by Renee Rose
He pointed to his eyes and she met them, drawing in her breath as the fire returned to her backside.
“Are you ready to finish it?”
She noticed he didn't ask her if she wanted to finish it. Because she didn't. But she rolled over on his lap anyway. He pulled her back up to standing, though.
“Pull down your pants, Kate,” he said, the soft command in his voice sending a ripple of fear and delight through her whole body.
She unbuttoned her jean shorts, pulling them slowly down.
“Panties, too.”
She peeled her panties down, feeling completely exposed. For some reason, she covered her lady parts with her hand, though he was already intimately acquainted with that particular part of her body. Her belly was doing flip flops.
“Over my knee,” he said softly.
She bowed her head and awkwardly leaned over his knee, realizing that she'd greatly preferred when he had pulled her into position himself, rather than having her put herself there. There was something completely humiliating about it.
He started up again slowly, striking one cheek and then the other, and as he picked up speed and she felt the intensity of the burn increase she again started to struggle and panic, but he didn't even pause. If anything, it seemed he was striking her harder. It occurred to her that with his vampire strength, he would never need a whip or a paddle—his hand alone could probably easily bruise her if he wielded it with one ounce of his true strength. So he was using restraint—for him this was probably quite gentle, even though for her, the pain was so intense that tears were running down her face. That thought helped her calm down. But then, that meant it could get much worse if he wanted it to, didn't it? Oh God, she was an absolute wreck, and there was nothing she could do.
She tried to wriggle away, somehow dodge the punishing hand that kept spanking her over and over, but she was a complete captive—she couldn't get away from the pain and it wasn't going to stop until Dom decided it was over. She realized that there was nothing she could do but ride it out until it was over. The tears turned into full-fledged sobs and she wept—for the position in which she found herself, her mismanagement of her time, the stress of the paper looming over her head, the difficulties of navigating this new relationship with Dom—everything. And as she felt it all flowing out, even as his hand kept striking her blazing bare butt cheeks, she gave up the struggle and went limp, exhausted. At that moment, his hand paused, then he gave a few more cursory smacks before he started gently rubbing her bottom.
“You found it,” he said softly.
She had? She had. Her sobs took on a half-laughing sound. In spite of the tears and the pain, she did feel very different. She felt relieved, released. There was a glowing feeling—much stronger than a post-sex glow—much more vibrant. And now that Dom had pointed it out like an accomplishment, she felt absurdly proud of herself. Like she'd just won a marathon or something.
He started to pull her panties back up, but she reached back and stopped him, kicking her shorts and panties off.
“Aren't we going to—?” She was still a hiccuping, teary mess, but she wanted sex and she wanted it right then.
“Abso-lute-ly,” he said with enthusiasm, as if she'd just offered him a Christmas present. The fact that he hadn't been expecting to have sex with her made her realize with a jolt that she'd just had a punishment spanking. He lifted her off his lap and stood up partway, placing his shoulder at the crease of her hip so she folded over his shoulder in a fireman's hold. He carried her easily like that, rubbing and patting her sore bottom as he walked to the bedroom and laid her gently down. “How do you want it?” he asked fangily.
Seeing those fangs made her arch in anticipation—she loved seeing the physical manifestation of his arousal—it was so much more attractive than your average hard-on. She pulled off her shirt and watched him swiftly divest himself of clothing. He wanted to go slow, caressing and kissing, but after the intensity of the spanking she was interested in nothing less than full penetration. She pulled him off her nipple and shook her head. “Fast and hard. Please?”
A toothy grin. “Your wish is my command.”
Really? He'd just made sure she knew very well that he was in charge of her. But never mind—she wasn't going to over-think when she was two strokes from an orgasm. And indeed, Dom delivered. Multiple times.
* * *
“Are you still mad at me?” Dom asked, though he knew she wasn't.
Kate was tucked into his chest, hiding her face, which wasn't surprising. He'd just fed from her so he could feel all her emotions. There were waves of euphoria and love and peace coming off her. There was also a raw vulnerability. She would probably be feeling vulnerable for a few days after he brought her over the edge like that. And damned if he didn't feel fiercely protective of her. Logical or not, there was no way in hell anyone could convince him to walk away from this woman right now. She was his. She'd just given herself to him in a complete act of submission and trust. To give her anything less than his complete love and support was unthinkable.
She shook her head. He'd known she wasn't mad at him, but wanted to offer it up as an acknowledgment of what she'd just been through.
“Do you feel better?”
She nodded but still didn't show her face.
“I really do want to hear about your thesis. You don't have to tell me now, but when and if you feel like talking about it, I'd like to hear.” He stroked her back. “When you're ready, I'm taking you to my place. You're going to gather up everything you need to work on your thesis proposal and you're going to stay under my jurisdiction until it's finished. Kind of like house arrest.”
Kate's face popped up. “You're grounding me?” He could feel the mixture of giddy thrill and indignation from her.
His lips twisted into a smile. “Yes. You're grounded until the paper's finished. Any activity other than working on your thesis will have to be pre-approved by me.”
He sensed happiness from her. Relief. Joy. Excitement, even. He had lifted her burden by taking charge. He was relieved. It was always a gamble to take a woman in hand like that. She could just as easily have taken it as high-handed or bullying. And even though he was born at the turn of the sixteenth century, he had certainly adapted with the times to support the modern-day woman on her quest for equality. He was not so patronizing as to believe that he knew what was best for her. Well, maybe he did believe it, but that didn't mean he thought it was his right to impose it on her.
She bit his arm. “You're so mean,” she pouted.
He grinned and gave her backside a gentle slap. “Don't you know it?”
He drove her to his place and they entered through the double doors. She gasped, taking in all the marble sculptures. “Whoa. You're a collector?”
He shook his head and smiled. “No. A sculptor.”
Her eyes went wide. “You sculpted these?” she breathed. He was filled with gratification at her appreciation and wonder for them. She walked around slowly, admiring each one. She touched them, and although he usually forbade it because the oils from people's hands will discolor the marble, with her he didn't mind. He liked her touching what he had made.
“How long have you been sculpting?”
“Since right after I was turned. Over 400 years.”
“Italian Renaissance,” she said with awe and he was pleased that she was educated enough to recognize his roots.
“I apprenticed with Michelangelo.”
Her jaw dropped. “What? Incredible. This is incredible. I can't believe it!”
He took her hand. “Come. I'll show you what I'm working on right now.” His heart was pounding as he led her out into the workspace that separated his quarters from Stella's and Fox's. He was afraid to look at her face as she took it in, so he stared at her other face—the marble one—instead. She made a little choking sound and he had to “grow a set,” as Fox would say, and look over. Tears. She was covering her mouth, crying. He was frozen—his normal instinct
would be to pull her into his arms and soothe the tears, but in this case, he couldn't breathe, couldn't move. That was his whole heart on display right there and he didn't know what her reaction meant.
“Oh my God,” she breathed at last.
He swallowed. “What do you think?”
She made a laughing-hiccuping sound. “I think it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my whole life! I… I don't know what to say. You made me beautiful.” Then she hesitated. “It is me, isn't it?”
He laughed—a relief to the tension that had built in him. “Yes, I hope you can tell it's you!”
“Of course I can,” she said quickly. “I just…” she shook her head, “I just can't believe it. I just can't believe it.” She shook her head, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Does that mean you like it?” he asked softly.
She turned to him, looking serious, her eyes shining. “I love it. I love it so much. I feel so incredibly… honored that you sculpted me.”
His arms finally obeyed him and he was able to draw her to him. “Thank you,” she whispered. He squeezed her and kissed her hair.
She drew away and looked at him. “But why? Why me?”
That was a question he couldn't answer for himself, much less for her. He just shrugged and redirected the conversation. “Come on, let me get you settled in so you can get to bed. It's already an unreasonable hour and you have a lot of work ahead of you.”
He brought her into the kitchen. “Help yourself to anything you like in the morning. The espresso machine is right there and the grounds are in the canister to the right of it. There's cream in the fridge. I don't usually eat breakfast, but I think there's fruit and you could always make toast with jam or something.”
“Sure, I'm easy.”
“The down side of being here is that there's no natural light. You can always step outside to the garden, but make sure you close the door tightly behind you, in case one of us comes out.”
“What would happen if the door were open when you came out?”
“Well, if a direct shaft of light hit us, we could die. Indirect light would blister or burn more like a sunburn. And even a little exposure can cause temporary blindness.”
Kate shuddered.
“So just be really careful, okay?”
She nodded in agreement.
“The password for the WiFi is 1522. Can you remember that?”
“Is that the year you were born?”
“No. The year I was turned, actually.”
“Oh, right. You told me that—sorry.”
“Will you remember it, or should I write it down?”
“I'll remember it this time.”
“Okay, so here are the rules: no more than one hour total to shower, get ready and eat breakfast. Then you'll sit and work on your thesis. You may take a 10 minute break every hour, but that's it. Understand?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Did you just roll your eyes?” he asked in a “Oh no you didn't” kind of tone.
She froze and then started backing away. He could feel her fear—real fear, not mixed with any sexual thrill that he could sense. She was probably so sore that the thought of a spanking was too terrifying at the moment.
“Oh no. No, Dom,” she backed her way into the kitchen table. “Huh uh. I do not consent. No.”
He pinned her against the kitchen table and leaned down, looking into her eyes. “You still don't trust me?” he asked softly.
She faltered then, uncertainty crossing her face. He sensed her fear recede. She dropped her eyes. He turned her slowly around and bent her over the kitchen table, reaching around to unbutton her shorts. He slid his thumbs into the waistband of her panties and slowly slid them both down together. Her fear flared again, this time with a thrill of sexual energy and the wonderful smell that accompanied it.
Her sweet little bottom was still red from the spanking he'd given her earlier, although the color had started to fade from beet to blush. It was amazing how quickly that tender flesh could regenerate. He gave her three slow but hard spanks and then rubbed. Then he pulled up her panties and shorts. Her relief poured out of her in a rush. She turned around and fell against him in an embrace. “I love you,” she breathed. Then she froze, and fear of exposure came out of her like a blast. “I mean—I didn't mean it like—”
“I'm pretty fond of you, myself,” he interrupted her lightly, running a fang along the outside of her ear.
* * *
His bed was tremendously comfortable, with sheets that must be 1000 thread count, and a firm, balanced mattress. He actually tucked her in. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been tucked in, but she felt suddenly so well cared for that her eyes burned with tears. Of course, there was never any hiding anything from Dom.
“What is it?”
She blinked the tears back. “Nothing. I just really appreciate this,” she said. Then she cursed inwardly, thinking that was two clingy things in a row she'd just let slip out of her foolish mouth. She cringed a little, waiting to see what kind of brush-off that inspired from her commitment-phobic vampire.
But Dom just blinked at her, then leaned down slowly and kissed her softly on the mouth. “Sweet dreams,” he said. “I'll be in bed by dawn. Reach for me if you like to cuddle.”
With that, he stood and switched off the light, which was a good thing, because she was sure she was gaping at his offer.
She woke up around 10 AM, with Dom's arm thrown over her waist, and she remembered with a smile that she'd curled into him when he'd come to bed. She got up and tried out the soap and shampoos in Dom's shower briefly before heading down to the kitchen. He had an espresso machine, which pretty much made her day. She made herself a steaming latte and sat down at her laptop.
And then stared at the thesis proposal. Getting a master's in music had not been her original goal, but she had enjoyed undergrad so much that she'd been drawn back to study more. She liked the university environment—pushing ideas around with musicians she respected and admired. After a few years of cobbling a living together teaching piano lessons and singing for The Morphs, she had decided she was ready to go back. She'd received a full scholarship, which greatly sweetened the deal.
She sighed and clicked open her email.
And then got on Facebook.
Then she returned to the proposal again. She sighed. She just couldn't think. She got up and started wandering through Dom's house, looking at the art on the walls, the sculptures, his books. She was shocked to find a diploma hanging on the wall saying that Dom had received a doctorate in Philosophy of the Mind from an elite university in 2005. She wasn't even sure what that was, but she was sure that she had had no idea that Dom had a Ph.D. in anything.
Whatever she might guess Philosophy of the Mind encompassed, his book selection seemed to reflect it. There were books on meditation, metaphysics, religion, natural healing, energy, quantum physics, and basically any alternative methodology you could name.
Hearing music, she followed the sound of it through the sculpting studio and out another door that led to Fox's section of the compound. Fox was sitting on a couch playing folk music on an acoustic guitar. She'd thought Fox was a genius before, and still did, but now that she knew he was over one hundred years old, she understood how he had mastered such a huge number of musical instruments. The guy could play almost any style of music you could name. Sometimes it made her self-conscious because she knew so little in comparison. Not that he ever acted like he was better than her.
He looked up in surprise to see her there. “Kate!”
She tried not to blush. “Hi.”
He let her off with just a grin. “Wanna play?” he said, nodding to another guitar.
“Sure.” She picked it up out of its case and tuned it.
“Do you know any Grateful Dead?” he asked with a grin, plucking Uncle John's Band.
She tried it out, listening closely to his notes. He played slowly so she could catch it.
She was so engrossed, she didn't know how long Dom had been standing there when she caught sight of him leaning in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest. Oh shit. This break had been much longer than ten minutes. Busted.
Chapter Six
He caught the smell of her fear when she saw him. Unfortunately, Fox caught it too. He put his guitar down and looked from one to the other of them. “What's going on?” he asked sharply.
“Relax, Fox,” he said to placate him. “Kate is fine—it's just a little game we play.” He looked over at Kate and couldn't help that his fangs elongated a little in anticipation. She saw it, and the sweet smell of her arousal suddenly bloomed.
He tried to hide his smile. Fox, probably catching the same smell, waved his hand, cringing. “Okay, okay, I don't want to know.”
“Come on, Kate,” he said with gentle authority.
She came at once. In the kitchen, he stopped and rummaged in the drawer, deciding on a rubber spatula. “This should be interesting, shouldn't it?”
Kate couldn't seem to answer. She just gave him an anxious, pleading look. He took her hand to reassure her as he led her downstairs to his bedroom.
“Clothes off, on your hands and knees,” he said, indicating the bed.
She was quick, like a scared little bunny, throwing her clothes off and climbing up on her hands and knees. He ran his hand over her baby soft bottom. The spanking from yesterday had faded completely, except for a few red finger marks. He dipped his fingers between her legs and she shivered. She was already wet.
“Tell me why you are being spanked, Kate.”
“For taking too long of a break.”
“That's right. Did you make any progress on your paper this morning?”
She paused and then sulkily admitted that she hadn't.
He considered her beautiful little bottom, formulating a plan. “Let's see… I've changed my mind. I actually want you on your belly.”
She looked over her shoulder at him with wide, frightened eyes before she lowered herself down to lie on her belly.
