Chapter 15

Chapter

Fifteen

HARPER

" Y ou look beautiful," Einar said, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight.

We sat in Draithmere's dining room, which boasted the kind of high-quality antiques my mother would have swooned over. But I hardly noticed the elegant hutch and scroll back chairs.

No, my attention was occupied with the roguishly handsome lycan prince at the head of the table. Einar had seated me to his right, which meant we didn't have to shout to hear each other.

And he hadn't taken his eyes off me—not even when Arlo brought in the crab bisque I made as a first course.

"Thank you," I said now, glancing down at my dress, which was the only one I'd brought from home. Alone in my room before dinner, I'd hesitated to wear it, thinking it might be too much. That maybe I'd look too eager—or, worse, desperate. But those fears had evaporated when I saw Einar.

He was every inch a prince in a dark suit that molded to his body so lovingly it had to be bespoke. He'd gone without a tie, and his starched dress shirt was open at the collar, revealing a tantalizing vee of golden skin. Silver cufflinks winked at his wrists. His dark blond hair was brushed back from his forehead, and he smelled expensive, like cologne sprinkled over pinecones.

"That dress suits you," he said, sipping from his wineglass. His silver eyes made a quick sprint down my bodice. "Armani?"

Surprise tripped through me. Although, maybe it shouldn't have. Einar clearly knew fine things.

I smoothed a hand down my skirt. "Yes. Several years out of style, I'm afraid."

"Couture never goes out of style." Einar toyed with his wineglass, his long fingers caressing the stem. A thick, silver watch peeked from under his cuff. "But you could wear a potato sack, and no one could take their eyes off you. Including me."

The heat that had simmered between us since we sat down sizzled higher. A second later, Arlo swept into the room with two dinner plates in his hands.

"Chicken piccata over linguine," he announced. He moved quickly, placing the plates in front of us and then disappearing as swiftly as he'd appeared. When I turned my attention back to Einar, he watched me with an intensity that let me know he'd never stopped.

"I hope you like chicken piccata," I said, lifting my fork and knife.

Einar's eyes reflected the fire dancing atop the candles—and his expression was just as smoldering. "I already told you, sweetheart, I'll eat anything you make." He cut a piece of chicken and popped it into his mouth. His eyes widened, and he made an appreciative sound as he chewed and swallowed quickly. "Damn, Harper. You're a gifted chef."

Pride swelled my chest. "I'm glad you like it."

We spent the next few minutes eating, our conversation light and companionable. Einar seemed to take a genuine interest in the dishes I'd made, as well as the cooking I did with my mother growing up.

"She took me to several Michelin star restaurants when I was a kid," I said. "Unfortunately, I was too young to appreciate it, and I usually ended up ordering chicken fingers and macaroni and cheese."

Einar chuckled. "Was it good, though?"

"Yes. Looking back, it didn't matter what I ate. The time spent with her was more important. I think that's the main thing I took away from her work." I gestured to my plate. "Food isn't just about satisfying nutritional needs. It brings people together. Most of life's milestones revolve around it. We celebrate with it. My mom always said mealtimes were sacred for that reason."

Einar's gaze softened as he listened, his eyes holding a flicker of something deeper than mere politeness. "Your mother sounds like an amazing woman."

"She was," I said. My throat burned, and I quickly cast about for a change of subject before I embarrassed myself. My gaze landed on my plate, and I forced a laugh. "I think this is the first time in four years I've eaten off a surface that wasn't made of paper."

Einar gave me an assessing look. "You've struggled with money throughout your schooling."

Damn. So much for not embarrassing myself. I toyed with the last of my linguine. "It's been challenging, but I managed."

"Didn't your mother leave you a trust?"

I lowered my fork. "You know about that?"

His gaze was steady. "It's my job to know. As cliche as it sounds, knowledge is power. It's also protection. My world can't collide with yours, Harper."

In a blink, walls rose between us. The relaxed atmosphere faded, replaced with tension reminiscent of our earlier encounters. "You speak like we're on opposing sides of a war."

His expression turned thoughtful. "Throughout most of history, that hasn't been too far off from the truth. Humans have always feared the unknown. They create monsters to explain things they can't understand, and they use them as scapegoats for all sorts of human vices. When I was a young man, the world was a much crueler place than it is today. Disease was rampant. Death was everywhere. Vice was reviled in public and embraced in private. The poets and authors of the day incorporated that contradiction into their work, creating monsters that spread death while luring innocent humans into temptation."

He'd been a young man in the late Victoria era, and one monster had dominated that period of history. "Dracula?" I guessed.

Einar lifted his brows, mischief dancing in his eyes. "You've heard of him?"

His gentle teasing made my body light up, my nerve endings coming alive. "Vaguely," I said, my heart fluttering when he grinned, clearly enjoying our banter. "Is he real, or just a figment of Bram Stoker's imagination?"

"Purely literary, although vampires predate Mr. Stoker by at least a millennium. Stoker didn't break any new ground, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that he made vampires mainstream. For the first time, the average person in the street could read. Stoker's ideas spread. Soon, people were seeing vampires and werewolves around every corner. Then cameras arrived, and life for supernaturals became more difficult. The internet made it truly dangerous." Einar's chest lifted in a sigh. "The reality is, humanity is just one viral video away from learning they share the planet with magical creatures. If the truth gets out, and humans discover how powerful we are, they'll never stop trying to eradicate us."

Visions of Goliath and the others from the maze sprang into my mind. Already, they hid from their families because they were too different to fit in. How would the world react to someone like Leander, who burst into flames on a regular basis? Or Rolfe, who looked like an MMA fighter but was too tenderhearted to participate in his family's war? They hid in the maze because they couldn't survive in the outside world.

What about Einar? Had he created the maze to protect others, or did he have secrets of his own? The urge to dig for information sparked inside me. But for once, I didn't want to write a story. I didn't want to know for the sake of reporting. I just wanted to know more about him.

"How powerful are you?" I asked. "I saw you turn into a lycan. What else can you do that would make humans fear you?"

For a moment, silence reigned. I waited for him to dismiss the question, or perhaps accuse me of angling for information. Just as regret took hold, Einar's voice filled my head.

"I can speak without words."

I froze, my heart thumping hard. "You talked in my mind."

He nodded, and his voice flowed through my head like a river. " Some claim it's what made my ancestors kings. Only those of my line possess the gift of telepathy. When I concentrate intensely, I can compel others to do my bidding in short bursts. But compulsion is very draining. It weakens me, so I don't do it very often."

A sudden, mortifying thought occurred to me. "Can you tell what other people are thinking?"

"No," he said aloud, a spark of amusement entering his eyes. "Your thoughts are your own."

Relief flooded me, along with memories of all the times we'd bickered. He'd shopped for me. He'd lined up ingredients, the labels turned outward. He gave me the best orgasm of my life. And yet he made no mention of letting me go.

"How long are you going to keep me prisoner?" I asked.

He tensed, the movement subtle but there all the same. "I don't think of you as my prisoner, Harper. Not anymore."

With a glance at the dining room doorway, I pitched my voice low. "Because I let you go down on me?"

"Because I care about you," Einar said, anger springing into his eyes. His voice deepened. "Because I can't stop thinking about you. I've tried. For your sake, I've tried. But it's no good. Even now, I want nothing more than to strip that dress off and make you mine. On the floor. On the table. Against that wall over there. But what I really want is to see you in my bed. I don't want to own you, Harper. I want to own your pleasure."

I stared, my breath caught in my lungs.

"I want to make you come until you can't even think about leaving," he said in my mind. As he continued, his telepathic voice slid between my legs. "I want to bury my cock inside you and make you scream my name until it's the only word you remember how to say."

My inner muscles clenched, my body desperate for him to fulfill his promises. But he hadn't answered my original question.

I drew a deep breath. "Maybe I want that too, but not like this."

For the briefest moment, something wild and predatory peeked out from his eyes. He blinked, and it was gone, but the intensity of his silver stare was just as potent. "What does that mean?" he rumbled aloud.

"You signed a contract to keep me here against my will. As long as that agreement holds, we're not equals. If I can't leave Draithmere whenever I wish, I'm not truly free."

Gold flickered over his eyes, reminding me that the large, beautiful man wrapped in expensive clothes was not human. He was one of the monsters he'd spoken of—a being mortals were meant to fear.

I waited, my heart in my throat, for Einar's next move. Maybe I'd ruined everything, destroying the connection between us before it had a chance to fully bloom. But I couldn't sleep with him if I couldn't even walk out the door.

"Arlo," he said quietly. A beat later, the steward entered the dining room. He stopped steps away from Einar, the teasing expression he'd worn earlier replaced with his usual reserve.

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Please fetch the contract I signed with Orson Ward."

"Of course, sir." In one of his uncanny movements, Arlo reached into the air and produced a bundle of papers.

"Please show Harper her father's signature on the last page," Einar said.

I held my breath as Arlo flipped to the final page, then held it out for my inspection. Sure enough, my father's scribbled signature appeared next to Einar's.

"Thank you, Arlo," Einar said softly. Still holding my stare, he extended his hand. Arlo handed him the contract. Einar tore it in half, the rip of the paper almost shocking in the hushed dining room.

My heart raced as Einar tossed the ruined contract onto the table.

"That will be all, Arlo," he said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir." The steward left, but not before I caught the smile that touched his lips.

When I returned my gaze to Einar, his silver eyes glittered with unconcealed desire. He rested one hand on the arm of his chair, his long fingers curled around the wood. The same fingers that had cradled my ankle as he wrapped my injury. The same fingers he'd thrust inside me while he dabbled his tongue around my clit.

"You're no longer my prisoner, Harper," he said. "You can leave whenever you wish." He swallowed, the bob of his throat betraying his seemingly unflappable authority. "But I hope you'll stay."

Desire coursed through my limbs. He waited, the gauntlet cast between us. Now that he'd given me what I wanted, the next move was mine. Did I return to Chicago and put Einar behind me? Or did I accept his invitation and embrace the unknown?

The ruined contract lay on the table. Einar continued to wait, heat flickering in his eyes.

The future was up to me. All I had to do was tell him what I wanted.

"Take me upstairs," I said. "Do all the things you promised."

Einar was on me in seconds, pulling me from my chair and swinging me into his arms.

"Arlo will see," I protested even as I curled my fingers into the sleek material of his suit jacket.

"Discretion is the hallmark of a good steward," Einar said. "Trust me, Arlo knows when to make himself scarce. We can be as loud as we wish. He won't hear us."

Einar carried me to a spacious suite decorated in dark, masculine colors. My heart stuttered as he settled me in the center of a massive canopied bed with a carved headboard. Eyes narrowed to silver slits, he stepped back and began to strip.

My throat went dry as I took in his muscular shoulders, sculpted chest sprinkled with dark blond hair, and taut abs. When he dropped his pants, I sucked in a breath.

He wore no underwear, and his erection sprang long and thick from a tangle of curls a shade darker than his hair. The heavy sack underneath swayed as he kicked his pants aside, his golden body like a sculpture in an art museum. Clearly, the man never indulged in a cheat day. He was way out of my league.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he rasped, putting a knee on the bed and moving over me with reverence in his eyes. "I've wanted you since the moment I saw you. Did you know that?"

Wordlessly, I shook my head.

He flashed a quick smile as he pushed my skirt up my legs. "That's probably a good thing." He smoothed a callused hand over my knee. "You make me helpless, Harper."

I shivered as his palm traveled higher, his fingertips teasing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. His cock bobbed near my hip, the head round and dark with arousal. A thick bead of precome swelled from the slit. My mouth watered with the need to lift my head and press my lips there.

Well, why the hell not?

I followed my instincts, lifting onto my elbow and swiping my tongue over my target. Einar sucked in a breath. Then he cupped my chin in a warm hand and drew me gently upward so I faced him on my knees.

Narrowed, burning eyes met mine, and his growl rumbled the bed as he reached behind me and unzipped my dress in one precise movement. "You know what I think, sweetheart?" he murmured.

Lust blasted me as he pulled my dress over my head, leaving me in the skimpiest bra and panty set I owned. The black silk had been a rare splurge over the summer, when I earned a little extra money editing essays for students applying to grad programs on campus.

"No," I told Einar, licking my lips. His taste lingered there, salt and pine and a hint of something dark and spicy. I wanted more.

He unhooked my bra with a deft twist of his fingers, and his nostrils flared as my breasts sprang free. For a second, he seemed speechless, that little muscle ticking in his jaw. Then he cupped my breasts, one in each hand, and feathered his thumbs over my stiffened nipples.

"I think," he said, "you're a wicked girl under all your demure sweaters." He pinched my nipples, sending pleasure-pain spiraling through me.

"Yes," I gasped, arching into him. His hands were so big, his knuckles sprinkled with golden hair. The sight of his blunt, square nails scraping my nipples was surprisingly provocative.

He kept it up, twisting and pinching. Teasing and tormenting until my breathing went ragged and moisture soaked my panties.

Einar's nostrils flared. He pinched harder, wrenching another cry from me. "You know what else I think?"

"N-No."

"You didn't make me any dessert." He moved in a blur, gripping me around the waist and repositioning us so he stretched flat on his back and I straddled his chest. My head was still spinning when he ripped my panties from my body, grabbed my hips, and settled me directly over his face. His growl vibrated my clit and shot straight up my pussy. "So you owe me something sweet, love. And I'm going to clean my plate." He thrust his tongue inside me.

Deep.

I grabbed at the headboard, my eyes already watering from the things he was doing with his tongue. The pressure, the sounds. God, the sounds . His grunts and growls warred with the erotic smack of his lips and tongue working up and down every inch of my pussy.

"Fuck," I groaned, squeezing the headboard. "You keep ruining my underwear."

"Then stop wearing them," he said, his voice muffled. I wasn't sure how he could breathe—and I suddenly didn't care. My head tipped back of its own accord, and I gazed blearily at the bed's midnight blue canopy as Einar devoured me like a starving man who just discovered a feast.

My breath came in ragged gasps, my heart pounding so hard it threatened to burst through my ribcage. Pleasure spread from my pussy through every part of my body, my nerve endings electrified. My mind blanked. I couldn't think, couldn't do anything but cling to the headboard as Einar sped me toward rapture.

His stubble abraded my sensitive skin. When I squirmed, he dug his fingers into my hips and held me in place, working his tongue harder and faster.

"Yes!" I cried, a bonfire burning under my skin. I existed for this, just this , every part of me designed to receive pleasure.

Einar delivered. He flicked his tongue over my clit, his strokes hard and relentless. Pleasure built—a steady, persistent wave swelling and swelling. The world began to splinter. I was going to fly apart.

Einar moved his hands to my ass. Gripping each cheek, he spread me open and dipped his tongue to a place no one had ever touched me, let alone licked.

He licked. Hot and slippery, his tongue traced my puckered opening. It was deeply intimate. Intense and unexpected. Filthy and so, so fucking good.

"Yes," I breathed, squeezing the headboard. I rocked on his face, riding his tongue as he swirled it around and around my asshole, sending ribbons of wicked pleasure spiraling through me. Rushing me to the edge of something big and powerful.

He dug his fingers into my cheeks and spread me wider. Worshipping me even as he held me completely at his mercy.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," I chanted, hanging by a thread. "I'm… Oh god, I'm com—" My words cut off as Einar flipped me under him in a dizzying display of speed and strength.

"Not yet, you're not," he rasped, pinning me to the bed with his weight. "You're coming with me, woman. I want this sweet pussy strangling my cock." He wedged his hips between my legs, but it wasn't necessary. I was already opening for him, my body burning up with the fires he'd stoked.

"Now," I panted, my hips rolling. I'd never been so aroused. He'd dangled an orgasm in front of me and then snatched it away. Now I was feral for it.

Bracing himself on one forearm, he gripped his shaft and stroked the swollen, leaking head up and down my cleft. "My kind are immune from disease," he said. "And I'm unlikely to get you pregnant, but?—"

"I get the shot," I said. Although, maybe he wasn't familiar with modern medicine. "It's human birth control."

Amusement shone in his eyes as he continued his lazy, tormenting strokes. "I know what it is." He positioned himself at my opening and eased his hips forward, filling me by inches. Heat and pressure teased my passage. But I was finished being teased. I needed more .

Before I realized what I was doing, I'd gripped his jaw. "Then shut up and fuck me," I said, my voice guttural.

His answering growl was thick with approval. He entered me in one swift thrust.

I cried out, my inner muscles clamping around him. He'd prepped me thoroughly, but he still stretched me, his hard length leaving me no space of my own.

But I didn't want space. I just wanted him.

"More," I said, wrapping my legs around his waist. I pulled him tightly against me, and we both shuddered as his balls nestled against my ass.

A smile played around his mouth as he held himself still above me. Inside me. He traced my bottom lip with a rough thumb before trailing his fingers down my chest to cup one of my breasts. "So demanding, sweetheart. Who knew you'd be a little general in bed."

Raising one eyebrow, I squeezed my inner muscles around his dick. "And you're still talking."

Einar caught his breath. Then a mix of challenge and determination entered his eyes. Going to both forearms, he began to move, working his hips in a slow, sexy grind that grazed my clit.

Sparks sizzled through my veins. My lips parted on a low, breathy moan as I arched up to meet him, seeking more of that delicious friction.

"So tight," he murmured, maintaining his thorough, unhurried strokes. His chest hair grazed my breasts. The wet sound of his cock driving into me filled my ears. "Such a tight, hot cunt, Harper. Fuck, I'm going to need this pussy all the time."

He fucked me faster. The connection between us turned aggressive. Primal. It should have frightened me, but it didn't. On the contrary, it unlocked something just as primal within me. I reached up and dragged him down, pressing my mouth to his.

He took what I offered, sweeping his tongue into my mouth as he deepened his strokes. Our lips tangled. Our bodies slapped together. Every plunge of his cock sent more sparks cartwheeling through me.

Close. I was so close. Pleasure built once more, and this time I knew Einar and I would tumble over the wave together.

With a savage growl, he broke our kiss and pinned my arms above my head. Sweat flew from his forehead as he slammed into me over and over. So deep. The angle was perfect. Every thrust pounded against my clit. My orgasm gathered. I couldn't hold on.

"Einar!" I cried, my pussy already spasming.

"Right there with you," he grated. His fingers tightened on my wrists. He drove his hips forward one more time and then threw his head back, his roar splitting the air as he pumped inside me.

I flew into the heavens, my cry of ecstasy echoing in my ears. Thick, hot pleasure suffused me, scattering my thoughts into a million pieces. Nothing mattered. Nothing had ever mattered. Just this. And it kept coming, celestial waves shoving me farther and farther from shore. I floated, untethered from pain and the past.

But I had to return to earth eventually. When I fluttered back to myself, Einar was there, his big body stretched alongside mine. Turning to me, he tugged me against him and pressed his lips to my forehead.

"How do you feel?"

"Tired," I said. And sore. Sex with someone as big as Einar was its own kind of workout. I'd used muscles I never used before in my life.

He pulled back, an edge of wariness in his gaze. "Good tired or bad tired?"

I cupped his jaw. "The best kind of tired."

The shadows in his eyes fled, and his lips curved in a self-satisfied smile. "Too tired to hike with me tomorrow?"

He wanted to go on a hike with me? "Like, on a trail?"

His smile widened. "Yes, on a trail." He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. "You've been cooped up inside. That's my fault, and I'm sorry for it. I'd like to make amends."

A man who apologized when he was wrong—and knew exactly what to do with a woman's clitoris. Had I discovered a unicorn?

"Yes," I heard myself say. "I mean, I don't have any hiking gear, but…"

"Arlo will take care of it," he said. "And if you get blisters, I'll just carry you back to the house and fuck you better."

An aftershock rippled through me. "I don't think sex helps with blisters."

Einar ran a fingertip over my bottom lip. He seemed fascinated with it. Fine by me. "I guess we'll have to try it out," he murmured.

"All right."

He smiled. "So it's a date."

"It's a date." And maybe I'd gotten everything backward, and the hiking should have come before sex. Then again, I challenged anyone faced with an aroused Einar to decline a session on his desk…or in his bed.

He rolled on top of me and pushed his knee between my thighs. "It's a long time until tomorrow, woman. I'll have to keep you busy until then."