Elusive Hero

by Joey W. Hill

  When she parted her lips, he put the quill in between them. "Hold onto that. Gently. Don't drop it."

  Her world tilted as he bent, banded his arm around her thighs and--no other word for it--tossed her onto his shoulder. The capable movement, indicating the sprawling strength and grace of his body, his palm gripping her ass, the choker pulling against her throat, exacerbated her desire for him, her need to feel him inside her once more. It seemed the wanting him never ended.

  "Glad to hear it. But that pussy of yours is going to do without for awhile. Everything my way, my lady. That's just one lesson you'll learn about wearing my collar."

  He employed the fireman's carry, her head hanging down, hands trying to find purchase on the rise of his ass, the rugged landscape of his muscular back, as he took her out of his office and workout room to the futon. Settling down in the center, he turned her so she was draped over his legs, hips arched over them and knees sunk into the couch cushion. He gripped her face, turning it toward him. Taking the quill from between her lips, he set it beside him.

  "You need a good spanking, Lady Kaela," he said shortly. "Being in my mind when I told you no. Calling me Master before I gave you permission. You may heal fast, but pain is pain, and I could leave you black and blue with my hand alone. I think I should wear your ass out good. Shouldn't I?" His tone sharpened, making her start.

  "Yes." She was whispering.

  "I didn't hear that."

  "Yes sir."

  "Better." He wrapped his hand in her hair again. "Breath control's off the table with a vampire, more's the pity. I think you'd like that, my lady, me controlling whether or not you get to breathe. But you'll get some of the effects of it like this." He pushed her face down into the seat cushion and jerked the ties to the swimsuit bottoms, pulling them off before he began rubbing firm circles over her buttocks, a sensation that had the nerve endings begging, all her erogenous zones tingling.

  "You disobeyed me partly because you're still floating in that post-subspace, where there's more intimacy. I don't mind that. Even like it. But you recouped your energy more quickly than a human sub, so now you're disobeying me because I'm giving you too much room to think. So get ready to lose control of your mind. And anything else I want to take from you."

  Jared had spanked her a couple times. The first time had been an accident. She'd dropped hay in his hair and he'd threatened to spank her. She'd teased him by flipping her skirt at him as if she'd lift it. He'd driven the breath out of her, catching her up against the loft ladder and yanking the skirt up himself. She thought he was going to take her there, tear through her thin drawers. As a result she'd been instantly, gushingly wet. Eventually he'd done just that, but first, he'd drawn back his hand and...

  Thwap!

  She shuddered. She didn't want to think about all the things that could go wrong about this once she left the island, things that felt like subdrop multiplied by a hundred suicidal thoughts. She wanted Garron to help her stop thinking.

  She got her wish.

  He leaned over her, hooking the coffee table drawer with a foot, and withdrew something. When she started to turn her head in that direction, he pushed her face back down into the cushion. "Not your job to see what I'm doing, my lady." He tapped one thigh. "Spread these for me. Shoulder length apart. Put your arms behind your back, wrists side by side."

  The position increased the pressure of her face in the cushion, made her wetter, and she moaned as he indulged himself, sliding two fingers inside to scissor and play. He unhooked the back of the swimsuit top, untied the neck, pulled it from beneath her so she was naked except for his choker.

  "You make a man want to fuck you to death, my lady." Withdrawing his hand, he clasped both of her wrists and picked up what he'd taken out of the coffee table drawer.

  She realized what it was as soon as he began threading her arms into it. A corset sleeve, meant to lace a sub's arms together behind her back, going from wrists to upper arms, as tight as could be tolerated. She'd seen modifications to them used at vampire events and vividly imagined one on herself. The strain on the shoulders, the way her breasts would thrust out, the tightness of the hold.

  As the sleek, tough fabric molded to her limbs, her breath caught. She didn't breathe at all as he drew the lacings taut, increasing that sensation.

  "Yeah, there you are. You like being restrained, my lady. It turns you on ten different ways and puts your mind back where I want it. Keep floating."

  Which was exactly how it felt. The ties holding her to rational thought were cut like balloons, letting her drift and spin, even as her body throbbed, begged for even more. Anything he wanted to do to her.

  He was pulling her shoulders back in increments until he had her upper body off the couch. He moved a cushion under it to hold her, indulging his desire to fondle the breasts that were now thrust out. She gasped at the tweak on her nipples before he placed another bigger cushion under her chin and pressed her face back into it, putting less strain on her neck.

  Her shoulders ached from how far he pulled them back, locking her in the arched position. But he knew she craved greater levels of discomfort than a human sub. It pushed her deeper into that place in her mind. The iron bar of his cock against her belly said he fucking loved being able to push past those boundaries, indulge desires he'd never been able to pursue this far before.

  With every restraint he added, her mind...went away. She had little licks of panic over it, but they were distant, intriguing reactions, not able to organize themselves into a full revolt as before. Her legs were spread, her pussy so wet she was sure it was dripping against his bare thigh. She loved that idea.

  Now he cupped her jaw, lifting her face out of the cushion to tease the broad ivory feather of the quill over her lips. It made her want to lift her chin even higher, especially as he stroked it down her throat, over a breast. He was mastering her in his home. Like she was one of his possessions in truth.

  "Damn straight about that. You're don't talk unless I command you to. Tell me you understand."

  "I do." God, she wanted to call him Master now, but he hadn't offered it again, the chance lost, and she was afraid to ask. Afraid of what it meant. Afraid she'd beg. He'd said she couldn't talk anyway, a convenient excuse.

  He moved her off his lap, laid her down on her side on the coffee table. Kaela licked suddenly dry lips as he lifted the quill. Opening his hand, he punctured the heel with the sharp end, efficient and deep, the welling of blood immediate. He waited as the blood formed a small pool in the cup of his hand. While he did that, he watched her, how riveted she became by that ruby bright flow.

  He dipped the tip of the quill in it and leaned forward. "Eyes on the wall behind me, baby. You don't get to see what I'm writing until I say so."

  Reluctantly, she obeyed. Her skin shuddered as she felt the press of the sharp tip and he began to write. It was scratchy, sharp, ticklish by turns, depending on where he was writing. Over the curve of a breast, around her navel, on her hip. When the blood clotted on his hand, he stripped off his T-shirt and punctured himself again. In the corner of her eye, she could see where. His pectoral, his biceps, his other palm...his throat. Except for his palms, he dipped the quill directly into the wound to ink the tip. Her nostrils flared, saliva gathering in her mouth as thin crimson rivulets of blood slid down his neck, over the curve of his biceps, down his pectoral, along the ridges of his abdomen.

  And yet he kept writing. On her thighs next, then he turned her onto her stomach to make swirling, sharp scrapes down her back, over her ass. He cupped her chin, giving her support since the corset sleeve kept her arched up. She dipped her head enough to taste the blood on his palm and he gave her a sharp poke with the quill, an unspoken reprimand that had her pressing her lips tight together. She savored the small taste she'd stolen.

  The lower curve of her breasts pressed into the ridges of the bamboo coffee table, a provocative friction. He leaned over her, his knees pressed against her shoulder and hip. He s
hifted his hold to her sternum, spreading out his hand there to give her additional support.

  "Spread your legs."

  When he wrote on her inner thigh, the feather curling over to tickle the seam of her ass, the back of the opposite thigh, she was whimpering, pleading without words, since he'd told her she couldn't speak.

  At last he put her back on her hip and shoulder, facing him. He touched the bloody quill tip to her lips, her tongue, letting her have another taste of him.

  "You can look now. See how beautiful you are to your Master, inside and out. I'm writing the words I think of when I look at you, my lady." The quill dropped, began to trace the word he'd written on one breast. "Strength." Down to her hip bone, her lower back. "Laughter. Tears."

  His dark eyes were fire, capable of making her shake inside, everything susceptible to him. Even without giving him the third mark, she didn't think she had any shields that could resist his invasion as deep inside her as he wanted to go.

  His gaze flickered, but he went back to tracing the words. "Rage. Grace. Breasts. Cunt. Ass. Legs." A smile touched his lips. "Because I can't help but think about those things, too. Being a man and all."

  She realized she'd obeyed him so literally she hadn't even allowed herself to think in full thoughts, because that was a kind of talking. But she really wanted to know what the looping scrawl on her back had been. He'd written along either side of her bound arms.

  Scooping her off the table, he settled back onto the futon with her on his lap, on her stomach. "Surrender, on this side. On this other, my name. In between..." Putting his fingertips on the narrow opening between her shoulder blades, he bent and put his mouth on it. "Mine."

  Tears stung her eyes, unexpected, and she was suddenly short of breath, seeking air, forgetting she didn't really need it. That happened sometime when a made vampire panicked, as if muscle memory kicked in from their human days. She'd overcome it decades ago, because thinking she was hyperventilating during a fight could be fatal. But she was safe with him, and he'd overwhelmed her.

  She'd told him she couldn't be marked, that she healed too quickly, and he'd adapted, marked her in a way that had to be washed off.

  "Dangerous. Vulnerable. Just. Uncertain. Need. Incomparable. Irresistible." He etched those words as well. Then he removed the corset sleeve, taking his time so she felt the gradual easing of her shoulders, the caress of his hands as he stripped the tube off to free her arms. He traced the impressions the lacings had left, passed his strong hands over her shoulders kneading the strained muscles as he bid her to lay limp over his lap, her face down in the cushion again. It was ecstasy, the way she could be simultaneously so aroused and so tranquil under his command when her mind was captured by everything he was doing.

  At last he turned her over, cradling her in his arms. His rigid cock pressed against her hip through his swimsuit.

  She was covered in tiny crimson marks, his blood. The rivulets of it marked his chest, his arm, his abdomen. She wanted to taste him everywhere.

  "Everything." That was what he'd written on the inside of her thigh. As his fingers settled there, he looked up at her, met her eyes. "You're the universe on the head of a pin, my lady, and it's in every line of your body, every look you give me. You're shaking so hard, so pale..."

  Easing her to the ground between his knees, he stood over her to remove his swimsuit before he sat down, picked up the quill again. He punctured his inner thigh, a small notch where the blood welled quickly. Gathering it up on his fingers, he smeared it over his cock, began to stroke. She pressed toward his jutting member, but he closed a hand on her shoulder.

  "Not yet. I'll tell you what you get to suck and when. Got it?"

  "Yes..."

  "Yes, what?"

  A little breathy sigh of relief escaped her, and she saw his eyes get even more intent. "Yes, Master."

  "Close your eyes."

  She obeyed, lips parting. He must have levered his cock downward, because he rubbed it over the tops of her breasts as her chin quivered with the effort to keep it lifted despite the aroma of blood, of the pre-come gathered on the slit.

  "I liked holding your breasts together and fucking them. Sometime, I'll do that until I spew. But for now, you drink."

  He directed her to that puncture in his thigh, put her mouth over it. "That one puncture won't be enough. Use your fangs, my lady."

  She really was more depleted than she'd realized by the session in his dungeon room and this. Stress could deplete calories for humans; she hadn't realized the same was true for vampires. In her odd floating state she found herself licking and savoring the taste of him, moving her mouth slowly on him as he stroked her head with that one hand. But her ears and the movements of his body told her he was stroking himself as well, his knuckles brushing her ear and cheekbone every once in a while as he masturbated while watching her feed.

  She never wanted these ten days to end. Maybe she could pretend they never would, that she could just stay here in his apartment, be his always...

  "Put your mouth on me now," he said roughly. "Take me as far back as you can."

  SS

  Maybe vampires had better control of their gag reflexes. He wasn't sure, but after she clotted the wound made in his thigh with only a couple quick kitten licks, apparently a perk of vampire saliva glands, she turned her head to the task he'd ordered and damn well pretty much took all of him. The little scrape of her fangs as his broad head broached that hot mouth sent a ripple of visceral pleasure through him.

  She sucked him in, her tongue an agile gift, stroking and teasing, flicking and swirling. All while those succulent lips slid up and down his shaft, her hand circling his base to grip, the other cupping his balls, stroking. He kept her hair in his fist, loving the thick, shining weight of it, the way she gasped when he yanked her down on him harder, making her lose her balance so she had to grab hold of his thighs again.

  I'm the one in control here, my lady. You're servicing me, and I want you to push yourself. Take me deeper, suck harder. This isn't a beauty contest. It's about sucking off your Master, because he wants to come in your mouth, watch you struggle to swallow him down.

  She gave a half hiss against him, redoubled her efforts, and he felt the shift in energy to where he'd wanted her. She needed to be pushed and tested. Not too soft and easy. He'd given them both that a moment ago, but his instincts told him not to draw that out too long.

  "Hands behind your back," he ordered. "You do this only with your mouth."

  She didn't like that, wanting to touch him, but she complied. His balls were drawing up, his body rocking into her, cock thrusting into her mouth. He used the hold on her hair to give him leverage. Stress tears rolled down her cheeks and now she was fighting her gag reflex. When her fangs scraped him a little more enthusiastically, he rolled with it, pushing farther into her mouth but moving his thumbs down to hold her mouth open wider, straining her jaw.

  "You bite me, I'll extract those fucking fangs with pliers."

  He'd already learned that savage side of her responded to the threats, probably because he could call forth his own savage side that would genuinely mean it...in words. In truth, he'd murder anyone who caused her true fear or pain.

  Her tongue kept working over him, and his cock convulsed. He pushed her down on him and held her tight there, her nose and chin buried in his pubis and testicles, his cock at the back of her throat. As he jetted, she tried to submit to that iron hold, not fight it. As for him, he had all he could do not to black out, the climax was so violent. He spewed come into her mouth three, four, five long streams, hips working, rocking against her face as she gasped, tried to keep up.

  When he finally let her come up for air, he tipped up her face. Thanks to how insistent he'd been, there was no way she could have stayed pretty by girl standards. She tried to hide it from him, but he made a warning noise. "I'm the one who messed you up, my lady. It's my pleasure to look at you with tears staining your cheeks, your mouth smeared with my
come and your saliva, your cheeks flushed and lips swollen, eyes bright. You look fucking beautiful to me."

  His voice softened as she swayed. "Hold onto my knees." He molded her hands over them, made sure she'd stay upright as he stretched out over her to retrieve his T-shirt from the edge of the futon. He used it to wipe her mouth, nose and eyes, then covered her lips with his, scenting his climax on her sweet mouth. She kissed him back with fervor, conveying her own arousal. She was revved up, spinning, so worked up that when he put his hand down between her legs, her clit was as swollen and wet as he could want it. He thought about suckling that ripe fruit into a full explosion of juices into his mouth, but he had other ideas. Hell, he couldn't choose between all the things he wanted to do to her.

  Catching the choker, he tugged on it, toppling her to her hip so she'd lean against the futon for support. He rose to don his swimsuit again, then pushed the coffee table out of the way. "Forehead down." She looked puzzled for one second too long, and so he pushed her there with his hand on the back of her neck, bringing her ass up in the air with a hand underneath her abdomen. He shifted her so she was centered in front of the futon, facing away from it, and gave her buttocks about ten swats, finishing up with a bruising knead of her backside, pinching her with hard fingers until she was quivering and trying her best not to flinch. Sitting back down on the futon, he bent forward and laid his lips on one shuddering cheek.

  "Hold your weight on your hands, my lady." It was the only warning he gave her before he pulled her legs up, bracing her knees on his shoulders and leaving her face down over the edge of the futon between his knees, her head hanging down to the floor. As she scrambled to use that vampire flexibility to balance herself, he did what he could to destroy that balance. He lifted her lower body to his mouth and drank his fill of that full, juicy clit.

  She came, instantly, violently, beautifully. He had to band his arms around her waist, as she clung to his legs, her upper torso twisting as she shrieked her pleasure. Her clit spasmed under his lips, her climax short, sweet spurts on his lashing tongue. He shifted his grip, grasped her bottom in both hands, kneading those sensitive globes as they writhed under his touch. He held her fast, made her feel every overwhelming sensation.