Page 9 of My Bloody Valentine

“I appreciate honesty, Ms. Kendall.” I inhale her scent—vanilla and cardamom. “Tell me, what exactly did you taste in that final truffle?”

At that, Maya’s pulse quickens at her throat. I’ve hit a nerve with her. Good. The delicate skin over her pulse would yield so beautifully to my blade. “Lust,” she whispers, like her words are a secret. “Like biting into the forbidden apple itself.”

“Fascinating.” I take her words as an invitation and slide my hand across the table, not quite touching hers. Her fingers twitch. “Most people only taste the chocolate, the caramel, perhaps a hint of sea salt. But you...” The need to taste her fear rises in my chest. “You tasted something deeper.”

I lean back, savoring her discomfort. Maya’s fingers twist around her coffee cup, her knuckles white. She wants to ask about the ingredients—I can see the question burning behind those dark eyes—but she hesitates as if voicing it would make real what she suspects.

“You’re wondering about the special ingredient.” I trace the rim of my cup. “The one that gave you such... intense sensations.”

Her throat bobs as she swallows.

“That particular chocolate is exclusive.” I hold her gaze. “I reserve it for a very select clientele.”

“Select?” Her curiosity shines in her eyes.

“Women who intrigue me, Ms. Kendall. And that’s an exceptionally rare occurrence.” I move my hand closer until our fingers almost touch. “Each piece contains something uniquely personal. My owncontribution, you might say.”

The flush deepens on her cheeks as understanding dawns. She doesn’t pull away, though her breathing quickens. The knowledge that she’s already consumed part of me sends a thrill of possession through me.

“You marked me.” It’s not a question.

“The moment you put that chocolate to your lips.” I trace a finger along the back of her hand. “You became mine.”

A visible reaction to my declaration courses through her, but she doesn’t withdraw from my touch. “How many others?”

“None that matter anymore.” I’ve disposed of them all, their blood enriching my work. “You’re different. You understand what I create in ways they never could.”

I trace the rim of my coffee cup. “Perhaps I could show you. My boutique is private and intimate. Perfect for a... personal tasting session.”

Her breath catches. The flush spreads down her neck, staining her collarbones pink beneath her blouse. Such lovely skin—it would bruise exquisitely.

“I shouldn’t.” But she stays in place when my fingers graze against hers. Static crackles between us.

“Why not? Aren’t you curious to discover what else I could make you feel?” I lower my voice, watching her pupils dilate. “What other... sensations I could elicit?”

Maya’s tongue darts out to wet her lips. I imagine catching it between my teeth, drawing blood. The metallic taste would complement the chocolate perfectly.

“Your review mentioned something about hollowness.” I curl my fingers around her wrist, feeling her racing pulse. “Let me prove you wrong.”

She stares at where our skin meets, transfixed. I can almost taste her internal struggle—the professional critic warring with baser instincts, the prey sensing the predator but unable to resist its lure.

“One private tasting,” she breathes. “For research purposes.”

I smile, already planning which blades to use. “Of course. Purely professional.”

Professional. The word tastes like a mouthful of soot. There’s nothing professional about what I have planned for Maya Kendall. The way her pulse jumped under my touch, how her breath caught when I mentioned personal tastings—she’s already mine.

I long to see her face as she samples each creation. See those perfect lips part, her eyes close in pleasure. Watch her surrender to the sensations I craft just for her. The chocolate is merely a vehicle for her irrevocable surrender.

“Eight o’clock?” I trace patterns on her wrist. “The boutique will be closed. No interruptions.”

“Eight.” She nods, a faint shake in her voice.

I release her hand and stand, straightening my jacket. “Wear something comfortable.”

Her cheeks grow a deeper shade of red. “Should I bring anything?”

“Just your exceptional palate.” And that delicious vulnerability. “I’ll have everything else prepared.”

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