An Acquired Taste (The Valentine Society)

Chapter Fifteen

“ C ome in,” I call, expecting it to be Ellen here to deliver breakfast and take my blood, as usual. But instead, it’s Trent who steps in with the tray containing my usual breakfast spread.

I sit up in bed, frowning. “Trent? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, his eyes on his shoes and his freckled cheeks aflame. “Just that Ellen’s unable to make it until later tonight, so I’m helping out.”

“I see.” It’s strange how quickly I’ve gotten used to our morning routine, but of course Ellen is her own person with needs. As soon as Trent shuffles over with the tray, I reach over to take my coffee. I sip it and lean back against my pillows with a sigh, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. When I open them again, Trent is still standing there, wringing his hands.

“Um,” he says. “I’m also… supposed…”

“Oh, yeah. My blood.” I swap my coffee to my other hand and hold out my wrist for him.

Trent pulls out the tourniquet and syringe but hesitates. After a few moments of waiting, I glance up from my coffee to his face, and am alarmed to find him looking rather green-tinged and even more anxious than normal. “Is everything okay?”

“I… yes, of course,” he says, looking very much not okay. “It’s just that, um… I’ve never done this before. I’m certified, but, uh…” He grimaces. “I’m a little squeamish around blood, to be honest.”

I huff a laugh at the ridiculousness. I would tease him about working in the wrong household, but he already looks like he’s vibrating with nerves. And his anxiety is becoming infectious. I’m not so eager to have someone inexperienced prodding at my veins, especially when I need this done every morning. “Is there no one else who can do it?” I ask, pulling my wrist back.

Trent rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “Er… I could check…”

“No. You know what?” I down the rest of my coffee in a couple of gulps, set the mug aside, and reach out to grab the syringe from his hand. “This is ridiculous,” I say, climbing out of bed and getting to my feet. Trent looks away as he realizes I’m clad only in a gossamer nightgown, but I’m too full of righteous indignity to care. All of the important bits are covered, anyway. “There’s no reason why Lord Sebastian can’t get his own blood,” I say. Especially after we spent yesterday evening together.

Trent’s eyes widen. “I’m not so sure he—”

“At least while Ellen is away,” I continue, ignoring him. I’m not going to stop and doubt myself; I have to ride this wave of anger as far as it will take me. I grab my toast off the breakfast tray, finish it in a few savage chomps, and stride toward the door. Trent trails after me, looking like he wants to argue but can’t quite find the words. I whirl to face him in the hallway, and he nearly plows right into me before catching himself. “Where is he?” I demand.

Any remaining intent to argue withers in the face of my determination. “Library,” Trent says in a small voice.

“Of course he is.” Always with the damn library. Like his books are so preferential to my company. I march down the hallway, still in my nightgown, the wooden floors cold against my bare feet. At some point Trent stops following—probably afraid to be complicit in my behavior—but I don’t pause to knock at the library door before entering.

Sebastian sits frozen in the same chair as last time, book in lap. For a moment, we just stare at one another. “What is it?” he asks. He slides a bookmark between the pages he’s reading, sets the book aside, and stands. “What’s wrong?”

I take a deep breath, pausing to collect myself and steady the rapid thumping of my heart.

Now that I’m here, in only my thin nightgown, I’m beginning to realize that this may be an ill-advised move. But I’m here, so I thrust out the syringe in his direction. He glances at it, and then up at me again, one eyebrow arching. “Ellen isn’t in today,” I say.

“I’m aware,” he says. “I sent Trent.”

I frown. I’m about to tell him there’s no way I’m letting an untrained boy jab a needle into my vein, but I don’t want to get Trent in trouble. So instead, I ask, “Why don’t you do it yourself?”

He grimaces. “Amelia,” he says, as though I’m being unreasonable. “I’d rather not.”

I flush. “Why?” I demand. “You did it yourself at the ball. I know you’re capable.”

His eyes flash. “It’s not a matter of capability.”

Perhaps it’s unwise, but I feel victorious summoning up any kind of emotion from those icy depths, so I press onward. “Then what?” I ask. “Do you not want it?” I flash back to the reactions of all the vampires who drank from me. “Are you even drinking the vials that Ellen takes?”

“Of course I am drinking them,” he snaps.

“Then what’s the issue?” Maybe he’s bluffing, trying to spare my feelings. Either way, I feel a sudden, urgent need to know. I step toward him, holding out the syringe in one hand and the bare wrist of the other. “Have it fresh.”

For a couple of moments we’re frozen like that, eyes locked. Then he shakes his head, sits, and reopens his book.

“I will wait until Ellen returns,” he says. “You may leave. Enjoy your day off.” He barely looks at me.

I straighten up with an indignant huff, ready to tell him off for the rudeness before taking my leave—but then I notice the slight tremble in his hands, the way his throat bobs as he swallows. I hesitate. “But you need to drink. Don’t you?” Benjamin told me that most vampires feed every day in small amounts, and I know that Sebastian has not been taking enough from me to warrant a day off.

He looks at me then. His eyes are very dark, and I notice his fangs are out as his gaze drops to the curve of my neck. Suddenly, I don’t see a man who is indifferent to me, but a man trying very hard to keep a lid on his self-restraint. But why ? I reach up and—hardly able to believe my daring—brush my hair behind my shoulder to reveal the pale, unbroken skin there.

“If you really want me to leave, say it again and I will,” I say.

Sebastian swallows again and stays silent. I approach him, step by step, giving him ample opportunity to tell me to go if that’s what he wants, but he doesn’t say a word. Just looks at me with those dark, dark eyes.

It encourages me to be even bolder. I set the syringe on a side table and hold my breath as I lower myself onto the edge of his armchair, close enough that one of my knees rests against one of his. I reach over to take the book from his lap and slide his bookmark into it before setting it aside with the syringe.

“You don’t have to do this,” Sebastian says, but it sounds half-hearted and thick with his fangs out.

I swallow. My heart pounds in my ears. “I want to,” I say, and then, smiling shyly, hold my wrist up to him.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he says, but the low grumble of reproach in his voice has less of an effect when he’s unabashedly staring at my veins.

“I do,” I say. “I know my blood isn’t exactly to your liking, but you don’t have to starve yourself.”

His eyes were wandering back to my neck again, but he pauses, a furrow forming between his dark brows. “What?”

I flush. Is he going to make me say it again? Apparently so, because he’s staring at me like he has no idea what I just said. “I mean, you’re not subtle about it. You can barely tolerate my presence, you only drink from a syringe— So, I don’t know.” I’m rambling, but I can’t stop, my words only coming faster and higher as I work myself up. “It’s fine . I get it, I appreciate you taking me in like this either way, but—”

He lifts a hand, and I cut off the chaotic train of thoughts spilling out of my mouth.

“Amelia,” he says, “why would I have taken you on as my valentine if I disliked your blood?”

I shrug. “Pity?”

He huffs out a hoarse little sound. It takes me a moment to recognize it as a laugh. I stare at his mouth without meaning to, shocked that it’s capable of making such a noise.

“Flattering, but no, I am not quite so magnanimous,” he says. For a moment he pauses, as if gathering his thoughts, and then he finally says, “Amelia, I do not find your blood repugnant. That’s not why I’ve been avoiding you, taking such care with your safety. It’s… quite the opposite.” I blink at him, startled, and he clears his throat and continues more softly. “I do it because I find the taste of you irresistible.”

I stare at him as the words sink in. The corner of my mouth creeps upward. Irresistible. I thought I had resigned myself to my blood being the opposite, but… God, it feels good to hear. Especially when I’m sitting so close to him, and I can see that his eyes are almost black with desire. Even though I know it’s not me he’s desiring, not really, just the blood running through my veins… it’s still enough to spark heat in my lower body. I push my shoulders back, arching my back and tilting my head to expose my neck fully to him.

“Then stop trying to resist,” I tell him, looking down and sideways to meet his gaze.

One of his large hands grips my waist and pulls me so I’m seated on the armchair between his legs, my back to his chest. Before I have time to be shocked, his mouth is against my neck. But his fangs don’t pierce the skin. “You don’t understand,” he murmurs. “I don’t know if I can hold myself back.”

“I trust you,” I say. I lean against him, ready for the bite, but he grabs my hand and lifts my wrist to his lips instead.

I gasp—both at the sensation of his fangs piercing my skin, and the feeling of the hard length straining against his tailored pants, now pressed firmly against my ass. Sebastian lets out a muffled moan against my skin as he drinks from me.

He really does like the taste of me. I grin, knowing he can’t see it with me facing away from him. But my eyes soon flutter shut and I have to bite back my own moan of pleasure. It’s been so long since I’ve been bitten. It feels better than I remember… and his obvious arousal feels good, too.

I can’t help myself, it feels too good and is far too tempting; I roll my hips against him. He lets out another moan in response, and his arm snakes around my waist to pull me even closer. So I do it again, and again, rocking on his lap in a steady rhythm and imagining he’s inside me instead of trapped within his trousers. Still, with my nightgown riding up around my waist, only those pants and my lacy underwear remain between us, and the friction feels fucking incredible.

Then I feel cold fingers sliding between my legs, and it feels even better. I gasp and shift, trying to turn to look at him, but his hold on my wrist keeps me firmly in place as his other hand squeezes my thigh before moving higher. His fingers brush over the front of my panties, making me whimper—and then he pushes my underwear to the side.

“Sebastian,” I gasp, and he grips me tighter, still drinking from me in slow sips, like he’s savoring me. Once his cold fingers slide against me, finding me already wet and ready, I give up on trying to escape and arch back against him. But I continue rolling my hips, rubbing my ass against his hardness. His fingers find the same rhythm as he strokes my clit. My eyes flutter shut as I lose myself in the pleasure, going light-headed as a liquid heat builds inside of me. It’s been so goddamn long, I am so desperate to be touched, and his fingers feel fucking magical. I don’t even need them inside of me; his light, careful touch soon brings me to the edge.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper. “I’m close, yes, just like that—”

He keeps his rhythm and his pressure just as they are, so that delicious heat slowly reaches its peak and then rolls through my body. I gasp and shudder and grind against his hand, riding the waves of my orgasm until I go limp against him.

It takes me a few moments to realize he’s no longer drinking my blood. I’m not sure when he stopped, when the pleasure shifted from his fangs to his fingers. I’m feeling pleasantly fuzzy from the blood loss and the much-needed orgasm, and it feels like I could doze off on his lap.

But Sebastian has other ideas. He picks me up with all the ease of lifting a doll and sets me gently back on the chair he was previously occupying. He pricks his finger on a fang and heals the puncture marks on my wrist. I look up with heavy lids and reach for him, ready to undo his belt and try to give him the same pleasure he gave to me. But he turns his back on me and rushes out the door, leaving me alone.