My fingers grip the edges of the table, even as my knees tremble in warning of losing balance. It feels like fire is licking my veins, while wrapped in ice cubes, when he kisses the side of my neck that I happily give him more access to.

He groans against me, the vibrations doing all sorts of crazy things to the center of my thighs.

“Are you truly brave enough to hold this bubble of illusion right in front of her?” he asks me in a tone that suggests he’s wildly excited by the concept.

I don’t know this Vance. It makes me long for the real Vance, while also getting embarrassingly turned on.

This Vance sees me as a powerful, daring, alluring creature. Damn. He’s going to feel so stupid when he realizes it’s just Violet. I stifle a smile, but the urge to grin fades quickly, when he tugs at my hair, putting his lips to my ear.

“Answer me,” he murmurs, his hand running down my stomach, dragging a lick of those metaphorical fiery ice cubes with it.

“I’m brave enough,” I tell him, deciding to feel a little badass for a brief moment, since that’s clearly what he thinks I am right now.

If I’m honest, it’s empowering for Vance to think I’m badass. I like it.

Going with it, I angle my neck more.

“Then how are you so submissive that you’ll give me your throat?” he asks in a quiet but demanding tone.

“You don’t have a tendency to bite, so why does it matter if I expose my throat?” I point out in deflection.

I feel him grin against my neck. Usually, that would draw a bored stare.

See? This is why first impressions are so damn important. I can walk, talk, and act the same, but he’s seen me as something else in here.

I’ll blame Anna for how the real Vance sees me.

She’s the one who had me stuttering a defense to an orgy misunderstanding.

“If you’re really worth this terrible decision, then I’ll name a ship and a horse after you,” he tells me like he’s giving me a compliment.

I resist the laugh, mostly because he’d feel insulted.

He’s important.

He’s fierce.

And he’s definitely the highest expectation of man for this era.

He’s supposed to be that arrogant.

“I’ll remind you of that,” I tell him, meaning it.

I bet Vance gets embarrassed for the first time ever—

Great. Now I’m doing the same thing Idun does.

Only for a different reason and with different motives. Also, I’m trying to break a painful curse for him.

“You’re too certain of yourself,” he says against my ear, even as he slowly eases inside me, his breath hissing between his teeth.

My mind damn near blanks.

“And I want you too much to be natural. Be glad I don’t hold very many grudges against women as enchanting as you. This is surely some masterful trickery.”

It’s a little harder for me to form words, because his hips are already moving in all the best ways, and I grip the edges of the table tighter.

A cry escapes me when he finds the perfect angle, and he works me into a frenzy in a short amount of time.

A guttural sound passes through his lips, almost tortured relief, and his grip on my hips tightens.

It’s all hazy, almost as though I’m stuck in a dream within a dream, for several long minutes.

Over and over, I almost reach that peak, but the orgasm escapes my grasp each and every time, until I’m almost whimpering in misery.

Vance turns me, dropping me to the table so hard my back claps it, and he comes down on top of me, eyes just as desperate as mine. Our lips crash in perfect unison, and he hungrily devours me, as I drink him in.

He shoves back inside me, fingers clutching me with an iron grip, as he works his hips in that perfect, unnaturally well-timed rhythm that should send me rolling over the edge so effortlessly.

Another whimper escapes me, even as I drag my claws up his back, needing him closer, desperate for that release.

“What madness is this, woman?” he growls, eyes narrowing on me, as he slams a hand beside my head, his hips relentlessly working. “Why can’t I—”

A breath hisses out of him, and he groans in near misery, just as I do, when yet another orgasm is stolen from me. We had them stolen at the same time this time, it seems.

I can feel my pulse in every inch of me, almost as though I’ve been set on fire and put out numerous times.

It’s misery and almost-perfection at the same time, until it becomes an unbearable nightmare.

Once again, he slams his hand down beside my head, aggressively thrusting, as he anchors me to him with his other hand. I cry out, so desperately close, only to be painfully denied again.

“What spell is this, witch?” he demands, as though I’m the reason we’re both being denied an orgasm.

Fucking mental connection.

This? This is where the line is drawn? Orgasms?!

To be honest, all my senses are slightly dulled, possibly because this is just my head inside his head…

I whimper, and he groans, as he stops moving and trembles against me.

“How cruel of a woman are you?” he whispers, sounding both furious and really turned on.

How screwed up were you?

I don’t ask that aloud.

“I’m going to have to get my life put at risk, apparently, because sex isn’t the magical, intimate connection I was expecting,” I tell him, moaning against his mouth when he kisses me as though he’s seducing me into giving him what he really wants.

I’d be happy to oblige.

Really, I would.

If I was a witch doing whatever it is he thinks I’m doing.

This really got too complicated. Usually these things just sort of pan out for me.

Now there’s an angry Van Helsing buried inside me, staring down at me like I’m a vicious woman who is toying with him. He shakes his head, blinking several times, and sways to the right.

Just that motion elicits another whimper from me, since…I really am almost able to feel release. Almost.

He grabs a knife, and I panic a little, when he narrows his eyes back over at me in a way that suggests he’s decided I’m the enemy. Just as he lifts the blade into the air, clearly ready to kill me without farther ado, I start singing like a panicking idiot, my voice shrieking with the rushed words.

“The apples have all rotted; the oranges are just bruised.”

The image changes around us, and we’re jarred apart. My breath is sucked out of me, because this time, there’s a flash of light and a house-ton of pressure that slams into my chest.

For a moment, I think I’ve been ejected from his head, but when my eyes open, we’re in a far different setting than the more medieval surroundings I’ve been in for most of the night.

It looks like Europe. London? I don’t know.

I’m geographically challenged, and terribly uncultured.

The cobblestone, scent of smoke, and hand-crank cars set a confusing scene.

The oddly dressed children who are laughing draw my attention, and my eyes widen in slight horror. Only a few of the kids are cringing and covering their eyes, while a few others laugh about wringing a chicken’s neck for the butcher. The butcher laughs with them, as though this is the fun part.

This is terrifying.

I’m clearly a sheltered monster.

My mother made me so un-badass—