The vampire must still think he had a shot at sex. The two of them sat unclothed on a bench that seemed to shrink by the instant. If Cas moved his leg by even an inch, his bare thigh would brush the vampire’s. “I meant what I said, prince. I appreciate your interest, but I don’t return it.”
“My interest at present is in your mind, Caspion. I’ve a vampire’s curiosity, and your behavior fascinates me. Answer a few of my questions, and share some drink with me.” He waved for one of the servers.
“My mind?” Cas couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice. All but illiterate, he could only read the words most commonly used on bounty postings.
“Yes, your mind.”
Flattered, Cas sat a little taller.
The server arrived, a shapely demoness who cast Mirceo a look of longing. Had the vampire enjoyed that beauty? According to others, he’d been with most here—because he refused to repeat bedmates.
Mirceo ordered blood mead for himself and the palace’s best demon brew for his “handsome new friend.”
Cas raised his brows at the vintage, one he’d never been able to afford. Like most demons, he loved brew. “Perhaps I could remain for a round.” He didn’t want to return to home yet anyway. He was weary to his bones, had come to this place to release tension.
“Good choice.” Mirceo flashed him a smile of praise. “Ah, sweetheart, what fun you and I shall have together.”
For some reason, a shiver crossed Cas’s nape. The vampire’s words were harmless enough. So why do I feel like I just agreed to far more than a drink?
“Be a lamb and keep the drinks coming,” Mirceo told the server when she returned with two golden chalices. She was a storm demoness who’d delivered a memorable blowjob the other night.
Her eyes begged for a repeat. His eyes said, My apologies, tulip, but it will not happen.
A devoted hedonist, Mirceo had few hard and fast rules in his life—but he never revisited partners.
Once she left, Caspion took a swig from his chalice, then licked his lips. “By all the gods, that’s smooth. It must cost a fortune.”
I would spend a true fortune just to see you lick those lips again. “I’m a vampire with more gold than time,” he said absently, his gaze roaming over Caspion’s flawless features— midnight-blue eyes, chiseled chin and jawline, a mouth made for kissing.
And those horns! They curved back along his fair head like a crown of polished amber, the perfect complement to his careless blond hair and sun-kissed skin.
The demon’s towering body exuded sex and power, the most magnificent Mirceo had ever beheld.
Well, outside of his own glorious form. I want him.
Earlier in the orgy, Mirceo had been pile-driving his third partner—a delightfully greedy succubus—when he’d spotted the demon. “Who’s the blond?” The way that male had pleasured—and controlled—his own partner was spellbinding.
Between panting breaths, the succubus had said, “Caspion the Tracker . . . a death demon.”
A little later, one of Mirceo’s hedonist friends had noticed his gaze drawn repeatedly to the demon, saying, “He’s a favorite of the ladies. Let’s put it this way: he’s the sole male here who doesn’t have to pay admission.”
“Is he a favorite of any gents?”
“Is he, then?” Mirceo had smiled. “I like a challenge. He’ll become the conquest of conquests.” His friends had laid wagers. Amazingly, some were foolish enough to bet against Mirceo Daciano. . . .
Now he raised his chalice to the demon. “Shall we have a toast?”
Caspion raised his own. “What should we drink to?”
“Why, to the bottom, of course.”
They downed their cups, and the demoness was quick with the refills.
Once she’d left again, Caspion said, “I’ve accepted your payment, vampire. Ask your questions.”
Tonight this deliciously dominant male had given Mirceo two things no one else here would dare: a refusal and an order. Mirceo found his lack of deference . . . thrilling. “Straight down to business, then? Am I such loathsome company that you can’t wait to get out of my clutches?” I need to clutch those bronzed pecs. While nuzzling the golden chest hair between them. “Very well, demon, I want to know what you were thinking about in that orgy. You certainly didn’t have your mind on your partners.”
Tension stole over his broad shoulders. “I heard no complaints.”
Sensitive, sweetheart? “Indeed not. That’s part of my interest. Though your thoughts were a million leagues away, you wrung orgasms from those females like juice from grapes.” He’d been all-alpha, calling the shots—as Mirceo himself always did.
“Sometimes my mind wanders during sex.” When Caspion rubbed his nape, Mirceo’s attention flicked from the demon’s bulging bicep to the sexy blond hair of his armpit. “How long were you watching me?”
“Long enough to grow intrigued.” Mirceo met his gaze. “I must know what you were contemplating.”
“I’m not used to revealing private details to strangers.” He took a generous swig of his drink, blue eyes growing stormy.
Gods, those eyes. I want to look up into them as I take his shaft between my lips. Mirceo stilled at the thought. He’d never been the one on his knees—he was a prince, after all—but he might sample a cock if it belonged to Caspion. Perhaps I should get pointers from the demoness server? “Shall I go first?” he asked. “Will you trust me if I tell you details from my own life?”