Her mewl, when their lips separated, might not have held much dignity but he understood her complaint. With a quick stolen kiss, he soothed:
“Not yet, sweetheart.”
They would see about that! She used the support of his hands around her waist to sit up, her fingers painting caresses over the taught muscles of his shoulders, the sinew straining under his control on his arm. She felt the velvet heat of his skin and the twitches underneath it, each time her hips rolled, the walls of her vagina tensed around him. Slowly she rose, letting his cock slip from her heat by small increments. When he was about to slip from her, only the head still safely lodged in her, she teased him, her hips moving in sensuous circles, the muscles at the entrance to her body massaging, pressing, tormenting. She almost lost her balance when his shoulders came of the bed with a painful groan. Jen always thought women made too little use of their own bodies when it came to erotic torture.
“Let go, Adrian. Just let go.” She wanted him to give her all. His hands clamped on her hips held her still, his teeth drawing a drop of blood where they buried into his lower lip.
“Not yet, not before the bond has begun to develop and will keep you safe when I let go. Jennifer, please, by all that is holy, stop teasing.”
She almost did not recognise his voice so broken was it, but the crumbling restraint in it was audible. She liked it. She wanted more. His hands held her but with the smallest amount of pressure his hands fell from her waist and he allowed her to push down on his cock, the hard length sliding into her in a long, hot caress. She lived in no illusion that she had broken his hold, too aware he still allowed her to play as she wished even though he was nearing his own limit. The realisation of his crumbling control only held in check by his iron will, held a strange arousal. She felt protected.
She wanted to feel his passion, wanted him to lose that ironclad control. She would be forced to loose all restraint, all command over herself tonight and in a small, narrow-minded way she wanted him to do so too, wanted him to be the first to break. But her body was taking over, her own control undermined by the way his body fit to hers, the sensation of his flesh sliding into her, stretching her for his pleasure. It was almost a compulsive need which made her move on him now, made her slide upwards until she almost lost contact with him before returning and taking his slick cock back into herself. The sounds of his breathing, that hitch when she let herself move back down, the scents of their shared arousal and the sensation of his skin against her own became her only reality.
Her breasts were so swollen they hurt with each movement, calling out for the touch of hands, but as he did not seem to be obliging her with the use of his, her own had to suffice. She had never understood the obsession with breasts, not being male, but now it felt good, erotic to touch her own, knowing his eyes were following each of her movements. They were slightly too big for her own hands but her need had long since passed the level where she wanted a careful touch anyway. She squeezed the swollen globes, let her fingers wander to her nipples, circle them.
“Mercy!”
The muttered oath was gratifying, its sound somehow adding to the swirling heat in her womb. Her nipples were so hard under her fingers, small pebble-like pearls and still so sensitive. She rolled them between her thumb and index finger, enjoying the sudden electric jolt to her vagina which made her muscles clamp around Adrian’s hard cock in her. It should have hurt — but it somehow did not.
She liked the feeling of his cock having to work into her on the downstroke as her muscles held onto him. When her experimentation led her to pinch the swollen nubs between her fingers carefully, she was surprised by the strength of the pleasure. Her head fell back, her long hair stroking along the globes of her ass. The sensation was tantalising, its touch too light to satisfy, but the silken slide a teasing pleasure nevertheless. Her mouth fell open on a moan, her own panting breath erotic and loud in the room.
“Christ.”
He spoke through clenched teeth, his hands stroking upwards on her body with feverish caresses, as if he could not suppress the need to touch anymore. Still he halted the touch before he reached her breasts as if the torture of touching her there would have been too much for him. The words he whispered under his breath were close to frantic. She could not listen to him any longer, could not concentrate on him, her own body riding her, urging her on. Her movements became less coordinated, faster. Her descent lost its control and she allowed gravity to take over, to give it strength as her body engulfed his cock.
“Yes, Baby, take what you need. Take all I can give you!”
But she could not. Something was missing, no matter how much her body burnt, how deeply she took him, she would not reach that last pinnacle of pleasure. It was not in her nature, not part of the woman she was. It had nothing to do with the desire to break his control first but ran deeper, spoke of something more fundamental in her. She could not reach for her pleasure without ensuring his first and he would not let her. A sob broke from her and she could feel his shock, his dismay — and his pain. Somehow she could feel his emotions against her own and knew that her sudden distress hurt him deeply. He hated himself for putting her in this position, felt he was no better than a rapist and his self-loathing seemed vindicated by her distress, more so even because he could not help loving the feeling of her body over his, being completely enthralled with the woman he had found in the girl he had once known.
She saw herself through his eyes, saw how he perceived her beauty in her movements, in her nature and she saw how he struggled so desperately to allow her as much choice, as much pleasure, as he could in a situation he utterly despised. Her sob only strengthened his resolve to pleasure her, to give precedence to her need in exclusion of his own. She wanted to yell at him, tell him to stop, to let them both reach for the orgasm hovering just outside of their reach but her ability to form coherent words had long since deserted her.
On her next descent he ground his body against her clitoris, all teasing replaced by unrestrained intent. His thumbs stroked across her labia, separating the swollen folds, to expose the hard nub of her clit further to the friction of her movements. It was almost painful and though it pushed her body further towards bliss, it left her sad, and dissatisfied. They were both caught in this life, snared and frozen in a situation they had little way out — at least they could share it. She knew if they would not then something precious, possibly the only chance for a future as equals, not rivals, would be lost. She might not be able to tell him, but she could try to show him.
Jen reached with her mind for that elusive awareness of his emotions against hers, reached and took hold. It was as if a dam broke, his emotions, something which she could only call his essence, spilled and surrounded her, a warm wave of intrinsic Adrian flowing over her own being, surrounding it without intruding into her core. And she felt the exact moment when he understood what she wanted, when he decided to give it to her and simply let go of the restraints he had put around his own need. She offered her neck to his mouth and sharing his awareness, felt the triumph and gratitude suffusing his mind as he pulled her down to him.
Touch became reality, his breath the oxygen she needed, his taste the nutrition she starved for. Jen lost track of where he began and she ended, every touch a pleasure on her mind and his. He reversed their positions, rolled her under him, covering her with his large frame. She felt him rise over her, to grind into her without the restraint and she revelled in it. Jen felt herself meet his every thrust, his every touch and when she fell over the cliff into pleasure the spasms of her orgasm around him drew his, their moans a shared symphony underneath the emerald green canopy of the bed. He was insatiable — and so was she. She had no idea how much time passed or how many times he took her pleasure and returned it with his own, a night for sure, possibly longer. It was an endless parade of pleasure, every touch, every kiss, every orgasm shimmering over her mind into the surrounding shell of his, forming little hooks of connection, crystallising the shield
that was him. When she finally dropped into exhausted sleep she was held safely in his arms and mind, both a warm protective layer surrounding her with soft strength.
History
She woke to the sound of quiet breathing and warmth, serious green eyes meeting her sleepy gaze. They were lying on their sides, her head bedded on his arm, so close she breathed him in with every inhalation and gave him her breath when she exhaled. His arm lay over her waist, his long fingers stroking lazy circles over her lower back. No amount of pretence could make her believe the nonchalant relaxation he was trying to convey. Nor was she fooled by the mild concern in his eyes. His emotional shields were back in place and he was hiding behind the image of the confident, powerful Vampire Lord but she was not fooled, she saw deeper now.
She felt his self-loathing, his fear and apprehension — and the almost wistful, barely acknowledged hope, a little flower blooming in his soul, so weak and infinitesimal it was buried by an expectation of reality before it even could take shape. She raised her hand and stroked an errant dark curl from his temple, the gesture more maternal than erotic.
“It’s ok, Adrian. It’s ok.”
When he seemed at a loss as to what she meant, she brushed her lips over his, a fleeting caress of reassurance and warmth. His gaze held the same surprise as she felt flickering in little flames over his mind but his voice only held calm interest as she spoke:
“You can feel my emotions?”
“Yes.”
She saw no reason to deny the truth. Was she not supposed to? It had always appeared as if empathy was an integral part of the ErGer bond.
“Can’t you feel mine?”
He took a moment to answer and she felt as if a hand stroked over her mind in a caress more intimate than anything she had experienced before.
“Yes, I can but I have never heard of a pairing in which the ErGer is also able to sense the emotions of the Lord.”
It surprised her, not only that it was commonly a one-sided bond, but also that there was at least some willingness among the courts to speak about these matters. The ErGer bonds were treated with more care than state secrets. Though this left other questions, more pressing ones open.
“What other powers does the bond give you over me?”
Every muscle in her body tensed, her breathing hesitated, then sped up in anticipation of his answer and he could not fail to notice her sudden fear. Gently he pulled her against the length of his body, fitting her stiff limbs against the warmth of his as if he wanted to share his strength with her. The heat of his skin seeped into hers but failed to reach the ice at her core, the tendrils of terror reaching outwards.
“Not more than a normal blood bond gives me to my courtiers.”
That was a wide breadth of possibility — and a terrifying one. Panic, controlled so tightly over the last hours, threatened to break free. With their bond as it was he would not be able to miss it. His lips stroked over her cheeks, her eyes, before resting his brow against hers.
“It’s not that bad. It really is not.”
His voice was trying to soothe and in the safety of his arms it was hard to resist, no matter that he himself was the reason for her fear. Did he really not understand?
“You can control all I do now?”
It was the reason why she had never considered entering a full blood bond as a courtier, no matter the benefits of virtual immortality and protection. The idea of someone else being able to direct her actions, her every move, was too terrifying to consider. She felt herself shake in his arms, the ice at her core subsuming all, displacing the last hints of the warmth from his embrace.
“Jennifer, stop!”
The sharpness achieved what his gentleness had not: it broke through her fear and caught her attention. When he was certain he had centred her whole mind on him, he continued in a more coaxing tone:
“Sweetheart, you have grown up among the courts. You very well know only the weakest minds are under that level of control. Not even your father, a pure-blood human, is that much under Justitiana’s thrall. You are everything but weak, Baby - I can assure you, I cannot force you to commit any act you do not wish to do.”
His words made it possible to breathe a little easier but it also made her realised how out of her depth she was. She simply had no clear idea what to expect and the power of her imagination was only too willing to provide horror scenarios, no matter how unlikely. Her hands tried to find something to do, to hold onto something and only met bare skin.
“So, what can you do?”
Her voice was small and for all the gold in the world she would not have been able to meet his gaze at this moment. She felt the sigh more than heard it, her eyes fixed on the mobile mouth so close. She watched him form the words.
“I cannot make you do anything you do not want to — but I can, with high probability, freeze you in your tracks, at least for a moment, and therefore keep you from doing something for a short period of time. I will also be able to impose sleep on you and when you are physically or mentally weakened, my powers should be significantly stronger. I will be able to find you at all times and, I believe, we should, with practice, be able to send thoughts to the each other. The bond will also make you very, very susceptible to my touch; as I am to yours.”
She saw his lips stretch in a smile, not wry but anticipatory and joyful at that last. She was not immune to the idea, the memory of the last hours an almost sensory presence on her body and mind but he had not mentioned the one power all paranormal Lords shared, the one power no other could supplant:
“You can stop my heart.”
The smile stopped on his lips, no remnant of joy remained. His tone was deeper, quieter when he spoke:
“Jennifer, can you look at me?”
She saw the words formed by his lips, even understood their meaning, but there was nothing she could do to comply. Gently he cradled her face with his hand, his movements slow and deliberate as if frightened to scare a wild animal. She barely felt the slight pressure with which he raised her chin but it was enough in its gentleness to force her eyes to meet his. There was no triumph or even power in his gaze, she could not have borne that. There was just calm acceptance.
“Yes, Jennifer, as it is with every member of my court, your life is in my hands, in my care.”
She had forgotten that he went by the old rules and demanded a blood bond with every single of his dependents, not only the first circle courtiers. Panic swamped her again, took all reason and paralysed her in place. It was as if the air did not contain enough oxygen anymore, as if the weight of the world had suddenly found its way onto her chest. She wanted to fight, to run, to cry but was frozen, a crystallised shell containing only terror. He held her, her body warmed by his, her eyes fixed on the calm, green gaze. And with every second it became easier to breathe, easier to draw her thoughts around her again.
He let her have the time she needed, let her find herself, let her rearrange the jumble of panic into a more rational whole without interfering or trying to justify. Only held her in the safety of his arms. She was grateful, more even, she was impressed by his ability to give her that time without pushing her one way or the other. It helped. Her hand rose to his cradling her face, covering it with her own, not to remove it but in a quiet gesture of gratitude. When she pressed a quick kiss on the palm of his hand his smile returned.
“Better?”
He would know her emotions had calmed just as she felt him relaxing his vigilance with every slowing breath she took. Still, she nodded. The gesture more an assurance to herself than him. There was nothing she could do, her path had led to this place from the moment she had entered his court. Before fear could rise again he distracted her:
“Jennifer, can you listen to me for a moment?”
If not his words then the solemnity of his gaze would have made her aware of the import of his next words. When he spoke his voice held utter conviction, as if he wanted to imprint the words on her very soul, and possibly he did.
“You, Jennifer Ashton, are safe with me, always in my care, always under my protection. I will not harm you, nor will I let anyone else harm or threaten you. Do you understand that?”
And she did. This man had grown up to a time when those of his station routinely held the lives of those under their care in their hands and he saw nothing peculiar in this. More, the obligation was one he cherished and felt belonged to him alone. She was under his care to be protected and as linked as she was to his mind, she felt the absolute depth of that conviction in him. Her modern mind might not be able to relate to it, but this man was certain in his belief: his life, his very being, was a shield against the harm that might come to those under his care. Knowing this, she could accept his power — she might fight him on every second decision he would make to keep her safe but she could live with the situation they had both been forced into. Her smile surprised him, she saw and felt it.
“Yes, Milord, I understand.”
Before he could say anything more her mouth found his, plundered and demanded the passion he was only too willing to give. For a long time there was only touch and taste, the sounds of shared intimacies, though in deference to the aches and pains the last night had left her with, their pleasure was more sweet than carnal. Eventually, however, she felt his restlessness. Their time away was coming to an end, he had a court to run, duties to fulfil. When he levelled himself up on one elbow, looking down on her with a smile, she could not help the pang of regret.
“And now?”
Her question too quiet and still so full of bittersweet wistfulness. His warm fingers strokes along her brow, over her temples and tangled in her long hair.
“Now, sweetheart, now we learn to live.”
And when he bent to her lips his kiss held a promise.
About the Author
If you have come this far then you have at least like my friends enough to follow their stories to the end. My characters are exactly that, friends. I see them in the corner of my eyes when I go out to the market, they run alongside when I am in the gym. They have always been there — and I love to share them now. In a way, each of my characters also belong to one of my friends. As children I started telling them stories and never quite stopped.
By My Choice...: A Valentine's Day Story (Valentine's Day Stories) Page 7