Elusive Hero: Invitation to Eden (Vampire Queen Series Book 12) (25 page)

Now he cupped her jaw, lifting her face out of the cushion to tease the broad ivory feather of the quill over her lips. It made her want to lift her chin even higher, especially as he stroked it down her throat, over a breast. He was mastering her in his home. Like she was one of his possessions in truth.

“Damn straight about that. You’re don’t talk unless I command you to. Tell me you understand.”

“I do.” God, she wanted to call him Master now, but he hadn’t offered it again, the chance lost, and she was afraid to ask. Afraid of what it meant. Afraid she’d beg. He’d said she couldn’t talk anyway, a convenient excuse.

He moved her off his lap, laid her down on her side on the coffee table. Kaela licked suddenly dry lips as he lifted the quill. Opening his hand, he punctured the heel with the sharp end, efficient and deep, the welling of blood immediate. He waited as the blood formed a small pool in the cup of his hand. While he did that, he watched her, how riveted she became by that ruby bright flow.

He dipped the tip of the quill in it and leaned forward. “Eyes on the wall behind me, baby. You don’t get to see what I’m writing until I say so.”

Reluctantly, she obeyed. Her skin shuddered as she felt the press of the sharp tip and he began to write. It was scratchy, sharp, ticklish by turns, depending on where he was writing. Over the curve of a breast, around her navel, on her hip. When the blood clotted on his hand, he stripped off his T-shirt and punctured himself again. In the corner of her eye, she could see where. His pectoral, his biceps, his other palm…his throat. Except for his palms, he dipped the quill directly into the wound to ink the tip. Her nostrils flared, saliva gathering in her mouth as thin crimson rivulets of blood slid down his neck, over the curve of his biceps, down his pectoral, along the ridges of his abdomen.

And yet he kept writing. On her thighs next, then he turned her onto her stomach to make swirling, sharp scrapes down her back, over her ass. He cupped her chin, giving her support since the corset sleeve kept her arched up. She dipped her head enough to taste the blood on his palm and he gave her a sharp poke with the quill, an unspoken reprimand that had her pressing her lips tight together. She savored the small taste she’d stolen.

The lower curve of her breasts pressed into the ridges of the bamboo coffee table, a provocative friction. He leaned over her, his knees pressed against her shoulder and hip. He shifted his hold to her sternum, spreading out his hand there to give her additional support.

“Spread your legs.”

When he wrote on her inner thigh, the feather curling over to tickle the seam of her ass, the back of the opposite thigh, she was whimpering, pleading without words, since he’d told her she couldn’t speak.

At last he put her back on her hip and shoulder, facing him. He touched the bloody quill tip to her lips, her tongue, letting her have another taste of him.

“You can look now. See how beautiful you are to your Master, inside and out. I’m writing the words I think of when I look at you, my lady.” The quill dropped, began to trace the word he’d written on one breast. “Strength.” Down to her hip bone, her lower back. “Laughter. Tears.”

His dark eyes were fire, capable of making her shake inside, everything susceptible to him. Even without giving him the third mark, she didn’t think she had any shields that could resist his invasion as deep inside her as he wanted to go.

His gaze flickered, but he went back to tracing the words. “Rage. Grace. Breasts. Cunt. Ass. Legs.” A smile touched his lips. “Because I can’t help but think about those things, too. Being a man and all.”

She realized she’d obeyed him so literally she hadn’t even allowed herself to think in full thoughts, because that was a kind of talking. But she really wanted to know what the looping scrawl on her back had been. He’d written along either side of her bound arms.

Scooping her off the table, he settled back onto the futon with her on his lap, on her stomach. “Surrender, on this side. On this other, my name. In between…” Putting his fingertips on the narrow opening between her shoulder blades, he bent and put his mouth on it. “Mine.”

Tears stung her eyes, unexpected, and she was suddenly short of breath, seeking air, forgetting she didn’t really need it. That happened sometime when a made vampire panicked, as if muscle memory kicked in from their human days. She’d overcome it decades ago, because thinking she was hyperventilating during a fight could be fatal. But she was safe with him, and he’d overwhelmed her.

She’d told him she couldn’t be marked, that she healed too quickly, and he’d adapted, marked her in a way that had to be washed off.

“Dangerous. Vulnerable. Just. Uncertain. Need. Incomparable. Irresistible.” He etched those words as well. Then he removed the corset sleeve, taking his time so she felt the gradual easing of her shoulders, the caress of his hands as he stripped the tube off to free her arms. He traced the impressions the lacings had left, passed his strong hands over her shoulders kneading the strained muscles as he bid her to lay limp over his lap, her face down in the cushion again. It was ecstasy, the way she could be simultaneously so aroused and so tranquil under his command when her mind was captured by everything he was doing.

At last he turned her over, cradling her in his arms. His rigid cock pressed against her hip through his swimsuit.

She was covered in tiny crimson marks, his blood. The rivulets of it marked his chest, his arm, his abdomen. She wanted to taste him everywhere.

“Everything.” That was what he’d written on the inside of her thigh. As his fingers settled there, he looked up at her, met her eyes. “You’re the universe on the head of a pin, my lady, and it’s in every line of your body, every look you give me. You’re shaking so hard, so pale…”

Easing her to the ground between his knees, he stood over her to remove his swimsuit before he sat down, picked up the quill again. He punctured his inner thigh, a small notch where the blood welled quickly. Gathering it up on his fingers, he smeared it over his cock, began to stroke. She pressed toward his jutting member, but he closed a hand on her shoulder.

“Not yet. I’ll tell you what you get to suck and when. Got it?”

“Yes…”

“Yes, what?”

A little breathy sigh of relief escaped her, and she saw his eyes get even more intent. “Yes, Master.”

“Close your eyes.”

She obeyed, lips parting. He must have levered his cock downward, because he rubbed it over the tops of her breasts as her chin quivered with the effort to keep it lifted despite the aroma of blood, of the pre-come gathered on the slit.

“I liked holding your breasts together and fucking them. Sometime, I’ll do that until I spew. But for now, you drink.”

He directed her to that puncture in his thigh, put her mouth over it. “That one puncture won’t be enough. Use your fangs, my lady.”

She really was more depleted than she’d realized by the session in his dungeon room and this. Stress could deplete calories for humans; she hadn’t realized the same was true for vampires. In her odd floating state she found herself licking and savoring the taste of him, moving her mouth slowly on him as he stroked her head with that one hand. But her ears and the movements of his body told her he was stroking himself as well, his knuckles brushing her ear and cheekbone every once in a while as he masturbated while watching her feed.

She never wanted these ten days to end. Maybe she could pretend they never would, that she could just stay here in his apartment, be his always…

“Put your mouth on me now,” he said roughly. “Take me as far back as you can.”

§

Maybe vampires had better control of their gag reflexes. He wasn’t sure, but after she clotted the wound made in his thigh with only a couple quick kitten licks, apparently a perk of vampire saliva glands, she turned her head to the task he’d ordered and damn well pretty much took all of him. The little scrape of her fangs as his broad head broached that hot mouth sent a ripple of visceral pleasure through him.

She sucked him in, her tongue an agile gift, stroking and teasing, flicking and swirling. All while those succulent lips slid up and down his shaft, her hand circling his base to grip, the other cupping his balls, stroking. He kept her hair in his fist, loving the thick, shining weight of it, the way she gasped when he yanked her down on him harder, making her lose her balance so she had to grab hold of his thighs again.

I’m the one in control here, my lady. You’re servicing me, and I want you to push yourself. Take me deeper, suck harder. This isn’t a beauty contest. It’s about sucking off your Master, because he wants to come in your mouth, watch you struggle to swallow him down.

She gave a half hiss against him, redoubled her efforts, and he felt the shift in energy to where he’d wanted her. She needed to be pushed and tested. Not too soft and easy. He’d given them both that a moment ago, but his instincts told him not to draw that out too long.

“Hands behind your back,” he ordered. “You do this only with your mouth.”

She didn’t like that, wanting to touch him, but she complied. His balls were drawing up, his body rocking into her, cock thrusting into her mouth. He used the hold on her hair to give him leverage. Stress tears rolled down her cheeks and now she was fighting her gag reflex. When her fangs scraped him a little more enthusiastically, he rolled with it, pushing farther into her mouth but moving his thumbs down to hold her mouth open wider, straining her jaw.

“You bite me, I’ll extract those fucking fangs with pliers.”

He’d already learned that savage side of her responded to the threats, probably because he could call forth his own savage side that would genuinely mean it…in words. In truth, he’d murder anyone who caused her true fear or pain.

Her tongue kept working over him, and his cock convulsed. He pushed her down on him and held her tight there, her nose and chin buried in his pubis and testicles, his cock at the back of her throat. As he jetted, she tried to submit to that iron hold, not fight it. As for him, he had all he could do not to black out, the climax was so violent. He spewed come into her mouth three, four, five long streams, hips working, rocking against her face as she gasped, tried to keep up.

When he finally let her come up for air, he tipped up her face. Thanks to how insistent he’d been, there was no way she could have stayed pretty by girl standards. She tried to hide it from him, but he made a warning noise. “I’m the one who messed you up, my lady. It’s my pleasure to look at you with tears staining your cheeks, your mouth smeared with my come and your saliva, your cheeks flushed and lips swollen, eyes bright. You look fucking beautiful to me.”

His voice softened as she swayed. “Hold onto my knees.” He molded her hands over them, made sure she’d stay upright as he stretched out over her to retrieve his T-shirt from the edge of the futon. He used it to wipe her mouth, nose and eyes, then covered her lips with his, scenting his climax on her sweet mouth. She kissed him back with fervor, conveying her own arousal. She was revved up, spinning, so worked up that when he put his hand down between her legs, her clit was as swollen and wet as he could want it. He thought about suckling that ripe fruit into a full explosion of juices into his mouth, but he had other ideas. Hell, he couldn’t choose between all the things he wanted to do to her.

Catching the choker, he tugged on it, toppling her to her hip so she’d lean against the futon for support. He rose to don his swimsuit again, then pushed the coffee table out of the way. “Forehead down.” She looked puzzled for one second too long, and so he pushed her there with his hand on the back of her neck, bringing her ass up in the air with a hand underneath her abdomen. He shifted her so she was centered in front of the futon, facing away from it, and gave her buttocks about ten swats, finishing up with a bruising knead of her backside, pinching her with hard fingers until she was quivering and trying her best not to flinch. Sitting back down on the futon, he bent forward and laid his lips on one shuddering cheek.

“Hold your weight on your hands, my lady.” It was the only warning he gave her before he pulled her legs up, bracing her knees on his shoulders and leaving her face down over the edge of the futon between his knees, her head hanging down to the floor. As she scrambled to use that vampire flexibility to balance herself, he did what he could to destroy that balance. He lifted her lower body to his mouth and drank his fill of that full, juicy clit.

She came, instantly, violently, beautifully. He had to band his arms around her waist, as she clung to his legs, her upper torso twisting as she shrieked her pleasure. Her clit spasmed under his lips, her climax short, sweet spurts on his lashing tongue. He shifted his grip, grasped her bottom in both hands, kneading those sensitive globes as they writhed under his touch. He held her fast, made her feel every overwhelming sensation.

Oh…too much. Too much…
“Stop…no…don’t stop…oh God.”

At a certain point, it was no longer a flood through her mind but was starting to reach her lips. She’d had to keep all those words locked in her mind during her masturbation fantasies, afraid her servant would overhear and guess what she truly was, what she truly needed.

You don’t need to do that here, my lady. I want to hear you. I know what you are and what you need.

Amid the cries of pleasure, he heard the broken words behind them, spinning around in her mind like constellations around the sun.

Want to give him everything…feeling…never thought…have again…

The flash of her heart, wide open, so vulnerable, almost stopped his own heart. The climax blew through her like a tornado, leaving sensual devastation in its wake. She collapsed to the floor. Or she would have, except he held her, eased her down, put himself around her. She was in a fetal curl on her side, as small as she could make herself inside the span of his body arched over her. He pressed his lips to her temple, her mouth and cheek bone, her throat, then buried his face there as he coiled his arms around her head, held her tight, rocked her.