I’ve kept myself in neat and tidy little boxes my entire life. Be the dutiful daughter. The quiet little sister who never rocks the boat. Those neat and tidy little boxes spill over into my life with my clothes organized by color and type, my desk clean, everything in its place.
I like the control. The order. I like that labels spell things out, cut and dry, no question.
Being bitten by Bran Duval in his shower is the most chaos I’ve ever invited into my life.
And I’m surprised at how good it feels.
If this is what it’s like being bitten, why haven’t I tried it yet?
The euphoria washes over me like a break of warm sunlight.
Bran sucks at my thigh while his fingers slid inside of me. I moan and grip at his shoulder to keep myself upright.
The pain of the bite, the pleasure of his fingers, it’s damn near delirious.
He twists his hand so he can slide his thumb up to my needy clit. He flicks at me, causing me to jolt and then he goes still.
With heavy lids, I look at him as he straightens in front of me.
Fangs sharp and protruding from his mouth, he’s covered in my blood, eyes glowing such a bright amber, I swear they’re phosphorescent.
He runs his tongue over his lips, lapping up the last drops.
“You taste just as fucking sweet as I thought you would,” he says, and I pant out a breath as my pussy clenches up again.
I want more of him.
I can’t believe this is happening, and I don’t want it to stop.
“Fuck me,” I say.
“No,” he says.
I whine. “Please.”
He gets in close to me, the spray of the shower bouncing off his broad shoulder, wetting my eyelashes.
“I’ll fuck you when I’m good and ready,” he says, but while his words show restraint, I can feel the head of his cock prodding at me. I shift, rising on my tip toes and rocking my hips so his shaft slides between my legs.
He growls, his hand coming to my chin, fingers pressing hard against my jaw. “You don’t control this.”
I arch my back, rubbing against him. I’m nearly blind with the desire for him.
“I don’t see you pulling away,” I say.
He laughs through his nose, eyes still molten metal. “Watch me.”
And then he’s gone, the shower door softly clicking closed behind him.
“What the hell?” I shout.
I’m breathing heavy, and my clit is buzzing.
“I’ll just finish myself then.” I lean against the shower stall and reach down, but Bran is suddenly there again tsk-tsking at me.
“No.” He takes my arm and pins it against the wall. “You don’t get to come until I say so.”
I scowl at him. “Why not?”
He leans in at my ear and whispers, “Because deep down, you like me telling you what to do.”
I buck against him. He laughs.
I want to prove to him just how wrong he is, but the truth is, I like control, but I also like being controlled by him.
Apparently, Bran Duval knows just how to press my buttons, because while I’m horny as hell and near delirious with wanting to come, doing it myself now doesn’t hold the same thrill.
What does make me buzzy is the thought of listening to him.
I go still against the wet shower wall. Bran’s nostrils flare, and he arches a brow. He lets go of my arm, hands dipping to my hips. With his knee, he nudges my legs open just enough to open my thighs.
“Is this what you wanted, mouse?” he says, voice rumbly and hoarse as he slides his cock between my legs. The head of his shaft sends a shockwave of pleasure straight through me as it drags over my clit.
“Fuck. Yes.”
He pumps his hips, pressing me against the wall with his weight as he fucks my wet folds hitting that pleasure zone again and again, building the buzz of an orgasm with barely any effort at all.
The spray of the water beads on my face. Bran’s mouth comes to my jawline and kisses slowly as he switches his pace, teasing me more than fucking me.
“Bran.” My voice is reedy and far away.
He kisses down my jaw, to the hollow behind my ear, then sinks to the pulse in my throat.
Razor sharp fangs graze at my flesh.
He keeps sliding that hard cock between my legs, every nerve ending firing like a wick.
“You want to come, mouse?” he asks and puts his mouth on the rapid beat of my heart.
“Yes.”
“Say please.”
I whimper when he stops entirely and drags the tip of his tongue over my throat.
My knees are shaking. My pussy is so tingly, it feels electric with the craving to come.
I know giving in to Bran’s demand is the same as giving in to a monster, but goddammit, I think I might say or do anything right now.
“Please,” I moan out.
Bran’s grip tightens on my hips as he picks up the sliding tempo of his cock, fucking my clit as the pressure builds and builds.
“Go on then,” he says at my ear, “let me hear you come, naughty little mouse.”
That does it.
The dam breaks.
I grip at his shoulders, eyes clenched tight, starbursts behind my lids as the orgasm spills over me in a delicious wave of heat and pleasure.
I cry out, body quivering on Bran’s thick shaft.
“Fuck, mouse,” he says, and then he groans loudly, muscles coiling up tight as he comes. Cum spills all over my pussy and drips down my legs.
I collapse against him and breathe hard against the rise of his shoulder, holding on to him for dear life as the last of the orgasm fades out, leaving me spent and trembling in his arms.
“Oh my god,” I say. “Oh my god.”
He pulls away and looks down at me, lips swollen and wet, vampire eyes glowing amber.
I make a move to wash myself between my legs, but he snatches my wrist. “No,” he says, and that’s all he has to say now, because he and I both know I’m going to listen.
He helps me rinse out my hair and then shuts the shower off.
When I step out of the stall, he towels off the dampness, then tosses it to the corner, takes me by the hand, and leads me out into the pitch-black bedroom.
I can only hear the soft rasp of the sheets as he pulls them back, then his command: “Get in bed, mouse.”
I slowly feel my way to the bed and climb in beneath the sheets. I’m immediately enveloped by the soft cotton and Bran’s scent, like whiskey and oak.
It’s the most delicious scent that immediately makes me want to sigh into the pillow as I lay my head down.
Bran slides into me and pulls me into his chest, arms wrapped around me.
“Good girl,” he says, his voice hoarse and sleepy.
“Shut up,” I mutter. He tightens his hold on me, tucks me into his side.
I lay there, blinking into the darkness, thinking there’s no way I’m going to sleep in this situation, but before I know it, I’m out.
We wake to an incessant pounding noise.
Groggy, I moan and roll over. “What is that?”
Bran is already up and has flicked on a lamp on the bedside table. He pulls on a pair of jeans, no boxer briefs, I notice.
“Someone’s at the front door,” he answers and then disappears in a blur.
Oh god. What if something happened to Kelly while I was descending into horny madness?
I slip from the bed and then realize I’m still naked with no clothes to put on. I decide since part of the reason I’m here and naked is because of Bran, he owes me a shirt or two. I go to his walk-in closet and find rows and rows of clothing. Most of it is black, but I find a few flannel shirts that are big enough to be a dress on me.
Pulling one on, I’m filled with a tiny thrill that I’m in Bran Duval’s house, dressing in his clothes.
Nothing like this would ever happen in the real world. Or rather, the world outside of Midnight Harbor where people think vampires and witches and fae are fiction.
Once the shirt is buttoned enough to cover the important bits, I follow the hallway then descend down the stairs. The circular window on the first landing shows dark, stormy clouds outside, making it seem later than it actually is.
“Where is she?” a familiar voice says at the front door.
Bran is standing in a rectangle of dusky light, the jeans hanging low on his naked hips. From my vantage point on the stairs, I can see every ridge of muscle in his back, every dimple. His hair is still mussed, but it looks more like sex hair than it does sleep hair.
“In my bed,” comes Bran’s reply.
A hand slaps hard against the door, but Bran has it firmly in his grip, and it doesn’t budge.
“She may not be pledged to my house yet, but rest assured, Duval, she’s mine. Now go fucking get her.”
Julian Locke is here?
The shadowed lines of muscle between Bran’s shoulder blades grows deeper as his body coils. The hair on my arms rises, goosebumps covering my skin.
“Say that again and find out how true it is,” Bran says, almost a growl.
“I don’t know what you’re up to, but this won’t end well. Jessie is ours.”
I come down the rest of the steps, and the vampires cut themselves off, finally realizing that I’m there.
When I step around Bran, Julian looks me up and down in nothing but a buttoned flannel shirt and clamps his mouth shut.
Julian Locke appears to be at least ten years older than Bran, when in reality, in vampire years, he’s nearly fifty years younger. It’s easy to forget that when they’re standing next to one another.
Where Bran’s skin is flawless, smooth, without wrinkles or blemishes, Julian’s got pronounced lines around his eyes and in his forehead. His dark hair is shaved close to the scalp while his face is covered in thick facial hair.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Julian licks his lips. “Your sister is worried about you.”
“Me? She was the one who came home last night with her throat all torn to shreds.”
Bran takes a step closer to me. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you Julian?”
The way he goes pale, the flash of a blue glow in his eyes says that yes, he does know something about it.
“What happened to her?” I ask.
“I wasn’t with her last night,” he answers. “But if someone got rough with their bite, I’ll see to it they’re punished.”
“It wasn’t just the bite.” Bran crosses his arms over his chest and takes another step my way, close enough that half his body shields me now. “Kelly was compelled.”
Julian’s nostrils flare. “Like I said, I’ll look into it. In the meantime, it’s time for Jessie to come home.”
I’ve known Julian Locke my entire life, but while he’s been a fixture in my world, I never exactly felt comfortable around him. There was always something about the way he looked at me, like I was a zoo animal, and everything I did was a performance for him.
I think deep down a little part of me wanted to leave Midnight Harbor because I didn’t want to align the rest of my life with Julian and the Locke vampires.
“I appreciate your concern, Julian,” I say, “but I’m just fine staying here.”
I catch Bran’s smug grin out of the corner of my eye.
“I would advise against that,” Julian says.
“Why?”
Julian looks at Bran. Some unspoken language passes between them. The tension boils in the air, and instinctively, I take a step back, letting Bran act as my shield.
“You don’t want to do this,” Bran says.
Julian scowls, deepening the lines around his eyes. “You don’t have the power of the Duval house at your back.”
“Have you forgotten who I am, Julian?” Bran moves to the threshold. “I don’t need it.”
There’s an obvious twitch to Julian’s expression. Finally, he backs off, and the tension fades. Julian looks past Bran at me. “Just be careful, Jessie. I’ve known Bran for centuries. He’s broken a lot of hearts in that time.”
With that, he turns and disappears out of sight.
Bran gives the door a shove, and it slams closed.
“What was that all about?” I ask.
Bran stalks past me and goes upstairs. I follow and find him tugging on a black t-shirt in his bedroom, then boots. “Nice shirt,” he says.
I frown and cross my arms over my chest. His flannel is easily three times as big as me, and it hangs off my body like a bedsheet on a clothesline.
“I like you in my clothes,” he says. “I like thinking about you pantieless in my clothes even more.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
He stands and crosses the room to tower over me. “It’s too bad we have somewhere to be. I can still taste your sweetness in the back of my throat, little mouse, and I’d very much like another bite.”
Heat flames in my cheeks. “Well, you’ll have to wait for another century to pass, because I’ve thankfully come to my senses.”
He smirks at me, clearly reading my bluff. “Uh huh. Let’s get you home and get dressed.”
“Where are we going?”
He steers me out of the room and down the stairs. “I think it’s time we go talk to your boss.”
“What? Why?”
He nods at the protection rune hanging around my neck, the one my mom gave me when I was just a kid. “Because of that.”
I lift the pendant by its clasp. The stone is black obsidian with the rune carved into its face. The rune itself always reminded me of an upside-down chicken leg. “What about it?”
“It was made by Rita.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because, mouse, it smells like her. Now tell me, why would a witch give a mortal girl a protection amulet when she was just a child?”
A lump wedges itself in the column of my throat. That’s a very good question. One I never looked at too closely. Witch charms are common in Midnight Harbor, obviously, but not usually protection charms, not when that mortal family has been pledged to a vampire house for decades.
But I barely knew Rita before she gave me a job at the coffee shop. She would have said something if she was the creator of the charm, wouldn’t she?
Unless it was supposed to be a secret.
