Page 133 of My Big Fat Vampire Wedding
Then his hand was slapping down on her bottom cheek once. Twice. Three times. As he rubbed himself against her cleft, around her clit.
Teasing. Torturing. Refusing to give in until she was begging for it, begging for him.
“Victor, please,” Pandora cried out, her fingers curling into fists on the surface of the desk as she wiggled back against him.
On a sound that was almost a growl, he slammed deep inside her, both of them crying out at the feel of her walls tightening around his hard length, at getting what they’d both been aching for for far too long.
They were lost to the world then as they went from slow and teasing to hard and fast until, with a shuddering cry, she came around him, taking him with her until they were both completely spent.
“Well,” Pandora said afterward, Victor’s fingers softly whispering up and down her spine as they both tested the craftsmanship of the desk, bodies cuddled close. “I think I need to leave early tonight. And then spend all night doing that all around our flat.”
“Our?” he asked, tentative but hopeful.
“Yep. But I already stole the best shelves. You’re just going to have to learn to live with that.”
“Mmhmm. Or sneak out in the morning when you’re sleeping to replace them with my books.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
“OK. How about a compromise?”
“What kind?”
“On all the best eye-level shelves, we put the books we read together.”
“The spicy ones?” he asked, fingers slipping down her belly again.
“The spicier the better.”
Epilogue
One Year Later
Romania
“I think I owe Uncle Reginald an apology,” Pandora whispered to Victor as they stood in the center of a cobblestone path. Where, just five feet in front of them, a bat had transformed into a man.
“That’s … That’s not really … Dracula, is it?” Victor whispered back.
He certainly looked like the titular character, Pandora decided, as she admired the tall, ghostly-pale man with slicked-back black hair, coal-dark eyes, and a long purple-velvet-lined cape.
At Victor’s words, the man before them scoffed.
“It’s Drachmar. I don’t know why any of those pesky mortals can’t get that right. All the books, the telly shows, the movies. Drachmar. How difficult is that?”
Victor stared at him. “So you’re not—”
“I am he,” Drachmar said. “I am the one. The first. The infamous. The fearsome. The eternal.”
“And a man of so few words,” Victor said, lips curving up.
Drachmar’s eyes narrowed at that and Pandora was ready to step between them.
“Mortal, you will cower before me in fear.”
Those weren’t just words or a command, but a glamour.
