Page 67 of Haunt the Mall

He chuckled and propped us against the door. “Perhaps you should lay down.”

“Is that how you want me?” I teased.

“I want you in all ways, darling.” He lightly pinched my chin, then kissed the corner of my mouth. The little hot spot sent a pleasing shiver down my spine. He was so sweet. So promising. I’d never experienced such a mix of raw sex and tenderness.

I was his darling. His plaything. Somehow, he’d made me feel like I was his everything.

Wanting me in all ways meant he wanted something deep.

Or he wanted to try something kinky. Butt stuff, maybe.

I giggled and slid my hand under his unbuttoned shirt, the planes of his chest hot and smooth. “I want you too,” I rasped.

God, I wanted him endlessly.

He wiped my cheeks and studied my face. Why was he so restrained and concerned when we’d been hot-and-heavy ten seconds ago?

I gasped with realization.

I cried during my orgasm. I was still fucking crying. Was my eyeliner all fucked up? Oh my god, why was I so warm and weepy? I was happy. Ecstatic, actually.

Heat pressed against my eyelids and burned in streaks down my cheeks. I laid my forehead on his shoulder and laughed wetly. “You’ve ruined me.”

He tensed, then stroked my hair. “Well, you’re beautiful, darling.”

A powerful desperation shook my core.

Oh my god, he really had ruined me. I’d never cried during sex. I’d cried the first time a guy used me for it, then pretended I didn’t exist, but I’d gotten the memo after that. This was a second date. Way too early for that shit. What was this fuzzy feeling? This horrible urge to make him fall in love with me? To entice him to stay? To dry my tears and kiss my fears away? Even his voice soothed my worries and stirred emotions. Hormones could bond me to someone who gave me an orgasm, but it’d never been like this. I was wet for him—and not just between my legs.

Sniffling, I blinked back these leaking feelings. “Let me take off my boots. I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

“I can help you,” he said, pressing in close.

If he kept this up, we’d never make it out of the living room. I’d fuck him in a sobbing, clingy, 'I love you,' kind of chaos. What were the odds he’d enjoy that?

I pushed him toward the hall, the base of his cross hard under my fingertips. “Go. Last door on the right. I need to use the bathroom, so I’ll be there in a minute.”

“As you wish, milady.” He kissed my lips as if I wasn’t a total mess, then slipped down the hall with that quiet, predatory confidence he had in the theater.

My chest strained with the urge to call him back or rush over and hug him. God, I loved every inch of him, and I hadn’t even seen it yet.

I placed my hand on the door and slipped off my boots, wobbling with want. I had to get it together—at least enough to enjoy finally fucking the guy of my dreams without weeping with joy about it.

His footfall paused. “Oh. Hello, beautiful.”

I blinked and looked over. Was he talking to me?

Victor bowed his head in the light of my open doorway, his bangs sweeping over his face as his voice rumbled in that perfect, bone-shaking temptation. “May I come in?”

My jaw hung open, my heart aflame with understanding.

My Spider-Man, this vampiric gentleman, was also a cat person.

30

Meet the Cat

There was something infinitely sexy about a man who knew how to treat a feline.