharing a bed with another man while longing for Vincent. It wouldn’t be fair to her husband, either. She rubbed the place on her neck where he had bitten her in their lovemaking, surprised that there was no bruising or redness. There had been a moment when she could have sworn his teeth had penetrated her skin. It was just as well, for she would have disgraced herself and her guardian if evidence of their transgression were visible.

  When she heard the front door open and Vincent’s footsteps on the stairs, she took a deep breath and gathered her will to confront him. Lydia opened the library door and slowly walked down the hall, mindful of the dull ache between her thighs from Vincent’s lovemaking.

  Miss Hobson’s voice broke through the memory. “Lord Deveril, I need to speak with you.”

  Lydia ducked around the corner before the chaperone spotted her. Miss Hobson had been suspicious enough when she had brought her home from Burnrath House this morning. If she glimpsed Lydia’s flushed face now, she might guess what had transpired last night.

  “Very well,” Vincent replied, sounding tired and irritated. Had he slept as little as she had? “Come to my study.”

  Miss Hobson’s brisk steps sounded behind the earl’s as she followed h
im down the opposite end of the hall. “I must admit, the night at Burnrath House must have done Miss Price some good. She was terribly pale after the, ah, incident with Miss Georgiana last evening, and today her color has improved.”

  Lydia bit back a laugh and crept closer, curious to hear Vincent’s reply. The study door was closed, though she heard him cough in obvious discomfort.

  “Ah, well, the duchess has taken her under her wing.” A hint of sarcasm laced his tone. “Now what is it you wanted to discuss?”

  Lydia quietly pressed her ear to the door, hearing the scrape of a chair and a rustle of petticoats as Miss Hobson sat.

  “We have not yet had an opportunity to talk about Miss Georgiana’s scandalous visit,” the chaperone began in a scolding tone. “I believe Her Grace was correct in her speculation that Lady Morley contrived the whole thing.” Her voice lowered. “I also believe the dowager is fully determined to win this competition. We must plan our next move.”

  Competition? Lydia sucked in a breath. Surely she could not mean…

  “Yes, I have already considered that,” Vincent said with painful indifference. “And I am reconsidering one of the possible suitors you had in mind.” The cheery way in which he said the last was like a slap in the face.

  Vincent was in a competition with Lady Morley. Lydia and Georgiana were merely game pieces. She’d been nothing but a pawn to him. That was why he was in such a hurry to marry her off to someone else. Lydia had heard enough. Searing pain tore through her heart as the universe collapsed around her.

  Last night she had given herself to him, allowed him to use her! Agonized panic washed over her mind as she struggled to breathe. She needed to get out. Her chest tight, and eyes burning, she quietly made her way down the stairs, quickening her pace with every step while the walls seemed to close in on her.