TENSLEY’S JAW CRACKED against his death grip as he strode through the streets of Paris, full of clinging couples and fresh roses and the pavement littered with cigarette butts. Molly’s body heat warmed his side, but he wanted to press her even closer.
Her bizarre behavior threw him off when he found her standing in front of him at the entrance of the Louvre. Dressed perfectly in black and white, her porcelain skin and red lipstick was a curse and a blessing to his strong will.
He wanted to claim that porcelain skin—he wanted that red lipstick on his own flesh.
But when her eyes widened in shock, and then terror, the once powerful daemon, shrunk from his touch. Her furrowed brow, her downturned pouty lips, and those vivid eyes filled with something he couldn’t quite read, it struck him deep.
Was she still upset about the contract? Was she still angry with him?
Fucking dammit.
If she was, he’d show how much he fucking cared about the contract—bent under him, balls deep inside of her warmth.
The single touch of her fingertips was a jolt to his system. The fatigue, the ache in his bones for the last few weeks vanished. His goddamn cure was the woman who plagued him like the devil himself and she was a wicked angel.
The cool air swept across his scorched cheeks, and he moved through the crowded avenue, the sea of people parting for him and his dolcezza. They could taste his bitter wrath, feel the boiling whip of his aggressive pheromones.
He had booked a well-known restaurant, a common ground for demons he had visited on business occasions, and he wanted to impress Molly, to woo her.
As much as he was a beast, the man knew how to treat his mate.
He brushed through the large gold-rimmed doors and the maître d’, dressed entirely in black, immediately stepped in, taking his coat and Molly’s thin pink one, handing it off to another hostess.
“Mr. Knight, this way,” the maître d’ said in a smooth French accent. Molly tensed beside him. He wasn’t surprised the maître d’ knew who he was or the importance he held. Eyes followed Molly and him as they strolled to a dimly lit corner in the back of the restaurant. Just as he’d requested. Unlike their first, painfully awkward date, he would show Molly the beast and the man.
The maître d’ went to pull Molly’s upholstered royal red chair out, but Tensley spoke. “No.”
Both Molly and the maître d’ turned to look at him, the maître d’ stepped back as his hands trembled, Molly’s mouth dropping in astonishment.
Tensley swiftly stepped in front and pulled the chair back, his eyes lifting to hers.
Molly hesitated, her bottom lip rolling it between her pearl white teeth until she relaxed her shoulders, dropping her gaze and sat down.
Tensley stood silently behind her for a long moment, relishing in her soft curls spilling to one side, the slender nape of her neck visible.
The neck that held his mark—the collar unseen to his eyes or others, but highborn demons. A mark telling other demons she was his. But knowing it was there filled his body with calmness.
Tensley took a deep breath as he walked to the other side of the table and slid into his chair, unbuttoning his jacket. He didn’t need to look up to know her powerful eyes watched him closely. When he did glance up through his dark lashes, he saw the exact moment she caught him, her chest heaving, her cheeks a gorgeous pink flush he wanted to remember.
“How’s Paris?” he tried at first. Keep her comfortable, but he so badly wanted to ask what the hell was wrong.
She gathered herself in one quick breath and the way she squirmed, he knew she was rubbing her hands together below the table, a nervous habit he found endearing.
“Good, it’s good—uh, mostly working at the Louvre so I haven’t done as much sightseeing as I’d liked. Everything is so romantic,” she whispered, a glow of excitement in her eyes and soft smile. One he saw before when she discussed history or the Yankees.
“For couples,” he filled in.
She smiled thinly and nodded.
He nodded curtly in response. Of bloody course. All alone in the most romantic city in the world.
A waiter returned, fucking smiles and French words, offering his finest wines. Red, Tensley ordered. Fucking, bloody, red.
“Merci beaucoup,” Molly whispered to the waiter and that damn smile of his grew. Tensley eyed the steak knife next to his fisted hand.
The soft musical tone of her voice when she spoke French went straight to his thickening length.
“Tensley,” Molly’s voice cut into his thoughts, and his entire focus zoomed in on her like a damn spotlight. Her golden curls glowed in the darkness, her red lips a beckoning to his hardening cock, and those soft and dangerous eyes sought him out like a siren. He’d drink the poison just to taste her again. “What—what are you doing here?” He frowned and she straightened, shaking her head. “I mean, I’m just surprised. You said you’d never be able to visit with business.”
He picked up his clear crystal wine glass and swished the red, his eyes falling on her for a split second. “Priorities changed.”
You fucking changed me.
Then he broke her widening gaze and gulped down the drink, not bothering to let the taste absorb into his gums. With a deep breath, he set it down and licked his lips, eyeing the woman across from him.
Her head held high and her throat was bobbing as she stared at him through hooded eyes. Clanking of cutlery and an obnoxious man’s laughter grated on Tensley’s nerves.
“Are you still mad?” he gritted out, his ears flaming at the sensation of being vulnerable, of rejection.
“Mad at you?” Molly shook her head, obvious confusion displayed on her features. “I’m not mad at you, Tensley.” Her eyes grew wild and his brows quirked. “I’m trying to control myself,” she bit out.
“Mr. Knight, that is you!” a jolly and annoying voice interrupted him before he could fathom what Molly meant.
He didn’t turn to look at the couple that walked up beside the table, his entire focus on Molly—her cheeks flushed, eyes glossy and chest heaving as if she had ran a marathon.
A throat cleared, and Tensley had to pull his gaze away from hers and direct it to the round man beside him.
Chester Swanson, a high-middle class Englishman who made several deals with Scorpios in the past, stood with his wife at his side. Chester was a demon so well connected, he traveled to the High Court several times a year, but he was on the same level as the Knights.
“I didn’t think I’d see a Knight in Paris.” Chester laughed and patted Tensley’s shoulder roughly. His focus turned to the blonde vixen, and it didn’t take long for Chester to put the two together. “You must be the daemon.”
Molly didn’t show a spark of fear as she leveled the highborn demon with her unwavering eyes. Pride swelled in Tensley’s chest.
Show the beasts just how savage you are, Ms. Darling.
“I am,” Molly said, voice steel and iron, and it somehow managed to do wicked things to Tensley—body and mind, and that weapon in his chest ached.
“Chester Swanson, and this is my wife, Greta,” Chester said, gesturing to the woman beside him. A tall, curvy woman dressed in a black satin dress and a fur shawl, the stench of smoke rolling off her.
But the Greta many spoke of, wild and loud and annoying, was silenced simply by Molly’s presence. She gawked at his bride, fidgeting with her hair. One look from Molly, Greta bowed her head.
“The Court’s in hysterics. Won’t stop talking about the daemon,” Chester added, unblinking at Molly. “Everyone wants to see for themselves.”
Tensley’s gut dipped. What if Fallen was sending men to watch Molly and him? What if this Chester reported every single detail to the King? Fuck this.
“You saw, you came, now go,” Tensley hissed, thumping his fist on the table so the glasses of wine shook and clicked.
“Mr. Knight, I do apologize,” Chester said, the shaking faint in his voice, but there. Tensley scowled. The man was afraid of him now—of his power, of Molly’s influence, and he knew then, he knew fucking then that the rest of the court would be in chaos until they laid eyes on his dolcezza. He was a threat, she was a threat, and together, they were lethal. “Let me pay for your dinner and wine, and anything else. My treat for you and the daemon.” Chester dug into his pant pocket for his credit card.
“Bride,” Tensley snapped.
Chester froze, along with everyone surrounding them. “Pardon?”
Tensley clenched his fists and lifted his hard stare to the one who made his chest burn and ache and shake. “Molly Darling. My bride.”
Molly’s ruby red lips parted like the red sea and he wanted to drown.
And then that liquid drug vanished. “Excuse me,” Molly gasped and stood up, throwing down her napkin onto the table and weaving through the row of tables.
Fuck no, Tensley thought as he shoved his chair back and stood, marching after the blonde. She wasn’t hiding from him this time.
MOLLY SUCKED in air painfully fast and scrambled to turn on the tap. Splashing cold water onto her burning cheeks, she let the water roll down her skin, pooling on her chin and dribbling down her neck and into the crease of her breasts.
“What is wrong with me?” She was too hot, too horny, and sitting across from the god of a beast the last few minutes while he made heated, bedroom eyes at her every five seconds was unbearable.
When she looked at her wine, she thought of the pregnancy test, and even though she knew she wasn’t pregnant, a seed of doubt crawled inside of her.
She rubbed at his mark, the mark currently throbbing like a bad third-degree burn, and groaned.
Hearing him say her name—call her his bride—sent a wave of heat to her burning core.
She slapped her hands onto the marble white counters flickered with flecks of gold, and eyed her disheveled appearance—hair a chaotic mess, mascara smudged, and her red lipstick faded from how many times she had to clasp her lips shut from moaning out loud.
This isn’t normal.
Again, she rubbed at his mark, touching the edge of the burning hot collar. Was it because of that? The damn mark?
Not only was she a rare species, now she was a horny one for one man in particular.
The bathroom door swung open, the crystal chandelier above rattling at the impact, and she glanced, freezing when she saw the man haunting her thoughts.
Dressed in entirely in black, he stood out against the whiteness and gold of the room, a precious nightmare. A warning of destruction and chaos.
One she wanted to lick.
The chandelier’s light flicked across his handsome features.
“Tensley,” she gasped when he took a step forward.
His chest lifted and dropped, heavy with anger—want, desire?
“Stay back.” She fisted her shaking hands and stared at Tensley, the man creating this torment inside of her. If he touched her, one finger, she’d lose it. She’d maul him.
A dark ruthless brow quirked. “And if I don’t?”
The challenge in his voice sent a delightful shiver down her spine, so intense her toes curled. One more step, and she backed into the counter that bit her ass cheek.
Predator and prey.
But she was the predator. She’d devour him.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he demanded, but when she didn’t respond, he tried again, softer this time. “Tell me, dolcezza.”
“I want you,” she breathed out, so thick and raspy, she didn’t care how her skin flushed at the truth. “So badly it hurts.” Her hands went to her chest, where the violent thump of her heart shook her.
A low hiss left his mouth, and he took one more step closer. Dark eyes met hers, and she realized he was aroused, maybe just as much as she was. “Fuck, Molly.”
“And it’s just you, Tensley. I haven’t wanted anyone else, but you.” She gripped the counter, her fingers clawing for support or she’d fall into the beast.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but she felt his body heat warm her skin. “I’m going to touch you, dolcezza, and you’re going to let me.”
She took shallow breaths, rolling her bottom lip into her mouth and nodded.
Nothing, and then all at once, his palm smoothed across her cheek, and she moaned like an addict finding their fix, her hands latching onto his thick biceps.
Her second moan was stolen by his hungry mouth. Those tender lips pressed to hers, hard and gentle all at once. A villain’s soft spot. His tongue wrestled hers, and she tore at his suit jacket like an animal.
“Tensley,” she managed to moan when he gave her a chance to breathe.
His nose ran along her cheek, his mouth still peppering her with toxic kisses, but it was his fingertips that rocked her upside down.
His fingers touched the mark and she cried out, her knees buckling.
“I think I found dolcezza’s weak spot.” Tensley hummed into her open mouth.
Oh, she’d find his weak spot.
She shoved him with her body weight into the stall door, a groan of shock and pleasure escaping his mouth.
She licked along his jaw line, so sharp she wondered if she’d cut her tongue, and met his ear, her teeth nibbling on his earlobe. He grunted, his large hands cupping her round ass cheeks, pressing her against his rigid frame.
Just as her hand grazed his hard length tented in his dress pants, he grasped her wrists and pulled back.
“Don’t taunt the beast,” he said his voice tight.
Molly exhaled and licked her lips, drinking in his heaving chest. “I wasn’t taunting.” Her fingers ran along the seam of his pants, feeling his thigh muscles bounce and constrict, a deadly growl escaping his open mouth.
She stroked over the fabric, feeling the rigidness of his length.
He spun her and pushed her against the wall, her back against his front, and she felt his length rub against her rear.
His ragged breaths battled her whimpers as his thick fingers met her wet panties, stroking until he growled into her ear.
“Did I do this to you, ciccia?” When she only panted, his teeth pulled at her earlobe and she cried out. “Answer me!”
“Yes, yes!” She fisted her hands on the wall, arching her back so her core met his fingers. “Tensley, I’m yours. Only yours.”
“Fuck.” His fingers pulled her panties to the side and two fingers slowly, painfully entered her wetness. “I missed you. So fucking much, Molly.” His lips pressed to her jaw, gently, softly.
“I missed you,” she panted back, needing him to hear the words.
His thumb circled her clit and she moaned. “I need you. More than you think. I want your tight little pussy dripping all over my cock.”
He pulled his fingers out and she spun, frowning at him.
“Not here, not in a fucking washroom,” he hissed, those dark eyes battling anger and desire. Angry at himself. She panted blatant in front of him, aching to have his lips back on her. His features softened slightly, and his thumb ran across her cheek, down to her open mouth. “I’m going to have you.” His voice hardened again. “You’re going to make me roar.”
He yanked her with him, swinging open the door and marching toward the exit.
Her stomach ached, but for a different kind of hunger. The hunger only he could satisfy in her.
She was going to be beneath a beast tonight.