Page 47 of How to Bare Your Neck and Save a Wreck
But the little inhale, the slight but sure pressure of his vampire’s body against his, a defined presence between his vampire’s legs that did wild things to Shane’s imagination—they all said otherwise. “Bought and paid for,” his vampire replied, so dark and sweet that it made Shane’s aching turn white hot.
He wanted to roll his hips, to grab his vampire by the neck and press those beautiful fangs deep into himself. But he hadn’t been asked to do that. And he would wait… he would wait.
Wait, as his vampire’s lips brushed his skin and a shiver rolled through him. Then a flick of tongue, rough and wet, sending goosebumps up his arm. Finally, soft and slow, the press of two sharp points, perfectly spaced between the collar’s metal plates. Shane felt taut as a stretched band, strung out in the darkness. As the gentle puncturing of his skin made him whimper, his eyes threatened to roll from the sheer pressure building inside him. Then the venom hit. His lashes fluttered and his knees went weak, but his vampire caught him, tucking one leg beneath his thighs and placing a hand on his hip, pressing him to the wall.
Shane relaxed into the bite, letting himself be consumed.
18
ANDRES
Shane was consuming him, mind, body, and soul.
When they’d first arrived, Andres had thought that perhaps the Starlight Club would make what he had with Shane look better by comparison, show all the ways that he had been less monstrous to Shane than other vampires with the same inclinations, but this place—this bizarre and beautiful place—had done the opposite. It had beamed a spotlight on their cracks and gaps and the grime between. And then it had offered to clean them out and fill them with gold. To make them into something beautiful.
And with each new step they’d taken, he could feel that gilding setting a foundation.
Shane was here not because Andres had manipulated him, or pressured him, or even because they needed this to get to Tara, but because he wanted it. Wantedthis.
The way he’d shivered from the pressure of Andres’s body, and whimpered from the touch of his mouth, and melted under his bite—it was eating Andres alive in the best way possible, building an ache so deep within him that it took a steady intention not to follow the lead of the couples around them and see how many noises he could get out of Shane before he licked the wound closed. But it was more than just the sensuality of it all. It was the way Shane had crashed between himself andMaddox to block out the holy silver, the way he’d listened when Andres had asked him to let his face remain a mystery, and the way he’d spoken with Tara, so calm and thoughtful and poised.
If all their texting hadn’t already convinced Andres that he wanted so much more than just a vampire-prey relationship, then tonight certainly would have. And maybe… maybe thatcouldhappen. There were so many couples here, so manypartnerswho—like Valentine and Maddox and their Diego back home—had to see each other as perfectly equal and normal people every day, and still feel the fire of the game’s power and submission. Perhaps none of them had met their human while having an emotional breakdown, nor confirmed a hundred different ways over text that they were just friends, but…
Maybe he and Shane could still work even without the mask.
Or maybe he wasn’t enough like the vampires around him, his weaknesses too apparent, the person beneath the mask too emotionally feeble to maintain a proper relationship to begin with. He knew what had happened when he’d kept a committed partner in the past. Hisbodywas stronger now, sure, his nails long enough to flaunt the polish that made him feel like thetheyin his pronouns and his fangs sharp enough that adding a little gloriously feminine lace to a coat wouldn’t end with a black eye in an alley, but washe? Would he be someone Shane could still respect and obey?
This curated, masked version of himself was, at least—that much he knew.
Shane moaned beneath his bite, letting himself be pressed to the wall, neck bared so gracefully for Andres’s pleasure. Each exhilarated shudder his little swan gave was so much better than his fearful ones, every whimper sharpened by the knowledge of just what Shane was begging for: more, not less. As Andres fed, savoring each slow drag of sunlight blood, Shane grew more confident.
His hands caressed Andres’s sides and up his back, sending sparks across Andres’s skin even through the layers of leather and satin. Shane held him, held him like Andres was his protection and his comfort, playing soothingly with the hair that fell around the nape of Andres’s neck. Gradually, his fingers eased higher. They met with the strap that held Andres’s mask in place.
Andres paused, every muscle tightening. He forced himself to breathe, to keep his fangs inside Shane, and slowly, he began to feed again. He wanted to be at peace with whatever Shane chose. He wanted to believe that if the couples around him could be more to their humans than fanged creatures of the dark and still feel everything that experience provided, then he could too. Hewantedto.
But when Shane toyed with the strap, combing the hair beneath it, he forgot how to breathe. His pulse hammered. Slowly, so slowly that Andres could have stopped him with ease, Shane began to pull.
Andres’s mind screamed:No, not yet, not—
Then suddenly Shane let go, jerking in Andres’s grasp so hard that Andres could only pull back, barely managing to brush his tongue over the bite pricks to stop their bleeding.
Andres’s mask wobbled, but it stayed in place, unlike his heart, which seemed to collide recklessly into his ribcage. Shane was still holding him, clutched now to the front of his jacket as he stared over Andres’s shoulder. A tremble ran through him.
His voice came out weak. “I could be wrong—I’m bad with faces—”
Oh god.
Then he continued, “But I’ve stared at her picture so often, and I swear there’s a woman in the brighter parlor who looks a lot like the one you threatened at Vitalis-Barron.”
That chilled Andres in a whole new way, a lower, deeper panic fueled not by guilt but by rage. He turned, casually wrapping his arm around Shane like he was going to sit them both onto the bench, and as he did, he scanned the room beyond their darkened corner. He spotted Margaret Lane quickly. She wore a simple fabric choker, clipped in the front by a brooch, her high-necked black dress slit at the knees. In a room full of half-dressed humans in jewelry and chains, she looked awkward and underwhelming. Afraid, even.
Andres scowled. “Find Valentine or Maddox. Tell them we might need to empty this place soon.”
“What are you—”
“I’m dealing with her.”
In the haze of Andres’s monochrome night vision, tunneled by his human-made contacts, he could have sworn he was dreaming as Shane quickly kissed the edge of his jaw. Shane was across the room in a flash, leaving only an imprint of the pressure behind.
