Eternal Bondage
Page 33
Constantine levered higher upon one elbow and shrugged his muscular shoulder. “I wasn't so sure myself about how much damage I could sustain and survive. Until I met you.” He revealed nothing, his handsome face wiped clean of emotion. Yet, astonishingly, he admitted in a low whisper, “You assured my survival. And my recuperation. Both were a tremendous struggle."
"So, I'm the only type B + person on this earth who could have saved you? I have the magic Soulsmith hemoglobin?” I didn't know whether to be afraid or to gloat.
"I suffered, tremendously,” his ice-blue eyes gleamed almost white, “as every shred of dead skin had to slough off until new healthy skin and hair regenerated. That process, of regrowing the layers of dermis and epidermis, was rather painful. Even now the new skin remains delicate and itchy. You, Soulsmith, were my balm. In many, many ways."
With this last petulant complaint to me, Constantine completely clamped off his residual outpour of vulnerability. He traded it for the more familiar one of lechery. His frosty blue gaze quickly, possessively raked over my face and my tucked-in-close body. Even curled in upon myself like a turtle in its shell, his eyes seemed to claim and arouse me, to strip me of the restraint that I feigned. My stomach clenched with an uncharacteristic sexual spasm.
I nervously cleared my throat, and tried to redirect the strained tension. “What was the fallout? Over Rasputin's fatal, er, accident."
"Detective Traeger was very receptive to the evidence, chiefly Rasputin's carcass being splattered all over the place. There was more than enough tissue and blood for a positive match with the DNA from Officer Donovan's murderer. Then, too, Judge Hyacinth corroborated your kidnapping and the attempted marriage. Based on the testimony and physical evidence, the FBIC issued an official re-death certificate for the progenitor known as Rasputin. And closed the case.” Constantine's mouth tightened when he spoke of the other master vampire. “More importantly, the killings have ceased. The public, the police, and the media are all satisfied."
A sigh escaped my lips. “Good.” Yet the way his eyes greedily watched my mouth make that sound was anything but good. I paused, keenly aware of discomfort over an unfulfilled arousal, which he obviously shared. Afraid of him, afraid of wanting him, of giving in to him, I blurted out my next thought. “Constantine, I want to go home.” Our eyes locked.
His calm tone chilled me. “That's not possible."
"And why the hell not?” How dare he think to keep me imprisoned here!
"The building—your business, your home, and even the bakery next door—burned down."
"I ... I ... forgot.” The notion that my mind was totally scrambled made me wince. My memory was still fractured, still fragmented. The harder I strove to remember that night and everything in between the less I seemed to retain. In the aftermath of Snitch's Molotov Cocktail, I no longer had a home to return to. But I still couldn't stay here. Not with him. Not with those chilling blue eyes. Not with these terribly strong urges. I definitely had to get out.
"Don't think about it now.” He pressed an inch closer. His beautiful voice was low and irresistible. “Rest. You're very tired."
I yawned, sliding down upon my back. “Yes. I'm exhausted.” My eyes shuttered.
"Yes,” he repeated. “You must SLEEP."
My breathing had almost gone to that shallow depth which meant I was under his spell, all-but-asleep. In the beginnings of this unnatural slumber, I felt Constantine lean over me, nearly atop me.
"My little Soulsmith?” He nuzzled a spot just under my ear, not quite upon my neck, rousing me just a tiny bit. “There is something I have been wanting to ask of you. May I not call you by your given name?” As an enticement, he continued to nibble and kiss the side of my jaw.
In my semi-trance, I seemed to hold my breath, debating the wisdom of this decision. “Oh, what the hell, yes, you may call me Avna.” My eyelids fluttered, trying to open and regain my wakefulness. I balanced there between being conscious and unconscious, between following my will or accepting his. However much I fought it, fought him, I couldn't break that peaceful, trance-like state. I floated on the edge of forgetfulness.
"Thank you, Avna.” Constantine's soft seductive words feathered across my cheek. They slurred into my mind, almost unintelligible. “Such generosity should be rewarded.” And he began to slither his right hand under the hem of my gauzy, see-thru dress.
In my dreamy stupor, I felt his heated touch rove slowly up my leg, gliding over my calf, grasping harder at my thigh, shifting to my hip and on up my belly where he stroked circles around my navel. Occasionally he drew his golden signet ring across my skin to tingling, arousing results. All of his fingers traced warmly, like heated metal, upon me. The ultimate journey of his hand up the length of my body had lifted my transparent linen dress well above my waist. I was exposed to the cool air, to his licentious blue gaze, and eventually to his touch. With my eyes shut and my mind awash in drowsy sensation, I reveled in the first two and yearned for the last.
Already my breath was raspy, irregular. My heartbeat was rapid, loud within my veins, loud within my ears. My body was stimulated, but my mind was dulled. Thus Constantine's soft murmurs, of whatever sort, were lost to me. He kissed around my navel, dragged his words across that clenching flesh, spoke when I could not focus because of his mesmerism ... and the craving for sex....
".... for four months, Avna, love ... at my disposal ... under my spell ... both well pleasured, as I vowed ... with fingers, tongue, teeth ... and toys ... you have accepted my touch countless times ... aggressive empathic control ... SHOULD allow for no recall.... “The lovely, sensuous sound of his voice droned on, and none of it sifted into my thoughts.
I quivered while he continued to lightly stroke over and around my belly. My legs shifted wide open. Just for him. There was no mistaking the invitation. He had turned me into a mass of horny sensations, from loud uneven breathing to damp swollen lips.
Constantine laughed, while his hand drew wider pinwheeling circles that brushed the edges of my pubic hair. “You are so impatient, Avna, my love. But this will make the wait well worth it.” And he pressed a tiny vibrator into my belly button.
A surprised gasp escaped me. It turned into a smothered, sensual purr. Then my inarticulate noises grew lusty. Constantine intermittently traced his ultra-tiny but powerful vibrator over my body, my ribcage, my stomach, my nipples. Those pebbled knots ached abominably, so that I knocked his hand away and instead pulled his head to my breast. He sucked hard. He licked around that hard-tipped peak, his mouth working, once more speaking, as he torturously laved at me.
"...many deceptions ... to protect you ... Hetti Chambogo has escaped prison.... “I gasped, jerked, thrashed powerfully against him, and Constantine vigorously caressed at my breasts, drowning my recognition of that horrid name underneath a surge of desire. “...and also a Von Hesling this way comes.... “And before that pronouncement could register, Constantine used a shocking vulgarity to distract me. “I intend to pleasure your pussy, Avna."
My hips jerked in reply and Constantine's hand speedily cupped my crotch. He jammed the vibrator into me, buzzing and tingling against my swollen clitoris. He also slicked a finger back and forth. My extremities caught his rhythm, doing a complementary bump and grind with his hand. I plumped further at his strokes, aching and peaking. The height and pitch of my hips grew wild. I was grunting and straining in bliss. Constantine's strokes became aggressive, a slick thorough touch that made my insides flutter, then grip and pump, hard. A screaming climax tore from my throat and bowed my body into the air. So long as I was caught in this sexual maelstrom, Constantine continued to thrust his middle finger into me. He prolonged the pleasure until it became near pain.
And, then, to the sounds of my shuddering, trembling gasps, I weakly sank down onto the bedding of Constantine's coffin. He stroked my brow and eased me back into a calm enthralled slumber. I managed a great gaping yawn, tugged the dress down my hips and legs for propriety's sake, rolled away
into a fetal position with my rounded back to him.
Constantine, as if compelled by a stray fearful impulse, suddenly gripped at my arm. He shook me, but, of course, found me almost completely unresponsive. He reluctantly let go his hold. I had had to succumb to his power as he must, I sensed, succumb to the day. But, before he fully drifted into velvet darkness, he wrapped me in an embrace with the entirety of his body—arms, legs, and chest—about me. That protective cocoon seemed a penance, an atonement for using my body to ensnare me.
As Constantine drifted down into his own darkened mind, he pulled me under with him. I still had time for one final, snarky thought, actually a muttered warning that, with my luck, just might have come out as gibberish.
"Just remember, pervert, that however strong you are, I won't be asleep forever."
I'm counting on it. Constantine might—or might not—have answered.
The End
* * *
Visit www.newconceptspublishing.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.