Page 21 of Your Coffin or Mine
“Fine.” Cameras are no longer made with silver, so there is no real harm, and perhaps I should in case she becomes overly curious about the castle mirrors’ inability to show my reflection. Fuck.
I stand stiffly with my arms crossed over my chest in boredom as the camera flashes, wishing she would get into the car so I can get back to the castle without biting her—or bending her over.
“Alright, enough.” I grab her by the arm and steer her toward the vehicle, while she stares down at her phone.
“Ohemgee, these are going to be fab. Thank you so much for today.”
Her smile is infectious, and I can’t stop a flicker of an answering grin. It is strange how I find Doyle’s deplorable use of the English language exceedingly annoying, but with her it is refreshing.
“Come,” I demand. “Your hands are like ice.”
Of her own accord, she leans her body into mine, and I inhale the sweet scent of flowers from her hair. Every muscle in my body freezes when she lays her cheek against my chest and her arms go around me, squeezing lightly, sending warmth through my torso. I can’t remember anyone hugging me in years—decades even—or showing even the slightest of affection.
She takes my hand as I help her into the car before I hurry around to the driver’s side and get in.
“Yours are cold too. Oh my god, where’s your coat?”
I stare into her eyes, willing her to obey under my coercion ability. “Be quiet, woman.”
Humans have a long record of overreacting when discovering monsters live among them, and I have no intention of explaining why my body temperature remains cold no matter the season. I’m also unnerved by her placing her head on my chest moments ago, as my heart has not thumped since I was a young lad, not yet frozen in my immortality.
She is so frail and tiny, which is what led to Doyle’s attempt to cook her alive in the first place, turning every furnace on in the castle just to keep her warm. I suppose I have him to thank for the spectacular view of pajamas and breasts.
She frowns and snaps her seatbelt into place. “Be quiet, woman?God, could you get more bossy? I mean, seriously, dude. Calm down with the caveman vibes.”
I blink at her incredulously. My powers of mind control have never failed me before; even at the atrocious seamstress shop, the women moved swiftly to do my bidding. Yet this one continues chatting away as if I’ve said nothing.
The scent that has been clouding my brain all day rises with her temper, making my cock throb in response. In the past, no woman would dare speak to me this way. Meek and biddable women present no allure, no fire.
Not so with this petite hellcat. Her face is a mask of fury as she goes on about my “attitude,” as she calls it. I sit, waiting for her to conclude her tirade, but the smell of her skin is too fucking good—like the first days of autumn when the grape fields would ripen. I want to consume her like a sweet wine from my vineyard. My instinct rears its ugly head, and the need to bite, to feed, batters at my resolve. Why do I wanther?
“This is not the Stone Age, sir, and I don’t care who you are or how good-looking you may be. You don’t have the right to talk to me like that.” She throws her hands around dramatically before waving one at me. “And how are you not freezing right now?”
“Stop. Talking.”
I surge forward, pressing my lips to hers, and instantly become lost in the taste of her.
Chapter 8
AUBREY
His lips connect with mine,and I inhale the words “fuck” and “you.” Oh dear god—he cankiss. I find myself returning it, his mouth sweet and rough. Thoughts become mush moments later when he pulls away and growls. The sound sends shivers down my thighs, then he kisses me again, forcing an involuntary moan out of me. My stomach contracts in response.Oh my god.
Holy shit. I gasp for breath, and he bites my lip before pushing his forehead into mine.
“Behave for five seconds or I will tan your backside.”
I blink, my eyes focusing on my fingers that at some point started gripping his shirt without my knowledge.
Part of me wants to call him out and see if he will deliver, but something tells me if he does, I’ll only want more. I rub my thighs together, and his eyes fall to my lap. Oh crap. I freeze and bite my lip, but he pulls away only to start the car while staring at my thighs like I look at cupcakes.
“I’m going to tell Doyle to have dinner ready at seven. Is that sufficient?”
Sufficient? He makes it sound like I’m difficult to please.
My brow wrinkles in confusion at the sharp tone in his voice. “Umm, yeah.”
“See that you wear proper clothing,” he bites out.
