Prologue
Ambrose’s mouth hovered over mine, close enough that I could feel the heat of him sinking into my skin. Each breath he exhaled a slow, wicked caress that made my lips tingle with unbearable anticipation.
The tension between us coiled tighter, and I barely stopped myself from chasing him, already aching for the weight of his mouth on mine.
He watched me for a heartbeat, golden eyes gleaming with hunger, before closing the last sliver of distance and crushing his mouth against mine.
The kiss landed like a lightning strike—hot, wet, and overwhelming.
His tongue plunged between my lips, not coaxing but claiming, and the sharp scrape of his fangs grazed my bottom lip, a teasing threat before a shallow, deliberate prick.
I gasped into him, the faint sting sending a jolt of pleasure straight to my core, and he swallowed the sound like it belonged to him.
The taste of him flooded my senses—ripe berries laced with something darker, something dangerous—and the sweet tang of my own blood only sharpened the hunger clawing at every nerve ending.
Ambrose growled low in his chest, the sound vibrating through my bones, and his grip on me tightened.
One hand fisted my hair, tilting my head back to bare my throat to him; the other slid down my side, broad fingers curving over my hip and dragging me up against him.
The hard ridge of his cock ground against the soaked fabric of my panties, and every slow, punishing thrust of his hips sent blinding pleasure racing through my body, making my clit throb, making my thighs quiver and my breath stutter in broken gasps.
I whimpered into his mouth, grinding against him desperately, needing more, to be filled, claimed and destroyed.
He kissed me harder, rough and consuming, his teeth scraping at my lips again in another teasing promise that left me trembling, aching, slick with want.
His hand slipped beneath the hem of my nightgown, fingers skimming up the trembling inside of my thigh, stopping just shy of where I needed him most.
He teased me there, his touch maddening, until my hips rocked against him shamelessly, chasing the friction, desperate for release.
“Ambrose,” I gasped, voice wrecked, begging, undone.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, the gold in his eyes molten and wild, and his voice was a low growl against my skin.
“You’re mine, Evelynn.”
He lowered his mouth to my throat, dragging his fangs in a slow, deliberate scrape along my pulse point, and my entire body seized with electric pull.
My panties were soaked, my thighs shaking, every muscle in my body begging for him to sink those fangs into me and claim me properly.
I clutched at him helplessly, nails raking across the thick muscle of his back, trying to pull him closer, trying to offer up whatever part of myself he wanted to take.
Another growl rumbled from him, darker this time, almost violent.
And then—
The shriek of my alarm split the air like a gunshot.
I jolted awake, gasping, heart hammering against my ribs, body thrashing against tangled, damp sheets.
The ache between my legs throbbed with cruel intensity, my soaked panties clinging uncomfortably to overheated, trembling skin.
“Ambrose the Sensual...” I whispered, my voice hoarse, my breath ragged.
The dream clung to me like a second skin, thick and suffocating, every nerve ending still screaming for a man who had never even touched me.
I dragged a hand over my flushed face, trying to steady my breathing, but the emptiness beside me made it worse.
Just a fantasy.
Just a name on a screen.
A stranger whose videos and pictures I had memorized too well, whose voice had slipped past the loneliness and carved itself into my veins.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, the cold air making me shiver, though it did nothing to ease the molten ache still pulsing between my thighs.
“I have a long day ahead of me,” I muttered, but my voice was hollow, brittle.
In the mirror, my reflection stared back at me—lips kiss-swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes wild and glassy with want.
Maybe it was time to find something real.
Or maybe, just maybe, tonight Ambrose would come back to me again.
And next time, I wouldn’t wake before he finished what he started.
But morning always came too soon, and reality had a way of stealing even the most perfect dreams.
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This story delivers fangs, heat, and a love that bites back.
