Page 15 of Bloody Vows
“I don’t want to be here,” I whisper, but I don’t sound defiant, the way I hoped. I sound breathless. Eager.
“Yes, you do.” He looms over me, backing me against the bookshelf, moving with a slinking, predatory grace. "You've been thinking about me all day. About what it would feel like to have my hands on you."
“No,” I whisper. But even as I say it, I can feel heat pooling between my thighs, my nipples hardening beneath the thin fabric of my blouse. My body arches toward him, and I grip the edges of the bookshelves, trying to keep myself in place, keep myself from leaning into him.
"Liar." He reaches up and cups my face in his hands, his thumbs stroking across my cheekbones. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind won't admit it. Youcraveme. You crave this.”
His body moves flush against mine, hard and hot, the firm lines of muscle making me gasp as he leans down to kiss me. His mouth is full and demanding against mine, his tongue sliding along my lower lip, demanding entry. I reach up, as if to push him away, but suddenly my hands are gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer as his tongue invades my mouth, as his scent and taste invade my senses.
He overwhelms me, dominates me. When he breaks the kiss, a slow smirk sliding over his mouth, I’m panting, breathless as I lift my chin for more. “Please,” I whisper, but I don’t know what I’m begging for, what it is that I want more of. What he can give me that I want so badly.
"Please what?" His hands slide down to my throat, not choking but claiming, marking me as his. "Tell me what you want, Simone."
"I want..." The words stick in my throat, too shameful to voice. My body shivers at his touch.
"Say it." His voice is a command. I want to fight it… and I don’t, all at the same time.
"I want you to touch me,” I whisper helplessly.
His smile is wicked, triumphant, as his gaze slides down my body, down to where he’s pressed against me, pinning me to the shelves. "I am touching you."
"More," I breathe, my cheeks burning with shame. "I want more."
His hands slide down to the neckline of my blouse, and with one swift motion, he tears it open, exposing my breasts to his hungry gaze. "Beautiful," he murmurs, his thumbs brushing over my nipples until I arch against him. "Perfect.Mine.”
I hear theclinkof the buttons hitting the wooden floor. I feel his hand gliding up my thigh, undoing the front of my slim trousers, pushing them down my hips. That same hand is on my leg again, bringing it up to his hip, that thick hardness betweenhis legs grinding against me. I should be embarrassed, should be fighting him, but all I can do is wrap my leg around his, pulling him closer, wanting more of that hardness, more pressure, more…
"This is what you want," he growls, his hand gripping my hip. "This is what you need. Someone who won't ask permission, someone who'll just take what he wants."
"Yes," I gasp as his fingers catch the edge of my panties, tugging them aside, baring them for his fingers, for his.... "Yes, please..."
I wake up with a gasp, my heart pounding and my body covered in sweat as I jolt upright, blinking into the darkness. The dream was so vivid, so real, that for a moment I expect to find Tristan in my bed, his hands pushing me back down into the softness of the mattress. For a brief moment, my body thrills to the thought, still caught in the arousal of the dream. But I'm alone, the room dark and quiet around me.
My nightgown is twisted around my waist, and I can feel the dampness between my thighs that proves my body's betrayal. I wanted him in that dream. Not just wanted—I begged for him, pleaded with him to touch me.
"No," I whisper into the darkness. "No, no, no."
But even as I deny it, I can still feel the phantom touch of his hands on my skin, can still taste his kiss on my lips. The dream felt more real than it should have, especially when I’m so inexperienced, and that terrifies me more than Konstantin's ultimatum.
How can I hate someone and want them at the same time? How can my body crave something my mind finds repulsive?
It was just a dream.But it felt like more. I can still feel the heat on my skin, that insistent, aching need between my thighs…
I stumble out of bed and to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face, trying to wash away the memory of the dream.But when I look in the mirror, I can see the truth written in my flushed cheeks and dilated pupils. I dreamed about Tristan O’Malley. I dreamed about begging for his touch, and I wasarousedby it.
This is worse than I thought. It's one thing to be forced to marry Tristan O'Malley, but it's another thing entirely to discover that some part of me wants it. That some traitorous part of my subconscious is attracted to his dominance, his certainty, his complete lack of doubt about taking what he wants.
I am not that woman. I refuse to be that woman.
But as I crawl back into bed and try to fall asleep again, I can't shake the feeling that I'm lying to myself. That maybe, just maybe, the dream revealed something about me that I've been too afraid to admit.
The rest of the night passes in fitful sleep punctuated by more dreams, all featuring Tristan O'Malley in ways that make me wake up gasping and confused. By the time morning light starts filtering through my curtains, I feel like I've been through a war.
I drag myself to the shower and stand under the hot spray until the water runs cold, trying to wash away the feeling left over from the night before. But no amount of soap or hot water can scrub away the memory of how I felt, of how I ached for his touch in the dream, of how I had to fight off the urge to make myself come when I woke.
I refused to give myself an orgasm when he was the one who brought on my arousal. But just the fact that he aroused me at all, subconsciously or no, makes me want to scream.
When I finally emerge from the bathroom, Nora is waiting in my bedroom with coffee and a plate of fruit. Her knowing look tells me she can see exactly how rough my night was.
