Claire Pov
Unedited.

His lips are so soft, like a feather tickling my skin. They are sweet, sweeter than thick maple syrup. They taste . . . Oh jeepers, creepers! I have a fever . . . They taste delicious. They are steam that rises to the air from a cup of morning coffee. And his tongue—wicked and savory—tastes like warm apple cider, providing a sweet spice to coat my very own.

My taste buds explode. Each and every sensation blend together in perfect harmony, creating the perfect kiss. Our tongues tango passionately.

He latches on to my bottom lip, his mouth sending my body straight to hell, burning me whole, and then it brings ice water to freeze hell over. I'm set on fire; I'm frozen alive, together at the same goddamn time.

He lifts his right hand, only to place it onto my inner thigh. I moan as he squeezes my thigh while deepening the kiss. Our kiss. My kiss. The French kiss that I'm sharing with King Nicklaus, the king of all vampire kings.

My moan must have sparked something inside him because suddenly he starts to gently suck on my bottom lip. My mind forms another word: inferno. That's exactly what seems to be happening inside me. A large fire wildly spreads through every inch of my body, dangerously breaking the rest of my self‑control. I devour his lips, sucking, tasting, and licking them.

Oh my God, they taste so good!

He returns the favor—sucking, tasting, and licking my own tongue. We are at war. Our tongues are fighting against each other, battling for control. The kiss is hot and demanding yet cold and isolating. Nothing around us seems to exist right now. It's just me, King Nicklaus, our lips, and our tongues. That's it. There is nothing else in this entire godforsaken world that matters.

It's just us.

I roll over on top of him, ready and hungry. His left hand slightly lifts up my cashmere sweater to grip my waist. My mind goes haywire with the skin-to-skin contact. The feel of his fingernails digging into my skin sends a tidal wave of need and want to surface in the center of my core. Desire is stirring in my blood as his hungry tongue travels to the back of my throat. I open up my mouth wider, finally allowing him to take full control.

Oh, now why did I do that?

The feel of his tongue down my throat and his hands touching my bare skin makes my heart, mind, body, and soul explode.

He pulls away, breaking the kiss and leaving both of us breathless. My lips are swollen.

"Claire," he breathes. "I have waited a thousand lifetimes . . ."—he captures my heart with his eyes—"to taste your lips."

And once again, he holds me captive with his mouth. He doesn't take his time anymore or fight with me for control. He does it hungrily, kissing me hard and strong. At this moment he's an artist, painting a story with his lips. I can feel his raw emotion traveling inside my soul from the tenderness of his kiss. I know he means every word he utters. His actions speak louder than his words.

His kiss says, "I need you" in English, French, and Russian. His hunger is pulling me underneath, adrift. And I'm sinking.

When he takes his lips away, I whimper like a child who lost their favorite toy. Oh, I have never experienced this before. My heart is in his hands, and my soul was transferred into his heart by the touch of our lips.

He unbuttons his dress shirt seductively. The look in his eyes tells it all. I know exactly what he's going to say before he even says it.

"Take off your clothes, Claire," he demands.

I follow. At this moment, I'll follow his every command.

Slowly, I pull off my sweater and hesitantly pull down my leggings. I start to shake. I'm petrified. I feel nervous under his watchful stare. My reflection is drowning in his irises. His eyes are like smoke; they're suffocating me. I cannot breathe.

Once I'm undressed, he slowly drinks in my features. He's hungry. He is hungry for me. I'm wearing nothing but my undergarments, and I have never felt this bare, so naked.

He pushes me back onto the bed. My heart pounds faster. I'm far from a virgin, but I never gave anyone my body willingly. This is different.

He pins my arms over my head, and adrenaline flushes through my veins. He stares at me, his eyes full of lust, passion, love, and devotion. But in the back of his eyes—in his beautiful irises—I can see his predator lurking, his inner monster surfacing.

I place my focus on his glorious chest, secretly gushing over his well‑built frame. I can hear his belt jingle as he unbuckles his pants.

*           *           *

"But because you insist on talking, I will have to silence you another way."

My body goes into shock when he pulls down his pants. I start to panic.

No, no, no. This isn't going to happen again.

The sick and weak piece of shit roughly grabs me by my left arm.

Adrenaline must have kicked in because I start to fight. I kick my leg, and my foot collides with his manhood. And just like King Nicklaus, he resembles a deer caught in headlights, surprised and then stiff.

He crouches over in pain as expected, and that's when I make a run for it.

I'm almost there, inches away from the door when I'm pulled by my hair and slammed into a wall. My body as I slide onto the floor. Seconds later, his powerful hand rams into my stomach, knocking the air out of my chest.

"You see, I was going to take it gently, but you just had to act like the stupid little bitch that you are!" he growls, slamming his hand into my side and breaking my ribs in the process.

I howl out in pain.

"Does that hurt, baby? he mocks, "Don't worry I'll ease your pain, just like you're going to ease the pain that you caused."

Without further warning, he grabs a handful of my hair.

*           *           *

"Nooo!" I scream at the top of my lungs. My body visibly starts to shake. Hot tears trail down my face as my back hits the wall. Every touch, every vile and monstrous act that leech performed on my body surfaces in my consciousness, edging on my shame.

I'm reliving my past. I'm a prisoner of my past, chained.

"Claire." King Nicklaus pulls me into his arms. "Firecracker, it's me. I'm here. Please come back to me."

I kick, shout, and desperately attempt to getaway.

"No! Please, don't touch me," I cry. "Please, no . . . Leave me alone!"

He ignores my screams. He lifts me up into his arms and cradles me into his warm chest. My body goes numb. I allow him to rock me and place gentle kisses on my forehead. His kisses calm me down. He is my comfort.

"I will never do anything that you don't want me to do," he whispers in my ear, his voice full of raw emotions. His tone is calm.

I cry, releasing all my pain on the beauty of his chest. He pulls me in closer, and I feel secure in his arms. I'm safe.

He softly strokes my hair with his fingers. I close my eyes and breathe in his clean, crisp, and fresh scent. His natural aroma blends perfectly with his rich and elegant cologne. I'm in love. I feel at peace. I feel like I'm at home. He's my home.

My eyelids start to feel heavy.

*           *           *

"Claire, wake up," King Nicklaus's soothing voice invades my eardrums. "Claire, please wake up. I would like to talk to you before we enter the Northern Kingdom."

I roll over on my left side. King Nicklaus's beautiful, stormy, unapologetic silver-cerulean eyes pierce my soul. Argh . . . I would never get used to these mind-blowing orbs.

His right arm is draped over me, his chin gently rested on top of my forehead. We are wrapped as one in an intimate position, tangled together under the silk sheets.

"Yes, King Nicklaus?" I yawn, still half-awake.

"My name is Nicklaus, Claire," he says, his tasteful lips curving into an attractive smirk. "I would like it if you call me by my name. However, if you insist on utilizing my title, so be it. You may call me King Handsome or King the Great. Yeah, that's more like it or King Sweet Kisser. I like the last one the best."

I burst out laughing. "King of ass-kissing!"

"Claire's ass-kissing King." He puckers and then starts to make smooching sounds.

I can't help but roll my eyes. He is so childish.

"Seriously, Claire, please call me Nicklaus," he tells me, stroking my golden hair.

I love it when he does that.

The feel of his masculine but soft fingers is like firm rose petals gently brushing through my roots.

I release a deep sigh and agree, "Okay, okay I'll call you Nicklaus even though I don't understand why it's such a big deal. You're a king." I point at his chest. " I'm a slave, your slave."

"You're right. That's exactly why you have to do what I tell you to do." He points at my chest, copying me.

I glare in his direction.

"So, Claire's ass‑kissing king it is then," he continues.

"Yup, that works."

"I bet it does." He laughs.

The sound of his laughter makes me smile. I love that sound and the way his eyes glint with mischief during the process. He is mesmerizing—such a phenomenal catch.

"As entertaining as this conversation is, I didn't break your sleep just to discuss what you can or cannot call me," he says, flashing that devilish smirk.

Gosh, he is so goddamn charming. The vampire world should really make a law that forbids King Nicklaus from smiling, smirking, or grinning. It should be illegal.

"I'm sure." I look anywhere but at him. Seriously, he really should be banned from smiling.

He uses his gentle but firm index finger to turn my face with my chin. His usual silver‑cerulean eyes are three shades darker, resembling the deep blue sea. My cheeks are on fire, and my heart rate increases.

King Nicklaus—oh, I mean my ass-kissing king—will always and forever have this type of effect on me.

"I would like to erase the memories that haunt you," he tells me, turning the mood from playful to serious.

"Haunt me," I recite a couple of his words out loud. "Wipe my memories. You can do that?" I ask, already knowing the answer to my question.

Of course, he could wipe memories. If he can control people's actions, read minds, and make a person lose their sight, why wouldn't he be able to wipe memories? The real question is, what else can he do?

"Have you wiped my memories before?" I ask.

He doesn't respond right away.

"Anything I have done has been to protect you, Claire," is his vague answer.

"And what is that supposed to mean, King Ass-kisser?" I mock, using that ridiculous pet name just to get under his skin.

"You know exactly what it means, Claire," he says with a frown, rolling off the bed. "Sometimes, it's better not to know." He walks into the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

Oh no, he doesn't . . . He will not get away with playing mind games. He will tell me what he did like a man—well, like a blood‑sucking leech of a man.

I stand up and bang on the door.

"So what you're basically saying is that you wiped my memory to protect me once before, right? If you already did some creepy vampire voodoo," I yell at him, banging harder, "why bother asking for my permission now? As a matter of fact, what did you erase?"

I'm met by silence

"Answer me, you blood-sucking leech."

This time, I'm met by his laughter.

Ugh. That deep, dark chuckle annoys me to no end.

He opens the door. "Oh really?" he asks.

"I was under the impression that my 'deep, dark chuckle' makes you smile." He winks.

Urg.

"Stay out of my head!"

Gosh. That's so freaking annoying. Can't a girl have a little privacy? My head equals my thoughts. Nicklaus is . . .

"The best Claire's ass-kissing vampire king there is," he says, obviously refusing to stay out of my head.

I just can't win with him. Fine, I quit. He is so freaking annoying.

I throw my hands up into the air and turn my back on him. I've decided I will not talk to him. Nope! Two can play that annoying game.

The next thing I know is two muscular arms wrapping around my waist and lifting me up into the air.

"Claire, say sorry."

Sorry? Is he crazy?

"Sorry, for what? You're the one invading my privacy." 

Arggg. Now, here come his magical lips, coating my neck.

"Say sorry now, Claire." He continues to attack my neck with his lips, trailing soft kisses over me.

When his wicked tongue travels on the base of my neck—oh boy!—I freaking explode.

"Sorry," I tell him.

Gosh, he is so goddamn annoying.

He attacks my neck harder and faster. I guess my apology isn't accepted.

"Say it again," he says.

Oh my gosh. Someone save me.

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