by Joey W. Hill
Her attack didn't seem to disrupt that placid energy that hummed off him when he got back to his feet and squared off with her once more. She should have torn his shirt off the way he'd tried to do with hers. She'd like to take her fill of that muscular expanse, taste his flesh, his blood.
"I'm hungry," she said. "You're in charge of my care. Give me blood."
"You're the badass in the room," he said, though the sharp laser of his eyes belied the mild tone. "Why don't you just take it, my lady?"
When she said nothing, he knuckled the blood away from his mouth. "Would it help if I could overpower you? Force you to my will with physical strength? I suspect there are plenty of male vampires in your world who could do that, and you wouldn't be losing money on a fancy vacation."
She pressed her lips together. "Do you think you can play games with me?"
"No. Which is why this isn't a game. You know exactly what I'm doing. You just want to control it, which defeats the purpose, don't you think?" He studied her. "All right, point made. We'll skip the massage, for now. Let's go visit the main grotto and waterfall. We need to talk awhile."
She wondered if he meant her point or his own and what his point had been. She closed her hands into fists, uncurled them. "It won't make a difference. I think this was a mistake."
"But you don't know for sure. Let's go find out. The plane won't be back until tomorrow night, so what else do you have to do?"
"I could explore the amenities of the island. You told me there were plenty."
He gave that lopsided smile again, but she was keenly aware the intent focus of his eyes never left her face, as if he was cataloging far more than her words. "I want to do something to help you get into a better frame of mind for this. An experiment. Are you brave enough for that?"
She stiffened. "I'm not afraid of you."
"I think you're terrified."
In her world, an opponent recognizing fear was like a wolf scenting blood. Yet his tone softened, just enough to lock things up inside her, keep her watching, waiting. "Why wouldn't you be?" he continued. "I can't even begin to guess at what it feels like, denying a vital part of yourself for years so you wouldn't end up someone's slave. You have walls that are miles thick. I'm not here to knock them down, Kaela. I know you need them to survive. You have to let down the drawbridge, let me in. I have to earn your trust for you to do that. I get it. So let's go talk and work on that."
He stepped closer. She eyed him warily. She could kill him. The fact that it seriously crossed her mind told her he was right. She was scared. By the situation, by being so far out of her element, but so close to something she'd denied herself for so long. All he'd done was tell her to don a robe and she'd attacked, seeking control because she'd realized somehow he'd already taken some of that from her. She suspected he'd pushed her that way as an icebreaker of sorts. What a strange man.
He didn't look down, but he found her clenched hand at her side. His large fingers covered her fist, caressed, teased, until her rigid fingers slowly opened up. Lifting her hand, he kissed her knuckles, keeping his eyes on hers as he turned her hand over, kissed her palm, her wrist. She drew in a breath as he held his mouth over her pulse, his thumb gliding up and down the delicate skin of her forearm. Her body swayed in toward him and suddenly she was even more aware that she stood so close to him in only a couple scraps of underwear, while he was fully dressed. It made her feel...that he was the one in control.
Only if she let him, and she wasn't there yet. Not even close. No matter what her body was saying. She'd learned to ignore its wants a long time ago. Mind over matter, always, because her life depended on her head, not her heart.
"What experiment?" she said, trying to pull back.
He touched her chin. For a man with such a startling appearance, he had tremendous sexual confidence in his touch, as if he knew his frightening visage was inconsequential to what he could make a submissive feel. "First the waterfall," he said. "But I still want you to go take everything off and change into the robe first. I'll feed you soon. Can you accept that much for now?"
She wasn't sure she could accept anything, but she nodded. She watched him, bemused, as he let her go to recover her skirt and blouse. Folding them into a neat pair of squares, he handed them to her. "If you'll put these in the dumbwaiter, they'll mend or replace them as well."
He didn't apologize for ripping them. No more than he'd apologize for ripping clothes that belonged to him. That was the point, wasn't it? She needed to stop assuming his thoughts, because it made her want to reach up, touch his split lip. When he'd kissed her hand, he'd left tiny smears of that blood on her skin, and the scent was heady. She wanted to put her mouth on his, bite that offended area, make it bleed anew so she could taste him. It was as if she were a fledgling again, trying to control bloodlust.
As if he anticipated her alarm at that thought, her need to do something immediate and drastic to put things back in perspective, he put a calming hand on her shoulder. Under her curious gaze, he pressed his thumb against his bottom lip, putting pressure next to the split. When he felt the blood well anew--or perhaps he saw the avid sparks in her gaze, the signal of her parted lips, the gleam of her fangs--he swiped his thumb over the spot, collecting several drops.
"Stay still, my lady. Still as a statue."
Nothing could be as still as a vampire. It was one of many things that made them deadly. But she couldn't still the thundering of her heart as he reached out that short distance between them and painted his blood on her lips with sensual care, like an artist at a canvas. The tip of her tongue came out, an involuntary motion, and teased the taste off her bottom lip, touching his thumb. He let it rest there while she sampled his flesh, his blood.
A human's myriad scents were as detailed as a book page. She'd registered his interested arousal as soon as they met on the dock, but now there was a more focused attention to it, his cock likely finding even less room in his well-fitted jeans. She detected a faint tightening of his muscles, but other than that, he was almost as still as she, watching what she was doing.
What would she do if he pushed his thumb into her mouth, an unspoken command to close her lips on it, suck it like he'd want her to suck his cock? On her knees. She'd seen that reaction in the eyes of any male vampire who wanted to prove he could overpower her. She would have expected it here, but what she saw was a reflection, as if Garron's sexual energy merely opened her to a mirror of her own desires and needs. She wanted to be on her knees, sucking a Master's cock. Maybe sucking this Master's cock.
She stepped back, a little too abruptly, but he let his hand fall to his side, his expression as steady as before.
"A meal soon. First the robe and the waterfall."
His tone made it a simple command, not a matter for debate. With a lack of other immediate options, Kaela circled around him, moved toward the bathroom.
"My lady?"
She paused at the door, glanced back, but he wasn't looking at her. He was studying the small waterfall, his hands now slipped into the back pockets of his jeans, his weight rocking lightly on the balls of his feet, a position that inadvertently drew attention to the breadth of his shoulders, the fine ass and columns of his thighs. He was built like a brick house and looked like he could dismantle one, brick by brick.
"Jewelry too," he said. "Take it all off."
She didn't say anything, but disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door. Like the rest of the suite, it anticipated every comfort she might need. Ironic, given she felt miles from her comfort zone. The large tub had silver fixtures that gleamed, thanks to their cleanliness and the row of bell-shaped lights that cast muted white light over the room. Another spray of colorful tropical flowers was on the vanity, so vibrant that all the gleaming white and silver surfaces reflected hints of their color. If she had a reflection, she wondered what it might look like tonight. It was probably best that she didn't know.
She removed her underwear and found the robe. The silken fabric cares
sed her skin like a spa treatment and clung to her curves, showing the jut of her nipples and molding the flare of her hips, the cleft of her buttocks. When tied, the robe was at mid-thigh, short enough to display her legs and make her think twice about what might be revealed if she bent over, but it wasn't so short she'd feel unclothed. Yet it was definitely a garment intended to display her assets for a waiting Master.
That thought gave her pause. He'd been strong, quick, not easily intimidated. He hadn't seemed afraid that she could seriously injure him, which was either foolish or something else, something she appreciated. Sometimes the most important advantage you had was making your opponent believe that, no matter what he did, your will wasn't going to break.
Unless you wanted it to do so.
She frowned at the thought. Maybe their talk would help her figure all this out. Maybe not. But if not, he'd said it himself. A plane would be available tomorrow night.
She belted the robe, emerged. He'd taken a seat in an easy chair that faced the bathroom, so when she stepped out, his full attention was on her. While the chair would have been roomy enough for her to curl up with a book, take a nap, it fit his size. He had his hands resting on the arms, his knees spread in a casual pose. He wasn't waiting on her as much as he was expecting her, a subtle difference she picked up from his body language.
It probably wasn't even calculated. In the human world, men who enjoyed sexual Dominance might get involved in the BDSM scene to embrace it fully. Yet there were some who, with or without the environment to define it, were Masters. It was clear which one Garron was, because he wouldn't have gotten this far with her yet otherwise. Though the steps might seem small to him, they were vast leaps for her. Which was why all of this was so damned disquieting.
His gaze coursed over her, noting the male-pleasing features of the robe. "Do you use that to get what you want?" he asked, his voice neutral.
"My body? At times. I use whatever tool is necessary to do what has to be done."
"An honest answer. Those are the only kind I'm interested in hearing." He stood. "Come with me, my lady. Trust me, the waterfall is worth the trip."
He took her back to the hallway outside her suite, only this time he led her to a smaller elevator at the end of the hall. He keyed in a code and it opened immediately. Once in, he pressed the button to take them down another level. Seeing there were two levels below this one, she wondered how it was possible to go that far into the ground of an island without hitting water. Another of Eden's mysteries.
As the doors closed, her sharp senses detected a faint cry. A repetitive thudding, not exactly like music. The combination made her cock her head, but the sound was gone as the elevator engaged, moved down. Garron didn't react to it, but she didn't think he'd missed it. So far, he hadn't seemed to have any trouble hearing her, or registering her reactions, but he clearly paid very close attention. She wondered if that was because of the hearing handicap, or part of being a Dom at his level of expertise, or some other aspect of his background. She didn't yet know where the scars had come from, but his demeanor and her suspicion it was from a spray of shrapnel suggested a military background.
"You said there weren't any other suites on this floor, but I can hear...something."
"It's in a separate wing, but the BDSM club is on the same level as your suite," he said. "You're probably catching echoes in the elevator shaft from sessions happening there."
"Oh."
The doors opened, bringing her a stronger smell of earth and rock, the more distant scent of salt water. This exit put them in an unfinished tunnel, so she felt like she was exploring a cave. The stone beneath her feet was smooth and damp, small pools of water gathered in places that had her shying at first at the contact, but it was warm, pleasant. She could hear a muted roar, further evidence that they were headed toward the larger waterfall and grotto Garron had described.
They went up an incline, down, around a curve, Garron's body brushing hers as they navigated the turns. Out of all the scents she was absorbing, his was the most pervasive, and she found herself welcoming and anticipating every time he touched her.
"It's easy for someone with strong submissive cravings to think they're ready for something before they really are," he said conversationally. "It's why a lot of subs plunge into a relationship with a Dom too fast when they first hit the scene. You won't have that issue. But beyond that, you have to have a Master that gets it, who knows when to take it slow or speed up the pace."
"Hard to slow down when you only have ten days to do the job."
"I told you. I don't have a job these next ten days." There was humor in his voice, but a wealth of other lustful promises. "You're my vacation."
"If that's the case, you're misclassified, Rand. You're more masochist than sadist."
He chuckled at that, his grip on her arm sliding down to enclose and caress her hand. "I'm not going to rush this, Kaela. We move at the pace I set. The right connections, the moments of trust, can happen in a blink. But only if you don't rush it, no matter how fast the sand runs through the hourglass."
"Cryptic wisdom is barely a breath from empty bullshit."
"That's entirely true. It takes an intelligent woman to know the difference."
She wasn't sure if she shouldn't break his fingers after all, but she settled for letting him guide her on yet another upward incline. This one brought the scent of fresh air and hints of greenery, flowers. The thunder of water grew louder, sending a hum through the rocks.
"Here we are."
They emerged from the tunnel, Garron ducking to clear the overhang. They were outside the castle in an area of dense foliage and discreet pathways. A scattering of stone benches carved with Celtic designs circled a beautiful lagoon that had a rock wall built around it. The waterfall, tall as several levels of the castle, poured along an array of sleek rock in a jagged pattern that reminded her of the dock. A mist hovered over the water, containing a haze of colors from the moonlight. It appeared they had the place to themselves at this late hour.
He drew her toward a stone bench. When she expected to sit on it, he shook his head, directed her to sit on the lowlying ledge around the pool, put her feet in the water. He took a seat on the bench behind her, sitting to her left she could see him in her peripheral vision. He braced his foot next to her hip, his arm stretched out on the back of the bench, all his attention on her where she sat on the ground below him.
Fran often sat at Kaela's feet during vampire events. If it was after the sexual entertainments, she was usually naked, her skin still dewed by orgasm, her head bowed. Kaela would idly stroke her, keeping tabs on her physical and mental state, because the haze that happened after a particularly demanding performance could be extreme. Subspace, they'd call it in the human world. Servants had it as well, that hypnotic trance state that was part euphoria, part numbing peace. She knew because she had seen dozens of servants experience it. She'd even experienced it a couple times as a human, though she hadn't known to call it that. Jared had instinctively known to care for her with extra attention, realizing she needed help grounding again.
Stop it. Stop thinking of him. She was already off balance emotionally. Thinking of the man who'd been part of her life as a human would not help.
Garron leaned forward, resting his forearms on his spread knees. He slid a fingertip along her shoulder, drawing her out of her thoughts. "You know," he said quietly, "one of the best Doms I ever met is in a wheelchair. There's something in each of us that says who we are in the pecking order of things, who we can trust. Those are the ones to whom we'll surrender. Sometimes things have built up in our lives, debris, trash in the moat. Until we get rid of that, wade through it, it's hard to figure out who we can trust to guard that fortress."
She looked down at the water, the way it swirled around her calves. There were little fish here as well as some larger ones. Trying to figure out what her legs were, they nibbled at her skin, a teasing contact. "Is this where you convince me physical pow
er isn't relevant to submission? To a vampire? Physical power is everything in my world."
"I'm not sure that's true. I expect you're not the most physically powerful in your territory. But you do a hell of a job either convincing them you are, or that they're all better off with you in charge. You just have to have enough physical power to make them put aside pride in favor of the overall benefit."
She really did wonder how Theodosius Vardalos knew all this about her. And about vampires. She should also find out why Garron accepted she was a vampire so matter-of-factly. These were all things a responsible overlord should do, to protect the vampire world as a whole. Do a threat assessment. But that wasn't why she was here. She didn't want that to intrude upon this.
"There's a reason it's called a power exchange, my lady," Garron said gently when she remained silent. "There's a reason a submissive can abhor the reality of rape, but long for the edge play of a forced seduction. In the room, you overpowered me physically. But what does your heart want, your mind want? Even if you're Hercules, there's always someone stronger physically out there. Correct?"
"Right." But she didn't lift her gaze to him.
He sighed. "Choice is the only true power that exists in a Dom/sub relationship, the guiding credo in everything we do. You suspend disbelief to enjoy a movie, cry over a book. We can get lost in our imaginings and empathy and find a power and magic in them that can strengthen us in our real lives in ways we can't envision. Even more than if we strangle back those imaginings."
"I don't have that choice. Haven't had that choice."
"You do here. Kaela." He reached out, brushed a fingertip along her jaw. "The trick is finding the mind or personality strong enough to hold us up when we need to let go."
"That doesn't exist in my world."
"But maybe it can exist here."
