Cantrips: Volume #1: Minor Magics Crafted to Amuse and Entertain

by Joey W. Hill

  When he brought the peach to his mouth, she couldn’t see through his eyes, but she was tormented by other senses. As he nibbled at it, licked and sucked the juices away, she felt every stroke of his tongue, the prick of his teeth, and heard his enjoyment of the fruit. He loved watching her climax from his mouth, and he did it often, sometimes waking her from sleep with his lips between her legs, his tongue pushing into her pussy and swirling her into pleasurable waking.

  “My lord...” She’d made the hushed plea before she could help herself, and the syllables echoed in the chamber.

  He didn’t respond, but he did put down the fruit and take another swallow of his wine. Then he rose and left the room. If he wandered off to his favored reading room to give War and Peace a leisurely perusal, she swore she was going to find something pointy and wooden and go after him with a vengeance.

  The brief moment of desperate humor disappeared, though. He was headed for the dungeon. As he came in her direction, that silent, pensive intensity became something else. Studied, focused and deliberate, more than a hint of dangerous heat coming off of him. Mason was not a dramatic or overly vain man. She already knew the shower, the wine and fruit had not been idle teasing. He’d been making a point, driving up her need to an excruciating level simply because he could demand that from her. He could demand it from her eternally and endlessly. For the first time since she’d launched her goal to get Mason to remove the kid gloves, she realized he’d always known just how to dish out a Master’s torment. In fact, she had a feeling he could make Raithe look like an amateur. Whereas Raithe had copped out, using terror and pain, Mason could destroy a woman utterly with mere sensual command of all her senses, taking over her mind and soul at once.

  He didn’t speak to Enrique or Amara when he reached them at the top of the stairs. That sent a trickle of nervousness through her, because she had wanted to hear the rumble of his voice, get some sense of his mood from it. His silence gave things a more ominous tone. Had he spoken in their minds, or sent them off with a look that told them they were dismissed and he would handle their part in this later? Regardless, she heard the sounds of their retreat, leaving her alone with him...and this dungeon room.

  She started trembling in earnest the moment he started down the stairs. He was barefoot, but he wasn’t less intimidating out of his shoes. She made herself stay as he’d bade her, eyes down, robe pooled about her naked form. As he’d ordered, Amara had turned up the temperature, so all during her wait she’d felt the warmth of the vented air at her back. Now, though, she wished the room had been cold. She wanted to give him that gift, rely on his body alone to drive the cold back, bring warmth back to her skin.

  He’d stopped in the doorway, and she felt his gaze on her. She could hear her breath, the quick patter of her pulse. Oh, how she wanted to look at him, drink in every inch of him with her eyes. She could smell his scent, that unique musk, a male cologne and Mason mix that reminded her of desert sand and hot sun, jasmine blooms.

  Having you shiver with cold would not please me, habiba. As your Master, I will not permit you a moment of distress.

  She didn’t want to do anything to keep him from touching her one second longer than necessary, but she reminded herself of the stakes here, what she had to win. “If that’s the case,” she said softly, “then I’ve failed you, my lord. Because every time you leave me, I feel nothing but distress. Until you return.”

  Silence. She closed her eyes, holding onto her resolve with everything she had, for in a minute she would abandon it just to feel his arms around her. Then he muttered an oath in Arabic, low and vicious. Before she could think of how to reply, or if a reply was even necessary, he was in front of her. As she opened her eyes, she had a glimpse of those bare feet, the columns of his thighs and what they cradled in denim between them. He kept her pressed down on her knees with a hand that coiled into her hair. She reveled in that single touch. Oh, how she wanted to lift up on her knees, catch her fingers in his belt loops and press her mouth against that line of taut skin just above the waistband, dipping beneath the hem of the shirt.

  Lock your wrists behind you, habiba. You have no permission to touch me.

  She obeyed, and those hands tangling in her hair pulled her back with enough strength she felt his ability to snap her neck. It conveyed his temper, even as it put her in a position to look into his face.

  But she didn’t. She made herself keep her eyes down. It would drive her completely crazy to sit here, to experience him through all her senses but sight. He could make her do this for hours until she might be weeping with the desire to look at him, but she still wouldn’t lift her gaze until he commanded her to do so. She would prove her devotion, her commitment to him, how she could obey him without question or thought, no matter what she was asked to do. Anything to stay by his side.

  Even in her mind, she knew that sounded too desperate, too raw, but she would hide nothing from him. He might pick up that note of distress, but everything she was thinking was true. The desire to submit, surrender to a Master, was a part of her soul Raithe had exploited and warped. His most heinous crime against her was making her believe it was wrong. Mason had healed that, had brought that part of her to a depth and intensity she kept wanting to take deeper and deeper, every day. Looking at it that way, it really was all his fault she had this limitless need to serve him, right?

  Okay, she’d pushed it with that one. The next creative oath was fervent enough to tell her she was in serious trouble. She just wasn’t sure what kind yet. It wouldn’t matter. She wouldn’t have done this if she couldn’t handle the consequences. She was ready for that. But she wasn’t ready for his next words.

  He tightened his grip, pulling at her scalp, his thumb pressed just beneath her ear. “On the way here, I realized you were right about one thing. I haven’t fully asserted myself as your Master. Otherwise, you would not have so utterly mistaken what I require from you.”

  The velvet growl of his voice was stern, unyielding. It was a note she’d heard him use before with Enrique and Amara, but never with her. Not yet. Now that it was turned full force in her direction, it gave her anticipatory shivers, but the words themselves stopped her in her tracks.

  “M-my lord?”

  Instead of answering, he jerked up her chin with two fingers, filled her gaze with fierce amber eyes and the planes of a ruthlessly handsome face. It was a flash impression, for a moment later, he clamped his hot and demanding mouth over hers.

  Oh, God. Bliss. It didn’t matter that the kiss was relentless, brutal. He wasn’t just demanding complete submission from her. He was taking it, with the erotic thrust of his tongue and the strength of his hand, sliding from her chin to take a firm grip of her throat, holding her in place and controlling the kiss entirely.

  This was an entirely different energy from him, something she’d only caught hints and promises of...until now. While she couldn’t deny feeling a trickle of apprehension from it, it wasn’t a shadow of Raithe. It was the sensual thrill of fear a submissive was supposed to feel from a Master like this. She couldn’t stop the tremor through every muscle in her body, but she could open her mind to him fully, hope he was seeing how it was different with him.

  Just his hand on her throat and their mouths touching, yet she fairly screwed her clasped hands into a knot at her back trying to keep them there. Her thighs were so slick she thought she’d never been so wet without a climax. She whimpered into his mouth, reveling in those strong fingers, the overwhelming mouth.

  When he lifted his head, she could barely remember what he’d said, but at his stern, uncompromising stare, she forced herself to recall it, moistening her lips to speak, though it was little more than a whisper. “Wh-what have I mistaken, my lord?”

  “The reason I do not take you with me to Council meetings has nothing to do with your past. For all that I cannot tolerate knowing that you still struggle with your nightmares—”

  “But you make them better.”

  “Jessi
ca.” He pressed that clever mouth to her temple, his hand squeezing. His fingers were so long they could almost reach her nape. “If you speak without leave again I will gag you with the thickest phallus I can find on that wall, one long enough to press into the back of your throat, reminding you what it’s like to take my cock there. I would get a particular pleasure at seeing those clever lips of yours stretched hard around it when you climax.”

  He knew her terror of sexual toys, but he called one forth now, gave her the vivid image of him making her open her mouth for it, take it all the way in and then remain still as he strapped it around her head. The fear she felt dissipated at the sensual imagining of his hands, the way his eyes would dwell, hot and desire-filled, on her face, lingering on her lips.

  “Now,” he continued, a predator’s purr, “you will listen and hear your Master. The reason I do not take you with me is this. I will not tolerate another man’s hands on you. Period.”

  Enough savagery was injected into his tone that instinct kept her still, though the astounding words themselves froze her in place, their meaning wrapping around her heart, a binding and confirmation at once.

  “When Lyssa and Danny brought Jacob and Dev here, certain things were different that night. But still, I warned you even then.” He shifted, letting her see he was studying the room around them. “While all of this was not a wise course of action, it was goaded by what you correctly sensed. As you have grown more confident in your trust in me, my desire to be a more light-handed Master has steadily evaporated. And perhaps you are ready for that. We will see. But first, we will get one thing very clear.”

  He tilted up her face so she was so close to those eyes that amber flame was all she saw. “You are mine. As I told you from the plane, when I saw Enrique’s hands on you”—now he changed his angle, bringing her head down so his breath whispered over her cheek—“I was ready to tear him to pieces.”

  She knew he was a lethal opponent, had seen that side of him in life-threatening situations. But even having seen that, the male holding her now was revealing the animal side of his nature more decidedly than she’d ever experienced. It was all directed at her, the full weight of it.

  “I am not like other vampires, habiba. Have you forgotten? Three hundred some years ago, I hand fasted with a Bedouin girl. There was a reason who and what she was appealed to me. Though I don’t agree with the brutality, the abuse of power that can come with restricting women’s lives, I have a full understanding of the male need to protect what he considers his, on every level. It’s part of who and what I am. Do you understand me?”

  “Y-yes. I think so.”

  “Yes, what?” His tone sharpened, another delicious and new thrill.

  “Yes, Master.”

  “I doubt you actually do. But by the time we are done in here, you will. You will be very, very clear on what kind of Master I am.”

  Part Six

  On that thrilling and terrifying note, he released her, stepped back and took a seat in that oak chair on which she’d earlier imagined herself, riding his cock before voyeuristic eyes. “Come here.”

  Rising to her knees, she closed that distance naked, leaving the robe behind. On impulse, right before she would have been between his knees, she bent, her eyes on where the frayed cuff of his jeans brushed the ankle of that long, finely shaped male foot. She stopped above it, her hair falling down along the insole. It was an amazingly subservient desire, to kiss his foot, yet his words, the hint of total Mastery he might finally decide to exert over her, summoned it from that pool inside of her that seemed full of such surprising cravings.

  As her mouth closed that distance and pressed against his flesh, he shifted, his hand touching her head. “Jessica.” His voice, the rich timbre, had a hoarse note to it.

  “I’ve missed you so much, my lord,” she said softly. “I understand what you are saying, and I didn’t mean to try and force your hand. But, if you love me, please stop leaving me behind. I can’t bear it.”

  He sighed. “You are as stubborn as a mule. Come up here.”

  She straightened and put her hands on his knees. Sliding his hands under her arms, he effortlessly lifted her to his lap, one hand sliding over her thighs, the other cupping her breast. She automatically parted her legs, giving him access to what was between them, though he didn’t touch her there yet. The mere touch of his hands in such intimate proximity was enough to have her body twitching, her nipple jutting into his palm. She could feel his arousal under her buttocks, and wanted so much to squirm against him, rub that hard cock.

  “Be still.” He anticipated her, a hint of steel in his voice. “You’re in enough trouble already. You tease me, try to top now, and your punishment will be even more severe. Be still a moment and let me hold you. As I said earlier, you are a curse on my days. And the greatest blessing of my life.”

  Thinking of how he’d drawn out the wait, taking that shower, eating the fruit, she thought that curse and blessing went both ways. But she was still in his arms. Whatever else he did to her tonight, this moment, this was everything. His strong body surrounding her, his breath on her temple, those tempting lips so close.

  “May I ask...how will you punish me, my lord?”

  “However is necessary.”

  As he held her for several more moments, she stayed silent as he’d commanded, absorbing his touch, the way it felt to be held by him. Whenever he came home, she needed that surge of anticipation, being able to run into his arms, feel his embrace. To see the way his amber eyes lit with pleasure at her enthusiasm. It told her he needed it as much as she did. Just like his reassuring mind-touch when she’d said her prayer of thanks to have him home, this, too, was a reminder that, whatever transpired in this room tonight, he always thought of her first, what she needed. What they both needed.

  “All right, then.” He lifted her off his lap. “I want you to go to the cross and put yourself on it.”

  And just like that, the reassurance fled.

  The St. Andrew’s Cross, the item in the room that held the most nightmares for her. The blood he’d made so warm now froze in icy fear. She had as much power to control or stop her reaction as an infant trying to stop a car hurtling toward her. For all her imaginings while she waited for him, for all she was sure she’d bolstered herself enough, the first hint of actually doing it, and five years of memories slammed down around her like cage walls. That same despicable sense of helplessness paralyzed her limbs.

  No. Damn it, damn it, damn it...The wail came from deep inside. She was better than this, better than this knee jerk reaction. He’d been right. He’d known. Hadn’t she just acknowledged it? He always thought of her first, what she needed. Wanted.

  He might be right, but he didn’t understand how inadequate it made her feel. She’d fought to survive, but if she couldn’t be the type of submissive she longed to be to him...it wasn’t just that she wanted to be able to go with him to Council. She wanted to have no fear of anything he might demand of her. She wanted to finally be free of Raithe. Until she was free of her fear, it was as if she was still partially under Raithe’s mastery, not wholly Mason’s.

  “Jessica.” He’d risen from his chair and was towering over her. His hand curved around her nape as she stood there so rigid and cold, suffering. He pressed his mouth to the crown of her head, then he bent, scooped her up. He was going to take her back to his bed. He’d lock this door, she was sure, chain it so she could never come back in. No, knowing Mason, he’d have it destroyed, turn it into another billiards room or whatever other thing his huge estate didn’t have, so it could never torment her again. Maybe an indoor swimming pool or a private movie theater. Damn it. She blinked back tears, her temple on his shoulder, her arms wrapped hard around him.

  “I gave my slave a command, and she did not obey. At some point tonight, she’ll be punished for that.”

  He wasn’t moving toward the door. He was moving toward the cross. Her hands clutched his shoulders, despite herself, and he made
a murmur in his throat. It was the sound he made when she slept in his bed during the day, if she woke from a nightmare, a calming sound she’d also heard him use with the horses. When he reached the cross, he closed his hand over one of hers, loosened her fingers. As he held her wrist, his fingers lapping over her knuckles, he took her hand to the dark teak wood and laid her palm on it, his own pressing down on hers so she felt the worn smoothness.

  “So many servants have found mindless pleasure here, habiba. The servants of my guests, of Council members...Amara and Enrique have both spent time here, spread and restrained for my pleasure, their bodies gleaming with sweat—sometimes blood— quivering between pain and ecstasy, their eyes glazed and feverish, helpless to my desires. You’re becoming more aroused, just thinking about it, and jealous, because you want to be the one serving me here. You despise yourself for your fears. You think you are cowardly and somehow fall short of how strong you should be for me.”

  He turned his gaze to her then, the amber eyes holding so much weight it squeezed down on her heart and lungs, making it hard to breathe. “You do not have any idea how deeply angry such thoughts make me.”

  He let her feet down then, continuing to hold her waist, her arm. “Step onto the foot rests, and put your heels, shoulders and hips against the cross. Face toward me.”

  Stepping back, he withdrew his touch. He was still close. If she reached out a hand, she could lay her palm on his broad chest, feel muscle and the heart that beat beneath it. He was here, beside her, and he was waiting. If she stepped toward him, she wasn’t sure what he would do, but she sensed he would be one step closer to calling all this off. He’d gotten her here. She had to close the final step, in either direction.