by Joey W. Hill
His lips settled fully over hers, sealing in the heat, and his tongue was stroking hers, slow, thoughtful and teasing caresses as his arms slid around her body. Thomas was lean and tall, but not overly so. Though she’d curled around him in bed she’d never had the experience of him holding her like this. She knew he was strong, but it was different to feel it, to feel that lean, long-limbed frame pressing in against the length of hers, his arms closing over her body, bringing her flush to him, his palms flattening on her back, one traveling under her hair to find her nape and investigate the fragile neck there, the other following the valley of her spine to the upper curve of her backside. He paused there, a finger stroking along the tailbone to the indentation at the top of her buttocks.
His touch was so deliberate, and yet so meticulous, exploring every detail of each inch of skin he covered. Her reaction accelerated beyond the scope of his hands. The skin tingled all along her buttocks, down the backs of her thighs, and sent a hard pulse through the tender skin in between, anticipating. She wanted his hands cupping her buttocks, wanted him to take a firm grip, kiss her harder, but at the same time, she wanted him to continue doing what he was doing because it was raising her core desire, a flame that would build into a fire hot enough to melt the center of the earth.
His fingers at her neck tangled in her hair, and slowly he tugged, tilting her head back. She gripped his arms, nails digging in as he left her mouth to trace her jaw, then reached her throat to trace the pounding artery there with his tongue, a deceptively leisurely descent, tasting and suckling her even as he painted her with that heated, moist and far too clever muscle.
She pressed her lower body closer, felt his cock had thickened under the workman’s pants. Letting her hand glide up his bare back, she dragged her nails along that flesh. His cock leaped at the stimulus of pain. He had that in him, too. Most of the men who’d served her had possessed that secret craving. There was a release in pain, she knew, a sense of sacrifice that appealed to that deep thing in men. They might not know how to show a woman—or their God—their love, not with words. But they could bleed for both of them.
He dropped to one knee now, so her hands glided up to his neck and rested on his shoulders as he parted the robe in the front. The silk gave way easily, though he didn’t yet touch the sash that tied it. She watched his face as he drew the two sides back to reveal her nipples, tight points against the areolae. His lips were already wet from kissing her. Now they pressed together, and she could feel the saliva gathering in his mouth, his desire to taste her. She wanted that, too.
Suckle me, Thomas. I need that clever mouth of yours there. It will make my cunt wetter for you. Can you smell my arousal now?
He nodded, his eyes on those two weighted curves displayed before him.
“What does it smell like?” she murmured.
“Heaven’s gate,” he said. A response straight from his heart, one that he spoke without forethought. Nor did he castigate himself or reflect. Instead he closed that distance, his lashes lowering as he put his mouth over the right one and drew her in deep.
Lyssa pulled in a breath, a small moan escaping her throat. That captured his attention, his gaze flickering up to her briefly in amazement. She tugged at his hair, goading him onward, and he returned to his task, driving up her arousal as he made small succulent sounds at his feast, savoring the taste of her flesh, the way the nipple could be squeezed between his lips, lashed by his tongue, then teased and tickled by the tip of it until she was moving restlessly against his abdomen, pressing her pubic mound insistently against him, a nascent rhythm intimating what was to come.
But when he might have moved, she held him there, made him lave her nipple until it was achingly hard in his mouth, until her hand was flexing with bruising strength on his shoulder. She moved him to attend the other as he got harder and harder in response to her arousal. The smell of it was fascinating his mind as well as his senses, such that the hand not occupied dropped to her knee. He found his way through the overlap of her silk robe, already loosened from what he was doing above. Though he stayed at her knee, his fingertips whispered up, a bare inch, and met the tiny trickle of fluid marking her flesh, its sensual track down her flesh. He pressed his finger upon it, marking it there as the slippery liquid pooled in that tiny indentation. Then he was moving upward, following it further even as his other hand continued to hold her breast firmly for the reverent attention of his mouth.
Lyssa had been attended by vampires and humans alike who had great skill and experience as lovers. Humans who’d known quite well the pleasures of submitting to her Dominance, who knew how to goad her desire for interweaving unbearable pleasure with edgy levels of pain. Dominant vampires who warred with her in the bedroom, a delicate dance of power and control that was a pleasure all its own. But this...this monk, who’d not touched a woman since a village maid with ample bosom, was making them pale in comparison. He did everything with such intensity and focus, it superseded even the wonder of her taking a virgin, whether a virgin to sex or a virgin to the type of sex she liked. Because though his sexual experience was limited, his experience of her was vast. He watched, listened, heard...he knew what her body felt, what her mind craved. In his celibate attentiveness he’d learned far more of her than men who’d shared her bed for whole seasons until she tired of them or their paths diverged. And it was so obvious, it could not help but drive her lust even higher.
Now, since she would not let him rise, he descended, the heat of his mouth moving down her upper abdomen. He slipped the tie of the robe, and she took the sash in both hands, sliding it free as he spread the garment fully open. Sitting back on his heels, he took a weighted moment to let his attention move from her milk white throat, all the way down the perfect cream color and firmness of her body, the pale, naked petals of her sex, then back to her breasts, aching and swollen from his attention, marked with the damp impression of his mouth.
She didn’t expect it, but when she felt it, she couldn’t deny it. She was shaking, a tiny tremor in her belly that quivered through her legs. She didn’t know if he noticed or not, because he was shaking as well, nerves and pleasure warring in him. But as he lifted his gray eyes to her face, pausing over the sash wrapped over her hands, he lifted his own to her, crossing his wrists and giving her what she wanted. An offer of surrender.
She wasn’t sure if God had created him, or the Devil, because she’d never seen such temptation in one gesture. In a flash, she wondered what would happen if she refused to honor his vow after the sun rose. If she forever made him serve her this way, a monk devoted to her body, soul and mind in truth, not just the soul and mind. Thomas, laid out in her bed, night after night, marked by her fangs, her whip, spread out for her pleasure in whatever way she’d restrain him...
And he’d then be fair game for any other vampire whose company she shared. It was a code among them. Their gatherings always required it. The only thing that had spared him was her position among them...and his celibacy she openly honored. Losing that would destroy him. Whatever lay between them, whatever made this night possible...it was only meant for her, and only for tonight. A gift that could be reduced to nothing by her greed.
Firming her lips, and her resolve, narrowing the intensity of her pleasure down to these few hours, she held his gaze as she wound the sash over his wrists. She made the wrap snug, then pulled his arms out before him, watching the fold of his shoulders, the flex of the muscles.
Leaving her robe on but open, she closed her hand on the joining point between his wrists, the satiny fabric soft beneath her grip. Stepping to the side, now she took his arms up, up, until the elbows were alongside his skull and his arms formed a temple over his head. Then she moved around him and tugged, giving him time to shift back to his heels before taking him down flat on the floor, stretching him out so his knuckles rested on the floor above him. She tied the sash’s slack to the heavy foot of the bed behind him, keeping him fast. Then she knelt beside him, studying the body of t
he man laid out before her. All hers.
All yours. Just as you commanded, my lady.
She lifted her gaze to his. Forever.
Forever. He nodded.
Baring her fangs, she bent forward to give him that final mark.
Part Four
He lifted his chin, giving her access. Though she saw he was sure of his decision, it didn’t stop a tremor from running through those strong arms, holding tight to the bonds. She paused, running a palm up the smooth biceps to his forearm. “Ease your grip, monk. You are in your bed, dreaming. You will not resist me, your body flowing to my will like water. Do not tense against me. That is my command.”
Slowly, he complied, taking one deep breath that expanded his bare chest, then another. She nodded as his fingers slackened, letting go of the sash, and he was all hers, whatever she wanted to do to him. As he realized the power and truth of that, it did add rigidity to one part of him, the part she wanted straining with all its might toward her. For now, she kept that pleasure as a peripheral awareness as she pulled her loose hair to one side, tumbling it over her left shoulder, and brought her mouth to his throat.
One had to be a vampire, or perhaps a surgeon, to understand how vulnerable the human throat was to a mortal attack. A simple depression on the windpipe for the proper number of seconds, or one puncture on the carotid, and life would slip away like a dust mote through desperately grasping fingers. The body understood that, so it took a great act of will to do what Thomas was doing now. Obeying her, refusing his instinct to protect himself in any futile way. Putting her mouth over that artery, she heard the rush of sweet blood through it, could smell it through his skin. Aligning her fangs appropriately, she let them sink in, with slow, savoring pleasure.
Many human vessels had supplied her blood needs, but all vampires knew the gift of a third mark’s blood. That very first time, when the marking happened, was sweetest of all. It was stepping across a gateway into a world heretofore unknown. The territory of Thomas’s soul would be open to her, to explore and cherish for all eternity.
She released the serum with a press of her tongue behind the fang, and felt his jolt at the tingling fire of it. He was used to feeding her. On occasion, he’d even fed her intimately from his throat or wrist when circumstances didn’t allow him to drain his blood into a wine glass for her. When that had happened, she’d usually released pheromones into his blood to ease the pain as well as to test his resolve. She didn’t do that now. He was already intensely aroused, but more than that, she wanted to know every reaction was his own tonight.
During the second mark, the mind unfolded before the vampire, but this was like going from an anteroom in Heaven into the full spread of Eden. She saw more than memories and fleeting emotions. She saw the tangled, miraculous tapestry that made Thomas everything he was, every experience, thought, feeling, instinct and unconscious need. That unconscious level was a limitless ocean for her exploration, filled with jeweled colors. She didn’t look too closely at it right now, just enjoying the feel of that energy coursing through her. It was as if she were a Fate with her fingers on the loom, feeling those strands quiver under her touch. It was the ultimate bond, something Thomas had probably thought was only possible in the afterlife, this sense of total connection to another. She let the strands tighten in her grasp, strengthening their binding, even as she absorbed the feeling herself, a warm tropical wind on her soul that would never die, so long as he lived.
But it was not done yet. There was a part he’d never experienced. As her second mark, he’d remarkably not yet had an injury severe enough to need her blood. She gave him a parting nuzzle from her lips and tongue, and then raised her hand to her own throat. She wore a sharp-tipped cover over one finger, a pretty but lethal-looking silver and jade bauble that allowed her to pierce her artery cleanly when needed. She did it now and slid her hand under his head to cup his skull. Lifting it as much as his bonds would allow, she made him feel the strain in his arms as she closed the distance between her throat and his mouth.
Drink, Thomas. Take what I am offering, and seal the bond between us.
When his mouth closed over the puncture, her body reacted with a near-climactic intensity, her thighs tightening and the tips of her breasts hardening anew. Her heart accelerated with the pleasure of conquest and willing surrender at once. He was pulling against the bonds now, his body bowed up toward her, not out of tension as before, but a begging need for her.
And there it was. She closed her eyes as the flash went through her, a powerful wave that emanated out from the bite area and swept through the bloodstream, injecting heat through all her veins and spreading fire briefly over her skin. That tapestry became fully illuminated, no more shadows or twisting tunnels. It was a garden in truth, and she could partake of every inch of it. Now, though, her body was humming for only one thing, and it told her urgently that it didn’t want to wait much longer.
Still, she knew the benefits of inflicting anticipation on herself as much as on her servant, who had almost abandoned any notion of civility. He was now pressing his teeth into her flesh. Something fascinatingly like a growl was simmering in his throat. The male animal was breaking through all those layers, the ones created by his vow and absurd notions of human civility.
Using her hand, fingers spread wide on his chest, she pushed him down with irresistible strength until he was flat on the mattress again. She met his gaze, the command in her eyes, the set of her mouth. Watching his face, the tense lips, the heated gray eyes, she slid her forefinger under the waistband of the straining trousers. With her other hand, she cupped the prominent evidence of his erection, giving herself the delight of touching that rigid column. He was a very impressive size. From his bathing, she knew he had an attractive shape and weight, typical for a well-made man. But his arousal tonight had taken him far past the size she would have expected. It pleased her, on many different levels.
My lady, what are you doing to me?
Whatever I wish. Where is my calm and gentle monk? All his famed control? Was I wrong in agreeing not to let you release for me earlier? Will you come all over my hand now, before I can put you inside of me?
She reveled in the fiery struggle inside him, but he shook his head, a sharp shake.
I await my lady’s pleasure.
He was her pleasure. Beginning and end. She opened the front of the pants, removing them and his undergarments, stripping him bare to her gaze. He’d been barefoot when she came in and, on impulse, she bent and let her hair brush his sensitive arches, smiling when his toes twitched and the feet jerked. She wound a lock around one, tickling it further until he huffed at her, a light snort at her antics. Then her gaze traveled upward and amusement was replaced by something far more serious.
His cock was high and tight, brushing his belly, already leaking so that the head was slick with that viscous white fluid. When she touched it with one fingertip, slowly massaging the semen around the slit in idle circles, he groaned, another animal noise. His thighs trembled. The restraint was impressive, because she could see the white-hot need in his mind. Anticipating her, he’d even resisted the idea of reciting Bible verses in his head to distract himself. He knew she wanted to test him, wanted a hundred percent of his attention upon her.
I was wrong. His thought was a hoarse whisper in her mind. You would not visit the devil in Hell, my lady. You are her.
“If it’s possible God is a woman, why not the Devil? We all know women are far more likely to be arch enemies.” Sliding her nail down the pulsing vein below the glans, she tilted her head. “What was that, Thomas? Speak what you are thinking now.”
His jaw tightened. “I will die if you do not fuck me, my lady. I want to be inside of you, thrusting...hammering... Please do it, before you shame me further.”
Hearing those raw words fall from his cultured lips gave her shivers in all the right ways. “There’s no shame here, Thomas. Not now, not ever. You are never allowed to think of this in shame, or I shall be v
ery angry with you.”
When she closed her hand around the root of him, a tight manacle, she noted the way his eyes were clinging to the movement of her breasts, the slope of her abdomen down to her naked thighs. His gaze sought the treasure hiding in between as she sat next to him with her legs folded. “I am so very wet, Thomas. I will slide down your cock like cream over a butter churn. When I am done, I will straddle your face, and you will lick me clean.”
“Yes, my lady. Please...”
She let the robe fall from her shoulders and stood, aware of his intent regard, that way he had of studying every detail so closely, missing nothing, not an inch of her flesh, or the aroused state of her body. Pleased with him and heavy with the sensual power of it, she stepped over him with lazy grace so she straddled his hips. “You will not move, Thomas. I shall put you inside of me, and you will not thrust until I give you permission. When I do, I want to feel every ounce of that male strength you possess.”
He nodded. Something steadied in him then, something that made everything in him zero in on what she was about to do, wait on that precipice in anticipatory silence, both body and mind. Like a warrior, facing that last moment before battle, when all anticipation had to be focused on the objective. All senses honed to razor fineness for the split-second life and death decisions that lay directly ahead on the path of his fate. Lowering herself so her knees pressed to the outside of his thighs, she brushed her cunt over his cock, a passing stroke along its length. Gathering up her hair, she stretched above him, using only the strength of her thighs and balance to flirt with that organ, tease it with her undulations. Her dance offered him sinuous arches of her spine, provocative thrusts of her breasts. His gaze was riveted on her, his tongue touching dry lips with hungry need that made her think of that clever mouth between her legs again.