Page 73 of Tethered Fates

“We can stop anytime—”

“I already said I don’t want to,” I interrupt, pressing my chest into his and wishing we could tear off all our clothes. “I just can’t—”

“Nope,” Sen kisses the top of my nose. “You can say ‘no’, ‘stop’, ‘I don’t like that’. You’re not allowed to say you can’t.”

“Bossy.” I nip his bottom lip. “I kinda like it.”

Sen’s grin slides across his face the same way he learnt the shape of my torso—like he can’t get enough of me. “You like power?”

I shrug. “I said I felt powerless, not that I need it…”

“But you want it?” Sen asks, lowering his face, so the only way he’d be closer is if we were kissing.

I shrug, distracted by the shape of his lips and starving for them.

Sen kisses me, slow but ravenous, then he whispers, the heat of his breath burning my lips, “Do you like your prostate being played with, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.” Whatever shame I was feeling is washed away by the intensity of Sen. “Yeah. I do, slick.”

Sen smirks, the tip of his fang flashing, then he pulls away, his strong muscles and defined chest glistening. “Do you know who I am, Teagan?”

I cock my head to the side.

“I am a nine-hundred-year-old vampire.”

Sen strolls away from me, and I shiver at the loss of his heat. He pulls open a drawer and plucks out a clear bottle of lube.

“I was made into one from ancient blood.” He strolls back, eyes piercing. My breathing slows to a deep, steady inhale and exhale. “And before that, I was a samurai.” Sen towers above me, tall and imposing, his strong body stark in the low light. “Undefeated. Feared.”

My breath catches.

“I am more powerful than you can imagine.” Sen glides to his knees, looks up at me, and I nearly swallow my tongue. “And I am, completely, yours to command.”

My cock doesn’t get hard. But my entire body floods with boiling heat as my pupils dilate, staring down at the vampire before me.

Sen smirks. “So, sweetheart, what would you like me to do?”

Chapter Twenty-Five - Teagan

Ican’t look away from the sight of Sen kneeling.

His hands rest on his strong thighs, the bottle of lube sitting in his open palm. Every inch of him is perfect, not like a cold, unfeeling statue.

He’s art in its purest, most wild form.

Every breath that slips past my lips is loud in the intimate darkness. A hint of light peeks from between the curtains, touching the curves of his shoulders and the outlines of his body, so he shines like tarnished gold.

But within the shadows that caress him, Sen is a subject no artist would ever be able to replicate.

Excitement bubbles in my veins. The same type of thrill as when we climbed the defunct communication tower. Or when I painted a wall in all his colours.

I reach for Sen, his possessive, heated stare boring into me—the corner of his lip tilts up in a teasing dare—and I twirl a finger around a lock of his decadent black hair.

And shiver.

I count each lash, search his face as if it’s my first time seeing the dark stubble on his jaw, the strong column of his neck and every defined muscle in his upper body. So fucking curious to see what he looks like without his grey sweats.

I swallow, not bothering to hide how excited he’s making me. I might not be hard, but we both know I want it.