wriggled against his erection.
He pulled away, looked into her eyes, and said in a velvet burr, “What would you say if I told you I’d be content to stay like this all night? Holding you in my arms and kissing you.”
“I’d say you’re a silver-tongued devil, my lord,” she answered with a smile, “and a bald-faced liar.”
He grinned broadly. “And you’d be right on both scores.”
She set her head against his chest. His heartbeat was as rapid as hers. “I thought we were going to dance.”
He began to sway, holding her against him. “Isn’t dancing merely a vertical expression of a horizontal desire?”
Who’d said that? Oh, right. Robert Frost. The American poet who famously advised taking the road less traveled.
Stepping back suddenly, Callum let her go, stood tall, raised his left arm, and crooked his right toward her—an invitation to waltz.
“What about music?”
He cocked his head and arched an eyebrow. An invisible orchestra began to play something appropriately Straussian. She stepped into his arms, lifted her right hand to his left, and docked the other firmly against his upper arm. He started to move, sweeping her along in graceful circles.
“You’re very light on your feet,” she remarked as he whisked her masterfully around the floor.
“As are you, my lady.”
The compliment warmed her. Or was it the closeness? Or the exercise? Whatever the reason, it was heady and magical, just like the fairy tales she adored as a child. Her favorites were the ones in which the hero rescued the heroine from some terrible fate—tower prisons, thorn-covered castles, evil queens, fire-breathing dragons, wicked stepmothers, and well-intentioned but neglectful parents.
Then, she grew up and saw the truth. Far from being a magic nostrum, true love, so-called, was a lingering illness, a clash of cold steel, a take-no-prisoners war between Venus and Mars.
Well, she wanted no part of that battle. On her few and far between holidays from boarding school, she’d witnessed enough of her parents’ ugly battles to put her off matrimony permanently.
* * * *
The music stopped and so did Callum. He’d delayed long enough. Time to raise the stakes of their game.
He offered her his hand. As she took it, the contact ignited the smoldering cinders of his lust. Bending over her to level their faces, he captured her mouth with his own.
His ante.
Her tongue glided over his lip as her body moved against his. Her ante, plus a small bump. Seeing her, raising, and adding one of his own, he pulled her to him, welding her body’s heat to his. Her lips parted, inviting his tongue. He gave it to her, sweetening the pot.
The kiss deepened and grew more torrid. She tangled her fingers in his hair as he ran his hands down her back, savoring every luscious inch of her. When he worked his way to her buttocks and squeezed, she rolled her pubic bone against his erection. The pleasure of it was so celestial, his eyes rolled back in his head.
His bet, matched and raised.
He swept his hands upwards to her shoulders and around to her face, trapping her jaw as they devoured each other. He’d almost meant it when he said he’d be content to simply hold and kiss her all night. Kissing her felt as sweet and natural as licking heather honey from the comb. Though there was other honey he’d rather taste right now.
The kiss was escalating in step with his desire. He’d lost track of whose turn it was to bet. He only knew he was all in. Clearly, so was she, given how ardently she was stroking his cock through his trousers. Easing out of the kiss, he nipped and licked her lips as he pulled away. His fangs were descending. He ran his tongue over their sharp points, ready to partake of the next course.
“Come, my lady . ” He pulled her toward the door. “It’s high time I took you to bed.”
* * * *
Feral lust roared to life inside Vanessa as Callum pulled her up the stairs and down the long corridor leading to his
He pulled away, looked into her eyes, and said in a velvet burr, “What would you say if I told you I’d be content to stay like this all night? Holding you in my arms and kissing you.”
“I’d say you’re a silver-tongued devil, my lord,” she answered with a smile, “and a bald-faced liar.”
He grinned broadly. “And you’d be right on both scores.”
She set her head against his chest. His heartbeat was as rapid as hers. “I thought we were going to dance.”
He began to sway, holding her against him. “Isn’t dancing merely a vertical expression of a horizontal desire?”
Who’d said that? Oh, right. Robert Frost. The American poet who famously advised taking the road less traveled.
Stepping back suddenly, Callum let her go, stood tall, raised his left arm, and crooked his right toward her—an invitation to waltz.
“What about music?”
He cocked his head and arched an eyebrow. An invisible orchestra began to play something appropriately Straussian. She stepped into his arms, lifted her right hand to his left, and docked the other firmly against his upper arm. He started to move, sweeping her along in graceful circles.
“You’re very light on your feet,” she remarked as he whisked her masterfully around the floor.
“As are you, my lady.”
The compliment warmed her. Or was it the closeness? Or the exercise? Whatever the reason, it was heady and magical, just like the fairy tales she adored as a child. Her favorites were the ones in which the hero rescued the heroine from some terrible fate—tower prisons, thorn-covered castles, evil queens, fire-breathing dragons, wicked stepmothers, and well-intentioned but neglectful parents.
Then, she grew up and saw the truth. Far from being a magic nostrum, true love, so-called, was a lingering illness, a clash of cold steel, a take-no-prisoners war between Venus and Mars.
Well, she wanted no part of that battle. On her few and far between holidays from boarding school, she’d witnessed enough of her parents’ ugly battles to put her off matrimony permanently.
* * * *
The music stopped and so did Callum. He’d delayed long enough. Time to raise the stakes of their game.
He offered her his hand. As she took it, the contact ignited the smoldering cinders of his lust. Bending over her to level their faces, he captured her mouth with his own.
His ante.
Her tongue glided over his lip as her body moved against his. Her ante, plus a small bump. Seeing her, raising, and adding one of his own, he pulled her to him, welding her body’s heat to his. Her lips parted, inviting his tongue. He gave it to her, sweetening the pot.
The kiss deepened and grew more torrid. She tangled her fingers in his hair as he ran his hands down her back, savoring every luscious inch of her. When he worked his way to her buttocks and squeezed, she rolled her pubic bone against his erection. The pleasure of it was so celestial, his eyes rolled back in his head.
His bet, matched and raised.
He swept his hands upwards to her shoulders and around to her face, trapping her jaw as they devoured each other. He’d almost meant it when he said he’d be content to simply hold and kiss her all night. Kissing her felt as sweet and natural as licking heather honey from the comb. Though there was other honey he’d rather taste right now.
The kiss was escalating in step with his desire. He’d lost track of whose turn it was to bet. He only knew he was all in. Clearly, so was she, given how ardently she was stroking his cock through his trousers. Easing out of the kiss, he nipped and licked her lips as he pulled away. His fangs were descending. He ran his tongue over their sharp points, ready to partake of the next course.
“Come, my lady . ” He pulled her toward the door. “It’s high time I took you to bed.”
* * * *
Feral lust roared to life inside Vanessa as Callum pulled her up the stairs and down the long corridor leading to his
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