Chapter 3
Benedict could hardly believe those words had just come out of his own mouth. Worse, he meant them. He wanted to lie with this dark-haired devil. His gaze shot to the goblet, wondering if there was something in the spiced wine after all. His c**k ached to be touched once more.
“I do not even know your name,” he said, all the while watching as the other man sat upon the bed to remove his ankle boots.
“Warin.”
“Warin,” Benedict repeated, tasting the odd familiarity of it, the sense of rightness. His whole body shook with anticipation. This man had abducted him, demanded a ransom from his sire, and still he wanted him. He should be ashamed, but he wasn’t. He ought to be afraid, but he wasn’t. Not exactly. Not enough to prevent the desire, anyway.
He was still a little wary, tho
