It didn’t.
I met his gaze. Again, his expression was concerned.
“I think you’ll live,” I said curtly. “These look painful, but in war, these things happen. You’ll barely see the marks tomorrow.”
He sighed, relieved.
I pulled the pants off his legs and removed his socks. God, he even had beautiful feet. My hands traveled back up his muscular legs.
“What the hell is this?” I asked nobody in particular. On my hand was some pink substance. I began to rub it off.
William sat up, out of character. “Ignore it,” he said boldly.
I gritted my teeth. How indignant of him! I opened my mouth to speak when I noticed that his “redness” was peculiarly . . . streaked.
I ran my pointer finger down his left thigh roughly, and sure enough, a little chunk of pink accumulated on my fingertip.
My mouth frowned, and my eyes constricted into slits. “End of scene. Explain,” I growled.
He drew a deep breath and began to speak. “Mistress, I had mentioned to you during our first conversation how I didn’t redden or bruise,” he said, eyes downward and voice barely audible. “I didn’t want to let you down after such a wonderful experience yesterday, so I did whatever I could to please you. I even replaced your blush,” he said, gesturing toward my bathroom.
Apparently, he had used my MAC blush as his “wound.” Expensive taste for costume makeup.
I was furious on so many levels. He lied. He faked an injury. He disobeyed. He used my fucking MAC! Why couldn’t he have used the cheap dollar-store stuff I had in my makeup bag?
I could barely think.
“Dismissed,” my mouth said to the gorgeous, nearly naked man on my bed.
His eyes searched my face, and his mouth moved silently. “Mistress?” he asked, nearly whimpering.
“We’re done for the week. I’ll see you Monday.”
He sat up on his knees, pleading. “If you’re angry, take it out on me, Mistress. Punish me. I’m so sorry. Do with me what you will.”
I shook my head. “I need to actually desire you to do that, William, and right now I’m so upset, I can’t even see straight. Get out of my house, or explain what the hell is going on.”
I laid my cards out on the table, as they say. I was angry, but I required answers. I needed to show him he didn’t deserve to be in my presence, but I also didn’t want to lose him. Once again, I wanted something I didn’t quite have, and I wasn’t ready to compromise myself for him just yet. We had a few incredible scenes, but that wasn’t enough to win my trust or loyalty.
He planted his hands on his thighs, and lifted his head up to me. His voice sounded like it was being sliced with knives. “You already know everything you need to know, Mistress. What I told you, and the words in those diaries . . . they’re all true.”
I breathed in deeply through my nostrils, and spoke with a shaking voice. “Get. Out.”
CHAPTER NINE
Cerise
Of course he was fucking insane. That was my luck, right? Of course the handsomest, most creative and panty-dampening guy I’d met in years was a complete and total whackjob.
A vampire. Great. How long until he tried to “bite” me, or drag me to some Goth club where he and his weirdo friends would drink pig’s blood and wear plastic fangs and cat-eye contact lenses? How long until we were married and had little Goth kids named Caligula and Artery? Fucking weirdo.