His Majesty's Devious Sin

Lydia gawked at him like he was crazy. To say that out loud and arrogantly, did he not have shame?! Still, her stomach fluttered, and she had a feeling she'd quite enjoy that. Regardless, she was too stubborn to admit it and simply rolled her eyes.

"As if you'll ever be able to bend me over your knees," Lydia scoffed, walking out of the door and beginning to lock it. 

Lydia tried to ignore his cold body hovering over hers, watching her type in the combination. He was tall and towered over her, preventing her from hiding the passcode.

"I conquer every challenge that comes my way," Weston remarked, standing incredibly close to her. He could pin her against the door if he wished. 

Lydia swallowed. She didn't want to turn around and look into his dark eyes. Sometimes, they were bright red when his emotions were on high alert. But most of the time, they were a dark brown. 

Lydia tried to ignore how close he stood to her, his large presence caressing her back. He wasn't touching her, but his intense gaze was undressing her.

"You'll never be able to conquer me, Mr. Damsel-In-Distress," Lydia taunted.

Lydia shoved him away and sauntered down the hallways, Weston hot on her trail. He was a step behind her and enjoying the view of her hips sashaying with each step, provocative and alluring.

Weston liked to see her so stubborn and bratty. He wondered if she'd dare pull the same antics in bed. Soon, he'll have her shaking and gasping for him. 

"I show you one moment of weakness, and you'll dangle it in front of me forever?" Weston questioned. "When you're under me, writhing in pleasure, I'll dangle that fact over you as well."

Lydia sharply turned around, narrowing her eyes at him. "We'll see if you'll ever have me pinned underneath you."

Weston let out a daunting laughter. She always liked to bark loud, but never bite hard. He reached a hand out and she jumped, but he was pressing the elevator.

"Don't flatter yourself too much, Claymore. I didn't want to touch you," Weston lied.

Lydia glared at him, feeling a bit embarrassed. She thought he was going to grab her, and was trying to make sure she didn't fall into his trap. Who knew, it was a double trap?

"Where are we going, Fitzcharles?" Lydia asked, deciding to change the topic in this losing argument. Was he always going to have the upper hand over her? She hoped not.

Lydia was stubborn, but she knew when to back down from a losing fight. "I'm wearing boots so you better not take me hiking, especially when it's pitch dark."

"Ah, but pitch darkness is the best time to murder you," Weston said.

Lydia scoffed. She swung her purse in front of him and it made a slight jingle sound, as if something heavy was being shuffled in there.

"I'll swing my purse like a brick," Lydia said. "I pack a hard punch as well."

Weston glanced at her manicured fingers. "I'm sure all you can do is scratch up my face."

"Or scratch out your eyes," she refuted, stepping into the elevator.

"Why don't we save the scratching for the bedroom? Preferably my back when you're hooked around me," Weston easily said, using a long finger to press the elevator buttons.

Lydia stared at him like he was crazy. And to think, she had a dirty mind! This man, all he thought about, was ravishing her! She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I hope you're not taking me out on a date just because you want to sleep with me," Lydia said. "It takes more than one date to get into my pants."

"Well, there goes my plan," Weston sarcastically responded, earning a sharp jab from her. 

Weston chuckled at the light impact of her elbows. He had lived for centuries. Did she really think a small jab to his ribcage would do anything? Especially when he had suffered far worse injuries?

"I'm serious," Lydia warned him.

"I don't doubt you aren't," Weston softly said, smiling a bit. "Contrary to your large ego, I'm taking you out on a date because you've seemed lonely and depressed these past three days."

Lydia's hard demeanor began to crack a bit. She paused and looked at him, not knowing anyone had realized her melancholy. She was suddenly caught off guard by his innate kindness. She hesitated and looked away.

Weston slid an arm around her waist, yanking her close to him.

"And I needed something to redeem myself from that amusement park," he said.

Weston saw her lips twitch a bitch, suppressing a smile. Seeing her in a different, somber light, his mouth slightly curled. 

Weston used to think she was just an annoying and arrogant heiress, but now he knew there was much more to what meets the eye. He didn't realize when or how his initial hatred towards her turned into a heated passion. 

People did say there was a fine line between love and hate.

"Nothing can ever redeem you from the amusement park," Lydia retorted.

"Many things will."

"I'd love to see that," Lydia scoffed. "I will never forget or forgive you for clinging onto me and sacrificing me to the ghosts. What kind of man does that?"

"A man who cares for his own life," Weston said. "Over yours, of course."

Lydia glared at him. She supposed it'd be unrealistic for him to fall head over heels for her right off the bat. It wasn't like their relationship was as intimate as Elias and Adeline, who knew each other during their childhood. 

Sometimes, Lydia was jealous over the relationship that Elias and Adeline had. She wanted someone to be as obsessive and possessive of her as Elias was of Adeline. She'd be lying if she didn't admit that for a short period of time, she did wish a man held her as Elias would hug Adeline.

"But I'll protect you in any other circumstances," Weston told her. "Ghosts are not real, thus, I can protect you from virtually anything."

Lydia crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, attempting to ignore his cold hand on her waist. She didn't know vampires still had the inherent trait of being cold blooded, literally. She had Half-Blood friends who's skin and touch was warm. 

But Pure-Bloods were descendants of the first Vampires, thus, their traits closely resembled their ancestors and they possessed terrifying abilities that no other Half-Blood could replicate. It was no wonder why Pure-Bloods were the most powerful people of the nation, sitting in seats that could influence the country.

"I'll believe it when I see it," Lydia responded. "Actions speak louder than words. And so far, your actions speak nothing."

Weston raised a brow and glanced at her. He debated the idea of faking a kidnapping and then saving her, but that scenario only made him want to laugh. She was highly guarded with her personal group of bodyguards. He wondered if there was ever a time she was endangered.

"We'll see about that," Weston said. "Who knows? Maybe one day you'll be shaking in my arms, begging me for help."

Lydia raised a brow. "Are you sure it's not the other way around? You've already hid behind me, shaking in your shoes, once. I wouldn't be surprised if it happened again."

Weston glared at her harshly. "Someone needs to control that tongue of yours."

Lydia flipped her hair over her shoulders, purposely slapping him with it. The elevator door finally dinged and she walked out, ignoring his irritated expression.

"Someone really should," Lydia said, glancing around the empty lobby, where the white receptionist desk could be seen in the distance.

"But I guess no one is up for that challenge," Lydia concluded, taking many steps ahead of Weston.

Immediately, Weston grabbed her wrists and spun her around. 

"No one but me," he growled. 

Before Lydia could protest, his finger curled under her chin and he roughly kissed her, in front of the entire lobby. Her eyes widened, and his arm slithered around her lower back, pressing her tighter against his hard body. 

Lydia had nowhere to go and no choice but to succumb to his punishing kiss. He harshly bit her bottom lips and forcibly thrust his tongue inside her mouth, not allowing her to breathe as he licked inside the dripping wet crevice, their tongues instantly meeting. He kissed her even harder. 

Lydia began to tap his chest for air and mercy. 

Weston didn't give in, and instead, kissed her so hard and rough, she whimpered, her knees going weak. 

Lydia was growing light-headed, her thoughts filled with Weston and his delightfully cold lips. He was a great kisser, and her legs were turning into jello. Right when she began to see stars, he pulled away. She instantly collapsed against his chest, leaning against the hard surface as she struggled to breathe.

"Y-you—"

"Now behave," Weston warned her. "That kiss is just a warning for what's about to come tonight." 

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