100 Nights With My Vampire CEO

My life’s a treat.

I flopped onto Xavier’s sofa, stuffed from a steak so tender it practically melted and that red velvet cake he’d scored just for me—rich, moist, the kind of sweet that made me want to lick the plate clean.

The dishes sat abandoned on the coffee table, a smear of crimson icing catching the loft’s low light. My shoulder-length brown hair fanned across the cushions, and I kicked my legs out, sprawling in my blouse and skirt, feeling smug and sloppy.

Yes, I’m living the dream.

Xavier slid in beside me, shirtless, low-slung jeans hugging his lean, well-built frame—a walking sin—black hair brushing just below his ears, a full-sleeved tattoo of wolves and thorns snaking up his left arm. Those amber eyes pinned me, warm and smoldering, like I was the next course he’d been starving for.

“Still got some icing left,” he said, voice a gravelly purr that hit me low. He dipped a finger into the frosting and leaned in, smirking as he traced it across my lower lip. “Want a taste, pretty girl?”

My brain stuttered, but I grinned and flicked my tongue out, catching the sweet stickiness. “You’re trouble,” I said, aiming for flirty but landing somewhere between awkward and squeaky. “What’s next, licking it off my face?”

“Only if you say please,” he teased, eyes glinting as he leaned closer. “But I’ve got better ideas.” His lips crashed into mine, hot and greedy, the cake’s sweetness tangling with his taste—musk, heat, and pure Xavier. My hands dove into his hair, tugging hard, and he groaned into my mouth, the sound rattling my ribs.

“Love when you get grabby,” he murmured against my lips, pulling back just enough to grab more icing. He smeared it down my neck, cool and slick, his fingers lingering. “Hold still, Tilly—I’m gonna make you squirm.”

“You wish,” I shot back, voice shaky with a laugh, but heat pooled low as his mouth found my neck—soft, sucking kisses from my jaw to my collarbone, licking up the frosting like I was his personal buffet.

“Oh God, you’re such a show-off,” I gasped, squirming despite myself.

He chuckled, his breath a hot graze against my neck, lips brushing my pulse point. “You taste better than the cake—sweeter, hotter, mine.”

He eased me flat on my back, hands sliding to my thighs. His calloused fingers gripped the hem of my skirt, bunching the fabric in his fists before tugging it down. The soft material skimmed my hips, dragging over my thighs before he wrenched it past my knees and flung it to the floor.

I’m silently begging, move faster, you bastard.

“Gonna kiss every damn inch of you,” he growled, and his mouth started its descent—soft, maddening butterfly kisses trailing up my legs. I arched hard, a needy whine spilling out.

“Don’t you dare stop,” I managed, half-laughing, half-pleading, my hands gripping the cushions. He smirked up at me, eyes dark with want.

“Stop? Baby, these legs deserve to be worshipped—I’m just getting started.” His lips climbed higher, peeling me open with every soft peck, and I was a goner.

“Xavier…”

“Look at you,” he said, amber eyes glinting as he hooked his fingers into my panties. “All mine tonight.” He tugged them down to my knees, the fabric bunching, and I kicked—impatient and half-mad with want.

“Easy, tiger,” he teased, grabbing the cake plate and scooping a thick smear of icing with his two fingers. “Let’s make this filthy.”

My breath hitched. “What are you—” The question dissolved into a sharp yelp as he dabbed the cool, sticky mess right over my center, painting me with it. The contrast against my throbbing heat made my hips jerk. “You’re insane,” I laughed, breathless, but my hips twitched.

Oh hell, this was happening, and I was about to explode.

“Insane for you,” he shot back, grinning wickedly. “Hold on tight, Tilly—I’m about to ruin you.” He then went down on me, licking slow at first, savoring the icing with lazy swirls, then his tongue teased me open. “Tastes like heaven,” he murmured, voice muffled, and I was gone—his tongue parted my folds, teasing, probing, relentless.

His tattooed arm pinned my hips, keeping me locked in place as he dove deeper, sucking on my nub with a hungry edge that fried my nerves. My brain was a scrambled mess, and the first orgasm slammed through me, fast and brutal.

“Xavier!” I cried out, legs trembling, voice cracking—yep, the neighbors definitely heard that.

“Good girl,” he purred, not letting up, chasing every shudder. “One more—give it to me. Let me feel you break, Tilly.” His tongue shifted—slower, softer, circling my sensitive nub like he was rewriting my damn soul. “You’re so fucking perfect like this,” he whispered, hot against me, and my hands tore at the sofa.

I was a disaster, a sweaty, writhing wreck, falling apart like I was made of cheap thread. The second orgasm built, different, deeper, rolling over me like a wave, slower but heavier.

“Oh God, yes,” I moaned, raw and shattered, hips grinding against his mouth as it took me under. Then I collapsed, trembling, a sweaty, sated wreck. My panties a useless tangle at my knees, aftershocks sparking through me like live current.

Xavier pulled back, wiping his mouth with a grin. He leaned over, his lips brushed my forehead, soft and achingly tender, a stark contrast to the madness he had just unleashed.

“You’re my favorite mess, Tilly,” he murmured, nuzzling into my hair as his fingers traced lazy circles on my thigh.

“God, you’re good at that,” I muttered, voice wobbly, a laugh bubbling up. “You’re gonna kill me one day,” I added, my eyes catching his, and for a heartbeat, it was perfect—just us, messy and glowing on his dumb couch.

After a moment, he gently pulled my panties back into place. Sitting up, he ran a hand through his hair, and just like that, his expression shifted—serious, shadowed.

“Baby, I need to tell you something.”

I propped myself on my elbows, still hazy. “What? You’re out of cake? Please say yes, I can’t handle more right now.”

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he just stared at me for a solid ten seconds. Then, he finally said, “I’m leaving for London.”

“Say what now?” My brain screeched to a halt. I blinked, the warm buzz souring fast. “What the hell do you mean, London?”

“Pack stuff,” he said, eyes dropping. “Family duty. I don’t have a choice.”

“Wait, wait—hold up. You’re telling me this now? After—” I flailed at the sofa, the cake, us. “What kind of pack stuff? Tell me!”

He opened his mouth, then shut it, jaw tight. “I can’t explain it all. I just need you to—”

“No, Xavier. Tell me the reason. Now.” I cut him off, voice spiking, raw and jagged. My heart slammed, anger and hurt colliding.

He looked at me, eyes pleading, but no answer came—just silence.

He’s gotta be kidding me. Right?