40

                                    

                                          

MARIA 
The vampire stalked through the door, not even bothering to knock.
He took one look at Maria standing a few feet away from the bed with her hands behind her, struggling to pull up the zipper of the gown, his eyes falling to her thighs where the dress had ridden up to reveal a bare expanse of skin, then he turned away with a dismissive, "Get ready, we're leaving in five minutes." 
She threw him a glare that he didn't see because he was already slamming the door shut.
As if she was deliberately delaying on purpose. 
The gown that the maid had given to Maria last night turned out to be even shorter than she'd thought it was, but if that was the only problem with the gown, she wouldn't have been complaining. 
Not only did the gown stop at mid-thigh—sure, she wore a lot of gowns that stopped mid-thigh, but then they weren't flared—it also had a neckline that dipped very low, as low as the tops of her breasts, and to top it all off, the gown was tight. Which made it very hard for her to reach the zipper by herself and pull it up. 
She finally gave up and sagged against the wall. 
Her mind drifted back to last night. To the kiss. 
That kiss was burned into her memory forever, ingrained so deep that it was impossible for her to ever think about forgetting it. 
Forget it?
She couldn't even stop thinking about it, so forgetting about it wasn't even in the cards for her. 
She couldn't stop thinking about the way he'd yanked her head to hers so forcefully and dominated the kiss, couldn't stop thinking about the way his erection had felt underneath her as she'd ground down on him, couldn't stop thinking about the way those big hands had landed on her ass and cupped, like two brands of iron on her skin, couldn't stop thinking about the way his definitely-not-cold hand had slipped under her shirt as it made his way to her breasts...
Gods, she was getting turned on by just thinking about him. 
She squeezed her legs together and whimpered, need filling her until the only thing she could think about was dragging Bran back in here and begging him to put his hands on her. 
But she was never going to do that. She was fucking Maria Hatzi—even though her situation kept challenging that fact—and she wasn't going to do something as shameful as beg him to put his hands on her. 
Her skin still burned with indignation when she thought about the mocking light in his eyes when she'd climbed off him. 
"Not so cold, was I?"
Gah! Why did he have to go and ruin a perfect moment?
Well, he might have ruined the moment, but he hadn't ruined the kiss for her. He could say whatever he wanted to say, but he'd been just as immersed in the kiss as she had been. He'd been just as lost in the moment as she'd been. His words said one thing, and his boner said another. 
He just couldn't do without making her feel bad about herself and that was what the cutting statement at the end had been, she was sure. 
She swiped her tongue along her lower lip, feeling the cut that was starting to heal. 
She still didn't know whether he'd done that on purpose, of whether he'd just wanted to bite down on her lip and his fang had accidentally punctured the flesh. 
That wasn't really what bothered her. What bothered her was the fact that he'd tasted her blood. 
Back when she was little and she'd still be allowed to roam, she'd overheard a female Sorceri and her friend discussing about her experience with a vampire, about how a vampire had drank her blood and how that didn't bode well for her. She hadn't been able to stick long and find out why it didn't bode well for the sad female because they'd seen her eavesdropping and they'd cast little Maria a chastising look before walking away.