'Twas the Darkest Night

by Sophie Avett

  “What say you, little vampire?”

  “Thank you, Ms. Karr,” he whispered quietly, unsure why that was the right thing to say, but it seemed appropriate.

  Her paddle dipped between his thighs to cradle his testicles. Flesh continued knitting together on his rear as blood rushed below his waist, her touch stoked his more insidious cravings. Was his little witch hungry for him?

  Wood clanging against wood echoed through the room as she dropped her paddle. She sank to her knees behind him and drew him against her chest, arms banded around his waist. The wool tunic she wore scratched at his healing, tender flesh, but she was like butter against him. Warm and gentle, her touch melted into his abs and he flexed against her nails just for the pleasure of a little more pain.

  She rode the jut of his narrow hips and smoothed her palms down his flanks, caressing his thighs. Her mouth found his shoulder, she nibbled—it felt like electricity. Lust struck him down the spine and blood rushed to fill his length. Marshall let out a startled breath, his eyes flying open. He caught the witch’s wrist, stilling her hand before it could follow its leisurely path to his cock. “Elsa…”

  Marshall scrambled behind his defenses and turned over her hand like he could read her life lines. She opened her palm for him and he traced over the deepest groove in the calloused skin with the pad of this thumb. “I…”

  Seating her chin on his shoulder, she observed his study with interest. “What do you see, vampire?”

  Palm to palm, they kissed like pilgrims and star-crossed lovers traveling through space and time just to touch one another.

  The vampire swallowed a painful knot of yearning and slanted a solemn gaze over his shoulder. “On the bed, Elsa.” His hand closed around hers in a vise grip. “Now.”

  She wriggled free, and gently fisted his length. Her touch was tentative. Explorative. Pleasure rocked through his groin and he hardened further. She fondled the tip, rubbing her thumb over the moisture.

  “Elsa…” He sank back farther against her and flexed. “…The bed.”

  “But vampire…” She squeezed. His eyes fluttered open and she pressed a butterfly kiss to his bottom lip. “I have not said that your punishment is over.”

  Shadows slithered from beneath the bed and manacled his wrists and ankles. They tugged him forward and bolted him to the wood on hands and knees. Scratching his nails into the oak, Marshall went still as the dead. This wasn’t…right. Elsa released her hold on his erection and rose on her knees. The position mashed her pelvis to his ass. Their position was…unnatural.

  He tested the binds. “Elsa?”

  Elsa whispered, harsh dark magic dipped in whiskey. Darkness lifted beneath him, molding itself into a makeshift pillow. Wedged and seated against his pelvis like a supple cushion. Supporting his weight so he could drop onto his elbows. A kindness, perhaps. But Marshall knew very well it would keep him from folding back on his heels.

  He’d plunged deep into the depths of her desires, but he hadn’t touched bottom. Was there a bottom? Pressed against the wedge, his cock twitched and he hissed at the faint pain. Cool tendrils of smoke melted down his inner thighs, liquefying into the shackles corded around his ankles. Ebony tentacles reached and fused into a spreader bar, pushing his legs farther apart.

  “Elsa?”

  Elsa flattened her palms on his back and kneaded the muscle in long, slow strokes as if she could map every scar that wasn’t there. “Sh-sh, I will not betray your trust, little vampire.”

  Her fingers traveled up his neck, slaying tension he hadn’t realized was there, and buried into his hair. Marshall sank forward, his lungs emptying on a deep breath as he tried to memorize the tender, firm caress. So later, when he was aching and his world was spinning, he would know exactly what he was looking for.

  Elsa doubled forward and wrapped her arms around his chest, holding him tight like she could absorb him into her body. “Vampire, I have…” Her words quaked. “If I asked it of you, would you stay still and allow me my pleasure? Just one more time…I promise.”

  Marshall went still, lust forgotten, and his mouth dropped open as pain unlike any he’d ever known exploded through his chest. The binds stretched, allowing him to cover the hand braced over his heart with his. “No, Elsa. That is not our deal. I get sex. You get punishment. That is the contract. Now, release me.”

  She straightened. “Is… Is that what you really want, vampire?”

  Her question surprised him. So much so, he wasn’t able to collect a response. Not even when she waited patiently for his response. When it became clear he would not answer, she flattened her hands across his heated ass, kneading the flesh. Nerve endings smarted, the sensation sensual and unusual.

  “What if I wanted every piece of you, Marshall? What if I wanted everything?”

  Was she mad? She would have nothing.

  He waited for the sting of betrayal. He waited for the fury to save him from the tender touch. His father had pinned him with the use of the shadows time and time again. This was no different. He hadn’t given Henry Ansley a scream in years. The fuck he would give one to the miserable little witch scratching gentle red marks on the curve of his ass.

  And this time, she was marking him. She wasn’t even making an attempt to hide it. And nothing—not even a whisper from the Dom he’d forged in the depths of the carnage at Club Brimstone. The vampire with an incubus’ ability to rip a scream from your throat with the barest touch. He’d made quite a name for himself once upon a time, before Gwyneth’s constant complaints about the time he spent at Club Brimstone had put a stop to it.

  He’d bent several lovers like this. He’d touched them, much like Elsa was touching him now—like they belonged to him. It went so past the normal realms of sexual possession. She was touching him like she was the sole tangible deciding factor of his fate.

  No, he was his own master. He would decide his own fate. His pale, slender hands provided extreme contrast to the dark oak and shadows. A vampire on his knees. He didn’t belong in this picture. He didn’t belong in any picture. But especially not this one. Marshall recoiled, pulling as far from her touch as his binds would let him. It wasn’t much. Elsa responded to the change by drawing away, save for her grip on his ass. She peeled his cheeks open, cool air kissed the intimate seam. His anus tightened as he threw back his head and growled.

  “What are you waiting for, little witch?” he snapped viciously. “Fuck me over and be done with it.”

  “Vampire.”

  He slanted a furious glare over his shoulder. Her hooded gaze was locked on a spot beneath his shoulder bade, as if she could see through flesh and bone straight into his ill-beating heart.

  Green eyes were rife with swirling flecks of blue. As bottomless as the ocean. As mysterious. Her hand closed around his cock. She squeezed and his hips lurched so violently, he turned his cheek, unable to face her.

  “Yes, that was our deal.” Her voice was calm, devoid of conflict or judgment. “But you pushed for more in the Winter Wonderland, did you not? What if I pushed for more, vampire?” She pulled away altogether and he flinched with craving. “Before I release you, I will have—”

  “What?” he demanded. “Everything?” Suddenly, her touch had the power to scald him and the bondage was a silver cage. “Is that what you want, Elsa? More? More power? Let me guess, you will have both sex and punishment or else, you will renege on your end of the deal and refuse to help find the fey?”

  “No, one pact has nothing to do with the other, vampire. I agreed to help find the fey in exchange for your marketing services. Our private affairs….” She lowered her eyes to the smooth backside restrained for her pleasure. “This is another matter entirely.”

  Elsa spread his ass cheeks like he’d spread her legs—with little to no hesitation. Wet, warm breath expelled against his opening and he jerked violently in his binds, his mind fracturing.

  Shocked, disturbed. Deliciously and terribly aroused by the decadent image that pierced his m
ind like a silver bullet.

  Elsa’s face pressed between his ass as she devoured him the way no woman had dared. The way no decent person would. Wicked. Terrible, wicked, lovely.

  Her wet tongue pressed against his opening, swirling to caress the tender folds of skin and he scratched at the wood in a vain attempt for purchase.

  “Fuck.”

  It felt good. Real good.

  She purred, the vibration filling him, sending shivers of pleasure to his balls. They were suddenly heavy, swinging between his legs as she flattened her hand on the small of his back. She pushed and that was the only reason he gave into the urge to curve and thrust his ass like a wanton whore.

  Marshall glanced over his shoulder, though his binds and the angle didn’t exactly give him enough room to glean a clear image, even from the corner of his eye.

  Goddamn it, he shouldn’t have looked.

  Now the image would be burned in the front of his mind. Eyes open. Eyes closed. It wouldn’t matter now. She was there. Licking, purring, lost in the self-pleasure the act seemed to give her. He shuddered and fell forward on his elbows, suddenly thankful for the wedge supporting the brunt of his weight.

  “Mother of God.” His lungs burned. “Elsa.”

  She nuzzled his testicles, caressing every wrinkle of the tender sack with the tip of her tongue. Kissing and licking his balls. Suckling the tender globes into her warm cave. She wet the skin, making it vulnerable to the chill, and the pleasure shocked his groin. Dirty, guilty, can’t-get-enough-pleasure. It was almost unbearable. His entire being was whittled down to wherever she decided to put her lips—and she put her lips everywhere.

  One blunt finger found his entrance. Every muscle in his body tensed. He tried to lift his head, he tried to find the will to brace himself on the wood and shirk away from her—but she pressed against the tight ring of muscle, sank her finger past it slowly. Gently. With every thought to his comfort.

  Pleasure—he was aware of pleasure. An extreme, full-body throb that started from within, rather than the focused burst that came from stimulating his cock. Still, there was pain. Fire licked around the ring of muscles as he contracted around the invasion. It felt unholy. Fundamentally wrong. Despicable and sinful. So…fucking…good.

  He stifled an unwarranted surge of heat behind his eyes and ripped open his tongue. Blood splurged in to fill his mouth and trickled from the corner of his lips. The fuck he would cry—he’d nail himself on a cross first.

  She angled her finger and he nearly convulsed. Intense. Ecstasy. It was like nothing else he’d ever experienced, and he hated her a little more with every passing moment. She sealed her mouth on the knot of flesh between his asshole and his sack, purring against it.

  Vibrations collided with the fireworks of pleasure from his prostate. He grunted and thrust back, grappling against the beginnings of a very painful forced orgasm.

  “Fall, vampire,” she whispered, her hot little mouth against his sweet spot, shocking his cock with tremors, “Fall for your Mistress.”

  “Mistress?” he rasped. “I have no master, witch.”

  “But you will have one Mistress.”

  She worked a second finger into his ass and the shadows forced him upright, his back mashed against her breasts. Pain laced the tendons in his arms. The hold was punishing and the position narrowed his channel into a vise grip as she impaled him over and over again with her fingers, hitting his sweet spot just…right.

  The wedge gave way for her arm and she fisted his cock. Her grip was a little tighter than normal, a little more perfect, and every iota of his will was spent bracing the barricade against her. A vampire could not be made to kneel before his food. A Dominant could not be made submissive. A man could not change.

  Elsa was not defeated. She didn’t even seem miffed. With a harsh incantation, the tentacles acting as bondage shifted and slowly melted into chains, so the tension release would not send him reeling back. She pulled her fingers out and released his cock. “On your back, vampire.”

  His ass was throbbing. His cock aching. How the fuck could she know that he wouldn’t just turn around and rip her head off her shoulders? But alas, it seemed, she was quite confident. How? He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything anymore.

  As per her instructions, he flipped over and sat on his bottom. It was healed, but against the chill of the oak floors, he couldn’t help but be reminded of the burn she’d hammered onto his skin. The shadows bubbled with interest as he lay back on the wood, wondering at the creature observing his progress from hooded eyes. She was…different.

  The sconces had gone out long ago. Her face was lit by the moon, by the passion electrifying her eyes and the stone cold determination drawing her features into a steel mask. Where was the woman who’d tripped over any Sinister Stitches dress he put her in? Where was the woman who mooned over cake and mermaids like those simple pleasures were worth all the ugly in the world?

  As if to answer him, she eased up onto her feet. Crouched like an ape, she braced her knuckles on the wood and tilted her head at an impossible angle, like a bird, and gooseflesh pebbled his skin. She crawled over him with an unnatural grace as the shadow manipulated and bound his wrists and ankles to the wood. Arms stapled neatly at his sides.

  The border of her tunic teased his length as she squatted over his narrow hips. Blood rushed to his cock as the scent of her arousal wafted from between her splayed legs. Spice, musk, tart with a bite of cinnamon—Elsa. She did not shave. Cherry curls framed her center in a bushy triangle, and he knew the fire lining her opening was slick, wet with arousal. Wet for him. He didn’t have to pool into her mind to know that. He didn’t even think he dared. All he would find there was exactly what she was doing. Goddamn her.

  “Do you want me, little vampire?”

  God. Yes. He lifted his head off the wood and flashed his fangs. “Fuck you.”

  Oddly enough, his reaction surprised him. Hadn’t he stayed when he could’ve left? If he hadn’t stayed to keep playing her game, why the fuck was he still here? I don’t know.

  She lowered gentle eyes dismissively, and her free hand disappeared beneath her skirt. Sweat beaded on her collarbone as pink blushes flared to life on her chest. The fabric beveling between her thighs shielded his view. The vampire’s mouth went dry, and suddenly the binds were eating at his wrists, his body thrumming to life at the promise of being allowed to sheath himself in place of her fingers.

  It took her a while to find a rhythm. She tugged her bottom lip into her mouth and trapped her hand between closed legs. Finally, she shut her eyes like it was hard for her to touch herself in front of him. It felt like being sealed out. It felt like she was hiding something from him. He steadied himself on his elbows and her eyes snapped open and nailed him with the precision of curved daggers. She palmed his pectoral and pushed. “Lie down, vampire.”

  He bared his fangs and offered resistance. Darkness whipped out and wrapped around his corded neck like a snug collar. Shadows were heavier than they looked. Slick and shiny. Cold like plastic. His throat worked against the unfamiliar pressure against his Adam’s apple. When he made no move to follow the order, she lifted her eyebrows and the shade pulled. Gently. Not hard. She did not slam him back down on the wood. She coaxed him and he was helpless to go against it.

  The tentacle bolted his upper body to the floor by his neck as she rewarded his obedience and brushed her scalding opening against his blunt, weeping tip. He hauled at the bind around his throat, gagging himself as he fruitlessly sought more friction. “Elsa…”

  She sank down and the vampire went still as heat spread and closed around his cock in a tight velvet clasp. So wet. No resistance. And he wasn’t a small man. He was eight inches of demonic perfection and she took him. All of him, right in to the very core of her channel.

  “Vampire,” she croaked.

  He didn’t move. He didn’t think he could. Not without losing himself completely to this little witch. She lifted herself with a surpr
ising amount of balance, unsheathing his cock, and left the tip buried in. Bunching her tunic around her waist, she was offering him a clear view and he couldn’t help himself—he looked. His cock was glistening with her juices. Her lips spread around his tip like a snug cap. “Should I stop?”

  Marshall lolled his head to the side and shut his eyes, unwilling to give her more ammunition. When he didn’t answer, a blunt tentacle burrowed between his cheeks and found his puckered opening. He arched against the wood. “Don’t.”

  The dildo pressed past the knot of muscle gently. It was longer. Wider. Nothing like her dexterous fingers. They coaxed their way into him. This was worse. Blunt pressure stretched the ring, the pressure was overwhelming. It pressed inside and he went taut, breath strangled. When he thought it might just rip him open, his body adapted.

  If there was movement in the next few moments, it was beyond him. He was consumed with pain, bearable only because it seemed to dissipate with every wave.

  Eventually, the burn died into a subtle ache, and the slim shadow made contact with his prostate. Fireworks. Blood red, white, blue ignited through his body and he grappled with his binds to keep from flying out of his skin.

  Yes…

  Elsa’s pussy rippled around his cock and she braced herself on his chest and rocked her hips. “You will be mine,” she promised quietly. “I’m going to fuck all of you, little vampire.”

  Pleasure burned at his control from both ends. God, she was fucking beautiful. Bouncing up and down on his cock, talking like a savage.

  “Vampire.” She let out a startled noise of pleasure, pounding herself so furiously she nearly lost her balance. His spine arched against the wood, but otherwise, he didn’t make a sound. He didn’t fight. He didn’t fuck her back.

  She showered his shoulders with hurried wet kisses, grinding her clit against his pelvis. “Marshall…”