Page 11 of The Vampire’s Ballerina

Her lips twitch, and a silent laugh shakes her shoulders as my jaw drops. Her eyes glisten with joy. She comes closer and reaches around me, plucking the bag from my hand.

“I’m sorry,” I say on an exhale. “I tried, but—“

“It’s not a big deal. I don’t need you to impress me, Pietro.”

I swallow, and my cock twitches at the sound of her purring my name, at the way her plump lips part and her lashes flutter before she turns and heads to the kitchen. Her heels click on the floor and her derrière bounces with each step, drawing my eyes and stealing my attention. She sets the takeout bag on the counter, then tosses the burnt steaks in the trash can in the corner with a precise underhand throw.

“I was going to throw those away outside.” I stare at where the steaks disappeared. “I didn’t want them to stink up the apartment.”

Imogen opens the bag and pulls a container out. “You can take it out after I leave.”

“You’re not going to…” I trail off and cover my mouth before I finish my sentence.

She freezes and glances at me as I lean my back against the countertop beside her with my arms crossed. We lock eyes.

She licks her lips, her heart picking up its pace. “I—wasn’t sure. We haven’t really discussed… everything.”

Her words are slow, and she turns away from me again, focusing back on her task of removing our food from its packaging. I slide closer to her, angling myself to face her.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean, what will people think if they see us arriving to rehearsal together?”

I press my body against her side and slide my hand along her lower back until it rests in the middle, just above the swell of her ass. My nose brushes her cheek, and she takes in a sharp breath.

“They’ll think I’m a very lucky male.” I resist the urge to lower my hand to her backside.

She clicks her tongue. “But what will they think about me?”

I frown and slide my hand to her hip, pulling her closer. “Since when do you care so much about what other people think?”

“I’ve always cared about what other people think.” Her voice is barely a whisper. It would be inaudible if not for my enhanced hearing.

I dig my fingers into her hips. “Why?”

She pinches her lips together and presses her hands against the cool, flat surface of the counter, shaking her head and closing her eyes. I sigh, but for now, I don’t push her. She’ll open up to me when she’s ready. Her being here with me is a big step forward.

I wish I’d realized sooner that she wanted me too.

I lift my other hand to her chest and trace the square neckline, just above her breasts, dipping my nose to her collarbone. “You’re staying with me.” I leave no room for argument.

“But—“

“I will blink you back to your apartment in the morning if it’s that big of a deal to you. No one will know.”

Imogen turns her head towards me, and without a second thought, I press my lips to hers for the first time since we kissed at the theater. She twists until she faces me, sliding her hands up my arms and clutching at my shoulders. I press my palms into her lower back, holding her as close as possible.

Her mouth feels just as I remember. It hasn’t even been a week, but it seems like a lifetime. I’ve lived for hundreds of years, to the point where time is meaningless, but the six days between our first kiss and today have lasted longer than all the centuries I’ve witnessed combined. I’m ready to lose myself in her. Prepared to spend hours kissing her and the entire night exploring every inch of her, indulging in the carnal delights of her body. But my sweet ballerina needs strength for that, needs sustenance, and I’m robbing her of that by keeping her in my arms, her lips on mine.

I run my nose along her jaw. “The food is getting cold.”

“Plates?” Her breathing is rapid, eyelids fluttering.

“I’ll grab them.”

I plant a kiss below her ear, then back away from her, heading to the cabinet by the stove to get two plates.

Imogen opens the containers, and the scent of lemongrass, Thai basil leaves, lime, and coriander fill my apartment, almost covering the pungent smoke from my dismal cooking attempts. I set the plates down, standing behind Imogen and resting a hand on her hip as she dishes up our food. With the other hand, I brush her hair over one shoulder so I can kiss the back of her neck. She rewards me with a small shudder. I smile against her skin, savoring her reaction, savoring this time with her that I never expected to have.