Victoria’s blood still lingered on Zayn’s tongue, the sting of his mark pulsing beneath her skin like victory.
Her body trembled, not from fear, but from triumph. He had marked her. He had chosen her. Finally.
She shifted in his lap, bare thighs clinging to his as she leaned in again, her mouth grazing the edge of his jaw. Her lips parted, breath warm against his skin, and her canines elongated, sharp and glistening.
Now, she thought. ‘Now I’ll make him mine, too.’
She tilted her head, angling her mouth toward the crook of his neck, teeth hovering just above the tender flesh of his shoulder.
But before she could sink them in, Zayn moved.
Unaware of her intent, he stood up from the chair abruptly, lifting her in his arms as if she weighed nothing. Her body jolted, lips snapping shut just shy of his skin.
“I want to finish this somewhere else,” he said roughly, his voice low, unreadable.
