Page 61 of The Vampire's Guide to Wooing a Scholar
He channeled his blood into his fingertips, forming razor-sharp ruby claws. He placed the tip of one between her breasts, then swept down in a single smooth motion. Her dress, corset, chemise, and drawers split cleanly in two. She flung the fabric away and reached for him, but he formed his claws into shackles and wrapped them around her wrists.
She wrinkled her nose. “What are these?”
He created a long chain between the shackles and tossed it over a hook in the ceiling, the remnant of a pulley system he’d created months ago but never finished. Then he merged the links until her arms were drawn above her head. When she was fully at his mercy, he shoved the fingers of his left hand between her legs and made her squeal.
“So wet for me,” he said. “But are you ready for what comes next?”
She squeezed her legs around his hand. “Yes.”
He slapped her arse with his other hand. “Are you sure?”
“God, yes!”
She had suffered enough. He tore off the tattered remains of his clothing and guided the glistening head of his cock to her entrance. At the first touch of her inner lips caressing him, he moaned. Their bond was only open a crack, but he could feel his own cock impaling her as if he were penetrating himself.
“Do you want more?” he asked. “There are other places I could enter you.” He spanked her again.
She was breathing so harshly that she could barely speak, but she nodded furiously.
He channeled a thin, thrashing tail out of the end of his spine and used it to snatch a bottle of oil tucked in his desk drawer before winding the appendage around her thigh and down her arse. After properly preparing her rear entrance, he slithered inside her.
“Oh!” She tightened around him and moaned.
He clasped her hips and drew her body up and down on his cock while copying the motion with his tail. Within seconds, her orgasm rippled through the bond and made him come apart. When the throbbing faded, he dissolved her restraints, gathered her in his arms, and carried her back to his bed.
Chapter Thirty-Five
March 7th 1873, Paris
The streets ofMontmartre were quiet, aside from the cooing of nesting doves and the occasional crackle of gas burning in the streetlamps. Winifred tucked herself closer to Marcus’s side, exhaling a breath that formed a cloud and vanished over their heads. “Are you sure this is the place?”
Marcus squeezed his hand on her arm. “I am.”
The squat building in front of them gave no sign that it was an atelier. It was sandwiched between two other businesses, a restaurant, and a bakery. She wouldn’t have even noticed it were it not for Marcus. She’d nearly tripped on her plaid, cotton skirt when he’d come to an abrupt halt at a black door.
“Maybe they have already retired,” she said. Not that she was nervous, but that she could feel the trembling of Marcus’s arm beneath her fingers. They’d managed many incredible things since she’d become a vampire, but venturing out of the castle long enough to visit his nest siblings in Paris had remained out of reach—until today. His anxiety was growing like a rising tide through their bond. She reached through their minds and wrenched the suffocating tendrils of his anxiety up by the roots until they withered and died. They always grew back, but between her assistance and his exercises, they managed.
Marcus’s trembling arm stilled. He nodded. “I am ready.”
They walked to the door and opened it, revealing a vibrant interior occupied by two figures. Cordon stood on a pedestal wearing a black-and-orange-checkered suit while Kitty crouched by his feet. There were pins tucked in her mouth and her brow was furrowed.
“Good evening,” Winifred said.
Kitty’s head whipped toward them. She gasped. Pins fell to the ground. “Winifred! Marcus!” She leaped to her feet and rushed forward.
Winifred met the shorter woman in a tight embrace. “We wanted to surprise you.”
Kitty laughed. “You have succeeded. How did you…?” She leaned back and glanced at Marcus, who was clasping arms with a grinning Cordon.
Winifred tapped her temple with her index finger. “We have been practicing.”
“Excellent,” Kitty said. Then she looked up and down Winifred’s body and hissed. “Please do not tell me you have come to my shop wearing readymade clothing.”
The despair in her voice made Winifred giggle. “It is all I could manage on short notice.”
Kitty shook her head. “No. Absolutely not. You must have a wardrobe befitting a published scholar.” She gestured to a set of leather-bound books sitting on a table next to a cast-iron sewing machine. “I have your entire collection.” She ushered Winifred down the steps, then stopped her in front of a wall of fabrics. “Does anything call to you?”
Winifred scoffed. “They aren’t magic.” But before Kitty could respond, she pointed to a lush sapphire velvet. “How about that one?”
