by Sarah Piper
“That makes two of us.”
“We’re practically fugitives.”
“The opposite of party crashers.”
“Party dodgers.” Charlotte laughed, the music of it stirring something deep within him. “My dad used to say I was the easiest teenager ever. He never had to worry about me sneaking off to parties. I spent my weekends flipping through art history books and—”
Dorian’s mouth was on hers in a blink, silencing her as he took her into his arms. Even as he’d followed her upstairs, watching from the shadows as she snuck into the first bedroom, he’d wanted to kiss her.
She sighed in his embrace, nipples erect beneath the dress, and when she finally parted her lips and allowed him to deepen their kiss, all the awkwardness evaporated, bringing them right back to those precious, stolen moments in the Salvatore closet.
By the time they broke for air, her eyes were large and glassy, lipstick smeared across her mouth like blood. The sight sent a dark thrill through Dorian’s heart.
He ran his thumb along her lower lip, and Charlotte opened her mouth. Her teeth scraped his skin as he slid into the soft, wet heat, his cock straining against his pants.
The remembered scent of fresh blood rose anew.
He wanted to bite her.
He wanted to feed.
Slowly, he drew his thumb from her mouth and dragged it down her chin, down her throat, wrapping a hand around her delicate neck.
He could compel her to remain absolutely still. To tilt her head and offer the vein, welcoming the bite as readily as she’d welcomed his mouth against her flesh in that closet…
Forty-nine years, one month, and sixteen days.
That was the last time Dorian had fed on a live human. Since that fateful meal, he’d spent his days and nights burying his innate desires so deeply, he’d sworn nothing could unearth them again.
And yet…
Dorian closed his eyes, fangs burning through the gums, desperate for a taste of her sweet, seductive blood. More than the velvet touch of her tongue, more than her soft, breathy moans, the very thought of feeding on her broke through nearly every wall he’d erected over those dangerous desires.
He was holding on by a gossamer thread. One wrong move, and it would snap.
“What are you thinking about?” she whispered, breath warm on his lips, pulse strong and steady beneath his grip.
Taste me, it whispered in time with her heartbeat. Taste me, I’m yours.
Taste me…
Taste me…
“All the filthy, beautiful things I want to do to you,” he said, his voice thick as he sank deeper into his own depravity. He still hadn’t opened his eyes, and now, all he could see behind them was blood.
Blood, glittering against her neck like fresh berries in a bowl of cream.
Blood, running along the edges of her collarbone, pooling in the hollow of her throat.
Blood, coating his lips and tongue as he licked it from her flesh, savoring every drop…
Don’t do this, Redthorne. Fight it, or she’ll die…
The thought sobered him just enough to allow him to speak again.
“And you?” he asked, his words no more than a whisper in the darkness. “What are you thinking about, love? Tell me. Please tell me.”
Distract me from the thought of sinking my fangs into your flesh and bleeding you dry…
“I’d much rather show you, Mr. Redthorne. If you’re into watching.”
Dorian opened his eyes just in time to catch her wicked grin, and then his crazy, mysterious, reckless as hell woman dropped to her knees.
In a single, fluid motion she unfastened his pants and freed his stiff cock, grasping it in her firm hands, warm beneath the satin gloves.
Her touch was fucking incredible.
And just the distraction he needed.
“I’m definitely into watching.” He slid his hands into her thick, silky hair. “Show me.”
She released him just long enough to try to remove the gloves, but Dorian stopped her.
“Leave them,” he ordered.
“If you insist, Mr. Redthorne.” Fisting the base of his cock again, Charlotte glanced up at him and brought her mouth closer, tongue darting out to tease the tip with a slow, maddening circle.
Every time Dorian thought he had the upper hand, she shattered him. Her laugh, her touch, her devious eyes, her mouth…
Screw his power games, screw his control. He’d given most of it up the moment she’d stepped inside Ravenswood Manor. She wasn’t here for the fundraiser—that much was certain—and Dorian didn’t know how much longer either of them could continue this game of make-believe. But for now, Charlotte was his again, gift-wrapped in satin and secrets, just like before.
Her eyes fluttered closed as she took him in deeper, moaning against his flesh.
“Fucking hell, Charlotte,” he breathed. “You’re out to ruin me.”
She pulled back, dragging her tongue along his shaft, breath hot on his skin. With another smoldering gaze, she looked up and said, “I don’t want to ruin you. I want to taste you.”
He almost came right there.
“Turnabout is fair play,” she teased, then closed her lips again, sucking him into a state of sheer euphoria.
Desperate to regain even a fraction of control, he knotted his fingers into her hair and guided her into a perfect rhythm, fucking her hot mouth, thrusting as deep as he dared. But Charlotte wasn’t ready to give up so easily. She reached behind him and cupped his ass, driving him in even deeper.
Harder.
Faster.
She glanced up again, her eyes alight with some new challenge, those blood-red lips wrapped around his cock, her tongue swirling against his flesh.
In that moment, Dorian utterly lost it. All of it. His control. His composure. His mind.
He tried to pull back, but she only sucked harder, determined to do it her way.
His hands tightened in her hair, and she moaned again, the sound vibrating straight to his balls.
That was all it took.
His orgasm exploded, spilling in a hot torrent down her throat, his legs shaking, his growl as feral as the wolves that roamed the woods beyond.
Charlotte slid his cock out of her mouth and swallowed, a mischievous grin lighting up her face.
Dorian finally released her hair, and she got to her feet, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. Her cheeks were dark, her lips swollen, her hair wild, and she’d never looked more beautiful. More alive.
Glancing at the door, she said, “We should probably clean up and get back to the party before anyone notices we’re missing.”
“Nice try. Did you honestly think I’d let you escape?” Sliding his arms around her waist, he found the zipper at the back of her dress and tugged it down, tracing the path of her freshly bared skin. “Before I’ve had a chance to show you all the hot, dirty things I’ve been dreaming about?”
The dress slid off her shoulders, pooling around her hips like black water. Dorian lowered his mouth to her breast, tonguing her nipple through the red lace of her bra while his fingers slipped down the front of her panties.
She was wet with desire, smooth and slippery beneath his touch.
“What if someone comes?” she asked, gripping his arms.
“Oh, someone will come. You.”
“But this house—”
“Is mine,” he said, realizing in that moment she didn’t know. She’d come to the fundraiser with no clue about its host—another red flag Dorian tucked away for later examination.
Right now, he had better things to do.
“No one will enter unless I command it,” he said, nipping at her earlobe. “No one will come to your aid.” Then, in a low, dark whisper, “You aren’t leaving here until I’ve got you dripping wet, trembling, and screaming for mercy. Understood?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
In that moment, here’s what Charley understood.
One? The real Charley, behi
nd all the art-world glamour, was wild and reckless.
Two? The real Charley was borderline stupid.
Three? She was already more than halfway to fulfilling Dorian’s dirty promises. Wet and trembling? Check and check.
Four? Alone in the guest house, away from the crush of the party, she couldn’t wait to scream for him.
But… five… Despite the fact that she was still coming down from the high of that blow job—the smooth perfection of his cock, the sheer power that had coursed through her veins as she brought him to ecstasy—a new alarm sounded in her head.
It was faint and fuzzy, struggling to find its way through the electric buzz, but it was real.
Heat pooled in her stomach with a twist of fear that had nothing to do with Dorian’s punishing hands.
What did he say about the house?
Charley shut her eyes, but she couldn’t focus, thoughts slipping away as he teased her with deft strokes, tongue hot on her nipple.
“God, you’re… so good,” she breathed, her nerves singing for more.
Still, the warning in her head continued to gnaw.
To gnaw and gnaw and fucking gnaw, until it finally made a crack big enough for the truth to slip in.
The house… is mine…
“Relax, love,” Dorian murmured, flattening his palm against her clit as he dipped a finger inside, another one fluttering behind it, teasing her backdoor until she was panting for so much more.
No one will enter unless I command it…
Wait. Had he meant…
No. She must’ve misheard.
Swatting away her thoughts like gnats, Charley let out a breath, sinking into the decadence of his touch.
Dorian slid a hand up her spine, then cupped the back of her neck, his fingers moving faster inside her, the pressure of his palm so perfect, her core was already tightening in anticipation of the release building inside.
“You are always so wet for me. So…” He slid in deeper and curled his finger, making her gasp. “…ready.”
But God, those annoying thoughts would not leave her alone.
“Dorian… the house… it’s…”
Her words fell away as he captured her mouth in another deep kiss, his low moan of pleasure bringing her closer to the edge even as her adrenaline spiked.
What are you doing, Charley? Danger! Danger! Retreat!
Instead of retreating, her body arched into his touch, urging him deeper, breath ragged as he thrust inside, faster and faster.
The fear coursing through her veins mingled with the sheer pleasure Dorian was unlocking. She was out of her mind, completely at his mercy.
The house, she thought, wrapping her hands around his shoulders. It can’t be his. Not Dorian’s…
“That’s it,” he said, his voice like liquid silk as he moved in for the kill, slow, then fast. “Focus on my touch.”
“Dorian, I… God.” Her thighs tightened, the now-familiar heat cresting between them.
“Come for me, Charlotte.”
“Fuck, yes!” The wave crashed, but Dorian didn’t stop there. He plunged deeper, harder, pushing the first pulse of her release into a second one, bigger and more intense, unleashing a scream that refused to be contained, refused to be tamed.
Just like he’d promised.
And then, as she spasmed through the very end of it, Dorian’s earlier words crashed through all the ecstasy, all the layers of denial with a sharp clarity she could no longer ignore.
The house… is mine…
Dorian Redthorne, the man who’d brought her to the edge with every blissful stroke, who’d awakened her long-buried fantasies, who’d made her feel wanted in ways she never thought possible… was the host of tonight’s thousand-dollars-a-head fundraiser.
Otherwise known as her mark.
“This is your home?” she finally managed, opening her eyes. “You live here?”
God, she hated the desperation in her voice, but her blood was turning cold, her body going rigid with panic.
“Mmm.” He nuzzled her neck, inhaling her scent. “Welcome to Ravenswood, love. Now tell me…” He kissed his way north, moving to her ear with a long, hot sigh. “What’s got you so frightened all of a sudden?”
The whisper passed softly through his lips, caressing Charley’s skin with a gentleness that belied his intensity. With every second that passed, Charley was falling deeper into the web she’d spun around herself.
Soon, she’d have no escape.
She’d known it was coming. Ever since Rudy had seen them together at the Salvatore auction and learned about the Whitfield, Dorian was in his sights.
She just didn’t think it would happen so quickly.
Her brain was flatlining, unable to process it all. But despite the disastrous turn of events, that treacherous little body of hers was still drowning in pleasurable spasms.
“I’m… I’m okay.” Charley let out a long, slow breath, dizzy with lust, even as the crushing reality chipped away at her denial.
“Good. Because that was just an appetizer.”
Charley’s heart skipped, her mouth watering for more.
Dorian Redthorne was pulling apart that sticky web, kiss by kiss, breath by breath, one strand at a time.
With his honey-brown eyes boring into hers, his hand still resting between her aching thighs, Charley was powerless. And that, more than his identity or high-dollar art collection, made him the most dangerous man in her world.
The realization left her more than bare, more than exposed. She felt like she’d turned herself inside out, and it filled her with a sudden restlessness that bordered on mania.
Forcing herself to take a step back, she broke away from his touch and attempted to pull her dress back up.
But Dorian was right there again, sliding his hands around the back of her neck, smothering her with a kiss full of white-hot fire Charley felt deep in her belly, a demanding intensity she couldn’t resist.
When he finally pulled away, his gaze was unrelenting. “Stay the night with me, Charlotte.”
Now, even more than the night of the auction, she wanted to accept. To forget—for one final night—who she really was.
Why she was really here.
Charley burned with guilt. Even at his most commanding, Dorian had shown her nothing but pleasure and kindness.
Looking at her now, awaiting her answer, his eyes held a glimpse of vulnerability—there and gone in a blink.
There has to be another way. We can’t rob this man…
Charley sighed, resting her palm against his perfectly-stubbled cheek. “Dorian, I don’t—”
A loud rap on the front door saved her from answering.
“Redthorne?” a man called. “You in there, you bloody traitor?”
Dorian cursed under his breath.
“I’m busy,” he snapped, but he was already heading for the door.
“Armitage is looking for you,” the man said. His accent was English, like Dorian’s, but less formal. “He thinks you’ve ditched him.”
“I have. Now, if you don’t mind—”
“Actually, I do.”
Charley pulled the dress up and grabbed her purse, heading off in search of a bathroom.
Dorian was clearly annoyed at the interruption, but to Charley, the man’s timing couldn’t have been better.
Now, staring at her stained lips in the bathroom mirror, Charley was truly afraid.
Not of Dorian, but of herself.
How could I be so careless?
She touched her fingers to her lips, the ghost of his kiss making her ache.
That’s how, girl. That is exactly how.
It reminded Charley of a paper Sasha had written for her psychology class. Check this out, Sasha had said, thumbing through her source material over breakfast one morning. Doctors say the line between passion and madness is so thin, the chemical profile of the brain of a person experiencing the early euphoric stages of love is nearly identical to that of a person goi
ng insane.
The girls had joked about it at the time, vowing to stay single and sane for life. But now, thanks to Dorian Redthorne, Charley was beginning to understand exactly what the doctors meant.
She closed her eyes as a sharp pain split her skull, feeling like her brain was fracturing into different people. One wanted nothing more than to finish the job and make a clean break, becoming no more than a distant memory for Dorian. The other wanted to call the police and turn herself in, saving Dorian a whole lot of trouble and heartache in the process.
But there, somewhere in the middle, lived a woman who wanted something different. Something better.
Freedom.
Charley sighed. Right now, that woman needed to stay locked away.
As the men continued their bickering, she cleaned herself up, wove her hopelessly tangled hair in a loose braid, and reapplied her makeup. Finally satisfied, she slid open the bathroom window and stuck her head out, drinking in the cool, misty air. For a hot minute, she considered crawling out like a grounded teenager, but the idea was fleeting. This side of the guest house faced the woods, and beyond the light from the bathroom, there was nothing but blackness.
Any sane, self-preserving person would’ve bolted the minute she’d connected the dots about Dorian. But even if she’d had a ready excuse, Charley couldn’t bail; things were way too volatile with Rudy. Reporting back with no more than a few meager details about the upstairs bedroom would be disastrous—for her and for Sasha.
Charley shuddered at the thought.
Before taking over the operation, Rudy used to be the muscle. Her father had tried to shield her from that side of the business, but he couldn’t protect her forever, and it wasn’t long before Charley started witnessing more violence. At first, she’d told herself it was all part of the territory. That Rudy only hurt the people who screwed them over. That he wouldn’t do it otherwise.
But cruelty quickly became his life’s work, and Rudy was damn good at his job.
Now, the old memories resurfaced.
Rudy, pummeling a man into a permanent coma for lowballing them.
Rudy, slicing up a woman’s face to send a message to her husband.
Rudy, brutally killing the dog of a freelance associate who’d threatened to rat them out after a failed heist.