He groans. But he doesn’t look surprised. “Okay. We’ll go slow.”
“No!” My voice is sharper than I expected. Louder. “We may not have much time,” I explain. “Meshach may find us. Or your captain might call us back to the ship.”
Something changes behind his golden eyes. They narrow and seem to sharpen. “If Meshach sets foot in this room, I will tear him limb from limb,” he growls. “And I will present his head for you to display on a pike as a warning for anyone else who would interrupt us.”
“I… What?” I frown up at him.
“Sorry.” Vaughn blinks, then he shakes his head, as if to dislodge the voice that’s clearly been whispering to him. The beast. “I probably wouldn’t do that. I mean, I will kill him, if I get the chance. But you don’t have to do that whole head-on-a-pike thing. That was the beast talking. He seems to think you’d want to display the head of our enemy as a warning to future transgressors.”
“I… I mean, maybe?” There are a lot of things I’ve never tried. And I can’t think of a better candidate for “head on a pike” than Meshach.
“My point is that Meshach is not a problem. And Sotelo won’t interrupt us. He’s been here. He knows what this is like.”
“He’s been here?” I glance around the small room. “Is that why you picked this place?”
Vaughn laughs, a throaty sound that makes my lower parts clench. “No, I mean he’s been in this situation. With— Never mind. Sotelo won’t interrupt us. He’ll just wait for me to call and make sure it’s safe for us to return to the Dinghy. Whenever we’re ready.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then. Slow is fine.”
Vaughn’s smile lights a fire low in my belly, igniting a hunger like nothing I’ve ever felt before. He leans down to kiss me again, and while his tongue moves against mine, he slowly tugs the stretchy material of my top over my breasts. I fight the urge to cover myself when he rises again, but instead of feasting on the sight he’s just bared, he bends my arms at the elbows and pulls them free. Then he lifts the garment over my head and drops it on the floor.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispers. And now he is feasting. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
The reverence in his voice seems to indicate that I should be moved by his words, but they mean little to me, because Meshach said the very same thing as he inspected me, moments after Damaris pulled me from the cryopod.
The way Vaughn is looking at me, however, means much, much more.
“I am honored that you would trust me with your safety,” he says. “And with your pleasure. I swear I will never let you down again.”
I don’t know what he means; he has yet to let me down. His words ride upon a formal cadence that seems designed to echo far beyond this one moment, but before I can ask him what he’s really saying, he kisses me again, and as I feed from his mouth, he lifts me until my legs wind around his waist again. Until he’s holding me with one hand supporting my backside. Then he turns and lays me on the bed.
He lowers himself over me, and my breath catches in my throat. The next kiss is the first in a series that trails over my chin and down my neck to linger in the hollow at the center of my clavicle. Then his tongue draws a line over my right breast, and by the time he reaches the peak, it is hard and aching in anticipation of his touch.
I gasp as his tongue draws a light circle around my tight nipple. Then his mouth closes over it, enveloping my sensitive flesh in the soft warmth of his mouth.
I exhale, and my hips arch toward him again, all on their own. He groans, and his knee slides slowly between my thighs, higher and higher until I am practically panting in anticipation. He reaches the apex of my sex and applies a light pressure, pressing his knee into the mattress a little bit, then letting it rise. The brush of his leg against my most intimate parts, even through both layers of our clothing, is like nothing I’ve ever felt. No one has ever touched me there. Not Meshach, during his inspection. Not the doctor who performed a cursory examination to make sure I was intact. Not even myself, except in the bath. And then only for a second. Only to clean.
Okay, there was that one time, alone in my room at the convent, but that pales in comparison to—
“Oh…” I clutch at the backs of his arms, where they hold him over me. “More.”
He sucks harder on my nipple, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. Then he rises to look down at me again. “In a minute. Patience is a virtue.”
“Do not speak to me of virtue,” I gasp, arching my hips against his knee to take what he will not give. “My entire life has been lived in virtue.” At least, that I remember. “Let this moment be one of sin.”
Vaughn groans. “This is not a sin, Grace. But I promise to make it feel like one, if that’s what you want.” He sits up, and I close my eyes as he removes his knee from between my thighs. A moment later his hands land at my hips, squeezing softly. Then his fingers slip beneath the sides of the snug material stretched across them, and he slides it down, slowly exposing my stomach and the points of my hips. Then the mound at the juncture of my thighs.
“No underwear,” he breathes. “I didn’t expect that.”
“This is my underwear,” I whisper, opening my eyes to look up at him again.
“These are pants, Grace.” He looks amused, but also…hungry. “Underwear doesn’t go down to your ankles.”
“Mine does.”
His head tilts to the side. “You mean, you’ve been running around the Dinghy in your underwear?”
I shrug, and my hair catches on the rough blanket beneath me. “I asked if it was appropriate, and you said yes.”
Vaughn frowns, and a spark of something—jealousy?—thickens the golden ring around his dilated pupils. “That was before I knew it was your underwear.”
I can’t resist a little smile. “I’m not entirely sure you and I speak the same language.”
“Then it’s a good thing we don’t need words.” He leans down for another kiss, and when he tugs at my undergarments again, I close my eyes, content to feel his fingers as they guide the material down my legs and over my feet. And now I lie before him, naked as the day I was born. “You are so—”
“Please don’t tell me I’m beautiful.” Being beautiful gives men the right to buy you. To examine you. To take you however they like. “Please, Vaughn, find something in me that you like, beyond that.”
The sadness in his eyes confuses me. “You are so much more than a beautiful face and body, Grace.” His hand tightens at my hip, then slides slowly down to caress the curve. “You are courageous and bold enough to take freedom for yourself, despite the risks. I knew the moment I found you hiding in the cargo hold that you were someone special. I want to make you feel as special—as extraordinary—as you are to me.”
Before I can think of how to respond, he leans down again, and his mouth closes over my right nipple. I gasp and arch into him as his hand slides onto my stomach, then begins to move lower. I clutch his arm, feeling his muscles move beneath my touch. He ripples with power, every movement a miraculous display of both strength and restraint. A man like this could rip doors from hinges. He could shred flesh like most men tear loaves of bread. Yet his touch is so gentle. So patient.
His hand glides over my sex and settles behind my knee, tugging it to the side. Then, as my pulse races in my ears, his fingers slide back up my thigh. His tongue slowly undulates against my nipple as his fingers explore me, opening me gently, and the sum of new and carnal sensations almost overwhelms me.
Vaughn groans, and the subtle vibrations of his voice tingle against my tight, hard peak. “You’re so wet,” he moans against my breast, and while I know that’s good, that natural lubrication is a biological adaptation intended to ease his passage and aid my comfort, I never expected it to be something that brought him pleasure.
He slides one finger down and circles my opening. Spreading the moisture in a way that makes me moan. Makes my thi
ghs twitch and my pelvis arch up, reaching for more. “Oh, god, I need—”
“Shhh…” He scoots higher on the mattress without removing his hand, and now I feel his breath on my ear, a featherlight sensation that only adds to my arousal. “I know what you need. And I’m going to give it to you. But I need you to really want it.”
“I do,” I pant, turning my head so that I’m staring into his eyes, from inches away. “I really want it.” I feel shameless and brazen. But also…honest. I’ve never needed anything in my life like I need him. And I don’t think I can wait anymore. “I want it. I want you.”
“You’ll have me. But first…” He kisses me as his finger sinks into me, and the sensation is…unexpected. An oddly intimate breach. It doesn’t hurt, but—
He curls his finger up, inside me, and begins to slide it in and out slowly, while the heel of his palm applies pressure to that sensitive place on the outside. And soon a new sensation begins to build inside me. Like a clenching. Like a coil of anticipation winding tighter with every stroke of his finger. With every rub of his palm against me.
“Vaughn,” I gasp. “Something… Something’s happening.”
He chuckles. “Good.”
“No, I mean—” I grab his arm. “What’s happening to me?”
His hand goes still, and I am both relieved and frustrated when he props himself up on his elbow to look down at me. “What do you mean? Has no one…? You asked me to make love to you. Has no one explained what that means?”
“Of course. Sister Tabitha gave me a book. It mentioned body parts, and insertion, and that there might be pain. But your finger isn’t the body part I was expecting, and I didn’t know it would feel like…this. No one… No one told me it would feel good.”
8
VAUGHN
OH MY GOD.
Grace stares up at me, her gaze swimming in both pleasure and confusion.
Show her, the beast demands. Make her scream with pleasure. Earn the right to claim her.
But I can’t just… I can’t just finger her, if she doesn’t know why…
“That book Sister Tabitha gave you? It didn’t mention orgasm? Climax?”
“Of course it did.” She looks almost insulted by my question. “It said that the man would reach a zenith of pleasure, and he would—”
“For the woman, I mean. Does the book not mention your clitoris or g-spot? Did no one tell you about a woman’s pleasure in sex?” How the living fuck is this possible?
Grace’s frown deepens. “Damaris told me I must pretend to enjoy whatever Silas does to me. I must smile and moan and always be open to him, even when he’s still learning.” Her expression twists into disgust at the thought, and the beast rakes his claws over my heart, at the sound of another man’s name on my woman’s lips. “But she never said that I might actually enjoy it.”
“So, you asked me to make love to you, and you didn’t know you would like it?” I don’t know whether to be horrified or honored. Why would she want me, if she didn’t know she could desire me?
“I knew that touching you—kissing you—made me ache, deep inside.” Her cheeks turn pink with a beautiful flush I hope to find echoed between her thighs. “Like the time I dared touch myself, one night in the convent, alone in my room. And I assumed that this would ease that ache. That you would be able to make this empty feeling go away. But I didn’t expect…” Her gaze falls to my fingers, where the scent of her need makes my mouth water.
Taste her, the beast demands. Push her back and show her.
He seems so convinced that will work that I have one hand on her sternum before I realize I can’t just hold her down and lick her until she comes on my tongue. I can’t afford to be anything like she expected this Silas to be. And she won’t understand that what the beast wants to give her is different from what Silas wants to take from her. Hell, I can hardly understand exactly what the beast wants to give her.
“Grace, sex is supposed to be equally pleasurable for a man and a woman. At the very least.”
“At the least?” Her innocent confusion makes my cock throb with the need to show her.
“A man can only climax once during intercourse. Though he may be ready again soon. But a woman can orgasm over and over, if the man she’s with knows what he’s doing. If she knows her body well and is willing to show her partner what she needs. So, any imbalance of pleasure should naturally benefit her. Not him.”
Grace blinks up at me. “Is that the truth? You aren’t… You aren’t just trying to convince me to open for you? Because I’ve already said I want you.”
I can’t resist a smile. “Someone has clearly lied to you. Or at least omitted part of the truth. But that someone isn’t me. Would you like me to show you what your body is capable of?”
Her brows arch. “With your finger?”
“At first. If that’s what you want. Or…” I lean in until I’m close enough to lightly lick the seam of her lips. “With my tongue.” I tilt her head and plunge into her mouth, giving her a preview of what I’m offering in other venues, and I don’t pull back until her chest is heaving with every breath. Until I can scent her arousal—an ability the beast assures me is perfectly natural for his species.
“You want to…with your tongue?” she whispers, as if that’s the most scandalous thing she’s ever imagined.
I want to scandalize every single inch of her.
“Yes. Will you let me?”
“I…if that’s what you want. But are we going to do the rest of it? The other part?” Her gaze flicks toward my crotch, where my erection is well defined as it strains the material covering it.
Yes, the beast growls.
“Yes, if you want. But first, it’s my duty to bring you pleasure.”
“Your duty?”
I’m almost as puzzled by my own phrasing as she is, because the truth is that those aren’t my words.
“What does that mean? This is like a job for you?” That light in her eyes fades, and I realize her feelings are hurt.
“No. Bringing you pleasure is my duty and my honor, of course.” I frown, trying to puzzle through the beast’s meaning, and in response, more images flash through my head.
Grace, with her head thrown back in pleasure, my face buried between her thighs.
Grace nodding up at me—accepting me—as I position myself at her entrance.
And suddenly I understand. This is ceremonial, for the beast. This isn’t just foreplay. It isn’t even a simple, shared expression of desire. This is how a man earns the right to take his own pleasure and claim his mate—by first demonstrating the pleasure he can bring her.
Please her, he says. And you will have her for life.
Oh, fuck.
It’s not that I’d mind having Grace for life. I can’t stand the thought of letting her out of my sight for a second, and the beast’s extinct culture isn’t the only one that values commitment. But Sotelo didn’t mention this part.
I mean, he used the term “mating fever,” but I thought the phrase described a sexual desire, an irresistible urge to be with each other physically. I knew that he and Lilli were committed to each other, but I had no idea that commitment was…compulsory. Yet that’s what the beast is describing: the initiation into a partnership that is scripted in his—and now in my—DNA. A biological imperative to be together in all things.
If Grace gives herself to me, she will be stuck with me, and with my beast, forever. There’s no way she’s ready for that. No way she can even comprehend that, considering it’s the very thing she’s running from.
The beast snarls in denial. And he’s right. What Silas wants from her is nothing like this.
“He’s talking to you, isn’t he? Your beast?” She blinks up at me, and I realize that while I’ve been staring into space, a fresh new fear has grown in her eyes. “Does he not want me?”
“Oh, no, Grace.” I take her hand. “He wants you just as badly as I do. But his culture has some very different ideas about relati
onships than my culture does.”
She shrugs. “The same could be said for the men on Gebose, and the beast’s way can’t be any worse than that. What is he saying?”
“He’s trying to educate me on my role. As a man.” I give her a wry smile. “It’s honestly a little insulting.”
She laughs. “Your culture isn’t up to par, from his perspective?”
“Evidently not. He believes a man has to give a woman pleasure, in order to earn the right to take any for himself. It’s an audition, of sorts. To prove myself worthy of you.” I give her an odd, one-shoulder shrug, with my weight balanced on my other arm. “That part actually kind of makes sense.”
She nods, eyes wide at the thought. “Sounds good to me. What else?”
“He believes it’s my duty to protect you. To provide for you.”
Grace blinks. Those two little lines appear between her brows. “That sounds…long term.”
“Yeah, it does. It is. The beast’s culture doesn’t really do casual. Evidently.”
“Wait.” She sits up and scoots away from me on the bed, and it breaks my heart to see her clearly gearing up to say something difficult. I’ve never been rejected before, but I can see the proverbial writing on the wall. And it fucking stings.
Yet the beast seems almost excited by her hesitation. He thinks it’s an intentional provocation. A demand for me to display my strength. To prove myself capable of protecting her. Worthy of her acceptance. The images he paints in my mind show a ritualistic push and pull—the opening motions of a mating dance couples in his culture performed for millennia.
Hold her down. Soothe her doubt with pleasure.
But that’s not how we do things. In human culture, holding a woman down doesn’t soothe her.
“Vaughn, I like you, and I’m grateful to you and the rest of the crew for shielding me from Meshach. But I don’t want to be your concubine either.”
The beast growls, and this time he and I are in agreement. “You will never be my concubine, or anyone else’s. You will never again be anything you don’t want to be,” I assure her.
“I don’t understand. What else could the beast want from me, long term? I’m not fit for anything else. I cannot give a man children.”
Vendetta (Project Vetus Book 2) Page 11