She dropped her hands, modesty satisfied.
He was going to feed eventually if she wanted out of here, so there was no point imagining her high-collared jacket.
She needed something to bargain with and he clearly had her blood and body on his mind.
Her blood was negotiable.
Perhaps she could fool him into getting more than he bargained for if Daemon’s familiar was triggered by a bite?
It was worth a shot. The distraction might just be enough to give her time to blast her way free of the cave with her lightning.
George brushed his thumb against her left nipple, drawing her attention back to him from plotting how to get away.
She gasped. His touch was as hot as Daemon’s had been.
“Are you saying this is all in the mind, then?” George asked, his voice deeper with lust than when he had been questioning her. “You’re not really wearing clothes, suddenly?”
“Just my birthday suit,” Elizabeth said.
George looked up at her, a bit confused.
“Get your hands off my breasts and I’ll explain,” she offered.
An honest but faint pink flushed across his cheeks so fast, she almost thought she imagined it.
His thoughts were of how unfair it was that the first witch who wasn’t afraid of touching him, was probably only trying to seduce him like she had his brothers. She was an evil temptress.
When had she become the manipulative, bad girl?
George looked rebellious, flicking her other nipple once, before he removed both of his hands from her breasts to grab her hips.
He lifted her up straight over him, his arms fully extended with earth strength as he swung his arms and her body over to the side, so she could get out of bed, slowly lowered her to her feet.
“The chest to the left should have garments and belts. Unfortunately, my boots won’t fit you, but then, you won’t get far, in case you get any ideas of brainwashing me and trying to walk out of here. There’s nothing for miles and the closest portal has been disabled.”
She picked up the location of the portal instantly from his thoughts as well as evidence that he’d thoroughly destroyed it with magic first, in a rather brutal exercise in using his earth strength.
George may have been a little unpracticed in healing her leg previously, but he knew his way around the physical aspects of earth magic.
As typical of mind reading, she also found he had brought clothes for her and hidden them in the cave walls themselves, a thought revealed as he tried to suppress it.
She wasn’t going to be able to get anything out of solid rock without his cooperation anyway.
The chest didn’t contain clothes for her. They were all masculine and overly large.
The long-sleeved shirt needed to be rolled three times on the arms, and even buttoned, the v-neckline was too low for decency, especially as she bent over to put on the pants.
She would have to hem half a foot from the pants, at least, and rolling the waistline a few times barely kept them on her hips, despite her curves.
There were a few strips of leather that she assumed were the belts, except there were no belt loops on the pants or buckles, so she just wrapped the leather under the folded rolls, at the waist of the pants, and tied it.
George hadn’t moved, nor had he done anything to cover himself up. He was thickly built everywhere and still standing to attention.
She grabbed another pair of pants from the chest, and then with a moment of hesitation, another strip of leather.
She threw the pants at him without checking out his equipment again. Maybe he was hurting for female company because he was so beastly big. She kept that observation to herself.
George somehow managed to stuff himself into the pants. Clearly, he wasn’t new to the situation as he manhandled his dick pretty well, shoving it to the side while pulling his pants up to nerdy levels to hold his arousal flat.
As she’d thought, he didn’t need a belt. She had brought it for something else, instead.
“Where’s my shirt?” George asked, shifting uncomfortably as he sat up.
He didn’t adjust himself further in front of her, but she was sure he was tempted.
“You don’t need a shirt,” Elizabeth said. “Put out your hands.”
“No,” George said, sounding surprised.
He looked down at his hands, but they remained at his sides.
He was waiting for her to force him with her mind. He made himself wait for her, well aware she could do whatever she wanted to him and he couldn’t stop her.
It was a risk he had been willing to take, ensuring she was far enough away from everyone else that she could do her worst, as he’d told her earlier.
“Did you draw the shortest straw?” she asked, disgusted.
His lightning was too new to offer any real defence and he had to have known it. He was on a suicide mission.
“Straw?” George asked.
“Whatever made you get picked to play naked Russian roulette with me.”
“Russian roulette?”
“You keep on pushing me for answers, not knowing which question is going to send me into a murderous rampage, which you prepared for by making it very difficult and slow for me to escape once I kill you.”
George didn’t deny it.
“Just hold out your hands. Don’t make me brainwash you into it,” she threatened, not at all serious.
He didn’t pick up on her sarcasm.
Elizabeth wound the soft leather in a figure eight around his wrists and then tied him.
Once he was bound, she felt a little of the tension ease from her shoulders.
No matter how dangerous he thought she was—and she could be—she knew that unless her life or someone in her family was in immediate danger, she wouldn’t take over his will.
George had done some fairly horrible things himself and she had difficulty telling his intent.
For what she had planned next, it felt safer to have him bound.
“You do realize I can break free with ease?” George asked, unhelpfully.
“Duh. My sister and mother both have earth. I am well aware of how strong you are and I also know you chose to bring me to a cave because you can manipulate the walls. Is the entrance even open?”
“No. I closed it after I piggybacked you into the cave. Just a few holes the size of your hand to let the air circulate,” he admitted.
“You can pull the cave down on us at any time. I want a little reassurance that you will keep your hands to yourself when I feed you. Is that really too much to ask?”
George looked flabbergasted. He hadn’t seen that offer coming.
Bingo.
“No. I guess not,” he agreed. “I’m not sure how I’ll feed without holding you.”
He hadn’t really thought she would feed him at all, so he’d better meet her demands.
“Trust me, since we won’t be feeding in the missionary position, your hands are not needed,” she said. “Just lie back,” she ordered, pushing against the brick wall that was George’s chest.
He didn’t move until he looked at her puny hand trying to push him around and purposely fell back.
She climbed on top of him on the bed. He reached out for her and then stopped, remembering his hands were bound.
“Let’s just keep your hands up top,” she said.
She grabbed his bound hands with her own, tugging them over his head. The movement shifted her nose-to-nose with him, their hands tangled together at the head of the bed.
The first thing that struck her again was how big and blue his eyes were. Even the dark cave couldn’t hide their vivid hue.
His pupils dilated as she looked into his eyes and she knew he was moments from flipping their positions, his tied hands be damned.
Stupid, vampire hormones again.
He didn’t know how to block his thoughts, at all.
His mind was telling her every sexy little thing he wanted to do to her body.
The interrogation he had in mind now had her bound instead.
Why did all the princes she’d been with want to tie her up? Victoria was right about their kinkiness.
Dream on. She didn’t crush George’s hopes, yet. His fantasies were a good distraction for him, even if they did help reinforce the idea of her as an evil seductress.
“Keep your hands there,” she ordered.
She lowered herself past George’s lips, with his aroused, protruding fangs almost brushing against her, then skipped over his neck.
That was just too provocative a spot to start on a vampire riding the rising edge of his hunger.
She licked the biggest scar on his right shoulder, her tongue feeling the raised welt of darkened skin that he’d cauterized with his new lightning.
George jumped like she’d poked him with a cattle prod.
“What are you doing?” he asked, loudly.
It was one tiny lick. Geez, he was so sensitive.
What would he do if she took a nip like she’d imagined doing when they were climbing?
“I’m priming,” she said.
He laughed, but it sounded a little nervous.
“Little one, that is not the way to prime for feeding,” he said. “Untie me and I will help. You can still stay on top,” he offered.
“It’s my way or no feeding,” she said.
Why did feeding have to be so sexual?
She knew witches accepted their sexuality freely, part and parcel of having to feed a number of male vampires over their lifetime.
It still was difficult for her to assimilate overt sexuality being part of everyday life, after growing up mostly in the human realm.
Perhaps that had been the problem with her and Daemon.
She had mistaken his advances to mean something more inclusive and emotionally committed than typical of Maeren males, especially royalty.
He had even fed from the royal feeders while he was with her.
Shouldn’t that have been a clue?
“Stop thinking about him,” George ordered.
His tone had almost seemed petulant, but she supposed if she got him all tied up on the promise of a good feed and then lost herself in thoughts of Daemon, he was allowed to be upset.
“I wasn’t thinking about Daemon,” she lied.
She trailed a finger from the curve of his prickly jaw, down his neck, and onto his scarred chest. She watched his breathing as she let her finger draw even lower to his abdomen, circling his navel and tickling the fine hairs trailing down to his pants.
“Liar,” George whispered. “Daemon made his interest in you well known. I have no doubt he made an impression. He left his mark on you.”
She shook her head. “I want you to make me forget,” she whispered.
George was less scarred on his abdomen, but the hard ridges of muscle seemed even more sensitive than his chest, eliciting shallow breaths that couldn’t quite be called gasps as she teased him.
“I’m too busy thinking about what I’m going to do to you to worry about other males,” Elizabeth said. “There are quite a few things I need to pay you back for, and now, that I have you bound and at my mercy . . .”
She trailed her voice off ominously, letting him stew in that threat.
George wouldn’t be distracted.
“A witch needs to be touched and kissed for the magic to rise from her chi. If I feed on you without doing so, then it will be very shallow, and it will do nothing to help with your ink problem,” he said. “I assume you want to drain the claim if I’m feeding.”
Oh, George was so close.
She had a plan and it involved George accidentally waking the dragon and his brother’s wrath. She would run away during the distraction.
Lucky for her, George didn’t seem to know it was Daemon’s familiar on her body.
“Yes, I do want you to feed and drain the claim,” she said. “I still can do this without your touch.”
“I know how to please a female,” George insisted.
His thoughts contained images of faceless witches, thankfully fully clothed, writhing on his lap, with his hand under their skirts, or another against the wall, with one leg up, demonstrating incredible flexibility as George’s hand played her aroused screams.
The last witch he had in a bed, but instead of his hand up her skirt, he was standing beside her and pulled her legs over his shoulders to bury his head under her voluminous tulle dress.
He was as fully dressed as the witches in all of these memories.
“George, it has been less than a month since I left Daemon. I’m not having sex with—”
He was a virgin.
That shocking fact was forced upon her when he failed to hide his thoughts quickly enough.
Every damn time someone had something they wanted to hide, they immediately thought about it!
And she’d just admitted to him that she definitely still had Daemon on her mind.
How embarrassing!
“Just let me admire your body, okay? That will be enough to prime me to feed,” she said, trying to look down at his chest instead of his face as a faint blush heated her cheeks.
She knew George hated his chest, remembered his thinking of how grotesque his scars were the first time their minds connected, but somehow, she’d forgotten it until now.
She didn’t see him that way.
His self-disgust was another thought he couldn’t suppress quickly enough, then the disgust of all of those selfish witches he’d ply pleasure upon, so he could feed, and how they quickly turned away when they saw his scarred body.
“Go ahead,” he said, turning his head to the side, obviously disengaging himself.
He obviously had dealt with a lot of witches who faked wanting to be with him, due to his princely status. The disappointment when he discovered they didn’t really want him would have been crushing.
She couldn’t fake it, too. He should get something more out of their exchange, because after this, he was definitely going to be cursing her name.
Daemon’s familiar was a force all of its own.
“Don’t make me regret this,” Elizabeth said, connecting their minds, once she was ready.
Unlike George, she was able to circle the thoughts she wanted to keep secret.
She let him see what she was feeling, not hiding her attraction to him nor the way she wanted to fight it because of everything awful he had done.
It was a hate-lust, but that was better than faked love.
“I don’t even fucking like you,” she said, her eyes eating up his sinful body. “Don’t get ideas about anything past this one time, one exchange.”
Her thoughts told him that her body wasn’t as reluctant to engage more than once, and she saw a soft, little smile twist his lips.
He liked the contrasting thoughts rushing through her mind, had similar distrust and lust running through his own head.
This wasn’t as hard as it should be, making out with an evil prince. He was a male in his prime and his body was made for seducing witches out of a little blood in exchange for his sexy bite.
His chest was carved from rock that hinted at his power. She kissed along the edge of one pec, tasting firm, warm flesh, with a little salt from his earlier exertions, then scraped her teeth down towards the edge of his eight-pack abs.
He hissed and she knew she had his attention.
“You’re so commanding and protective. I thought you were a soldier the first time we met. Your body is hard from training and scarred from fighting. Any male would be proud to wear these marks of honour,” she whispered into his mind.
She kissed one nipple, flicking it with her tongue and getting a little jump from him again.
He was very sensitive.
She tweaked the other nipple with her thumb and index, gently rolling it, and then a little harder, as she scraped her teeth harmlessly against the nipple she was laving.
He groaned and this time instead of jumping, he thrust his pelvis, his bound
hands gripping the sheets and tugging his body up the bed as he stretched out under her.
“That’s right, big boy, show me your control. Keep your hands up there while I feast on you. Hold on another five minutes and I’ll untie you for the bite,” she promised.
She pushed back against his pelvis, grinding a little against his heavy rod. He was much bigger than even her earlier peek had warned her.
A shiver of trepidation slipped out from her thoughts at his size, even though taking that part of him inside of her was not in the plans.
“Release me or stop your fear, kerashemeria,” George spoke to her mind.
His new nickname was almost as embarrassing as the first.
A kerashemeria was a baby animal that was small, of course, and fluffy, but also incredibly fierce, with sharp claws, teeth, and a temper like a mongoose.
The cute comparison did settle her silly fears. It wasn’t as if she was the virgin here.
“Feel what you do to me. A little fear just winds me tighter, like the moment before you sink your fangs into my neck, knowing just how sharp the pain of the bite can be, but craving the pleasure that follows, the release of all that tension,” she told him, comparing it to the feeds he would have experienced in the past.
She sat up and ground back harder against him, fisting her hands at her sides and squeezing her eyes as she boldly rode him.
He couldn’t grab her hips, his hands still bound, but he certainly thought about it, just barely restraining himself.
Rolling her bottom lip between her own dull teeth, she bit back her moan and rocked her pelvis against him, brazenly pleasuring herself.
“Take your shirt off,” he demanded.
She opened her eyes. His were hotly focused on her neck. She didn’t need to read his mind to know where he was going to tap her vein to feed.
She swallowed and felt her pulse racing, a flutter against her carotid that he focused on, popping his mouth open a little to give his swollen fangs room.
“My way, or no feeding. Two more minutes,” she said.
She leaned back over him, purposely rubbing her breasts—that were straining the cotton of her borrowed shirt—against his chest as she blew gently into his right ear, knowing her neck was inches from his huge fangs.
He kept himself incredibly still, not letting her get another rise out of him, when he was so close to claiming his feed.
No Witch Way Out (Maeren Series Book 2) Page 27
