Page 21 of Yearning For Her

The woman raked her gaze over him, wet her lips with her tongue, and nodded. He turned his body toward her without rising, fighting back the images threatening to overtake his mind—images of Willow and their too brief time together, which always came with the reminder that no one else could compare.

He didn’t need anyone to compare to her, he just needed to fucking feed!

Stopping immediately in front of him, the woman reached forward. One of her hands grasped the lapel of his coat and tugged it aside. She pressed the other over his chest, which was partially exposed by his unbuttoned shirt.

“Wow,” she breathed.

“Even better without clothes.” Kian reached down and unfasted another button on his shirt, drawing her attention lower.

The heat of her want bathed Kian as she slid her hand under his shirt and down his abdomen. He already smelled her arousal, which held a hint of bitterness. It was…unappealing. Just as unappealing as the scents of every man and woman he’d tried to feed from in the last week.

Get the fuck over it and do what needs to be done, Kian!

“You don’t waste any time, do you?” she asked.

“Why wait?” he replied, lacing his words with more charm as he slipped an arm around her waist.

The woman’s eyes darkened further. The tips of her fingers grazed the flesh just above the waist of his pants. He felt the warmth of her skin, its softness, felt the trembling need in her touch. He even felt her racing pulse. But he didn’t feel excited.

Her desire alone, being so potent, should’ve been enough. His cock should’ve been so hard that it hurt. He should’ve been ready to take her right here, right now. But his body refused to cooperate. Refused to do its damned job.

Willow’s touch had brought Kian’s skin to life. Her passion had filled him with fire unlike he’d ever experienced, had—

She needs to get out of my fucking head!

The woman’s smile tilted playfully. “A man who knows what he wants?”

“Who knows what he wants and takes it.”

You’re drowning yourself in a sea of lies, Kian.

Growling, he tugged the woman close. She let out a cry that was far more thrilled than surprised and shifted her legs up, straddling his lap. Her gaze dropped to his lips.

“God, you’re gorgeous.” Delving her hands into his hair, she smashed her mouth against Kian’s. Her dress rode up her thighs as she ground her pelvis against him.

His insides twisted, and an unpleasant chill swept over his skin.

Pleasure, the very thing he sought, pulsed from the woman. But it was soured. It stroked his skin and scraped against his lifeforce, taunting him, intensifying his discomfort. His muscles tensed. Was this what mortals called nausea?

Mistaking his reaction as Kian enjoying himself, the woman intensified her movements. She didn’t seem to notice how one-sided the kiss was.

Or that his cock was unresponsive.

He turned all his willpower toward her pleasure. Even if he wasn’t necessarily causing it, he could still feed. There was always a bit of residual pleasure for him to consume when mortals were enjoying themselves, though it wasn’t potent enough to serve as real sustenance. Carnal pleasure was the strongest—just like this woman was creating for herself.

But all his concentration was not enough. He could not take in the energy this woman emitted. His magic could not grasp it, could not absorb it.

She was dry humping herself to climax. That should’ve been a feast for him. But he received nothing. Nothing but this strange, worrying feeling of…of illness. Of wrongness. He forced himself to move, to reciprocate. That excited the female further—and kindled secondhand desire in nearby onlookers—yet it did not change Kian’s situation.

He couldn’t absorb that much-needed sustenance. And though the woman’s pleasure was laced with unpleasant notes, he would’ve gladly taken all of it just to dull his hunger.

The same thing had happened yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. Every time he’d tried to feed in the two weeks since he’d fucked the purple-haired woman he’d met on Central Boulevard, he’d failed.

What had Willow done to him?

Frustration crackled through his muscles in a painful electric current, worsened by the sour chill of his repulsion. This never happened to him. He’d fed off humans of all sorts during his time, had always been attracted to them because it was their desire that appealed to him. He had no preference when it came to appearance or gender, seeking only potential—the potential for pleasure. This woman was attractive, passionate, and eager to feel good.

And he wanted absolutely nothing more to do with her. He couldn’t bear another moment of this.

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