Bound by Her Passion

by Mara Leigh

  Gray cups my face and raises my gaze to meet his. “I believe everything you told me,” he says. “Always. But the horrific things that happened to you—are you certain it was Pike?”

  Shaking, I pick up my coffee to distract me from the shuddering memories threatening to take hold of my emotions and ruin my evening, my whole night, even before it begins.

  I don’t want to remember the details of the long months of torture I endured.

  “Didn’t you say you were blindfolded?” Gray asks softly, running his hands gently over my sides. “How can you be sure it was Pike?”

  Closing my eyes, I shake my head. I do remember Pike’s menacing voice in the mix. But at this moment, the only words I can clearly attribute to him are ones like, “Get the fuck out!” and, “Leave her to me!” and, “My turn. Go!”

  And each time those words were followed, not by more torture, but by sips of blood from that tiny cup, by the loosening of my bindings, by being allowed to move, even slightly, to ease the pressure of being forced into one position for so long.

  Sighing, I open my eyes to find Gray’s expression full of concern.

  “I’m not sure anymore.” I shake my head. “But even if he wasn’t as horrible as the rest of them, why didn’t he stop them?”

  “I think you should talk to Pike about that,” Gray says, but even before he starts to answer I realize that Pike did stop them. Many times. And by ultimately freeing me, he was the one to put an end to my torture.

  If only he’d done it sooner. For that, I’m not sure I can ever forgive him.

  “Selina,” Gray says gently. “This won’t happen if you’re not okay with it. And even if it does, Pike can sleep on a cot down in the basement. Rock and I will make sure that you’re never alone with him. We’ll make sure he never touches you.”

  Closing my eyes, I nod. No matter what went before it, Pike saved my life at least twice that I know of. And after the second rescue, he let me come back to Gray and Rock. He initiated that, he found Gray and brought him to me, even though he knew he was risking his own life to do it.

  “Princess,” Gray says softly. “Pike’s all alone. He told me a bit of his story. Like you, he was separated from his Maker right after his transition. He never learned how to survive in his new body and got sucked into Xavier’s court before he had a chance to find a way to belong in the vampire world.”

  At the word belong, I suck in a sharp breath.

  “I wouldn’t suggest this,” Gray says softly, “if I believed for one moment that it would put you in danger.” He pulls me into a tight embrace and I melt into the comfort of his arms, his chest, his scent. “Your safety is paramount, and if it’s too uncomfortable…”

  I shake my head against his chest, then lean back to look into his eyes. “It’s okay. I’m willing to try it—at least for one night.”

  Chapter 26

  Gray

  Selina’s heart pounds against my chest as I hold her. She’s so brave. I trust Pike and trust is something I don’t often grant, but I wasn’t the one who spent months believing he was the inflictor, or at least the instigator, of my pain.

  I hate knowing that he could have saved her sooner, but based on what I’ve learned about Xavier’s court from Pike and from Kwana—the cult-like atmosphere, how Xavier rules with fear, how Pike knew nothing of vampire life beyond isolation and what he’d seen there—I can understand how it was hard for him to act against the vampire he thought was a king.

  I can’t condone his months of inaction, but I do understand how it could have happened.

  Whether Selina ever forgives him, or will ever talk to him, or even look at him, is up to her. This is a big house. She’ll never have to see him if she doesn’t want to.

  As I hold her, Selina’s hands travel over my back, pulling me more tightly against her, stroking my ribs and my shoulders.

  Her breathing changes and her heart rate’s still high, but now it’s driven by a different force. Her hands slide down to my arse, and I’m instantly stiff.

  Wiggling on the counter to adjust her position, the intersection of her splayed legs finds the wood rising from between mine, and she pulses her hips, gently stroking against my need while squeezing my arse cheeks with her hands and making my need rise even higher.

  She leans back on the counter to rest on one arm, and with the other she holds my hips tight against her. Her desire is obvious in her eyes and takes me over the edge of restraint.

  Unwilling to waste time, I grab the waistband of her jeans and tear them open, ripping the button and zipper in one motion. Shifting my hands lower, I rip the center seam of the garment, exposing her warm body to my touch.

  Her panties are damp with desire, and so I tear those too and quickly press a finger inside her. Her head drops back and she moans at the initial penetration, and I wait for a moment, every muscle in my body tight with the restraint of holding back until I sense her body yielding, relaxing around the intrusion.

  As soon as it does, I add a second finger, slowly pumping inside her and readying her tight pussy for thicker penetration.

  “Turn over.” I take her waist to help guide her onto her belly so I can fuck her.

  Shaking her head, she reaches down and frees my cock from my pants, stroking me and then guiding my rod toward her wetness.

  Apprehension courses through me. We’ve fucked so many times I can’t begin to count, but it’s almost always from behind, and I’m not sure right now whether I’ll be able to bear the intimacy of the act face-to-face.

  Looking into my eyes, she places the head of my cock against her opening and pulses her hips, mixing her juices with my pre-ejaculate and inviting me in.

  It’s been a few moments since my fingers were inside her and I fear that my initial thrust will hurt.

  I try to pull back so I can finger her again to be sure, but she tucks her heels behind my arse and forces me forward. My body can’t resist complying, and I slide into her, hard. My moan joins her yelp of pain.

  I stop. I should withdraw, but her heels and the needy expression on her face urge me forward.

  Determined to control my thrusts until she’s ready, I make shallow strokes, giving her only the top half of my cock and giving myself the most excruciating pleasure as her tight muscles tug against the sensitive nerves of my head.

  One hand on my shoulder, the other bracing herself on the counter, she moves her hips, swiveling and thrusting and increasing the depth of penetration at her own pace.

  Her cheeks grow pink, her pupils widen and her pretty pink tongue peeks out between her lips with short gasps as she takes me in deeper. Fucking her like this, slowly, face-to-face, is better—and so much worse—than I could have imagined.

  I can’t go on like this, looking into her eyes and feeling so connected, so connected I might die if I wasn’t inside her.

  Forget about might. I will die. I’ll die the second my cock leaves her body. How will I ever breathe, how will I survive if I’m not inside her?

  “What’s wrong?” she asks softly. “Are you okay?”

  I get a hold on myself. “Princess, I am way more than okay.”

  I tear the remnants of her jeans from her body, then holding her arse, and my cock still inside her, I lift her and climb onto the counter. I bend her knees up by her ears, then, bracing my hands on the island, I close my eyes tightly and pound.

  My hips drive as fast as I can move them, creating friction between us that I hope will wash out every other feeling inside me, that I hope will wipe my emotions away and replace them with lust—pure lust and the pleasure of her wet cunny around my stiff cock.

  She moans. I open my eyes and the sight of her nearly slays me.

  I rise to my knees and her legs hook around my back as I hold her hips aloft. Her body rests on her shoulders as I pump like a piston, trying to focus on the grain of the marble countertop to avoid the sight of her.

  But her hand lands on mine, and I look into her eyes.

  “
Slow down, Gray.” She licks her lips. “Slow down.”

  I lower her hips to the counter and position myself above, staying still but seated inside her. Missionary position. I don’t think I’ve experienced this sex position since before my transition.

  Even as a human, I preferred to fuck from behind—or above—putting the woman in any position that avoided my seeing into her eyes.

  Selina smiles softly. Her hands caress my back, my shoulders, my arse, and then her hips start to move, small gentle pulses that contract around me, shifting the depth of penetration a quarter inch at a time, such a subtle stroke that I imagine it would be imperceptible to an observer, but for me it’s the opposite. I perceive it all.

  With each tiny movement, the place where our skin is joined—where my hardness makes contact with her wet softness—sparks with intense pleasure, and that bond is nothing compared to what is going on between our eyes.

  No words are spoken and yet everything is said. I fucking love this woman.

  Slowly, deliberately my body joins her motions, keeping the same slow pace, but increasing the depth of each gliding stroke.

  Our hips work in tandem to guarantee the inside of her body touches every inch of my rod every time, and our combined motion pulls my cock out to the tip and absorbs it up to the balls with each long, languorous stroke.

  With each deep plunge it’s like I’m drawn under water, pulled into a luxurious pool of pleasure where I’m more than willing to drown.

  Lost in her eyes, in her cunt, my pace accelerates, just perceptibly, and her breathing changes, too, turning more shallow, more erratic. With each stroke, her hips lift up to meet me, harder and harder. She’s using so much power now, I have to use all my strength to keep from being thrown off her as she bucks.

  She cries out and her climax pulses around me, quite clearly filling her body with intense pleasure. And at the sight of her writhing body, her open mouth, her wide pupils and flushed skin, my heart bursts.

  Yes. Fuck. Holy fucking hell. There is no longer any doubt. When Selina is taken from me I am going to die.

  Chapter 27

  Selina

  I pace around the foyer in Gray’s house, fighting the instinct inside me that’s urging me to go outside.

  Rock went to the bar hours ago, Gray had to go into FJS for something and I assured him I planned to stay in tonight, at least until he got back.

  But my theory that my Maker is involved in the murders has grown stronger, and after Colton told me about the cemetery connection, other locations in the city started flashing through my mind, like dreams coming back.

  It’s unsettling, and yet my curiosity is driving me to know more. In fact, it’s more than just curiosity. I have trouble thinking of a word to describe the compelling drive I have to learn more about my Maker, to find her.

  Giving in, I leave the house and head out into the night. I know I’m breaking my word to Gray, going out on my own, but I couldn’t stay inside a moment longer.

  The night air can barely begin to cool the warmth that’s been burning inside me since Gray and I made love on the kitchen counter. It’s the first time I’ve wanted to use the make love verb instead of the “F” one for something that happened between Gray and me. What happened moved the needle on my feelings for Gray by several degrees toward love.

  He’s still holding back, keeping so much of himself closed off to me. I know very little of his life, before or after he became a vampire, but even without words, his eyes, his actions today told me so much. Even if he can’t express his feelings with words, his body and his expressions told me what I wanted to hear.

  And all of that joy counterbalances the news that Gray invited Pike to move in. That idea terrifies me, but not for the reasons I told Gray.

  Pike is intimidating and exudes danger, but for me he exudes something else entirely—raw masculinity and a sexual energy that generates a matching energy inside me that I’m petrified to explore.

  But something completely different tugs at me tonight. Something that drew me out of the house on my own and is leading me through the city with a strong sense of direction toward several unknown destinations.

  I head from place to place, drawn around the city by a force I don’t understand, and at each stop my nerves are heightened, but so is my drive to continue.

  Stopping at the entrance to a residential alley in the Annex, I’m slammed by a strong sense of déjà vu. The reason soon becomes clear. One of the serial killer’s victims was found in this back lane, and one was found in Humewood Park, a place I felt drawn to earlier. In fact, my route through the city tonight has been like a connect-the-dots game—visiting all the places where the murders occurred.

  Every nerve in my body tingles with fear—or awareness—or both. It’s like my prize for connecting the dots is a powerful sense of unease.

  I should end this crazy scavenger hunt and head to Rock’s bar.

  “Why are you stalking me?”

  I spin toward an anger-filled female voice.

  It’s her. The vampire who Made me.

  Her jet-black hair and ruby lips, her tanned complexion, her deep brown eyes. Even her clothes are similar to that night, tailored, expressive, expensive. A frisson of fear snakes through me, but it’s quickly usurped by a stronger emotion.

  I fly at her, taking her by the throat and slamming her body against a nearby garage door. The vibrating bang fills the night air. Down the lane, a dog barks.

  “Who are you?” she asks with a strangled voice. “Why do I know you?”

  “Who are you?” I demand. “And why did you Make me?”

  I want to feel revulsion when I look into her eyes. She’s a murderer. This vampire stole my human existence, left me for dead, but instead I feel drawn to her, like she’s an old friend or a family member I haven’t seen in a long time.

  “Make you?” she chokes.

  I drop her to her feet, but keep hold of her throat, less tightly now so she can talk and breathe.

  “You’ve mistaken me for someone else.” She shakes her head. “I have no Progeny.”

  Something in her eyes tells me she’s lying, or not telling the whole truth. “But I have met you,” she adds. “I know you.”

  “My name is Selina. We met in an art gallery two years ago. You lured me into the alley, then fed from me, drained me and left me to die.”

  Her eyes widen at the memory, but then she shakes her head.

  “And you left me with this.” I turn my head to the side and lift my hair to reveal my scar.

  “It’s not possible.” Her voice is thready, but her face fills with excitement. “That’s why I know you. Feel so much affection toward you.” She reaches toward my face. “But you didn’t feed from me. I didn’t perform the transition ritual. I don’t even know how to do it.”

  “I don’t know how it happened,” I snap. “I just know that it did. And you’re going to tell me how. What is it about you that allowed you to make a vampire spontaneously?” That makes me different, too.

  “Selina.” She pronounces my name like it’s a delicious treat she just discovered. “I’m Zora.”

  Zora. The name brings back a vague memory, but I can’t be sure it’s the name she used the night that she killed me—or tried to.

  “And since that night? Are you all alone in this world too?” She touches my face.

  I flinch away, but seeing the hurt in her eyes, I relent and let her thumb stroke my cheek, my lips, and it’s oddly comforting.

  I’m about to answer, to tell her all about my life since my transition, like she’s an old friend, but then I remember who she is—what she does—and it squashes the warmth I inexplicably feel.

  “You’re a killer,” I say coldly.

  “I’m a vampire.” She half shrugs. “It’s what we do.”

  “No, it’s not!” I back a few feet away. “It’s not what we do.”

  “Selina, vampires need human blood to survive. You must know this. It’s been two years
. You must feed.”

  “Yes, but I don’t ever take more than I need. I don’t harm humans.” Except one. I shake my head. “Because of you, the police are hunting and killing every vampire they find. Because of you hundreds, maybe thousands of innocent vampires are dead.”

  I rediscover my anger, but it’s joined by a strong belief that I can change her—convince her that what she’s doing is bad, evil. She doesn’t understand. She’s alone and lost, just like I was. It’s not her fault.

  “Who was your Maker?” I ask, wondering if the vampire who Made her taught her this despicable behavior. Learned behavior can be unlearned.

  She blinks as if remembering what tears felt like. “My Maker’s name was Andreas. He was beautiful. And kind. And he was my entire world. We were going to be married, mated he called it. That’s why he changed me. So we could be together forever.”

  Sighing, she wraps her arms around herself. “But the first time he took me out to feed from a human, we were attacked.”

  “Attacked how?”

  “Ambushed by one of your precious humans.” The hate in her voice is so palpable I can almost feel it spread over my face.

  “How many humans attacked you?” I ask. “Two vampires can easily escape a dozen humans. Unless they were armed with a silver mesh net? Or caught you unaware?”

  “You are so naive.” She shakes her head. “Humans are more dangerous than you believe. More cold-blooded.”

  I don’t want to point out that she’s the cold-blooded killer, plus she used to be human. I bite my tongue and let her continue.

  “I’d already fed. We were on the way home, but the smells…” She closes her eyes and draws a long breath. “The scents and sounds of blood pumping through every body that passed us, the blood of everyone in the entire city, made me hungry for more. Made me think my thirst could never be satisfied.”

  “I know that feeling.” I know too well how blood sings to me, and how it sang way too loudly at first, how I felt like no matter how much I drank I could never be sated. And I remember too what that unrelenting hunger drove me to do. I swallow my sadness and shame.