Beloved Vampire

by Joey W. Hill

Page 70

 

  As she had the thought, even though she loved his mouth on hers, she disengaged her head, turned her cheek to his pillow.

  Exposing her throat to him. Even more slowly, she released his shoulders, the trembling in her limbs increasing as she offered with conscious understanding the gift she could give him. Easing her hands up, up and up, her knuckles slid across his pillows until she grazed the iron rails of the headboard and curled her fingers around them, restraining herself. Offering herself to him fully.

  Mason had lifted his head as she moved, the amber eyes getting more vibrant, glowing in the darkness. His age showed in those eyes, for never had she seen a vampire with such a supernatural gaze, something that said so clearly he was not human. He raised himself from the bed, his leg pressed against her calf, dangling off the edge of the mattress, for he’d laid her down at a diagonal angle. Now he unfastened his slacks, stripping off the remainder of his clothing with predatory grace.

  His cock brushed his belly, a man’s need, a vampire’s drive to claim, all evident in its turgid state. He was beautiful, of course, and yet the butterflies in her stomach were like a flock startled in the darkest shadows of the rain forest by a tiger’s passing. He was a threat, but there was such a tempting urge to flutter within reach of his lethal talons, brush against the lean flanks.

  Reaching down, he took hold of the dress, slid it down and turned her body to her side, lifting it as needed to take off the garment.

  It left her bare to his gaze as well, except for the bracelets and collar, the pink-faceted pendant, all things he’d given her.

  When he had her turned away from him, she could feel his heat. He sat on the edge of the bed, his palm curved over her hip. When his lips brushed the rounded curve of her buttock, she shuddered, her hands tightening on the rails. He worked his way up her spine, through her scars to her nape, and then he stretched out behind her and teased it with his lips as his hands clasped her wrists and he tied the dress around them, her restraint no longer a choice, but wholly his will.

  Do not fear me, habiba.

  He slipped his hand from her hip up her waist, then farther to cup a breast, idly playing with the nipple. His erection pressed against her bottom as he nipped her shoulder and then slowly, slowly penetrated her shoulder with his fangs, his tongue swirling against her flesh to taste her heated blood. She arched with a cry, pressing herself into him in involuntary reaction, but his touch remained maddeningly light, fingers brushing her nipple, his hand a gentle clasp around the curve. His hips moved against her now in a slow rhythm of copulation, rubbing up and down the cleft of her buttocks, stimulating himself while her sex clenched on emptiness.

  Mason . . . my lord . . .

  Shhh . . . be still, habiba . I will give you pleasure when it is time. Accept my will.

  She wanted to twist, to press against him more insistently, but if she tried, he simply moved out of range, though he kept his mouth at her throat, taking idle sips from her, bringing his body back only when she stilled herself. His hand settled on her throat, above the collar, a reminder that she wanted to belong to him fully tonight.

  By the time he was done with his meal, she was panting, her body quivering with the effort of not rubbing shamelessly against him or fighting her bond. He’d teased her neck, her ear, tipped her head back into his shoulder for another kiss where he held her chin, controlling the depth. Her thighs pressed together on aching, throbbing flesh. From the size of him against her, she knew he was also affected, and the increased strength of his grip at her throat, her breast, then back down to her hip, told her that his discipline had to have a limit as well. Though she was beginning to think it exceeded that of a marathon runner.

  At last, he turned her to her back. She hadn’t been certain how he’d do it. If he’d turn her to her stomach, bring her up to her knees and drive into her from behind, her face pressed into the pillows, or take her on her side, where he would raise her thigh and push into her as she bit into the coverlet. The intimacy of seeing his face was the answer to her own desires as well. She moaned at the press of him against her mound as he brought his weight back onto her. At the visible strain of withheld desire on his face, the raging fire in his tiger eyes.

  Deliberately laying his hands on her wrists, digging his fingers into the soft cloth, compressing her pounding pulse, he seated the head of his cock against her sex. “You are dripping for me, habiba. Your cunt will pull me in like your hot mouth. As it does, I want you to come. You will come. ”

  Without further explanation or an attempt for her to marshal her thoughts, he began to enter her, adjusting her for his size, taunting her with how deeply and fully he could fill her. Her body started to explode, a bomb that went off in tiny, explosive increments each time he moved forward, his strength and weight holding her down so she couldn’t rush it, so that her cries became screams, short, staccato bursts, upper body arching up into his, legs quivering.

  “Mason . . . oh . . . ah . . . ” Coherence deserted her for pleading, whimpering, her eyes locked on his fierce expression, the concentration as she spasmed around him. “Move . . . please . . . I need . . . to feel . . . you . . . my lord. ” But he didn’t, not until he had stretched her all the way, seated himself so deep. She hadn’t been sure if she could take him all. She knew, as a Master, he’d wanted her to feel that harrowing stretch, the border between discomfort and overwhelming need. Her muscles clenched spasmodically, milking him through an orgasm that continued to click upward like the buildup of a roller coaster, overpowering her, taking away her speech, for she realized the orgasm she was experiencing now was just the crest of a powerful wave.

  But she wanted to hold on to that pinnacle for as long as she could. It seemed she’d waited forever for this sense of connection, total fulfillment. Poised here, no thoughts or doubts, she was totally his, and had no fears or regrets.

  He closed his eyes, a shudder passing through the powerful body, and then he was moving, a withdrawal and a slam back in, fire licking across tissues already immersed in flame. Now she was free to move her hips and Jessica did so, surging up to meet his thrusts, feeling the heat and power of him drive home, withdraw, thrust back in, demanding everything from her. She needed every ounce of her third-mark strength, for though he held himself back, he knew she could take far more physical punishment than a mere mortal. He was apparently more than willing to test the limits of it. His grip on her wrists was bruising, the shove of his body in between her legs demanding enough to stretch tendons and overpower straining muscles. It was glorious . . . not the brutality of Raithe, but a violent passion that told her how much he wanted her. No, a feeling this strong was need. He needed her.

  He went back to her throat, no gentle penetration this time. The tiger took her with fierce determination, biting into the shoulder, intending to give her pain amid his claiming, an understanding that his possession involved both, mindless pleasure and the possibility of pain, if it suited his needs. She could accept it, could accept him, at least in this moment of just the two of them.

  At that moment of blood taking, he released inside of her, a flood of hot seed. Her body spasmed, toppling over that pinnacle with a shriek of raw desire that encapsulated the sound of his growl against her throat.

  Once, she hadn’t known the dark world of vampires existed, a world of nightmarish imaginings. Savagery such as this would have frightened the young girl she’d been, Mason’s hunger far beyond what she could manage. For the first time, the lessons of instinct, pain and pleasure came together. She knew how to serve the needs of a tiger, stand within range of his desires, and not only survive them, but embrace him. Find a wholeness, a depth in the shadows of herself she never would have found otherwise.

  Such clarity might elude her when she faced Mason’s “guests” or again confronted the choice of whether she would leave or stay.

  But for this second in the darkness of his bedroom, totally his,
her body and mind rocketed into the stars, and spiraling there without fear, she held on to the idea.

  As they at last slowed, Mason licked her wound, helped the blood stop. He was still inside of her, and she held him with her muscles, wanting him to stay forever. He made a soft noise of approval. When he turned his head, nuzzled beneath her ear, his hand slid down to her hip to cup her buttock, his fingers gripping. As he began to tease the sensitive rim there, she realized, with shock, he wasn’t done.

  I don’t intend to be done for a long time, habiba . Before dawn comes, you will know what it means to be claimed, in all ways.

  27

  ALL the things she’d imagined, he’d done. Pulling her up on her knees and elbows, driving into her with a rutting animal’s pleasure.

  Taking her on her side, a slow, easy glide, hand on her belly to hold her as he moved in and out, in and out. Straddling her face and feeding her his cock, his buttocks pressing against her nipples as he shuttled rhythmically, his heavy testicles swinging against her working throat. Then moving down her body, licking and soothing her sore tissues but also bringing her back to climax again with that clever, relentless mouth. At times, she was so exhausted she thought she might need him to stop. But she couldn’t deny him, and a stronger part of her didn’t ever want it to end.

  He freed her hands occasionally, turned her over to massage the shoulder muscles with blissful thoroughness. During those times, he forbade her to speak, and she realized, whatever his intent, it was a relief to simply be, nothing required of her but to serve his pleasure as he wished. Each time he finished the massage, he turned and bound her again, underscoring the point. When necessary, he’d carried her to his bathroom. He let her have her privacy for that, but then, when she opened the door, he carried her back to the bed and restrained her again.

  The final time of the night, he took her as he had the first time. He lay full on her, hands cradled around her face, putting them eye to eye, so when she climaxed with slow, thorough pleasure, she had to gaze in his face, watch how intently he studied the frantic look in her eyes, the stretch of her mouth gasping for air, her breath on his face as she cried out again.

  Dawn was approaching. She whimpered softly when he took her hands from the rail, but this time he left her wrists tied in the dress.