Her face fell, hurt emanating from her in tangible waves that awakened an emotion in him that was all too familiar. Guilt.
“Where was that rule a few minutes ago when you were touching an elite vampire rather intimately?” she countered and he commended her on having the courage to stand up to him.
“A momentary lapse in good sense.” His words drew a dark glare from her.
Her lips compressed into a thin line and her jaw tensed. Hurt became anger, flowing over him, whispering of her desire to strike him. His guard went up automatically, fingers curling into fists in readiness to stop her should she attempt an attack. He doubted that she would.
He had only stated a fact. He had lost control for a brief moment and suddenly he had been on stage, staring down at her backside and his fingers as they plunged deep into her heat. Beautifully deep. His focus switched to his right hand, to the fingers that had plundered her. She had felt so good around him, warm and wet, body milking him. His cock twitched and hardened again.
It was not going to happen. The quicker his body got that message the better. His eyes shifted downwards and the reminder that she was stark naked and stood only a few feet from him was an unwelcome one. He was back to square one. So hard in his trousers that it hurt and he knew she would notice the way his cock tented the black material. Denying his desire for her seemed pointless when she could see the evidence of it for herself.
He could perform with her. It would be so easy, and so damn sweet. Who was he fooling? If she bent over right now, he would have a difficult time convincing himself not to pull out his erection and thrust it deep into her welcoming body. He wanted to be inside her, sheathed to the hilt as his fingers had been. Pumping. Pounding. Finding release with her and hearing her scream his name as he brought her to climax again.
He couldn’t do this. He didn’t want it. It had hurt too much last time and he had learned his lesson. Love was a fickle bitch and, to avoid the suffering he had endured, he had vowed to avoid all interaction with women. That vow of celibacy had lasted close to three centuries. His rigid control over his desires and needs had held firm. It had stood up to countless advances from aristocrat females. Why had it failed him now?
Sera blinked slowly, the fire in her green eyes still burning brightly, telling him that she wasn’t going to give up. She was going to get her way whether he liked it or not. He had to admire her spirit. Most women gave up on him quickly, as soon as he spoke and said something that they didn’t like to hear. Sera had taken several verbal blows and was still standing, still holding her ground and refusing to surrender. She was beautiful. Like a goddess of war as she stood there unashamed of her nude state, her golden wavy hair curled around her tipped-back shoulders and her gaze defiant in the way it held his, silently challenging him to try to make her leave. All she needed was a golden chariot and a spear and she would be a vision worthy of a painting. He would definitely hang such a canvas in his office and would likely spend the entire night just staring at it, fascinated and mesmerised by her.
She stalked towards him, so confident now, the glint in her eyes telling him that she had seen his desire, his attraction, in his gaze and that she knew he couldn’t hold out against her. His defences were weak where she was concerned. Her green gaze dropped to his trousers and then she smiled into his eyes, her silent thoughts coming through loud and clear, as though she had projected them into his mind. She had noticed the hard-on that he was sporting and she was willing to make it go away, to satisfy his every whim and need. Devil, he wanted that. He wanted it with a ferocity that startled him.
Antoine backed off.
“I am not interested,” he said but it sounded feeble even to him.
Victory flashed in his goddess’s eyes.
“Is there room in your show for real seduction, Antoine?” she husked and the way she spoke his name rent the barricade that had kept the flames of his passion banked for so many centuries.
Sparks broke through, igniting his blood and threatening to turn his control to ash. She bit the tip of her index finger, revealing the barest hint of fang, and his heart smashed against his chest. Fire consumed him then, the thought of her biting him and of biting her fanning it into an inferno that incinerated everything in its path. Blood. Fangs. Two very bad things. His claws extended and pressed into his palms, spilling the scent of his own blood. He wanted to taste it. His hands shook. He wanted to taste her.
No.
That he couldn’t allow. Never. It was too dangerous.
“Is there room for a woman who could take a man and change his no to a yes?” Sera ran her hand down his chest, her eyes on his. She had to see the danger in them, the red obliterating the blue, the warning to keep away from him or risk the consequences of his terrible hunger. It ran in his blood, tainting it, whispering words of sweet release to him, of feeding until he had quenched his thirst and then continuing.