by Trisha Baker
"Oh, Simon," Meghann cried, falling down on the sagging bed with him. "I only want you too!" Eagerly she returned his impassioned kisses, feeling an almost savage delight when she thought this darkly exciting creature who could have any woman he desired only wanted her.
I love you so much, Meghann said telepathically so she wouldn't have to break off the kiss that was becoming more urgent and full of need. You make me so happy. I never knew I could feel like this, feel so free and alive!
"No more tears and pining for your mortal existence?" Simon inquired with a slight smile.
Meghann shook her head. "I'm not going to cry anymore. I don't need my fam… I don't need anyone from my mortal life as long as I have you."
She thought she saw Simon swallow hard before he took her into a bone-crushing embrace, feverishly kissing her eyes, cheeks, and lips. "Sweetheart, I was so hoping you would say that I knew when you saw what I had given you, all your pain and longing for the past would fade. I love you too, my precious child." Then he sat up, scowling at the gray, sticky sheet on the bed. "I want very much to make love to you, but I'll be damned if I'll do it in a horror of a room like this. Do you remember asking me if vampires could fly?"
"We're going to fly now?" she asked eagerly.
"Not exactly. Have you ever heard of the astral plane, Meghann?"
"No."
"The astral plane," Simon lectured, "is the field, or realm of the spiritual world. Some believe that is where your soul goes when you dream. There are many mortals who believe that their souls can travel on that plane. A few can—after a period of intense meditation. Their souls leave their bodies temporarily and go 'traveling.' It's also referred to as astral projection. People have done it to observe others, to gain spiritual power, to warn a loved one they cannot reach through normal measures of imminent dangers. As vampires, we can travel the plane quite easily, but we do not have to leave our physical bodies behind. Vampires can travel on the astral plane with body and soul intact."
Meghann listened in fascination. "And you're going to teach me how to do that now?"
"No, sweet. It will take a great deal of time for your powers to develop to the point where you are capable of traveling the plane by yourself. However, you can travel with me. I should also tell you that there are a few rules involved. You cannot travel somewhere you've never been before, and it only works on distances of up to thirty miles. Now, I want you to close your eyes, and empty your mind of all thoughts. Whatever you do, do not open your eyes."
Meghann closed her eyes, and Simon picked her up. She tried to keep her mind clear.
Suddenly she felt a terrific gust of wind and heard a high-pitched moaning sound—almost a keening. It was terribly cold, and she thought she felt something try to grab her.
"All right, darling."
Meghann opened her eyes cautiously; they were standing in the bedroom where Simon transformed her. "That's all?"
"It goes by very quickly," Simon told her.
"I thought I felt something grab me."
"The astral plane can be quite dangerous to a novice," Simon warned. "There are many… forms there you have no desire to come in contact with."
Meghann shivered. Was he talking about demons?
"Don't be frightened, sweet. As long as you travel with me, you are perfectly safe. In time, you'll learn to do it yourself."
Meghann examined the room they were in. She had been too overwhelmed before to take any notice of her surroundings.
The room was entirely decorated in shades of red and gold. The walls were covered with the same silk that decorated Meghann's dressing room—except it was vermilion instead of cream. The polished wood floor had red and gold throw rugs scattered haphazardly about. The only furniture besides the bed was a huge dark wooden armoire. The bed was a wonderful antique-brass affair with a gold quilt and four scarlet and gold pillows. The ornate brass headboard was carved into the shape of cavorting imps and fairies. Meghann noticed that the gold manacles that had imprisoned her last night were still attached to the headboard.
Simon ran a hand over one of the fairies. "That is what you remind me of, little one." He reached over and snatched the wig off her head. Then he slowly removed the hairpins just as he'd done on the ferry.
"I think of you as a wood nymph—a divinely beautiful, impish creature I would expect to encounter in an enchanted forest."
Meghann giggled at his flowery speech.
He raised an eyebrow in mock anger. "I try to woo you and you giggle?" Simon eyed the red blouse. "You look awful—that top clashes with the copper in your hair."
She reached out to slap him playfully, and he used her hand to fling her on the bed. "You would strike your master?"
"If he says I look awful." She laughed seductively—her family quite forgotten.
"Why don't we simply remedy the situation?" He climbed on the bed, and removed the top.
"Meghann?" he questioned. "Do you remember what that coarse man asked of you?"
"Of course." Hesitantly she asked, "You're not going to make me do that, are you?"
Simon kissed her neck until she relaxed against him. "I won't make you do anything. But I promise you it can be quite enjoyable… especially for the woman."
"For the woman? Oh, my!" The thought made her start throbbing with desire.
"Well," she told him huskily. "I can certainly try."
Meghann considered the task before her and decided to go about it the same way she licked Popsicles in the summer—slowly, savoring each taste. That worked wonderfully well—Simon moaned and dug his fingers into her hair. Her lover's response gave Meghann a feeling of triumph. For the first time, she was in control—not Simon. Sex gave her power over him.
Meghann hadn't even completed that thought when Simon reached down and hurled her onto the bed. He attached the manacles, then started making love to her. "I never lose control, Meghann."
He was thrusting so hard her head banged painfully against the headboard, but it still felt good. "I didn't mean it that way, Master," she gasped out before the familiar heat ignited inside her. Once again, she was arching her back to meet every delicious lunge. Without thinking, Meghann stretched her hands, wanting to feel Simon's thick chestnut hair entwined in her fists, and the restraints snapped in half.
Stunned, Meghann barely registered the limp gold chains dangling from her wrists before Simon tore the now useless manacles off her wrists. The rippling muscles in his arms did not even flex—let alone strain—from the effort. Then he grabbed both her wrists with one hand and forced them above her head while he kept thrusting into her.
"Break this hold, little one," Simon invited in an almost taunting whisper, clamping down on her wrists until she was sure he'd break her bones just like he'd broken Pauline's the night before.
Bully, Meghann almost said, but the menace in Simon's expression forced her to hold her tongue. So she cast her eyes down and pretended submission, though she despised herself for this new timidity that was so foreign to her forthright, strong-willed nature. What was happening to her that she'd lie here so passively while her supposed lover held her down, all but raping her? Maybe Pauline had been the lucky one… She'd only had her spirit broken once, but it looked like it might be an every-night affair for her.
Abruptly Simon tilted her chin up with his free hand and leaned down to kiss her. Expecting him to be forceful, Meghann was surprised by the almost delicate touch of his lips on hers. The contrast between the cruel hand pinioning her wrists and the light, tender kiss first startled her, but then it had her moaning and writhing eagerly beneath him, her miserable thoughts forgotten. But just as she was about to climax, Simon withdrew from her and rolled onto his back, his expression showing obvious amusement at her distress. "I wouldn't want to break your spirit, Meghann."
Oh, no… She wasn't about to apologize for not wanting to be brutalized during sex! Ignoring the unsatisfied ache inside her, Meghann shrugged and said with a feigned nonchalance, "If you're
through, I think I'll go upstairs and get something to drink."
As she started to slide off the bed, Simon grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back toward him. "I'd say you're far from broken, little firebrand." Before Meghann could reply, Simon hooked his fingers behind her knees and brought them up around his shoulders.
"What are you doing?" Meghann started to ask, but her words sharply halted when Simon buried his tongue between her legs.
"Didn't I tell you what a pleasurable experience this can be?" he murmured, tongue and mouth exploring her with swirling, lazy strokes that made her whimper with pleasure while her heels dug into his back.
"Uh-huh," Meghann managed weakly as that knowing tongue found every secret, intimate crevice, leaving a path of burning, pulsating heat in its wake. Then Simon found her center and Meghann screamed out her joy, pushing herself closer to him, craving the tumultuous release she knew he could give to her. But he withdrew again at the last possible second, peeling her legs off his shoulders and staring down expressionlessly while Meghann looked up at him with mute entreaty.
Please, Meghann started to say, willing to beg, willing to do anything as long as Simon would satisfy the voracious, screaming need inside her. As she opened her mouth, the gold eyes moved to her wrists, and Meghann understood what her master wanted, what she'd have to do before he'd touch her again.
A long silence passed between them and then slowly Meghann raised her trembling arms, crossing her wrists and putting them over her head. Her eyes filled with tears because she finally realized Simon, with his impenetrable strength, ruthless ways, and mastery of her body had the power to demolish her pride and make her his slave.
His face was a mask of outright victory as he grabbed her wrists, but then Simon surprised her, uncrossing her wrists and kissing her palms gently before he placed her hands by her sides. Then he kissed her softly on her forehead, lips, neck, and breasts, his lips finally reaching the flesh he'd so cruelly abandoned moments before.
Only after Meghann reached a climax so strong it plunged her into a whirlwind of sensation and made her cry with relief did Simon enter her, rapidly building the fire inside her to a fever pitch, but this time there was no teasing withdrawal. She now felt Simon relax his iron control over himself and then plunge them both into a world of reckless, unbridled passion from which they emerged limp and gasping for breath.
"I shouldn't tease you so," Simon finally said, and Meghann made the effort to open her eyes and raise her head from his chest.
"I have no desire to crush your spirit or make you a mindless slave," he confided, plucking hair turned dark and wet with perspiration off her breasts. "Forgive me for forgetting I've taken a rather naive young girl and introduced her to games she might find a bit shocking before realizing how much pleasure they bring."
"All of that was only a game?" Meghann asked, not sure if she liked games where she had to beg, even if the end was quite delicious.
"Don't look so uncertain. I'll never do anything that makes you scared or uncomfortable," Simon assured her, but when she smiled her relief, his expression changed and the saffron eyes were full of power. He said intensely, "Just as I won't harm you, I'm sure you'll never again make the mistake of assuming you can use desire to manipulate your master."
"Of course not," Meghann said immediately, swallowing nervously when she realized how careful she'd have to be not only to not say anything that might displease Simon but also not to think anything that would make him angry.
Part of her cried out at such oppression, but Meghann suppressed the dangerous thoughts, thinking instead her situation wasn't so terrible at all. She was the chosen consort of a handsome, wealthy creature who was a terrific lover. He'd given her immortality, the ability to dominate anyone with her mind, and the unimaginable pleasure of drinking blood. The one thing she must be careful of was to never make him angry or displease him. So she bowed her head and told him, "I'm sorry, Master… if my thoughts made you angry."
The stern expression melted into a pleased grin, and Meghann knew at once she'd done the right thing. "I wasn't angry, Meghann. I just wanted to make sure you understood your place with me." Then he embraced her again and Meghann forgot his momentary displeasure—unaware he'd just set the pattern for their relationship.
* * *
CHAPTER SEVEN
« ^ »
December 14, 1957
Meghann gathered her hair into an elegant but happenstance upsweep that she knew Simon liked. Then she went over to the large walk-in closet to try to decide what to wear for the evening ahead.
While she was inspecting and discarding gowns, she felt two hands descend on her shoulders and a soft kiss on the nape of her neck.
She turned around and admired her lover. He looks so elegant in a tuxedo, she thought, he's still the best-looking man I've ever seen.
"Thank you, sweetheart. And your negligee," he commented, eyeing the half-slip and stockings appreciatively, "makes me want to ravish you, but I suggest you get dressed. It wouldn't do for the host and hostess to be late."
Simon examined the dresses and tossed her a moss-green silk gown with a plunging neckline. He pulled it over her head, and smiled at her appearance. "It will match your gift."
"What gift?" She followed him to the sitting room where he was pouring champagne into two Baccarat flutes. "And you still haven't told me what this party's for."
"I wanted to surprise you, darling. I finally found a buyer for the hotel."
"That's wonderful! Who is it?" Since 1953, after the failed Fidelista attempt to seize Moncada, Simon had wanted to sell his interests in Cuba.
"A foolish man who cannot read the writing on the wall. He is unable to understand that the Fidelistas will prevail—Batista cannot hold the tide forever. And when Castro gains control, he is not going to be interested in catering to casinos and tourism."
"I hope the Fidelistas do gain control," Meghann remarked. "Look at the brutal conditions most of the Cubans live under. What good is a thriving gambling industry if it doesn't improve the lives of the people?"
Simon caressed her cheek. "Since when have you developed an interest in the lives of mortals, my little proletariat?"
"Shouldn't you have some interest in human affairs?" she asked. "If Castro gains power, business will suffer. If they had helped the people, given them good-paying jobs instead of slave wages, then Castro wouldn't be able to gain support and people like you wouldn't have to sell."
"The gain isn't enough to interest me. Let humans work out their own muddled affairs, Meghann. At worst, we find ourselves suffering through minor inconveniences like war before they manage to patch up their problems for a while. And why should mortals' lives concern us when all that we need is their blood?"
Meghann kept quiet, but she was finding herself lately more and more interested in people. It gave her a turn of disgust when she saw the tourists gaily drive by a group of ragged, hungry children. But Simon was right. Why should it matter to her?
Simon handed her a flat black box with an old-fashioned clasp. "Perhaps if you've decided to embrace socialism, I should take my gift back."
Meghann eyed the box curiously. "What's the occasion?"
"Valentine's Day, sweet."
"Oh!" she cried in dismay. "I forgot to get you anything."
Simon pulled her into his lap, kissing her slowly. When his lips wandered to her neck, she arched back—and then he set her firmly on her feet. He did that sometimes, leaving them both in a state of arousal all night. "You're here with me—that's all I want. Now open your present."
As Meghann fiddled with the lock, she reflected on how thoroughly Simon Baldevar had spoiled her over the past decade. Couture clothing, fine wines, trips, jewelry, furs—anything she wanted he gave to her. The man certainly wasn't tightfisted. She got the box open, and gasped. Lying in black silk was a gorgeous emerald necklace set in antique gold, with matching earrings. It was beautiful—the bronze gold setting against the sparkling
gems. "Where did you get this?" she asked.
Simon put it around her neck. "An auction—more and more fine names are going downhill. I suspect the problem is spoiled, inept generations who have no idea how to keep a fortune intact." He stepped back to admire her appearance. The emeralds looked sensational against the backdrop of her fiery red hair and pale skin. "Let's go downstairs, pet. It's time for your surprise."
"What surprise?" she asked. "I thought selling the hotel was the surprise."
"You'll see," he told her with an enigmatic smile.
He guided her through the casino—where she found prey and liked to gamble sometimes—to one of the smaller supper clubs in the hotel. It could only hold about fifty people. The sign on the gold door read, CLOSED FOR PRIVATE PARTY.
When Meghann entered the room on Simon's arm, all the assembled guests turned to look at them. Meghann was used to that—Simon tended to turn heads, and she guessed she did too. But there was something very different about this group—she couldn't read them very easily. They had a very different aura, almost like…
"These are all vampires!" she gasped.
Simon grinned. "Surprise, darling."
"But why—"
"You always complain that I neglect this part of your education. Consider this party a small step toward amends." The crowd swelled forward, and Simon started making introductions.
It didn't take a genius to figure out that all these vampires were beholden to Simon in some way, she thought while she smiled and extended her hand to be kissed. They were all quite polite and more than a bit subservient. She reflected that this party was probably like when some corporate big shot showed up at the Christmas party. Everyone was very courteous and respectful, but who can really let their hair down in front of the boss?
