His Captive Mortal

by Renee Rose

  “Are you going to erase my memory and disappear after I figure out how to lift the curse?” she used a light tone, but watched him intently for his answer.

  He chuckled. “I wasn’t planning on it. To be honest, I hadn’t gone that far with my agenda. All I had so far was: A) torment Sasha, and B) torment Sasha naked and C) torment Sasha into getting rid of curse. That was the end of my list. Why, what do you have in mind?”

  She blinked without answering and he wondered if she was reconsidering any kind of future with him. “Where do you sleep normally?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “I have a place,” he said.

  “Where?”

  “Not far from here. A basement apartment over on 18th Street.”

  “I didn’t know Tucson had any basements.”

  “It was a rare and perfect find for a vampire.”

  “May I see it?”

  He kissed her lips. “Only if you wear the underclothing I bought you.”

  Her mouth curved into a knowing smile. “Will there be more tormenting?”

  Butterflies flit about in his chest. “You know it.”

  Chapter Six

  She waited in her long burgundy silk robe, leaving the cord at the waist untied. She’d washed up after the Viscount de Marmont, not wanting Charles to know she’d been with another man. She found the Viscount’s adoration too much to turn away. Today he had brought her a sapphire bracelet and begged her to become his mistress. She had laughed lightly and told him to go home to his wife, even as she knew he’d be back the next night, like a love-starved puppy.

  She didn’t know why she still took other men to her bed. She had told Charles, sworn to him, even, that she’d given them all up save for him. And she always meant it, especially when the vampire pinned her wrists above her head and hovered over her, his fangs long and dangerous, looking like the devil’s most beautiful son. He was the only man she’d ever let dominate her. Even when she had just begun as a painted lady, she never took the rough ones.

  But Charles...Charles made her go weak in the knees. Knowing the power he possessed—the sheer strength, the dangerous fangs, his ability to throw a glamour over her and make her do his bidding—knowing even with her magic, he could break her bones or take her life with one snap of his hand. Yet he only ever showed chivalry. Even when inflicting pain. Especially then. Charles was the only person in the world she trusted. They were a team, she and Charles. Two dark beings who lived for the night.

  Why then, her dalliances? She couldn’t help herself. Her power over the men was exquisite. They built her magic by worshipping her. And the gifts and money...ah. She’d never grow tired of those, despite her already enormous wealth. The actual act meant nothing to her—it was just sex, not an expression of love or intimacy or any other insipid thing the poets like to ascribe to it. She had no reason to feel guilty over it. She was not betraying Charles if her heart still belonged to him. But she could not tell him, because the vampire had a jealous temper. Yes...she’d seen it at the beginning of their relationship, and she had no desire for her lucrative clients to come to harm.

  Maybe a part of her liked playing with fire, too.

  A flicker of lamplight made her turn and she drew in a breath. Her vampire had appeared. He held her Mardi Gras mask up to his face, the blue of his eyes standing out against the black satin frame.

  “So?” she asked. She’d been expecting him; otherwise, they would have had words over his appearing in her room without knocking. She insisted he not materialize into her room, arguing that she might be dealing with sensitive matters involving her girls.

  Charles tossed the mask onto her bed with a casual flick of his wrist. “He had a sudden change of heart and signed it,” Charles said, a smug twist of his lips as he handed her the contract for the purchase of a fine new property across the street where she wished to expand her business.

  She reached for him, pulling his head down to reward him with a deep kiss. Kisses she reserved for him. No other man touched her lips. Ever.

  She opened her robe and let it fall to the floor, standing only in her corset and stockings.

  “Mmm,” Charles murmured appreciatively, pinching one nipple through the fabric. He twisted the little nub, causing her to gasp at the sharp pain. “Show me your thanks,” he said, pushing her to her knees.

  “I thought I was,” she said, but reached for his trousers, opening them to free his spectacular cock.

  She swirled her tongue over the head of it. “Do all vampires have such beautiful cocks?” she asked him.

  His breath grew ragged and he gripped her hair.

  “Hmm?” she asked, taking as much of his length as possible into the pocket of her cheek while using her fist to squeeze the base.

  He tightened his hold on her hair. “Stop talking,” he ordered, but her power over him was evident in the deepness of his voice.

  “I love to suck your cock,” she cooed, moving one hand to his balls.

  “Naughty gypsy,” he said, lifting her to her feet. “I think you must desire my punishment.” He pushed her over the edge of the bed and picked up the riding crop he kept there for their fun. “Count them,” he ordered.

  No matter how many times they had played this game, she always felt a shiver of fear. Perhaps that was the appeal of Charles as a lover. He was not wholly safe. He turned animal when angry or when blood starved. He thrilled her with his ability to overpower her and yet he never, ever failed to recognize when she’d had enough, or what was too much.

  He brought the crop down smartly across her derrière and she drew in her breath. “One,” she murmured. He snapped it down again. “Two.” The first weal began to burn as she felt its full effect. “Three!” she cried when the next stroke fell. “Slow down!” She gasped.

  Charles lifted her head with a fist in her hair. “Who is in charge here?” His voice was low and sultry, his fangs glittering in the flickering light.

  “You are?” she whispered.

  “I am.” And to prove it, he laid the next five strokes too fast for her to even count.

  She screamed into her silk bedspread. “Forgive me,” she gasped, writhing over the bed, her aching breasts enjoying the friction, the fire across her bottom only stoking the one between her legs.

  “That’s better,” he purred, sliding the tip of the crop between her legs and rubbing it back and forth over her honeyed opening.

  “Oh,” she moaned.

  “Climb up on the bed and spread your legs wide,” he ordered.

  She crawled on her hands and knees to the center of the bed, where she sat, leaning back on her hands and spreading her feet wide with her knees bent.

  “Touch her,” he said, pointing with the crop to her sex.

  She reached in front and slid two fingers into her folds, rubbing her rosebud of pleasure.

  Charles settled between her legs, his hands grasping her thighs, his tongue licking into her with the authority of ownership.

  “Yes, Charles,” she whispered, her head falling back.

  He licked and nibbled and sucked until she screamed. At the moment she crested the peak, he plunged two fingers into her cavity and struck his fangs into her inner thigh, sucking deeply with the pleasure of a climax. Her muscles contracted and released until she fell onto her back in bliss, the sensation of his licking the wound closed, a delicious completion.

  The orgasm woke her. She found herself lying on her belly with one hand between her legs, drool moistening the pillow. Good God. Fortunately, she hadn’t woken Charlie with her lusty dream this time; he lay sleeping like a rock beside her.

  Charlie. Charles.

  The memory of the dream came back to her. Charlie whipping her with a riding crop and biting her inner thigh. She slipped her legs out from under the covers and inspected them. No sign of bite marks.

  Just a dream.

  But it had been so real. She tried to recall other details of the scene. She’d been in candlelight—no, it had been an o
ld-fashioned lamp, and she’d been wearing a corset and stockings, like the ones he bought for her. It must have been his insistence that she wear them in order to see his place that inspired the old-fashioned dream. But what had happened before he’d come? Something she wanted to hide from him. Another man? That didn’t make sense. She couldn’t even handle this one man, much less two. And she’d never cheated in her life. Unlike Wilson, her asshole ex.

  She got up and got ready for work, reluctant to leave. Charlie’s suggestion she quit the job suddenly didn’t sound so bad. But that was ridiculous. How would she live? Did she imagine Charlie would support her? And what did he do for money, anyway? She shuddered to know—she feared it was something unsavory or illegal. His moral flexibility probably wouldn’t stop him from robbing banks or old ladies or… She pushed the thought out of her mind. She’d be a fool to believe she could rely on Charlie just because they’d slept together once. Especially considering she still had her doubts he would stick around after she removed his curse. And even if he did, what kind of future did she envision with a vampire, anyway? Duh. He was immortal and she was...not. No, she should resign herself to a short, but exciting, experience that she could tell her grandkids about when they ask if there’s such thing as vampires.

  She played with magic all day at work, practicing the fuzzy focus thing that enabled her to see the energy around people. She saw streaks of red over a child’s head when he got angry and billowing clouds of pinks and yellow when children seemed happy and loving. She played with trying to clear dark clouds around kids, (who, naturally, she realized, were the ones who seemed more troubled or difficult). At first she used her palms to shine light and dissolve it, but then she remembered how she’d hurled the ball of light into Charlie’s throat simply by thinking of it, and she practiced using her mind alone to direct the energies. The day flew by and she found herself surprised when five o’clock rolled around.

  She walked home, her pace quickening as she thought about seeing Charlie. She found him still in bed, his face even more pale than usual against the white pillowcase. She touched his cheek.

  His hand shot out and gripped her wrist. Fangs out, he rolled to one side and pinned her hand to the bed, hissing. He relaxed as his eyes focused and he took her in. He did not release her, though. Instead, he gave her a broad, toothy smile. “Sasha,” he said, sounding like the spider who caught the fly.

  “You just scared the bajeezus out of me.” Her nipples had tightened, though, as if his aggression had turned her on. Did she love the danger of him? Like to be scared? She gave her head a shake, not even wanting to contemplate why that might be.

  “Never wake a hungry vampire,” he said sleepily, his eyelids half closing. He kissed her on the lips and settled down beside her, the arm draped across her growing heavy.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked, wondering if he meant for blood or food.

  He didn’t answer, and she realized he’d fallen back to sleep.

  Disappointed, she scrambled up and went to the kitchen to make another salad, since that was one thing she couldn’t really screw up. She eyed the package of organic free-range chicken, but didn’t think she was up for cooking meat yet. At least not meat that didn’t come out of a can or freezer carton.

  Wandering back to the bedroom, she stared at her sleeping vampire. Perhaps he usually slept until sundown, and had only been up early the past few days to make sure he kept her on task. She thought about reading more from the books he bought, but study didn’t appeal. Instead, she peeled off her clothes and donned the corset and stockings.

  If only they had a riding crop, she would ask him to re-enact her dream.

  She climbed over him, speaking softly so he wouldn’t startle. “Charrrleeee. Wake up, vampire. I have a surprise for you.”

  Like before, his hands moved before his eyes had opened, but they gripped her arms without force, pulling her down on top of him. The bulge of his cock nudged her through the covers and she sought it with her core, rubbing her mound over it.

  He cupped her ass and his eyes widened in surprise, as if he had just realized the state of her undress. Pushing her back up to straddle him, he surveyed her, fully awake now, his fangs lengthening. “Let me see you,” he said, his voice thick.

  She thrust her breasts into the air, showing off the black corset, which fit perfectly.

  “Mmm, you look good enough to eat,” he said.

  She stifled a shiver, trying not to take him literally.

  “Stand up, let me see the rest of you.”

  She rose, giving him the full view of her freshly groomed sex and the black thigh-high stockings.

  “Turn around.”

  She turned around, her heart speeding up. “What do you think?” she asked, looking over her shoulder in what she hoped was a seductive pose.

  He pushed himself up to sit, resting his back against the headboard. “I think you have five seconds to lay yourself across my lap.”

  Butterflies took flight in her belly. “What did I do?”

  He gave one sharp shake of his head. “I don’t need an excuse to spank. If I decide you need a spanking, you get a spanking. Now lie over my lap.”

  She wanted to argue. His logic didn’t make sense, after all, but she wanted to see where this would go. Maybe it was a result of the dream, in which he’d whipped her for no reason and she’d seemed to love it. She knelt beside him and draped herself across his lap, liquid already beginning to seep from her pussy.

  He ran a cool hand across her cheeks in a caress that somehow made her feel beautiful. As if in affirmation of her impression, he remarked, “A perfect ass.” And with that declaration, he began to spank hard and fast, like he had that first night when she’d tried to stab him with a wooden stake.

  She wriggled. “Ow...ooh.” She wanted to be turned on by it—like she’d been in her dream—except it hurt too much for her to feel anything but pain. “Ow. Hey!”

  “Quiet, little mortal.”

  She struggled to keep her sound effects to herself, though why she tried so hard to please and obey him confused her. At what point had she given in? But she couldn’t think when he was slapping her at a rhythm faster than “Uptown Funk”. She gripped the bedspread and kicked her legs, clamping down on her back teeth to keep from crying out. Pain overtook all her senses and she had just started to become angry when he stopped, as abruptly as he’d started.

  Before she could draw another breath, he had pulled her onto her back beside him and covered her body with his own, kissing her with a passion that made her stomach drop. Everything he’d stirred up with the spanking—embarrassment, anger, lust, tears—came pouring out in her response to his kiss. She met his desire with her own, yanking his head down, arching her pelvis against his, writhing beneath him. She wanted him to take her in every sense of the word, but he broke away, pulling back with a wicked smile. “Lusty wench, aren’t you?”

  “Wench?” she demanded, wrapping a fist in his shirt and attempting to pull him back down. “Which century do you think you’re in?”

  He ignored her attempts to tug him, as well as her question. “There should be a few more items in the box. Go fetch them.”

  Her belly somersaulted. She’d purposely ignored the remaining two items in the box. One appeared to be some sort of stainless steel sex toy, and the other was lubricant. Still, his command propelled her into action. She crawled off the bed, her ass throbbing and hot from the spanking. As she walked to the box, she began to realize the appeal of spanking. She hadn’t enjoyed the delivery, but she loved the after-effects. She felt warm and relaxed, as if she’d just orgasmed, and the burning only seemed to ignite a fire in her core, her pussy swollen between her legs. Not only that, but she enjoyed how much she felt wholly his. As if by marking her this way, Charlie had claimed his rights over her.

  She found the lube and the toy and brought them to him. He sat on the edge of the bed, and he yanked her in for another hard kiss before he bent her back over his knee
, her feet still touching the floor, but her torso folded over the bed and his lap.

  “Do you know what this is, Sasha?”

  “Not exactly,” she said in a small voice.

  “Reach back and pull your cheeks apart for me,” he ordered.

  She did not really want that metal thing used on her, did she? She thought about refusing, but realized she no longer wanted to play that game with him. She did as he instructed, tentatively grasping her cheeks and spreading them. Something cold landed on her anus and she flinched. The lube. She tensed, realizing exactly where the toy would be going. Sure enough, the cool bulbous tip of the toy pressed at her back entrance.

  She squeezed her eyes closed and pressed her lips together. “No,” she whimpered, although she already knew she’d given her consent by lying still across his lap, waiting for it. He pressed it forward and it stretched her anus. “No...I can’t,” she protested.

  “Shh. You can. You will do it because I want you to.”

  He was right. She wondered what that meant about her. How had he taken control of her so easily? Wasn’t she fighting him tooth and nail just a day or two ago? And what had changed her mind? Hot sex?

  Probably.

  Decidedly. It was worth abasing herself for the rewards she knew he would bring her.

  The plug stretched her even wider and she made a screaming noise in her throat, although she kept her lips pressed together. And then it was in. Once seated, the plug did not hurt, just gave her a curious “full” feeling and created an urgency, like she had to orgasm. Or get fucked really, really hard.

  “Sasha,” he said, nearly dizzy at the sight she made. He lifted her and stood her between his knees, cupping her hot cheeks. “You did so well. Turn around so I can look at you.”

  She turned around. He wasn’t sure how he’d won her obedience, and he wasn’t stupid enough to think the game was over, but she certainly had given him this round.

  His cock ached, a hot throbbing that only made his blood hunger worse. She looked incredible, the black corset and stockings framing her shapely ass, the stainless steel plug and raw cheeks symbols of her submission to him.