What the hell did he think I’d been asking for? Fuck whatever it was I’d been worried about before. The itch I felt wasn’t going to be scratched by itself.
“Please, Royce,” I begged, then gasped, jerking at the hips as a single fingertip traced the apex between my legs. “Please, don’t stop!”
The devilish glint to his eye wasn’t lost on me, but that wasn’t my concern. He settled into a painfully slow thrusting of first one, then two fingers, his cold, calculating gaze at odds with the gentle way he touched me. Getting to know what I liked, exactly where he needed to touch those secret places to send me spiraling down into mindless need. Playing my desires against me. Using me.
I didn’t care.
I thrashed and cried for more, but he didn’t give it to me right away. When I tried to help him along, he took both of my wrists in one hand so I couldn’t touch him, or myself, pinning me in place so all I could do was twist and writhe against him, and cry out for more. Playing me like a fiddle, he wasn’t satisfied until I was pleading for him to speed up, to move faster, harder, to
finish
what he had started, damn it.
He played me right to the very edge of the precipice, and then withdrew.
I could have screamed.
Instead I cried. I’d never been such an emotional wreck during sex before, but he didn’t seem bothered by it in the least. He ignored my tears of frustration, my futile attempts to free my wrists, and the blind thrusting of my hips as I begged for him to fill that emptiness inside me. Still, he had that gleam in his eye, the one that spoke of things to come—and when his mouth settled over the nub hidden between the slickened folds of my sex, I came with such force, I couldn’t move for what felt like hours.
He didn’t wait for me to recover. Instead, his attentions were focused on lapping up the traces of my desire while the fingers of his free hand were soon exploring, prodding, stoking the flames back up from embers to a blind, needy conflagration, screaming for release into the wider world.
I’m pretty sure the second time I did scream. My throat felt raw, but I was so shocked by the heady rush, I wasn’t totally sure what had happened. Only that there were stars in my vision, and that he’d moved away, leaving an empty ache behind. Bereft of his touch—and his punishing hold—I was too involved in moving with the rolling waves of ecstasy still pulsing in uneven tremors through my body to do anything so coherent as to pay any notice to where he’d gone.
It was a good thing he was giving me a breather. I wasn’t sure I could handle much more. I didn’t try to rise, left boneless and gasping for every breath as I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for whatever was to come next. My heart was racing, my skin hypersensitive, and only now did I realize that all of the places he had sucked and kissed on my body were still tingling with the ghost of sensation. As if he were still touching me—working his way inside me—and it heightened the sensitivity of my skin to every breath of air, every stroke of silk sheets, even the pulse of blood in my veins. It was the strangest thing; not at all unpleasant, just unexpected. Maybe a side effect from having been bound to him before.
It didn’t take long for him to return. All of a sudden, he was there, his mouth on mine, and I could taste myself on his lips. His fingers curled around mine, pinning my hands at either side this time as he delved deep, his fangs occasionally pricking my lips and tongue in a shockingly pleasant way. It might have been the eroticism of the moment, but I couldn’t recall ever feeling such a deep pang of longing or so needed as when his tongue plundered my mouth, like he was starved for the taste of me, sending renewed sparks of desire pulsing through my bloodstream.
He held himself over me, taking the time to ensure I was breathless before one questing hand drifted from mine and stole between our bodies again. As he rubbed between my legs in preparation for another assault, slickened fingers nudging my thighs apart, I reached up to embrace him—and very nearly recoiled at the feel of his cool, bare flesh.
That was soon forgotten; he eased his body against mine, settled between my legs so the tip of his arousal rubbed incessantly between the folds at the junction of my thighs. He finally released my mouth, but I’m pretty sure he only did that so he could listen to me cry out when a single finger briefly slid inside me. Christ, it felt glorious, particularly with this newfound sensitivity to his touch. His chuckle at the dismayed sound I made when he shifted his hand away might have pissed me off if I hadn’t been so busy trying to get down to business. His arms around me were all the support I needed, but he wouldn’t let me arch up and take him inside, withdrawing at the hips as soon as I attempted it.
“Please! Stop playing and fuck me already,” I demanded, not caring how crude my request was, nor that he was laughing at my frantic attempts to seal us together, hip to hip.
“Ah, you still know enough to use words to beg. You’re not ready.”
And he taught me that there were whole new plateaus of frustration and pleasure to be reached before I was.
I’m not quite sure how long it took for me to grow mindless enough with desire that he felt it was the right time, only that once it was, I thought I might just explode from the intense need rushing through my veins. Orgasms shook me, one right after another as his thick length pressed inside, at first feeling like too much, far too much, before the friction between us brought me to new heights of gratification.
His hands always found the right place to touch, sometimes cupping my cheeks as his tongue delved into my mouth to match the thrusting of his hips, other times cradling me in his arms as though he was afraid I’d turn into smoke and drift away if he didn’t hold me close. It was fierce and gentle and possessive all at once, overwhelmingly so.
I did my best to reciprocate, touching as much of him as I could while pinned under his weight by stroking rippling muscles that put me in mind of satin-covered steel. Some of that smooth, cool skin was marred with traces of scars like my own. Well, that might explain his ready acceptance of my physical imperfections.
A low, inhuman growl rumbling in his throat briefly sent a shock of terror through me. I withdrew with a gasp, panic and the claustrophobic sensation of being trapped settling in like old friends. Then, surprise, surprise, he grabbed my hands to put them back to where I’d found a death grip on his ass a moment before—and what
a fine
ass it was, solid as bedrock—because he was obviously enjoying my encouraging squeezes. That’s when I figured out he wasn’t growling so much as purring, and I met his questing mouth with renewed enthusiasm as I obliged his unspoken demand.
At one point, I was dimly aware of his fingers tangling in my hair, drawing my head back, followed by a sudden pressure at my neck. My nails scored his shoulders, digging deep furrows as that pressure turned into a pinprick—barely noticed considering what was happening between my legs—that exploded into synapse-frying fireworks against every nerve ending in my body, arching outward from my throat. It left me breathless and shaking as his churning hips sped up to the agonizingly pleasurable speed of a well-timed piston. It was every tingling ache under my skin from his earlier exploration magnified by a thousandfold, heightening the experience to the point where I was nearly certain my heart was ready to explode in my chest. It was a ferociously satisfying age before he slowed, his thrusts becoming uneven, but still sending shudders of fulfillment through me.
Sometime later, his tongue laved my throat, the simple motion radiating pleasant tingles that rocked me all the way to my toes. Sometime after he’d stopped sucking at that sweet spot on my neck, my heart had started again. The shivers that raced down my spine had me spasming around his length in an attempt to hold him there even as he drew away.
I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe, and tears leaked unbidden from the corners of my eyes. Though there was a measure of soreness, he had held that incredible strength of his in check and done exactly as he’d promised—left me unharmed. Sated, for all of that, and maybe a little bruised, definitely worn out, but not damaged.
He gathered me up in his arms, and I shook against him. Not from fear, but from an inability to keep still as aftershocks of bliss raced through my body. In exhaustion, I lay my head against his shoulder, tucking my hands under my cheek and focusing on steadying my breathing so I wouldn’t pass out. He tilted my head up only long enough to kiss away my tears before letting me collapse in a sprawl against him.
At first, I couldn’t figure out why he felt so much warmer—but the unspeakably pleasurable way my throat throbbed when I brushed my fingertips over the spot he’d latched onto during those last moments answered that question. Just touching it was enough to make me squirm, tingles of ecstasy radiating outward from the tiny bite marks when pressure was put on them. His soft laughter at my discovery was too genuinely pleased for me to take offense, and I was too worn out and felt too good to be upset about it.
Royce ran soothing fingers through my hair, calming my racing heart and making it clear that he didn’t intend to leave my side. Whether this was a temporary reprieve or the end of today’s lesson, the vampire was right. I’d never be able to match the intensity of his lovemaking with another. No one else had ever known me—even bothered to make the effort to know me—as well as he had.
Forevermore, I was ruined for anyone else. I was his.
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of
FORSAKEN BY THE OTHERS,
coming soon from Zebra Books!
Every part of me ached. Though I was wrapped up in blankets, curled up on my side in bed, I was cold, too. Maybe it was my own shivering that stirred me out of sleep. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to move right away.
Then something cool and spidery shifted under the covers, brushing over my stomach.
Startled, I screamed and twisted away, flailing at the sheets to bat it off. It only tightened against me, yanking me back against a hard, male body.
A clearly naked—
quite
hard—male body.
“Shush, now. You’ll wake the whole building.”
The initial rush of fright became a rush of a different sort. I wasn’t being woken up by Chaz or Jack or one of the other White Hats. And I was all kinds of naked under these covers.
Momentary confusion became crystal clarity as memories of all the many ways Royce had explored my body the previous night came back to me. The surge of aggression and need that pulsed through my blood sang of a keen desire to leave my mark on the vampire the way he had left his own on my neck and other places last night. He didn’t resist as I twisted around and bit his shoulder, my nails digging deep into his upper arm and tangling in his hair.
“Easy, now. We have all night.” The rumble of his laughter vibrated through my body, my hot skin pressed to his cold. It was only when he took hold of the wrist I’d locked on his arm and rolled so he was on top that it struck me how easily he overpowered me.
Which served as another—this time unpleasant—reminder. The belt was gone. I wasn’t turning Other.
I was human. I was nothing.
No. Not nothing. I was a legally bound and contracted vampire’s toy.
I withdrew and shut my mouth with a snap, my initial rush of terror twisting into a different kind of fear. Wriggling uncomfortably, I pushed at Royce’s chest with my free hand, wincing as the pressure of his body rubbing against mine revealed a whole slew of hurts from my battle with Wesley—and more than likely from the far more pleasurable activities that came thereafter.
Royce didn’t let go, settling on his side to wrap both arms around me instead, one hand coming up to tweak one of my nipples. “Much as I enjoy that delightful squirming you’re doing, you might try relaxing. You’re safe here.”
The sight of the bruises from last night’s “festivities” had pushed me into a dark place filled with panic and despair, one that drove me to tears when I couldn’t pry his hands off. I didn’t mean to cry, but the sick, light-headed feeling combined with the undeniable weakness in my limbs brought on such a wave of shame, I couldn’t help myself.
He pulled me around to face him, one hand cupping my cheek while the other kept me pinned against his side.
“What is it? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
I couldn’t tell him I was crying for what I’d lost. Even if I wanted to, I wasn’t sure I could explain it to him. My whole life had been defined by how I lived it, and that had not included being bound to, sleeping with, or becoming willing food for vampires. It was more than the blood he’d taken—it was a piece of me that I couldn’t ever have back. It made me into the
thing
my father despised so much; no longer fit to be part of my own family.
Royce’s brows lowered, eyes and hands searching my body for signs of damage. Aside from old scars and the plethora of bruises I’d acquired last night, he wasn’t going to find anything. I was too choked up to tell him as much, and too freaked out to do anything more intelligent than frantically try to put some distance between us.
Though he was clearly puzzled by my behavior, Royce didn’t push me for answers. Once satisfied that my distress hadn’t been caused by something physical, he drew me even tighter against him, pinning me still. Though I strained away at first, he brushed his fingers through my hair and whispered half-heard endearments in my ear until my tears and uneasy squirming eased away. I buried my face against his chest and tried to get a hold of myself, to cling to the thought that my life wasn’t over now, just changed—drastically, irrevocably changed.
I was his property now, and not just on paper.
He owned me, body and soul. Not only had I abandoned my morals and common sense last night, I’d
liked
it. Liked the feel of his lips and tongue and fingers and other parts so intimately pressed against mine, all over, inside me, all while he drank my blood. What the hell was wrong with me that I’d
liked
being wrapped in Death’s arms and pounded into the mattress while my life was siphoned away a sip at a time?
Though I didn’t want to be that twisted, ugly thing in my mind, I couldn’t help myself. A shudder of longing crawled down my spine as his fingers swept over the place he’d bitten me last night. Desire bloomed, and I fought it, pushing his hand away before that need could fire up my blood enough for him to notice. Images of all of the ways he could take advantage of me while I was unable to defend myself whirled through my head like a maelstrom of horror-show terrors, a painful reminder that now I was just a blood whore, a plaything, and that I’d willingly put my life in his hands.
He pulled back, pinpoint sparks of red reflecting in his eyes as he studied me. Growing panic was pushing me in the direction of hyperventilating; I was too afraid to move again—he might realize why I wanted him to stop.
“Shiarra, don’t make me drag answers out of you. What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. My hurt wasn’t of the physical variety.
“Tell me,” he commanded, “what’s wrong.”
The words spilled out of my mouth before I could stop them. “My dad was right. I’m not a Waynest anymore. Not myself anymore. Just another vampire’s puppet.”
My eyes popped open and I slapped my hands over my mouth before I could say anything more damning. Royce’s expression was unreadable, his gaze burning into mine.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered from behind my hands.
I couldn’t tell by his expression if he was angry with me for being honest with him, but it was far too late to take the words back, and I’d never been good at hiding my thoughts from him. Especially when he was staring at me so intently, like he could see right past my eyes to the darkest thoughts buried in the back of my mind. Like he knew all the horrible things I didn’t want anybody to know. He might not judge me for them—but that didn’t mean I wanted him to know every thought inside my head as intimately as he’d come to learn the secrets of my body last night.
Not wanting to meet his gaze, I buried my face against his chest, practically vibrating with tension. Maybe he got the picture that his actions were only making things worse. His voice, when he finally spoke, was strangely gentle, and made me feel like an even bigger fool for finding comfort in it.
“Even after last night? You still think that I was only using you, or would abandon you once I got what I wanted?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. He kept running his fingers through my hair and down my back, not saying anything for a time. It took a while, but after the worst of my trembling tapered off, he slid a hand between us and nudged my chin up so he could peer into my eyes.
“What is it you fear has changed about you? What do you feel I have taken from you?”
Biting my lip, I looked away again before answering him. The tears made it a little hard to speak clearly, but I’m pretty sure he still heard me just fine. “My soul. My free will.”
Shaking from a mix of stress and fatigue and a sickness more of mind than body, I jerked out of his grip and put some distance between us, turning my back on him as I drew the covers up to my chin. He might own me now, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.
What hurt worst of all was knowing that my dad was right. I wasn’t fit to be a Waynest. I wasn’t even my own person anymore. Without the belt, I was just another helpless, hapless human, at the mercy of a monster who could feed on or kill me at any time with no cost to himself. No safety nets. No taking it back. I’d put myself here, and now I would have to suffer the consequences of my own choices.
The vampire’s hand settled on my shoulder. The irony of that possessive gesture coinciding with my thoughts wasn’t lost on me. If anything, it made it harder to get the tears under control. When I didn’t turn around, he gripped my upper arm, not tight enough to hurt, but definitely enough to keep me from pulling away from him again.
“Shiarra, please look at me.”
I wouldn’t—couldn’t do it. He made a soft, frustrated sound in his throat before speaking.
“I wish I had some way of expressing to you how much you mean to me in a way that you would accept. You saved my life, Shiarra, back when I meant nothing to you. You’re brave when you have every reason to run scared, you’ve shown a remarkable ability to think on your feet, and you’re resourceful. You’ve faced many of your fears, which is more than could be said for some of the most loyal of my number—but you hold to this idea that belonging to me makes you less than a person, and it’s simply not true. You are no less the woman you were before you let me touch you last night, and I have no intentions of discarding you like some broken toy.”
“This isn’t something you can fix, Royce,” I said. My voice might have been thick with tears, but I was proud of myself for being able to say what I was thinking for once instead of choking on my own angst like a brooding teenager. “You were just ... you. It was my choice. I let it happen.”
His voice was deadly cold and quiet. “Are you telling me you consider last night a mistake?”
I twisted to look at him, shocked.
He leaned in, using his grip on my arm to push me to my back. Before I knew it, his fingers, icy and implacable, tightened around my wrists. The growl rumbling in his throat made my knees quiver, and I gasped as my hands were abruptly pinned above my head, his lips brushing over my throat with a teasing rake of fangs as he leaned into me. His usually smooth voice came out rough, ragged, and I could very nearly taste the anger and frustration radiating from him around the bitter flavor of fear on my tongue.
“You are the most aggravating woman I have ever encountered! I have fought everything that I am to be what I thought you would desire of me. I have left you to live your life as you wished it, rather than as I willed it. Do you know how difficult it was to wait idly by while you hemmed and hawed about whether you could trust me? Don’t you know that the temptation to interfere with your choices was nearly unbearable? I have been as kind and generous and understanding as I know how to be, Shiarra. I waited for you to come to me of your own will—and now that you have, you think that what we did was a mistake? After all that I have done? Still you spurn me, fear me. Am I not generous enough? Have I not been merciful? What must I say or do to make you understand that I have leashed
everything
that I am so that you would choose me of your own will?”
Though my heart was still beating a million miles a minute and every breath was taken on a gasp thanks to the adrenaline rush, I didn’t struggle. It took some effort to calm down, but his grip eased up as the tension in my body did. His lips were still but a hairsbreadth away from my jugular, but I didn’t think he was about to bite me. Not yet, anyway. My reply came out small-voiced, not in the accusatory tone I was going for.
“You’re taking away what makes me ...
me.
You scare me, Royce. You scare me half to death, but I want you, too, and that just makes it worse. Am I even human anymore, or am I just a reflection of who you think I should be?”
My question gave him pause. He withdrew—though he didn’t let me go—and I relaxed marginally as the harsh edge left his voice.
“You are every bit as human now as you were when you first entered my home last night. I have done nothing—
nothing
—to change that. Don’t hate yourself for letting me make you feel good. Giving in to me isn’t a crime. Liking the things I make you feel isn’t a sin against your family or your God. There is no shame in it. I won’t tolerate these misconceptions any longer, or see you destroy yourself, physically or emotionally, now that you’re finally mine—do you understand? You mean too much to me for me to allow that to happen.”
I shuddered at his pronouncement. Though a part of me was absurdly pleased with his words, the rest of me was screaming in horror at that
finally mine
part. It only validated the terror of losing my own identity, only to be overshadowed by a new “master” I couldn’t live without.
“Damn it, Shiarra, look at me!”
I did. His normally black eyes were blazing red with anger, shining like bright beads of precious stones set in a lake of tar. He lifted one of my hands and pressed it to his cheek, twining his fingers with mine, much like we had done last night.
“Why do you not believe me when I say you will remain your own person? Is it because you are frightened by what I made you feel? I still taste you, crave you, want to be inside of you again. Can you honestly tell me you don’t want that, too? That you don’t want me?”
I wanted it. I wanted it so badly, I could taste the remembered mint and copper of his mouth on my tongue.