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“But you didn’t answer the question, Witchling. Is that something you would want?”
She swallowed, audibly, and every signal coming from her body was a resounding yes.
Interesting, Alastair thought with a smirk. But…
“Relax, Witchling,” Alastair said, leaning back to give her space once again. It was hard, so fucking hard when all he wanted to do was touch her.
He cleared his throat, trying to diffuse the tension pulsing between them. “You’re welcome to stay here,” he said, finally. “For as long as you need. The sheets on the bed are clean. I can sleep on the couch, or if you want your own space, I can sleep at the club. I have a room with a bed there, and you can stay here, free of charge.”
Fey cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’d leave me here, all alone, in that giant bed? Hell, Alastair, maybe you should call Jasper to come back here.”
His eyes were serious when he looked at her. “You called me for help, Fey, and I answered. There are no strings attached. The apartment is yours until you no longer need it.” His eyes darkened. “But if I stay, if I share that bed with you, I won’t be able to keep my hands off you. It’s taking every ounce of my willpower not to rip that shirt off you right now, Fey. And I think you know that.”
She smiled at him, taking another bite of pizza. And slowly she parted her legs, just a few inches, but enough for him to see she was nude beneath his shirt.
Alastair growled deep in his throat.
“I don’t want to sleep in that bed alone, Alastair,” Fey told him.
Feeling something loosen in his chest, he smiled. “Then come here, Witchling,” he said, patting his lap. Fey set her now empty plate on the table, crawling over the couch until she was straddling him, one knee on either side of his body.
Her hair was still damp from the shower, and he brushed it over her shoulders, tucking it behind her ears gently. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” he asked, his voice soft.
Fey stilled and slowly shook her head.
“No,” she said. “Not tonight. Tomorrow maybe, but… tonight I need a distraction. Tonight, I don’t want to think about any of it.”
Alastair smiled. “I don’t mind being a distraction,” he assured her, his free hand traveling down the front of her shirt, toying with the buttons. Fuck how did she look so good in it? He took a deep drink from his wine glass.
“You’re not eating?” Fey asked, looking at the glass in his hand.
“No,” he told her, taking another sip of wine. “No, I already ate.”
She eyed the wine glass suspiciously.
“Is that…?” She raised an eyebrow at him.
Alastair stared into the wineglass, swirling the dark liquid inside. “If you’re asking if this is, indeed, a full-bodied and quite delicious merlot, then yes, Fey, it is. And there’s a full bottle in the kitchen if you would like some.” He took a sip, watching the color rise in her face. “But if you’re asking if I am drinking blood…”
She shrugged a single well-toned shoulder. “Maybe,” she said, settling back against his thighs. The slight shift brought his shirt higher up her thigh, and Alastair took advantage of her closeness to slide his fingers lightly up the skin there, feeling her shiver under his touch.
He chuckled, gently caressing her exposed skin. “I’m young, Fey. I only need to drink blood a few times a year, and I don’t do it from a wine glass with a beautiful woman on my lap.”
Fey put her hands on his chest and closed her eyes, relaxing under his touch. Alastair’s fingers trailing over her knees, the soft inside of her upper leg, inching higher and higher.
“Who do you feed from, anyway?” she asked. He smiled at the huskiness in her voice, the way she twitched every time his fingers moved further up her leg.
“Why?” he asked. “Are you jealous, Witchling?”
She didn’t answer, just groaned so softly he could almost have believed he imagined it.
“Other Vampires,” he answered finally. “I feed from other Vampires.”
“Women?”
Alastair barked a laugh. “You are. You’re fucking jealous.”
Fey opened her eyes and scowled at him, but she inched further up his lap, her legs opening a little wider.
