Page 65 of The Donor’s Dilemma

Her lips quirked into a lazy smile as she sat and found the coin on the arm of the chair. She picked it up before turning to throw her legs over Theo’s and burrowing into the cushions. A moment, then his hand moved to rest atop her legs, accepting the way she lounged beside him.

Idle fingers tangled in the fabric of her pyjamas, making Verity wish she’d worn shorts or a nightdress. Maybe next time. Maybe next time, when he brought her home by the light of the sun, just him and her and the rules that hung between them, maybe she’d try.

“You’ll lose it,” she said, holding the coin up.

He shook his head. “I won’t lose it,” he said, taking her hand when she offered it.

“You will. Don’t think I didn’t see it in the soap dish yesterday, and you used it as a bookmark.” It had fallen out of the book, nearly chipping the coffee table when he cleared her a space to work on the festival.

“Would you rather I kept it in its little box? Nice to look at but never to touch?” His thumbs stroked her veins as he spoke, eyes dark as a bottomless lake fixed with hers. She could drown in that lake.

“It helps you think?” she asked, rolling the coin between the fingers of her free hand.

He nodded.

“And you like touching?”

His thumb pressed a little harder, pulling her a little closer as he held her gaze and nodded. She knew he liked touching, knew that his pre-donation massages weren’t nearly as necessary as he made out, but she’d never tell him for fear he might stop.

Ever since Verity had learnt about Isabella, she had done her best to keep her distance, or as distant as she could be with the man she was pretending to be in a relationship with. She wanted to respect that, respect his wishes and Isabella’s memory, but he wasn’t making it easy.

Hot and cold. Hot and cold.

He’d touch her and hold her and watch her with such hunger, and Verity didn’t know what to do anymore. She wanted him to comfort her, to comfort her properly, curled up on his lap with his fingers in her hair. And she wanted to comfort him, run her thumb over the light stubble along his jawline, press herself to his chest as she followed that line with her lips.

Tilting his head back, Theo closed his eyes, pulling Verity back to the room. The coin felt hot in her hand, the aged metal heating in her fist.

“Just don’t lose it.”

“Never,” he said, raising her wrist to his mouth and pressing a kiss to her skin. Something broke in her at the gentleness, the reverence with which he held her. The way that, even after all that time, all that had happened between them, he still opened his eyes and waited for her permission before biting, before taking from her.

The pain sang to her, just as perfect as the first bite. It still made her heart pound and her core ache, even more so when she remembered the way he had forced her to watch in his office. He liked it, his prey’s complete acceptance.

So, she watched, breathy sighs dancing on her tongue as his cheeks hollowed and his eyes devoured her.

Tired. He looked so tired with slow blinks and purple stains beneath his eyes, but still he watched. Soft growls rumbled from his chest when she tried to shuffle closer but there was no space left between them, any closer, and she really would be on his lap.

“Wait,” she blurted when he pulled her wrist from his mouth, holding her hand above them. “That isn’t enough.”

“Shh,” he hushed, then pulled her up just enough to slip behind her, pulling her back down to lay against him, her back to his chest. “Comfortable?” he asked, pulling her arm around her body and licking up the blood oozing from her wrist.

Her heart thundered. Comfortable? Lying against him as he fed on her, his body moulding to hers, feeling his breath on her neck. Her neck…

“My neck,” she whispered, forcing her body to relax into him, as the image flashed across her mind. His teeth sinking into her neck, the hand that fell over her waist moving lower, lower, beneath clothes and…

“No.” A flat, harsh word as he cleaned up the escaped blood.

“But…”

“No, Verity. Don’t ever ask that of me. There has to be lines.”

His voice sounded rough, strained. She felt the way his hand tightened on her waist, the way his breath caught at her request.

He wanted to. Gods, he wanted to.

Stifling a snort, she twisted to see him, raising an eyebrow but not forcing the point. She was lying in his arms, feeling more safety and comfort than she had in her life despite being alone in a vampire’s home, but that was the line? Fine, Verity could accept her win and save that for another day.

Nestling against him, she sighed when he started drinking again, eyes fluttering shut as she allowed herself to simply exist in that feeling. In the sensation. To swim in it until she became vaguely aware of his soft licks, healing her.