Page 15 of Bootleg Love

His mouth follows his hands, trailing kisses down my neck and over my collarbone. I tip my head back, giving him better access, as he licks and nips at my skin. His hand slides down my stomach, reaching the waistband of my pantaloons. He tugs them down, leaving me completely bare before him.

Auguste stands, staring at me for a moment, his golden eyes blazing with desire. Then, without a word, he strips off his own clothes, his movements quick and efficient. He stands before me, naked and proud, his body a testament to the years of passion and adventure that have shaped him.

He pulls me close, his hands gripping my hips as he lifts me up onto the bed. I gasp as he follows me down, his hardness pressing against my heat as I wrap my legs around his hips.

When he finally sheaths himself inside me, I cry out, my nails scoring his back. Our bodies move in perfect synchronicity, finding that age-old rhythm. Faster and harder, sweat-slicked skin and panting breaths, until ecstasy breaks over me in a crashing wave.

I lose myself in sensation - his wicked mouth mapping every curve and hollow, talented fingers stroking secret places, silky hair tickling my breasts. He claims me with lips and teeth and tongue until I am writhing beneath him, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter.

His fingers dig into my hips as he thrusts into me, each stroke driving me closer to the edge of ecstasy. Our bodies move in perfect sync, our hearts pounding in time with each other's. I can feel myself teetering on the brink, my body trembling with pleasure.

"Auguste," I gasp, my fingernails digging into his shoulders as I cling to him.

"Let go, chere," he growls, his lips finding mine in a fierce kiss. "I've got you."

His words push me over the edge, and I shatter around him, my orgasm crashing through me like a wave. I cry out, my back arching off the bed as I convulse with pleasure.

His thrusts become more urgent, his hips snapping against mine as he drives deeper and deeper inside me. I can feel him swelling within me, the heat of his release building inside him.

There's no gentleness in his touch, only the raw need to possess and claim.

"Mine," he growls, his eyes burning with golden fire.

With a final, powerful push, Auguste reaches his peak, his release pulsing deep within me. The feeling of him filling me up, his hot seed spilling into me, is indescribable. It's like a wave of warmth and pleasure that radiates out from my core, making me shiver with delight.

Release once more crashes through me, my pleasure peaking and breaking like a wave against the shore. Auguste follows me over, his climax a guttural cry muffled against the curve of my shoulder.

We lay entwined as our breathing slows, basking in the afterglow. He presses tender kisses to my hairline, his hands drifting over my back in soothing strokes. In this moment, the future is hazy and hope wavers like a mirage.

But with his arms banded tight around me, I can almost believe that everything will be alright.

11

LUCIEN

Over the coming weeks, Simone has become utterly indispensable to the three of us. Her presence at Le Voile de Sang is like a tonic, soothing centuries-old psychic wounds I'd forgotten could even heal.

“Gorgeous,” I murmur with my eyes glued to her.

I watch from my customary seat at the bar as she whirls between tables, a siren in shimmering crimson chiffon leaving a trail of spell-bound patrons in her wake. Her laughter peals like bells, that rich, honey-smoke alto beckoning even the most jaded souls to lean closer and bask in her light.

When she takes the stage, the entire club seems to grind to a halt, every eye riveted on the swing of her hips and the seductive rasp of her voice. Even the hardest of men go liquid under Simone's spell, their armor of cynicism and violence melting away as she croons bawdy torch songs dripping with carnal promise.

In those molten moments, I catch fleeting glimpses of the hexeblood power roiling just beneath her surface. The candles flare and wink, shadows cast by her body seeming to take on a life of their own. One particularly besotted reveler swears her eyes glow violent, her lips darker than sin as she mouths the lyrics.

I don't doubt the tale for an instant. Our rare and precious mate moves through this world untamed, raw feminine power thrumming in her very bones. Each sway of her hips is a promise, every ebb and flow of her melodies an initiation into primal mysteries. Simone is life itself, unrestrained and glorious.

To my right, Auguste's hands are squeezed into white-knuckled fists where they rest on the bartop, his stormy gaze tracking our mate's every movement with naked hunger. A muscle ticks in that chiseled jaw, whether from the effort of restraint or the urge to stake his claim, I can't be certain.

Likely both.

Etienne slouches boneless in the booth at my back, one leg kicked insolently over the armrest in a hollow performance of nonchalance. Even without the dubious gift of seeing auras and auras, the thrumming weight of his stare would betray the oath-sworn depth of his obsession.

“Enjoying the show?”

He smirks without looking at me. “Immensely.”

My brother is utterly enthralled, dissecting Simone's every shift and breath in search of hidden riddles and prophecies. As if she were an apocryphal text laid bare for his perusal, her tongue and teeth and fingertips the tools to unlock truths mere mortals cannot begin to conceive.

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