© Vampires Love Garlic 2026 by Ashley Chapman. All rights reserved.

42

She Puts the “H” in Hot

McKenzie

Well, fuck me twice.

She refused Harold. Sweetly. Graciously. Turned him down.

Listen, I was flabbergasted when I stepped in here earlier. Gobsmacked. The house has become a living, breathing thing under Heather’s care. She couldn’t have made this event sexier if I’d given her some palace in England to work with. And then she came down the stairs, and holy shit, I was ready to bite her right there. In front of everyone. Screw them all. Propriety be damned. She’s mine.

And then we danced, if you can call it dancing.

Hell, it wasn’t dancing.

Not even going to try to skirt around that one.

All this heat, all this desire, all this damn need, and then she refuses my father.

I’m done standing behind her, my hands on her, my chin on her shoulder, pretending I’m a gentleman, pretending I care what the whole fucking place thinks. She’s in my arms now. She’s breathing rapidly, her arousal is evident, and I’m just standing here like an idiot swaying with her as Harold disappears into the crowd.

Vampire Rule Number 24: We take what we want.

I’m willing to follow this rule. Feels like I’ve broken pretty much all the other ones, but I’ll own this one tonight.

I catch her hand, step beside her, and pull her through the crowd.

I get multiple calls for “McKenzie” as I barrel on through.

McKenzie’s checked out for the night. Look for me again tomorrow. Someone tries to catch my arm as I push past, but I ignore it. Where, in the whole of this ginormous mansion, is there a quiet room?

I find a door, open it, and pull Heather through.

A coat closet. I found the coat closet.

It’s cold outside, which means this room is full of fabric. It’s a huge room, though, with space for people to sit. There’s a tiny table at the far end with a dripping red candle on it, giving just enough light. The candle’s enclosed in a glass hurricane, so I don’t have to worry about starting a literal fire with all the flames burning through me.

Good.

Heather stammers my name.

“Again,” I groan, spinning her so her back finds the closet door.

“Again?” she whispers.

“My name. Again.”

“Mc… McKenzie.”

My hands find the back of her thighs. I hoist her up, pinning her between myself and the door. There’s a pleasant thump as I push her into the barrier. Her dress, her goddamned dress, the one that I’ll thank Narcissa later for while I’m currently cursing her for it, slides away from her leg, baring the entirety of her right thigh, all the way up to her hip. She’s not wearing any shoes. Of course she’s not. Which gives me more skin and her more traction.

“Not McKenzie,” I growl as she wraps her arms around my neck for balance.

“Kenzie!” Her voice is a gasp, a sexy, throaty, oh-my-gosh sort of gasp. I want to hear it again.

“Again,” I hiss, moving the fabric of her skirt out of my way, sheer panels and silk be screwed. I grind against her, very little between her body and my trousers. The friction… Oh sweet hell.

She’s gasping, soft cries slipping past her lips as I move like there’s nothing between the two of us. I catch her mouth with mine, my kisses hot, demanding, absolutely scalding. She answers in kind, her fingers knifing into my hair, holding tight. I can feel her feet pressing into my hamstrings as she… oh my god… moves with me. Her dress, fuck it, is in the way.

“Tell me to stop,” I order, taking the one navy strap clinging to her shoulder, holding her gown up. “Now, Heather. Tell me to stop.”

“Don’t!” Her voice is a whimper, her head falling back, hair cascading like a veil as I find the zipper at her back and tug just enough to make her shoulder strap fall. It clings to her biceps, making one last brave plea to stay on her shoulder and failing. To the victor go the spoils, silk. The fabric slips down like a curtain, exposing one perfect breast.

“Oh gosh!” She manages to pant, unwrapping her arms from my neck and trying to cover herself. I catch her hand, pin it to the door, my fingers laced through hers. She gives me a gentle squeeze, a silent permission.

“Oh my goodness,” I can’t help but tease before I lower my head and taste her.

Her back arches off the door as her thighs cling to me with a death grip. I might find bruises on my ass later, thanks to how she’s scrambling to stay balanced and not just melt down into the floor. Robbie and I can compare our marks of pride later. For now, I want her mouth. She gives it to me, her tongue dancing with mine as though she’s dying for it. I’ve got her securely against the door. She’s not going anywhere, and my hand finds her breast, stroking, teasing until she pulls her lips from mine and shakes her head viciously.

“I… can’t…” she manages.

“Can’t what?”

I dip my head again, draw her soft flesh into my mouth, and listen to her stifle a scream.

“Dinner… dinner’s about to be served!”

“It already is, right here.”

“I… I have to make sure… make sure… make… Kenzie!”

I can’t help but chuckle against the softness of her.

“Yessss…” I drag out.

“I have to make sure everything gets brought to the tables properly!”

“Let everyone else handle it.”

“You mean… Marquis?”

Damn.

“Fine,” I grumble into her breast. “But I get to mark you first.”

“I thought you weren’t going to bite me in the neck until we… until we… In here?”

I laugh. I can’t help it. This woman. Oy.

“Not on the neck. Right here,” I say, tracing my fingertips over the swell of her breast. “No one will see it but the two of us. But I’ll know it’s here, and that’ll satisfy me for a little bit.”

Even in the darkness of the closet, I can see her blush. I can nearly feel it.

“Will it help you calm down?” she asks, a gentle tease in her voice.

“Help me calm down?” I grin against her skin. “Oh baby, if you could only see yourself.”

“I suppose, if it helps you, then you can go ahead and get it over with.” She sighs as though this is just another day at the café and a customer wants a second shot of mocha or something in his coffee.

“Get it over with,” I chuckle, then glide the tip of my tongue over her skin.

She sucks in a sharp breath and closes her eyes, her body relaxing as I brush her satin flesh with the tips of my fangs. Her legs loosen around my hips, and I free her hand so she can put it to the back of my neck, holding and stroking.

This. This is the quiet after the storm. The gentle drizzle after the thunder.

And it is just as beautiful as the passion of the cyclone.

“I love you,” I whisper against her breast. “I love you, Heather.”

“I love you,” she whispers back as I slowly sink my fangs into her skin.

This isn’t about feeding. I drank an exorbitant amount of blood before I came here this evening. This isn’t about sex, or possession, or ownership. This is about trust. And she is giving it to me. Her heartbeat is steady beneath my lips, coming down from the heat of only moments before. She is stroking through my hair as though to comfort me, loving me, giving me this.

Harold can claim the entire vampire community. Hell, he can even say this whole party is his.

But he can’t take her.

I have her heart.

And I’d give up everything else just for that.