Page 25 of Guardians for the Vamp
His eagle head rotates nearly 360 degrees as he scans the room. His talons tap on the linoleum floor and his beak snaps open and shut. All actions of a guard surveying his surroundings and assessing those in his presence.
Thorne sits taller, his face filled with pride. I can tell he already likes this one, but I tune out the interview because Erebos is rather boring, nearly as serious and broody as Thorne. He doesn’t flirt with me, in fact, he doesn’t even address me other than the original greeting. He’s far more interested in engaging Thorne with warrior speak. At least, that’s what I called it because after answering questions pertaining to the security role, Thorne and Erebos compared war stories for at least ten minutes.
We made it through two more candidates with no flirty issues when a werewolf walks in. The man, whose name is Carigan, is about 200 years in age, but appears no older than forty. He has short black hair and brown eyes and medium brown skin. He’s tall, about six three, if I were toguess, and massive. Not muscular like Thorne. The were is wide and soft, reminding me of a wrestler.
He’s intimidating but sweet and smiles nonstop. It’s infectious, and I find myself smiling back.
Which only pisses Thorne off, garnering a growl.
Fuck, I love when Thorne growls. It’s so animalistic and possessive. My nipples are already hardening, thinking about all the other wonderful sounds he makes, especially the ones when I had his cock in my mouth.
Thorne stills, Carigan’s nostrils flair, and I swear I hear a muffled howl.
Werewolves can’t change at will like shifters, but their inner monster is still sentient between full moons. It stillcraves.
Thorne has Carigan by the throat and against the wall within seconds. He bares his fangs, his claws digging into the were’s skin.
“Thorne, release him immediately,” I command, my own fangs out.
“I’m sorry, man,” Carigan wheezes, Thorne’s grip on his neck nearly crushing his vocal box. “I didn’t mean to… um… to smell her.”
“Let him go, Thorne. That’s an order!”
Thorne hesitates, only for a second, before he releases the poor supe.
“I apologize, Carigan. We’ll… call you.”
If he’ll even want to be part of the team after Thorne tried to kill him, which I have no doubt would have happened if I hadn’t stopped him.
When Carigan leaves, I walk to where Thorne stands. Anger radiates from his body, his clawed hand opening and closing into fists.
“You can’t do that, Thorne!” I say, shoving at his chest. He stumbles back at the force. “You could have killed him and—”
Thorne cuts off my words by grabbing my hips and lifting me onto the conference room table. He clutches my head in his hands and descends on me with a rough but passionate kiss. His plump lips work my mouth eagerly until it opens, allowing his tongue to slip through.
I whimper as Thorne grinds his bulge into my cloth-covered pussy. I bury my hands into his hair, which he has up in a knot at the top of his head. I tug at the strands, and he growls against my lips.
“Please,” I moan as he moves his lips to my chin and down my neck.
He lays me back on the table to continue moving his greedy mouth down my chest and stomach. I part my legs, ready for him to tear these pants off my body. To bury his head in my sex. To taste me and fuck me with his tongue.
But a knock at the door snaps Thorne out of this shot of lust.
“Fuck,” he groans against my fupa.
I’m about to tell him to ignore whoever is outside the door but the knob turns, and we scramble to right ourselves before it opens fully.
The next candidate—who definitely notices our disheveled appearances and our swollen lips—walks in.
“Is this a perk of the job?” the fae warrior smirks.
“Absolutely fucking not,” Thorne says with a huff before marching out of the room.
I smile at the woman with pale skin, silver eyes, and stark white hair. She’s wearing a black tank top and faux leather pants—clothes that barely contain her short yet muscular body.
“He’ll be back. He just needs a moment.”
“I’m sure he does.”
