Dark Deception: A Vampire Romance (Vampire Royals of New York Book 1)

by Sarah Piper

  He sucked her clit between his lips, gently grazing it with his teeth.

  “Right there,” she whispered frantically. “God, that’s so… yes!”

  He pulled back, blowing another soft breath between her thighs. She squirmed and struggled with the sash around her wrists, but here in the forbidden closet, hands bound, one leg draped over his shoulder, there was nothing for her to do but submit, relinquishing control of her pleasure to a man who could—in less time than it took her heart to pump another course of blood through her body—sink his fangs into her femoral artery and suck her dry.

  “Don’t tease me,” she begged, the sweet seduction of her voice bringing him back from that dangerous edge. “I’m so close.”

  “Your mouth says one thing, but…” Dorian slipped his fingers inside her with a long, deep stroke. “I think you like being teased, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  “But if you want me to stop…” He pulled his fingers out, hovering near her entrance.

  “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. You’re making me fucking crazy, but I love it.”

  “Good girl.” He plunged into her again, stroking her with his fingers while he licked the hot, swollen nub of her clit, pulling back each time she got too close to ecstasy.

  When he finally sensed she couldn’t endure another moment of his torture, he stopped his teasing and kissed her madly, fucking her with his mouth, harder, faster, deeper as he pushed her to the very edge.

  And then, right over it.

  “Fucking hell!” she breathed, her voice a desperate whisper, making Dorian regret not telling her his name. What he wouldn’t give to hear it now, rushing out with her last, gasping breaths as her hips bucked wildly against his face, her whole body humming with euphoria.

  Dorian had given her the ultimatum in hopes of maintaining the tenuous hold on his control, but now he was absolutely drunk on the woman, quickly falling under whatever spell she’d intended on casting when he caught her in the study. Maybe all she wanted was his wallet, his passport, the keys to Ravenswood—hell, maybe she was a hunter, stake at the ready, but Dorian didn’t care. Right now, all that mattered was the taste. The feel. The promise of what came next.

  The clock was ticking on their last secluded moments—Dorian knew they didn’t have much time. But he wasn’t ready to let her go. How could he say goodbye without knowing how it felt to be inside her, to drive her over the edge again as he fell right along with her? He’d gotten his taste, but now his cock was more than ready, desperate to ruin her for anyone else.

  She was still buzzing from the orgasm when he rose from the floor, kissing his way from her thighs to her hips, her belly, her breasts. Through the lace of her bra, he scraped his teeth against her nipple, and then bit gently, unleashing another moan of pleasure.

  “Untie me,” she said. “Please. I need to touch you.”

  He unbound her wrists, and she pressed a hand to the front of his suit pants, palming his cock. Dorian’s breath caught, his own heart banging as wildly as hers. As she fumbled with his belt buckle, he reached behind her and unhooked her bra, freeing her firm, perfect breasts and sucking a nipple into his mouth. Her skin was so smooth and soft, like warm velvet beneath his stubbled jaw, and bloody hell he needed to be inside her—right fucking now.

  “I should probably warn you.” He slid his hand between her thighs, stroking her slick heat. “I’m going to fuck you now.”

  “Then I should probably warn you.” The woman reached inside his boxers and gripped him hard, then leaned in close, her words a hot rush in his ear. “I like it rough. Don’t you dare disappoint me.”

  Dorian sputtered out a laugh. Who was this woman? Every time he thought he’d regained the upper hand, she swept in with another feisty remark, another touch, another dare that knocked him off-balance and made it more unlikely that he’d let her go.

  He was about to assure her he’d be glad to accommodate, when a noise beyond the closet door cut him off, and suddenly the world went stark white, their dark hideaway flooded with harsh, accusatory light.

  “You gotta be kidding me.” The security guard stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob, the other on his cell. Shooting them a look that could cut glass, he spoke brusquely into the phone. “False alarm, sir. We’re good.”

  Dorian shifted to block his woman’s nakedness from view.

  “You wanna tell me what the hell you’re doin’ in here?” The guard spoke with a thick Brooklyn-Italian accent, and Dorian couldn’t decipher whether he was angry, shocked, or seriously entertained—maybe a bit of all three. “You didn’t see them big-ass ropes? This room is off-limits.”

  “My apologies,” Dorian said, hoping he wouldn’t have to compel the man in front of his guest. “If you’ll allow me to explain—”

  “Pretty sure I don’t need a diagram, sir.”

  “We were just working through some differences,” the woman said, peeking her head out from behind Dorian’s shoulder. “About the Whitfield painting? I don’t know if you saw the big showdown, but things got pretty heated.”

  He barked out a laugh. “Lady, I’ve seen some freaky shit at this job, but you two are a real piece.”

  “I suppose we got a bit carried away,” Dorian said. “My wife can be quite…” He inhaled deeply, taking in her heady scent as he sought the right word. “…insatiable.”

  “I don’t care if she’s dying and the only thing that can save her is regular injections of your gold-plated dick.” He bent down to pick up the woman’s purse and the dress Dorian had unceremoniously dropped outside the door, then handed them over. “You can’t come past the ropes, capisce?”

  “Of course.” Dorian bit back a grin at the image of his so-called gold-plated dick. “From now on, I’ll make sure she knows exactly where she can come.”

  Behind him, the woman snickered softly, but the guard was less than amused.

  “Get dressed and hang up those coats. Now.” He slammed the door shut, giving them a few final moments of privacy.

  Bathed again in darkness, Dorian and his woman could only laugh.

  “I knew you’d get me into trouble,” he whispered, holding out an arm to steady her as she stepped into the dress.

  “Me? You’re the one who dragged me into the closet and—”

  “And what?” He zipped her up and pulled her close again, his hand dipping up under the dress, right between her thighs.

  It was his new favorite place, and he wasn’t quite ready to leave it.

  “And touched me,” she whispered.

  “Did I?” He ran a feather-light finger along her clit, then slipped inside. She was still so wet for him, so eager. “If this was my penthouse, I’d have you tied up and spread out on my bed by now. No interruptions. No company.” He ran his nose along the elegant slope of her neck, nipping her shoulder. “No escape.”

  The woman gasped, her legs quaking again as he pumped her with slow, deliberate thrusts. The guard was certainly standing right outside the door, but Dorian suspected his woman didn’t care, and for the moment, neither did he.

  “We’ve got fifteen seconds, maybe thirty before he opens that door again,” he whispered. “Can you come for me that quickly?”

  He thrust in deeper, thumb rubbing her clit. She opened her mouth to moan, to scream, to let it all out, but he silenced her with a kiss, stealing her breath as he coaxed a final, epic wave from her beautiful body, holding her through the very last tremor.

  When they finally opened the closet door, they were the very picture of composure.

  “Christ, mister.” The guard eyed them warily as they stepped into the study. “You drop three large on a painting of wet fuckin’ grass, and you can’t afford to take your wife somewhere nice?”

  “Maybe for our next date.” Dorian slipped his arm around the woman’s waist, guiding her out of the study and into the hallway.

  The guard followed. “A hotel? There’s lots of ‘em in this city. Real fancy o
nes too.”

  “Good call,” he said.

  “Maybe a cruise? Ladies love that shit.”

  “Thank you for your input.”

  “Anytime,” the guard said. They’d reached the foyer, and he punched the button to call up the elevator, then turned to them with a threatening smile. “Now get the fuck outta here. And have a lovely evening.”

  Chapter Ten

  Reeling. That was the only word for it.

  Charley’s head was as hot and floaty as a helium balloon, the rest of her body still vibrating from all the things he’d done to her with that sexy, filthy mouth.

  Good lord, that man had a gift.

  She was weak, she was wet, but even as the elevator doors closed, cutting them off from the guard’s punishing glare, Charley couldn’t stop laughing.

  “Did that just happen?” she asked. “Did we seriously get kicked out of a private auction like a couple of kids caught stealing booze?”

  “Fughettaboutit, lady. This ain’t a hotel.” Her man scowled, doing a terrible job impersonating the security guard’s Brooklyn accent, sending Charley into another laughing fit.

  They cracked up the entire ride to the ground level, all the way through the lobby, and out onto the sidewalk, where they nearly collided with a hot-dog cart.

  “Could this night get any more perfect?” The man spread his hands like he was receiving a blessing, some divine intervention raining down upon them from the cart’s red-and-yellow umbrellas. “Tell me you’re hungry, and tell me you like hot dogs.”

  Charley hesitated, but the auction wasn’t set to end for another hour at least; she still had some breathing room before Rudy returned to pick her up.

  With a wide smile, she said, “Starving, and I love them, obviously.”

  “Then allow me to buy you dinner.”

  “Dinner? Sounds an awful lot like a real date.”

  “Surely the security guard would approve.”

  “Well, it’s not a cruise by any stretch, but I do love a good hot dog.”

  “Somehow, I knew that about you.” The man turned to the vendor and ordered sodas and two jumbo dogs, hold the onions, just how Charley liked them.

  Dinner in hand, they crossed Central Park West and headed into the park, leaving the incessant hum of traffic for the calming whispers of stately trees and the murmurs of pedestrian traffic buzzing through the park. At the Strawberry Fields memorial, they found a bench across from a young musician working on a Led Zeppelin cover.

  “Tell me,” she said to her companion as he wolfed down his hot dog, “how does a proper English fellow like yourself go from dropping three million dollars on a painting of wet fuckin’ grass to eating a dirty-water dog on a bird-shit covered bench with me?”

  “Charmed life, I guess.” He blotted his mouth with a napkin, then flashed his panty-melting grin. “But you left out the whole middle part of your story, love.”

  “Oh? Which part was that?” She took a bite of her dog, wrapping her lips around the end of it.

  “Yes, exactly that part,” he whispered.

  “You’re the one that left something out. Of me.”

  “And they say it’s gold-plated, besides.”

  “Alas, I’ll never know.”

  He leaned in close, lips buzzing her ear. “I can fix that right now.”

  Charley shivered, a new hum settling into her core. Everything felt so much more intense without her underwear, and between her thighs was a pool of liquid heat, her body still aching for his final undelivered promise.

  I’m going to fuck you now…

  “Not at the dinner table.” She shoved in another bite of hot dog to avoid saying something she shouldn’t. Something like, What was that you said about taking me home to your penthouse and tying me to the bed?

  After dinner, she dropped a few bills into the singer’s guitar case, then they wandered further along the paved path, snaking deep into the park. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves overhead, the night air cool and refreshing on Charley’s bare shoulders. It was late September, when the sweltering city nights transitioned to damn near perfect, and the park was full of people—couples on dates, bike riders, street performers. At eight o’clock in New York, the evening was still young, and she was grateful to get a glimpse of it.

  But as much as she’d enjoyed the spontaneous turn of events, it wasn’t long before Charley had exhausted the safe topics of conversation. She still wouldn’t reveal her name or allow him to reveal his. And she certainly wasn’t going to invent some intricate story about her family or the perfect, big-city childhood she’d never had.

  In her experience, it was better to keep quiet then to lie.

  Eventually, silence fell between them, and her someday life whispered in her ear, reminding her of everything she was missing out on. Charley closed her eyes, and images of what this moment could’ve been like flickered across her lids. Ridiculous as it was to project these feelings onto a total stranger, she couldn’t help them; suddenly, she wished she belonged to him. That they already knew each other’s stories, that their histories were intertwined long ago. That they always shared hot dogs and listened to musicians in the park on Sundays, and then they went home together, fed the dog, put on their favorite jazz playlist, and had deliciously naughty sex all night long.

  No interruptions. No secrets. No lies.

  But that fantasy was even crazier than the one that had started this thing.

  There’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here, fucking a hot stranger in the study…

  The breeze picked up, and Charley opened her eyes, rubbing a new chill from her arms.

  She hadn’t seen him slipping out of his suit jacket, but suddenly he draped it over her shoulders, the soft wool wrapping her in a comforting hug, his delicious, masculine scent swirling around her head, setting the butterflies loose in her stomach again. He slid his hand beneath her hair, gently squeezing the back of her neck, and God what Charley wouldn’t have given to linger in this fantasy all night long.

  But even with his tender touches, Charley felt the distance growing between them, the walls rising up around her heart. Her body still longed for his touch, and whenever she glanced his way, she found the same look in his eyes—dark and sensual, wondering if they might pick up where they left off in the closet. But she never should’ve let it go that far in the first place. It was a bad idea, and bad ideas usually lead to worse ones.

  Deadly ones.

  She hated cutting the evening short when it still had so much potential, but for now, with no foreseeable way out of the life she’d inherited, she didn’t have a choice. People could get hurt. Sasha could get hurt.

  They’d wandered into a secluded area of the park, and now Charley stopped beside a massive red oak tree and turned to face him, sliding her hands over his broad shoulders. He looked at her curiously, a playful question lingering in his eyes.

  Where do we go from here?

  In that moment, a new weight settled on her heart.

  Regret.

  “Thank you for… for an interesting evening,” she finally said, breaking the spell. She gazed into those honey-brown eyes, unable to look away. Even more than the things he’d done to her in the study, she wanted to remember those eyes, remember him gazing at her with smoldering, unchecked desire even as he must’ve sensed their inevitable end. “You were right—I won’t be able to look at a painting again without remembering tonight. Not even in an art history book.”

  He gave a slight bow. “In all things, I’m a man of my word.”

  “I do believe you’ve changed my mind about these events, Stranger.”

  “Likewise, my troublesome, insatiable wife.” His golden eyes sparkled, and he took her face between his palms and kissed her deeply, both of them savoring the sweet intensity.

  God, they’d been so good together…

  No.

  Charley wasn’t one for long goodbyes—she didn’t even like the word. Instead, she broke their kiss, offered on
e last smile, and turned away from him, intending to find her way back to the penthouse to look for Rudy. But before she could take another step, he grabbed her wrist and hauled her close again, pinning her against his broad chest.

  The look in his eyes was no longer sparkling and playful, but dominant and possessive, setting her insides ablaze.

  “Come home with me tonight,” he demanded. And that’s exactly what it was. Not a request or an invitation, but a demand.

  Charley’s thighs clenched.

  “I promise I’ll be a very, very good boy,” the man said, pressing his lips to her neck.

  “That doesn’t sound like fun at all.”

  “I was being a gentleman.” He moved up to her ear, leaving a trail of fiery kisses on her skin. “I don’t think you’re ready to see my bad side.”

  Fuck. Charley was so ready to see his bad side—especially after he’d so expertly tapped into hers. With every kiss, every hot swirl of breath, her resolve was cracking…

  The image of a shipwreck flashed through her mind, and she remembered the von Hausen hanging above the fireplace—a cold, harsh reminder that she wasn’t allowed to give in. To let her guard down. To turn a momentary lapse in judgment into an epic disaster.

  “Enticing as your offer sounds,” she said, pulling back, “I really can’t. I’m sorry.”

  And she was, too. More than he’d ever know.

  He held her gaze for an eternity, the wheels spinning behind his eyes. “No.”

  “No?”

  Cupping her face, he dragged a thumb across her lower lip, his eyelids weighted with desire. “I’m sorry, love. But I’m far from finished with you.”

  Her knees weakened, her lungs struggling to take in enough air. Never before had she felt such a palpable battle between the angel and the devil on her shoulders, each one making its own extremely compelling case.

  The man ran his other hand down her back, pulling her even closer, the hard steel at her belly confirming his words.

  He was far from finished with her.

  He opened his mouth to speak again, and Charley knew that whatever he said next, she’d accept. Go home with him, strip off her clothes and take their chances right there in the park, anything. He was a drug to which she’d quickly become addicted, and despite the warnings blasting alarm bells in her head, she couldn’t walk away now.