Lord of the Vampires (Royal House of Shadows #1)(69)
Author: Gena Showalter

Perfect. Easy. With her br**sts, it was almost too easy, really.

To set the stage for his downfall, she decorated his home like a bordello. Red velvet lounges now waited next to every door—just in case he was too overcome with desire for her to make it to one of the beds now perched in every corner. Naked portraits—of her—hung on the misty walls. A decorating style she’d picked up from her friend Anya, who just happened to be the goddess of Anarchy.

As Lysander had promised, Bianka had only to speak what she wanted—within reason—to receive it. Apparently furniture and pretty pictures were within reason. She chuckled. She could hardly wait to see him again. To finally begin.

He wouldn’t stand a chance. Not just because of her (magnificent) br**sts and hotness—hey, no reason to act as if she didn’t know—but because he had no experience. She had been his first kiss; she knew it beyond any doubt. He’d been stiff at first, unsure. Hesitant. At no point had he known what to do with his hands.

That hadn’t stopped her from enjoying herself, however. His taste…decadent. Sinful. Like crisp, clean skies mixed with turbulent night storms. And his body, oh, his body. Utter perfection with hard muscles she’d wanted to squeeze. And lick. She wasn’t picky.

His hair was so silky she could have run her fingers through it forever. His c**k had been so long and thick she could have rubbed herself to orgasm. His skin was so warm and smooth she could have pressed against him and slept, just as she’d dreamed about doing before she’d met him. Even though sleeping with a man was a dangerous crime her race never committed.

Stupid girl! The angel wasn’t to be trusted, especially since he clearly had nefarious plans for her—though he still refused to tell her exactly what those plans were. Teaching her to act like him had to be a misdirection of the truth. It was just too silly to contemplate. But his plans didn’t matter, she supposed, since he would soon be at her mercy. Not that she had any.

Bianka strode to the closet she’d created and flipped through the lingerie hanging there. Blue, red, black. Lace, leather, satin. Several costumes: naughty nurse, corrupt policewoman, devil, angel. Which should she choose today?

He already thought her evil. Perhaps she should wear the see-through white lace. Like a horny virgin bride. Oh, yes. That was the one. She laughed as she dressed.

“Mirror, please,” she said, and a full-length mirror appeared in front of her. The gown fell to her ankles, but there was a slit between her legs. A slit that stopped at the apex of her thighs. Too bad she wasn’t wearing any panties.

Spaghetti straps held the material in place on her shoulders and dipped into a deep vee between her br**sts. Her ni**les, pink and hard, played peekaboo with the swooping make-me-a-woman pattern.

She left her hair loose, flowing like black velvet down her back. Her gold eyes sparkled, flecks of gray finally evident, like in Kaia’s. Her cheeks were flushed like a rose, her skin devoid of the makeup she usually wore to dull its shimmer.

Bianka traced her fingertips along her collarbone and chuckled again. She’d summoned a shower and washed off every trace of that makeup. If Lysander had found himself attracted to her before—and he had, the size of his hard-on was proof of that—he would be unable to resist her now. She was nothing short of radiant.

A Harpy’s skin was like a weapon. A sensual weapon. Its jewel-like sheen drew men in, made them slobbering, drooling fools. Touching it became all they could think about, all they lived for.

That got old after a while, though, which was why she’d begun wearing full body makeup. For Lysander, though, she would make an exception. He deserved what he got. After all, he wasn’t just making Bianka suffer. He was making her sisters suffer. Maybe.

Was Kaia still looking for her? Still worried or perhaps thinking this was a game as Bianka had first supposed? Had Kaia called their other sisters and were the girls now searching the world over for a sign of her, as they’d done when Gwennie went missing? Probably not, she thought with a sigh. They knew her, knew her strength and her determination. If they suspected she’d been taken, they would have confidence in her ability to free herself. Still.

Lysander was an ass.

And most likely a virgin. Eager, excited, she rubbed her hands together. Most men kissed the women they bedded. And if she had been his first kiss, well, it stood to reason he’d never bedded anyone. Her eagerness faded a bit. But that begged the question, why hadn’t he bedded anyone?

Was he a young immortal? Had he not found anyone he desired? Did angels not often experience sexual need? She didn’t know much about them. Fine, she didn’t know anything about them. Did they consider sex wrong? Maybe. That would explain why he hadn’t wanted to touch her, too.

Okay, so it made more sense that he simply hadn’t experienced sexual need before.

He’d definitely experienced it during their kiss, though. She went back to rubbing her hands together. “What are you wearing? Or better yet, not wearing?”

Heart skidding to a stop, Bianka whipped around. As if her thoughts had summoned him, Lysander stood in the room’s doorway. Mist enveloped him and for a moment she feared he was nothing more than a fantasy.

“Well?” he demanded.

In her fantasies, he would not be angry. He would be overcome with desire. So…he was here, and he was real. And he was peering at her br**sts in openmouthed astonishment.

Astonishment was better than anger. She almost grinned.

“Don’t you like it?” she asked, smoothing her palms over her hips. Let the games begin.

“I—I—”

Like it, she finished for him. With the amount of truth that always layered his voice, he probably couldn’t utter a single lie.

“Your skin…it’s different. I mean, I saw the pearlesque tones before, but now…it’s…”

“Amazing.” She twirled, her gown dancing at her ankles. “I know.”

“You know?” His tongue traced his teeth as the anger she’d first suspected glazed his features. “Cover her,” he barked.

A moment later, a white robe draped her from shoulders to feet.

She scowled. “Return my teddy.” The robe disappeared, leaving her in the white lace. “Try that again,” she told him, “and I’ll just walk around naked. You know, like I am in the portraits.”

“Portraits?” Brow furrowing, he gazed about the room. When he spotted one of the pictures of her, sans clothing, reclining against a giant silver boulder, he hissed in a breath.