“I don’t want this.” She repeated, her voice more tentative than she wanted it to be.
Her eyes were large and expressing too much, she knew, had always hated it about herself, this inability to hide anything. Now she was glad they could say what she could not.
His large hands cradled her cheek, a touch warm and feather-light, his eyes a caress on her skin.This close she saw the yellow flecks in his green eyes, streaks of gold breaking the dark green surface like sun playing over a forest pond, but whilst their depth were normally dark and enigmatic, giving nothing away, now she could see the warmth, the desire, and the regret in them.
“I know, but today neither of us has a choice in the matter — and I cannot say I rue this day. The circumstances, possibly, but never the chance of having you here with me.”
“You don’t even know me.”
No bitterness tinged her words, not even sadness, merely a numb acceptance. When his lips stroked over hers, he kissed away the words with a bittersweet tenderness.
“No, nor do you know me, at least not well enough to decide to spend the rest of our very long lives together. Does anyone ever? Really? But what I know of you, I admire and like. More than just like. I liked the little girl I met all those years ago, the teenager who once told me to stop sulking when I had lost some unimportant discussion in the Master’s Council.”
Had she actually told one of the most powerful vampires in the land to stop sulking? Sadly enough, she remembered the instance. She groaned, drawing an amused smile from him. That smile reminded her why she had told him; he always appeared more human than most of the other vampires, even the younger ones — until he was not human at all anymore. Still, had she been suicidal as a fourteen year old? She closed her eyes in mortification but that did not shield her from his next words:
“And I might be already half in love with the young woman who always kept and eye out for those she thought needed protection, no matter that she herself was the weakest among a court of paranormals.”
Her eyes snapped open and she bristled at the last, would have contradicted him, and if only out of principle, but a wave of heat travelled through her body, bowing her back. It was not pleasure, it was not pain, it was akin to both and still so foreign her mind could not make sense of it, could not relate to it. She screamed. In fear? In pain? In confusion? Jen did not know anymore. From a distance she heard the frantic voice, no words just a tone. It mattered not, she could not claw her way back to it.
It was the taste, sating something deep and unbridled in her, which gave her a measure of reality. She knew it was his kiss, his lips latching onto hers with a desperation born of helplessness. It was that desperation, that clear sign he was less calm than he tried to make her believe, which had a calming effect on her mind, in the same way as his kiss calmed her body. He might want her power, he might be one of the most powerful vampires in the land, but he also was just as lost in this as she was.
“I hate this.”
Under the hands which had come to rest on his shoulders sometimes during the time when her body’s need had taken over her mind, she felt the movement of his muscles, the tension so in opposition to the collected demeanour he portrayed. His eyes, as he rested his brow on hers and feathered her face with the caress of his breath, showed no such emotion; there was only calm confidence — and a plea.
“Let me get you through tonight; just trust me for this one night and then we will sort everything out.”
Not even she could detect any humour in her laughter. She gasped when a stinging electrified her body from where her laughter had rubbed her nipples against his chest to her extremities. Now, there was no question that her moan held more pain than pleasure.
“If I trust you tonight, I will be yours, no matter what.”
He did nothing to hide the joyful satisfaction, the triumph, in his eyes but any anger she might have countered it with failed on the stark truth of his next question:
“Do you have any choice?”
Jen knew she was crying only from the burning trail her tears painted along her temples, the gathering dampness of the soft hair along her face, and the gentle caress of his thumbs as he brushed them away.
“No, I don’t have a choice.”
When his brow came to rest on hers, his hair surrounded them like a gossamer curtain, shielding them from the world. His lips and their taste of strength and warmth were so close, so near — and immeasurably far away. She did not close her eyes again, and neither did he, she simply rested in this moment of timeless quiescence and with each breath she was caught more.
She had no choice, there was no way out which would not lead to her own destruction. If she was an ErGer, and as unlikely as it was it seemed the evidence pointed to it, then tonight she would either bond to him, or another paranormal, one, who did not even hold bonds of friendship with her and those who cared for her. Yes, he could let her go — let her go to find a quiet corner far from any paranormals who might sense her plight (fat chance) and she would spend the night tearing herself apart. If she survived, it would only be to run from any non-human on this planet, as they would hunt her down before Valentine’s Day next year. There was no choice and if it was just because all the alternatives were so much worse.
She scarcely had to move her head to stroke her lips over his. The caress was so light it was barely a sensation in its own right. Still, she felt his lips curve in a smile. They played, a teasing exchange of a sensual game of catch, the kisses light and gentle more than passionate. His tongue played along the sensitive seam of her lips, his teeth nipped her lower lip in light-hearted abandon. When the next wave of burning desire hit her, it was her who deepened their kiss, who consumed him. He became the anchor in a maelstrom of confusing and frightening emotions; and he gave freely, held her body to his when she thought she might shake apart.
His kiss was not enough anymore to calm the liquid heat sensitising her skin to the level of pain, but it was enough to give her a moment of respite, though these moments grew shorter and shorter. She was breathless, her lips bruised, her eyes full of fear and lost trepidation when her mind allowed her to relate back to her surrounding. When he was certain of her attention, his long fingers took the hand with which she held to tightly to his shoulder and placed a gentle kiss on her palm. Then, with deliberation, he stretched her hand over her head so that he could place it into the cuff attached to the headboard over her head. She did not resist, not physically.
“No.”
But she knew he would do it anyway. The cuff was warm and soft, the harsh leather outside shielded from her skin by soft felt. It confined her wrist in a safe hold.
“I am sorry, Jen. There are few ErGer and few masters who would speak to me about the process of bonding, fewer still whose advice I would trust with your safety. Lucian is one of them and he suggested I limit your freedom of movement tonight, for your own protection.”
Lucian? The only Region Lord she knew under this name, though she had never met him in person, was Lucian Neben, the Lord of London.
“There is no ErGer in London.”
She was certain of this, ErGer were too precious, too rare not to be known across all the lands. And their effects on the power levels of a Lord were too high to be missed by anyone.
“There is now.” There was satisfaction in his tone. “Kathryn has made her home there.”
Kathryn McClusky, the mythical ErGer who had escaped bonding for over a decade now. So, even she had been caught. Jen wanted to make a comment regarding the different views of Kathryn and Lucian as to what “making a home” might mean, but her own body did not let her. Pain became an all consuming presence shivering over her skin, snagging on her clothes, on every centimetre where her body touched anything, and leaving her in temporary agony. She was almost glad for the ties that held her down, bound her wrists to the bed and restrained her in this moment.
Jen felt his hands on her, felt them skim her sides, unhook her bra, and when he realise
d he would not be able to take it off her with her hands bound, snap the straps. He made short work of her jeans and panties as well and wherever his hands touched her skin, the agony dulled, transmuted into something different, something which straddled the line between pleasure and pain. She had no idea when he lost his own clothes, when he stretched out over her, only conscious of the solace his skin, his taste, his scent gave her. She thought she might shatter under the tension when his fingers stroked over her entrance, testing, stretching. She knew she was tight, very tight after three years of no sex, of not finding even an ounce of interest for any man, or woman for that matter, but she could feel the moisture, the wet heat his fingers spread over her and knew her body was more than ready for him.
Her first orgasm ripped though her as soon as he began to enter her, to stretch her in a way which should have been uncomfortable but was so bound up in the need riding her body it became part of the pleasure. He sheathed himself and then simply waited whilst the trembling waves of pleasure curled her toes up and left her shaking. She wanted to grab for him, to hold onto his shoulders, to give herself an anchor but the bonds on her wrists kept her in place, immutably, securely. His eyes were the only thing she could centre herself on. Their green depth held her as her own body betrayed her to this stranger.
Whilst her body’s trembling calmed, her mind’s reeling cleared and she felt strangely protected in his care. He was right, there was nothing she could do. It was either him — or someone else, either now or years from now. She had no idea what tomorrow would bring either way. Yes, he had manipulated her into being here, had conspired with people she had trusted and forced her into this situation. He wanted the power she presented, unashamedly, but at the same time there was no doubt he wanted her, at least in a physical sense and, in the end, he was trying to make this as gentle on her as possible.
It was not his fault she was an ErGer, not his fault her body dictated the script of this night. It was only a few hours until Valentine’s Day. Jennifer knew she would bind tonight, there was no way around it but the way it would happen, that she could control.
“Off.”
To illustrate her point she yanked at the cuffs holding her arms. She saw surprise in his eyes — surprise at her action or at her mind being clear enough to make it? The rueful smile with which he stroked his lips over her left upper arm, as if to soothe the movement, indicated the later.
“Jennifer,…” Gentle persuasion meeting her demand. She would not have any of it.
“No, Adrian. Take them off.”
She saw the reluctance in his eyes, the pain and realised it had been there before, hidden from her view by her own preoccupation. This man was not much more sanguine about this situation than she was. He might want her, and there was no doubt, but he was just as unhappy about the way in which this would be achieved. And why would he not be. He might have had a little more warning, even some choice, but in the end he was also binding himself to a stranger for the good of his people. And when all was said and done, she would be able to say she had been forced, by her body or him — he, on the other hand, would have to live with the situation knowing he had chosen it, had entered into it out of his own free will. She would not have it, any of it. She would not let others chose her destiny and refuse responsibility for her own fate.
“Off.” She repeated.
He was still hesitating but there was grudging admiration in his eyes. When had it been last that someone ordered him to do something, made him change his plans?
“Are you certain, Jennifer?”
“For Christ’s sake, Adrian. Take them off. We do not have that much time. Please remember I am human, if you, as a Vampire Lord cannot hold me down then you might not be qualified for the job you are applying for anyway.”
A flash of insult, then amusement. “Impertinent chit!”
But his hands stroked along her arms in a long, sensuous move, his hands coming to rest over the soft fabric of the restraints with the pressure designed to remind her of their presence without causing her discomfort.
“I might enjoy seeing you bound below me.”
The tone was teasing, but the way his hips pressed into her, reminding her of the hard length of his penis still embedded securely in her, was anything but. The pressure on her clitoris was enough to bow her back, to chase shivers of ice and fire over her skin. He caught her mouth on a gasp, plundered leisurely with all the confidence of a man who knew what he was about. He had every right to that confidence. She was once again caught in the play of his tongue along the sensitive underside of her lips, the nip of his sharp teeth, a reprimand when she tried to take over the kiss. He left her breathless and panting.
“Oh, I definitely like you bound under me.” The dark triumph of his tone brought her resolve back to mind.
“Bullshit! You like me under you, but you do lack the reputation which goes along with chains and whips.”
His grin turned sardonic and the small stinging nips with which his mouth travelled along her jawline towards her ear were just between a caress and punishment. She could feel them like little lightning strikes all the way to her clitoris.
“Sweetheart, I can assure you, I have more experience in bed than you might have observed hints of over the short span of your life at Council meetings.” He had reached the lobe of her ear and sucked on it almost experimentally. Her moan was breathless and hoarse. Who would have thought an earlobe could be so erotic? It was hard to formulate the next sentence.
“Adrian, you are over four hundred years old, have not been chaste and are one of the leaders of our world, in a social and political sense. Believe me, there are not many salacious details of your life one could not find out were one inclined to listen to gossip.”
His mouth hesitated in astonishment over the sensitive air behind her ear, his breath rustling the fine hair with each exhalation in a sensual torture. She wanted his touch, she wanted to touch him. But before she could demand her freedom again, his lips descended on her skin with a dry chuckle and a kiss more friendly than tantalising. Though the expression in his eyes as his head rose to look at her was nothing but seductive:
“It is possible I have simply never tried out the whips and chains. I might have discovered a new favourite past time.”
This was too ridiculous to address and she felt her last answer encompassed all that needed to be said, so she repeated it, matching his grin:
“You are over four hundred years old, have not been chaste and are one of the leaders of our world, in a social and political sense. Ergo: gossip.” Then she sobered: “Remove the restraints!”
Before she had even finished the first word she felt the flick with which he unhooked the restraint but he did not let her go right away, only let his fingers tangle with hers, pressing them into the bed as he levered upwards and began to stroke into her with unhurried, slow movements. Her concentration was shattered by the renewed assault on her senses.
“Believe me, Jennifer, seeing you here might very well make me reconsider the experiments with restraints.”
His voice was dark and husky, his eyes on her burning with lust and anticipation. It was a look to heat every woman’s blood, but hers needed no more stimulation.
Having realised this night would happen, no matter what, she had enough of the preliminaries. And since his restrained arousal began to annoy her, leaving her feeling exposed and helpless, she decided to play a little on her own. Her legs were long and strong, perfect to wrap around a man’s waist. She rolled her hips, meeting his slow thrust with her own, enjoying the slide of his flesh into hers. The moan was his this time and she enjoyed seeing his muscles cord under the strain of fighting for control. His hands let go of hers in favour of finding purchase on the sheets, conscious of his strength and the ease with which he could hurt her with too tight a grip. She did not care, caught in the pleasure of his body, the power she held, and even if it was only by his acquiescence.
“You are playing with fire, Jennifer.”
Few sounds could hold so much erotic appeal as the voice of a lover at the end of his tether, but she was certain she could tease the other sounds from him as well.
“Not yet.” She whispered — then she tensed her muscles, hooked her legs around him, shifted her weight and flipped him.
Choice
He went willingly, she was only too aware of that. It would have been impossible to budge him in any way without his permission, even less so with him still lodged firmly in her, but vampire reflexes being what they were, he discerned her intent long before it actually occurred and let her roll him, his hands supporting her waist. His compliance, and the sight of him spread out below her like a barbaric sacrifice to a heathen God of Beauty, was more than any rational being could resist. With his hands around her waist she rolled her hips, torturing him with the languid slide of her body over his, around his. He could have stopped her, could easily have held her still or taken over, instead he seemed content to let her play, his hands a light support, nothing more.
She loved his eyes, expressive and deep, their lids half closed in a mix of rapture and near pain and still their glittering green followed the smallest of her movements, the quickest flash of emotion over her features. She wanted him to lose control. And she wanted to taste him again. His lips opened under hers in welcome and he let her take all she wanted. He matched her playfulness with teasing strokes of his tongue, opened himself to her claiming but always controlled, always giving way just as much as she pushed, never more. Too quickly it was not enough. She wanted him writhing under her, taken by the pleasure she could give him.
By My Choice...: A Valentine's Day Story (Valentine's Day Stories) Page 6