Bound By His Blood

by Jennifer August

  His grin was electrifying as he swooped in again, his arms coming down to crush her to his chest. He melded their mouths. God, his lips were impossibly soft.

  Sweet, too, with that exotic hint of spicy rum.

  “Open your mouth for me, little one, I want to taste you, too.”

  Sheridan did as he commanded and groaned as his tongue glided slickly inside. The air stilled around them, the only sounds the tiny moans she made and the satisfied whispers emanating from him.

  She tightened her grip and suddenly she was airborne. “What are you doing?” she gasped.

  “Kiss me,” he said and sat on the couch, settling her across his lap.

  The position thrust his hard cock perfectly between her thighs. Instantly, her pussy flooded.

  His nostrils flared and the green light in his eyes flashed brilliantly before he took her mouth again.

  She felt devoured, pushed to the edge, left hanging on for dear life. A swirl of confusing emotions ripped along her brain, but Sheridan pushed them all away, concentrating only on the intense sexual rush his kiss evoked.

  She could not get enough of his mouth, his touch, his taste. Squirming on his lap, she half-turned and cupped his face, slanting hers so she could delve deeper into the kiss.

  He growled and without losing contact, flipped her to the couch, his long body covering hers in an instant.

  He pressed the fullness of his erection to her pelvis and plucked at the luscious mounds of her breasts.

  She tore her mouth away and looked down between their bodies. His cock strained from the tent of his black slacks. Her pussy throbbed and ached. Just this touch had her on the verge of orgasm.

  She looked up at him, eyes going wide at the feral intensity on his face. His eyes were shadowed by dark brows and fangs peeked from between his lips.

  McCallister stilled, breath coming in hard, ragged gasps. “Scared?”

  “No,” she said truthfully. She wasn’t intimidated by him in the least. There was something about him that spoke to her core and fear wasn’t anywhere in the equation.

  “You should be,” he whispered.

  “Why?” Sheridan lifted her hips, undulating softly. She wanted him. Desperately. Urgently. The carnal need filled her body and mind with a roaring demand she could not quell.

  His hand clamped over her abdomen, stilling her instantly. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Sheridan. Are you sure you want to continue? If I take you, it will be on my terms. And you will be mine.”

  Now that freaked her out. She was an independent woman. Relationships, one night stands—not that she’d ever had any—and jobs were done on her terms. No one else’s.

  She sucked in a deep, considering breath then pushed at his chest. He gave way immediately, going from prone to standing with no effort.

  She struggled to pull down her torn leather skirt and re-arrange the mess he’d made of her sheer top. It, too, was probably ruined. She tucked her still-tingling boobs back into the red bra. All the while, she tried to ignore the flare of disappointment coursing through her veins. It was damned difficult. Her body yearned for him like a two-year old whined for candy.

  “I knew there was a reason I didn’t engage in one-night stands,” she muttered.

  “Sheridan.”

  She ignored him, looked around the room for her purse and spied it sticking out from beneath the couch. She bent and picked it up, brushing off non-existent dust. For a guy, his place was remarkably clean.

  “Sheridan.” His tone was demanding but she still didn’t look at him.

  She was too damn busy trying to calm both her heart and her libido.

  “What did you mean by your terms?” The question popped out and she cursed her wayward tongue immediately.

  The silence was long and torturous. She refused to give in to curiosity and look at him. She asked a question, he could answer it. Or not.

  She fidgeted with the purse. Looked toward the door. Scuffed the pristine hardwood floor.

  Silence.

  “Damn it,” she grumbled and whirled around. “Ack!”

  He was standing two inches away from her. How did he move with such freaking silence?

  “Don’t do that,” she snapped. “Don’t you know you can scare someone to death? Inconsiderate—”

  His finger pressed against her lips and she went quiet. Once again that weird pull connected her to him. A shadow danced through her mind, flashes of carriages, candles, a two-story building which morphed into a panorama of Victorian row houses — Boston, she realized — and a sense of shock.

  This last feeling made her buck. His shock. His despair. His agony. The emotions threatened to send her to her knees, but some inner strength kept her upright.

  He lifted his finger and tipped his head. The emotional barrage immediately receded. “You have naturally strong defenses, Sheridan. That’s very intriguing.”

  “Defenses? Do you always talk in circles, McCallister?”

  He smiled. “When it suits me.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  His expression grew serious and he returned to the sofa. “Come here and sit with me.”

  Before she thought about it, she was easing down two cushions away.

  “That’ll do for now. To answer your question about terms, I’d like to know what you know about BDSM.”

  Sheridan’s jaw dropped. “As in whips and chains?”

  His shoulders tensed as his face went a little gray and queasy, but he quickly recovered. The expression happened so fast she would have missed it if she’d not been so focused on his handsome face.

  “I don’t like chains but I have a special affinity for whips. Floggers. Crops. Leather straps.” McCallister smiled. Her heart did that annoying flip flop again. “But it’s much more than that. More along the lines of submission.”

  Sheridan squeezed her tiny purse. “Geez, I figured we were going to talk about vampires and such. Not normal things like BDSM.”

  “Answer the question,” he commanded.

  Sheridan glared at him again. “You’re very high-handed.”

  He lifted a brow. His intense green stare compelled her to speak. She plucked at one of the holes in her fishnet stockings, debating what to say. She’d never tried anything kinky like that before. “I don’t like pain, so, uh thanks but no thanks.”

  Before she could blink, he was sitting next to her, his hand tangled in her hair, tugging her head back.

  She gasped and the pulse in her throat beat wildly against her flesh and rang in her ears.

  “It’s not about pain, either.” McCallister drew the blunt end of one finger over her lips, down her neck and settled upon the mad flutter. “It’s about pleasure. Letting go. Submitting. Giving up all control to the one who can sear your body with delight.”

  Heat built beneath his small caress, radiating down to her breasts. As before, her body responded effortlessly to his touch.

  “I don’t want to give up control,” she said and her voice sounded breathless and unconvincing to her own ears.

  “Yes, you do,” he replied, as smug and arrogant as before. “And I can prove it.”

  “Ha. Not without some woo-woo, I bet.”

  He shook his head and let go of her hair. “I don’t know what kind of fictional crap you think you know about vampires, but we cannot impel people to do things they don’t want to do. I can’t gain any kind of mind control over you and make you cluck a chicken.”

  Boy, was he testy. “All right, copper, settle down there.” She dragged a hand through her hair, fluffing the tresses he’d messed up, hoping she didn’t look as bedraggled as she felt. In her idiotic mind, though, she was thinking furiously about what he said. Submission. Pleasure. Letting go. Her body perked up once more, all eager and willing despite her rational side screaming itself silly. “You can prove it, huh? How?”

  His smile was dangerous, made all the more feral by the points of his fangs. She shivered as an image of him raking her breasts with those
fangs flashed into her brain. She really wanted to know what that felt like.

  “Easy enough,” he said smoothly and held out his hand. “Come with me.”

  Sheridan stared at his hand like he held an offering of writhing snakes. With a slow, hesitant motion, she placed her palm in his. “All right, McCallister,” she whispered.

  Prove it.”

  He tugged her to him and he kissed her again with a light, sweeping stroke that was so gentle and tender, it brought tears to her eyes.

  This is coercion?

  I’ll take it.

  As before, even his simplest touch roused her desires. Lust built between her toes and surged upward, invading every part of her body.

  Oh, yes, she wanted him. She hungered for him in ways she’d never experienced before.

  He pulled away and pressed his big palm to the small of her back and urged her forward. “Come with me.”

  They passed into a long hallway fitted with beautiful brass and copper sconces and several doors.

  Several pieces of art hung on the wall, but she didn’t get a chance to peruse them all. One, however, screamed for attention. “Is that a real Monet?” she asked in disbelief.

  He gave the painting a glance then nodded. “A gift from my friend Sullivan. Here.”

  He stopped in front of a door, twisted the handle and ushered her in. “I invite you into my bedroom, Sheridan.”

  The words flowed over her with smooth enticement, urging her inward. She crossed the threshold and stopped just inside the doorway.

  His bedroom was neat, almost utilitarian in its sparseness. A huge king bed, encased in gleaming black head- and foot-boards, dominated one side of the room. Four rounded and jutting legs stood out at each corner. Stark white linens covered the bed, and matching black nightstands guarded each side.

  A black dresser nestled against the far wall. A long wooden box with a golden lock was the only ornament atop the furniture.

  Nothing else. No TV, no computer.

  Just a room.

  With a bed.

  A very large bed.

  She swallowed a bout of rising excitement. This was a challenge and while she freely admitted she was attracted to him and horny as hell, she wasn’t about to cave to his so-called control demands. She would play his game. And win.

  “It’s very nice, McCallister.”

  He chuckled and flicked on the iron bedside light before shutting off the overhead. Immediately the room deepened with shadows, though she could still see him clearly.

  McCallister stood at the edge of the bed and slowly lifted the bottom edge of his green knit polo shirt.

  When his abs came into view, she swayed on her feet. Forget six or eight, this guy was packing an entire brewery. Muscles rippled with motion as he pulled the shirt higher, over his pecs and finally off his head. He tossed the shirt to the floor, crossed his arms, and spread his feet a bit apart.

  Sheridan could not control the sheer wave of lust beating at her sub-conscious. He was gorgeous, no other word fit.

  The vampire had wide, broad shoulders any football player would envy. Strong and sculpted and perfectly in line with his equally muscular chest and sleek, ripped torso. Her mouth watered in anticipation.

  McCallister smiled at her before drawing her attention to his pants. With a quick flick of the wrist, he unbuttoned his slacks, then drew the zipper down with a slow rasp. He spread his fingers inside the flap and peeled the fabric slowly away. Curly brown hair peeked out.

  He wasn’t wearing any underwear.

  Sheridan took a few steps closer.

  The pants fell to the floor, and he kicked them out of the way. His thighs bunched and contracted with the movement.

  Sheridan stared at his cut calves for a long moment before pulling her gaze upward to his crotch.

  “Oh, God,” she half-whimpered.

  He was breathtaking.

  McCallister stood arrogantly, legs spread, hands on hips and long, thick, stiff dick proudly protruding. If he got any harder, one touch would snap his erection in two.

  With great effort, she dragged her gaze up his body to meet his searing, green eyes.

  “Watch me,” he said. “I don’t want you to do anything else, just watch.”

  Chapter Three

  McCallister saw the lust and attraction on Sheridan’s face and quashed a knowing grin. He cupped the base of his shaft and her nostrils flared.

  Her need swirled around her in tiny motes of pink and white lights.

  When he stroked slowly upward, her entire body quivered and she took another few steps closer.

  McCallister started a slow up-and-down movement on his cock, sliding his palm over the head and back down. Clear drops of pre-cum formed on the tip and he used his thumb to gloss the shiny liquid over himself. Her rapt stare excited him as much as the stroking.

  “Like my cock?” he asked softly.

  She nodded.

  “Want to touch me?”

  Lust blazed in her eyes and she gave another, slower nod.

  “Take your shirt off.”

  The soft order threw her for only a second before she lifted trembling fingers to the buttons. Within seconds, the scrap of sheer material drifted to land at her feet.

  His erection swelled in his hand and he hissed lightly. Damn, she looked good. Ripe. Eager.

  Her tits quivered in the boundaries of her red push-up bra and goose bumps rose on the mounds.

  More pre-cum slickened his grasp and he spread it along his entire shaft, all the while watching her reaction. Feeling her rapidly rising lust.

  She shuddered.

  “Come closer. Right in front of me.”

  She did, stopping only a few inches away.

  McCallister sped up the motion of his hand and she swayed toward him. “You have a beautiful mouth, Sheridan. Perfect for kissing. Perfect for sucking cock.”

  She licked her lips.

  “You like that? The thought of wrapping your beautiful red mouth over my hard dick?”

  “Yes.” A bare whisper of sound, but filled with desire.

  “I want that, too. Want to see you swallow my entire length.”

  Sheridan’s moan was an aphrodisiac and he gritted his teeth, reminding himself this was a lesson.

  “I see you do, too. On your knees, Sheridan, and clasp your hands together behind your back.”

  Her hesitation was so brief it was practically non-existent as she obeyed again, sinking slowly to her knees in front of him. Her warm breath washed over him and his cock jerked.

  “Oh, damn,” she whispered.

  “Keep your hands behind you. Do not let them come forward. For any reason. If you do, I will remove my cock. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” McCallister stepped closer. “Open your mouth.”

  When her ruby red lips parted, he slipped the head of his dick into her moist warmth. They both gasped.

  The backs of his knees trembled and he reached down to clasp her shoulder. Just to touch her, not to steady myself.

  He didn’t believe his own words.

  Her hot mouth throbbed around his cock and drove him nearly insane.

  “Take as much of me as you can.”

  Her throat worked as she swallowed, her teeth just grazing the sides of his dick. The small darts only served to elevate his need. McCallister’s eyes slitted as he looked down at her, kneeling in front of him, mouth stretched by his dick.

  He spasmed in her mouth and her eyes went wide, her shoulders jerked in his grip.

  “Don’t move your hands,” he barked.

  She stilled.

  “Take me deeper. I know you can. Use that fantastic mouth, Sheridan. Use it like the whore you pretended to be.”

  A low moan vibrated the sensitive, cut underside of his dick and he fought back his own shudder. Calling her a whore had been a risky move but her response was telling. A little humiliation with her submission seemed to be in order.

  Slowl
y she sucked him deeper and deeper, gagged a couple of times and swallowed before moving forward again.

  When she stilled at last, she held a full three-quarters of his entire length in her mouth. She looked up at him, eyes wide and afire.

  Slowly, McCallister pumped his hips, pushing in and out of her mouth. He snarled his hands in her hair, forcing her to follow his rhythm. He paced himself. He wanted to fuck this little beauty, not spill his seed in her mouth, talented as it was.

  She’ll make a beautiful Consort.

  McCallister had known from the moment she’d turned around from the Caddy he was going to join with her. Knew she would be a woman he’d enjoy having at his feet, bound to his bed, taking his cock and begging for more.

  Once more he pulsed between her delectable lips. “You look so good, there, Sheridan. Kneeling at my feet, my dick stuffing your mouth.” He drew back until just the tip parted her lips then slowly drove back inside. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Keeping your hands behind you so obediently.”

  The suction around his dick increased and her heart jumped several notches. The sweet scent of flowers churned around him and McCallister forced himself to concentrate.

  Not possible. Sine Qua Non didn’t exist. There are no soul mates.

  He continued the same slow pace, all the while forcing back his orgasm, and watched her closely. When her eyelids drooped and her hips started writhing, he knew it was time to step up the lesson.

  Good thing, too, because she’d had him at the brink several times.

  Once more, McCallister withdrew just to the head before he tugged his erection from her mouth with an audible pop.

  Her eyes went wide. “What? What are you doing?” She looked hungrily at his still-hard cock and he stroked himself, squeezing out more pre-cum when he reached the head.

  “Stand up, Sheridan.”

  She rose.

  “Take off your skirt and those fishnets.”

  A hitch in her breathing, a flare of emotion in her brilliant blue eyes.

  Would she do it?

  Though her fingers trembled, she reached around and unzipped the tattered black leather skirt. She peeled the stockings from her waist and shed both garments. Now she stood before him in only a pair of serviceable, black, boy-short panties and the rocking red bra.