“Honey…” She lifted her pelvis to him. “Please.”
He set a hand on her belly and gently pressed her back down. “I’m going to take care of you, sweetheart, don’t worry.” He bent his head and brushed his lips across her stomach. He dipped his tongue into her navel, then rained a path of soft kisses toward her springy triangle of curls.
She squirmed restlessly, missing his fullness inside her. She twined a fist into his hair. “Come back here.”
“Don’t think so,” he murmured. “Your little honey pot’s so good right after I’ve fed.” He pushed her thighs apart and sank down between them, inhaling deeply. “So wet,” he moaned, then covered the entire slit of her sex with his open mouth.
She cried out and shuddered, her hand falling away from his hair as he began to devour her. His tongue thoroughly explored the slick contours of her sex, the moist heat of it delving into her shivery opening, then returning to the wet folds that surrounded it, again and again.
She groaned low in her throat and went boneless. Was there anything hotter than a man who truly loved the taste and smell of a woman? The way Dev took her so voraciously, he was one of them, and it always, instantly sent her into towering heights of pleasure. Her sheath throbbed in exquisite pain, clenching tight, tighter… “Oh. Oh.” She took hold of her knees and pulled her legs back, shamelessly opening herself wider to him. “I’m going to come, Dev. Yes…”
“Ah, good.” He reared above her. “That means your nipples are nice and—”
“Devid! My God, what’s wrong with you? Quit stopping!”
“You’re coming too fast,” he said, lapping his tongue over the erect bud of her nipple. “And I’m not done with you, yet.”
Her growl of frustration melted into a moan of agonized ecstasy as he began to suckle her, lavishing attention on the pert nipples he so openly adored. His lips tugged on her, his tongue rolling over the crinkled tip, sending heat spearing from her nipple down to her womb. Her spine lifted on its own. A little pulsation rippled along her sheath, and a raw sound pushed passed her lips.
Her husband’s cue for more torture, evidently.
Still kissing her nipple, his hand curved into the silky vee of her sex. He pushed a finger inside her, drew out her lubrication, and caressed every swollen petal with it, skimming over her clitoris, then away, teasing it again, then drifting to another part of her.
She panted urgently.
He lifted his head from her nipple and gasped a breath, his pupils huge and fathomless. “I’m nearly insane with how good you smell right now.”
The deep muscles inside her tensed and ached. “Then quit being a pain.”
“Yeah, all right.” He dropped down between her legs again and tongued her clitoris.
She jerked and nearly screamed.
“You’re so creamy now, Riss. I love it.” He penetrated her with his finger again, and her thighs shook, her breasts heaving rapidly. Pressing his face against her, he licked her with slow, languid strokes, over and over, his soft goatee brushing against her, his finger a steady in-and-out friction inside her body.
Her eyes rolled nearly into the back of her head as her nipples tingled and sharpened. The beginnings of her orgasm coursed through her on an undulating wave and then the muscles in her pelvis clamped hard, her climax crashing through her on an intense eruption of ecstasy. A low noise came out of her as the lingering traces of Fiinţă in her body strengthened the pulsations of her orgasm into something surreal. Shiny lights dotted the sides of her vision and for one amazing moment, it felt like her body soared.
“Oh, yeah,” Dev growled, rising above her. His arms hooked the backs of her knees and he toppled her to the carpet, plunging inside her, not too deeply, but the size of him still filled and stretched her with such power and heat another orgasm rolled instantly through her. He made a guttural noise as her sheath clutched him, and she felt his member throb in answer.
“Ah, hell. Good thing you’ve already come because I…” His voice trailed off on a hard exhale, the movement of his hips already turning jerky. “Shit, shit, shit.” He thrust faster, driving just short of the entrance to her womb on every stroke. His lids drooped low and his nostrils flared.
She detonated for a third time, and he stiffened, letting out a ragged shout. His face contorted into an expression of savage pleasure, his shaft spasmed inside her, then with a long, rushing hiss, he sank down on top of her.
Their chests moved together hurriedly as they fought to catch their breaths.
“Oh, God, Dev,” she moaned. “That was fantastic.” She was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and her heart wouldn’t stop pounding. Pounding, pounding…
Dev lifted his head. “Go away!” he shouted.
She whisked her eyes open. Someone was knocking on their front door…?
“Dev,” Gábor called from the other side. “Bro, if I’m interrupting something, I’m sorry, but open up. This is important.”
Cursing, Dev pulled out of her and rose, trailing his fingers lightly over her belly as he did; he probably touched their child thirty times a day.
She rolled to her knees and fumbled her dress on over her head. Her underwear was still looped around her ankle.
“Why don’t you go upstairs, Riss.” Dev hauled on his pants and tugged his scrunched-up shirt down.
Gábor pounded again. “Nichita!”
“You’d better answer it,” she said, pushing to her feet and yanking up her panties.
Dev crossed to the door and yanked it open. “Jesus, Pavenic. What gives?”
Gábor stepped just inside their living room. “Hey, Marissa. Sorry,” he repeated, then focused on Dev, his usual devil-may-care expression gone. “Toni wants you at the hospital right away.”
Instantly sobering, Dev grabbed one of his suede boots from by the couch. “Shit, what’s going on?”
“Arc and Thomal just got back and…” Gábor ran a hand over the prickles of his buzz cut. “Something happened to Thomal.”
Marissa inhaled with difficulty. “Dear God.”
Lips white, Dev snatched up his other boot and shoved his foot into it. “What the hell do you mean something happened? Is he injured?”
“No. Uh, some chick…” Gábor’s face reddened and his lips twisted. “Ah, shit, Dev. Some chick really messed him up.”
* * *
BLOOD-BONDED BY FORCE
BY
Tracy Tappan
Celtic Quaternary Knot
Celtic Meanings of the Five Fold Symbol
Inner circle = fifth element binds the other four
Blood-Bonded by Force
Book
One
Chapter One
Topside: Fairbanks Ranch, San Diego, California, November 9th
Pandra Parthen crumpled to her knees with a hiss, clutching at the bloody slash in her stomach, pain burning through every vein in her body. Her hands shook as she grappled to shove her intestines back into her belly, but the slippery ropes were uncoiling faster than she could push them back in. A scream slammed up her throat and battered at the backs of her teeth. Blood fountained through her fingers and splashed to the floor. Not my blood. Can’t be. There’s too sodding much. She panted roughly, her cheeks working like bellows. Do. Not. Scream.
Her father despised weakness.
So did she, in truth.
Raymond came to stand dispassionately over her, his Gucci loafers stopping just short of the spreading stain of her blood. She didn’t look up—couldn’t, really. Just as well. Raymond’s eyes were such a startlingly clear blue, they appeared almost colorless when he was enraged. Like now.
Not the jolliest of sights.
The room fractured into a prism around her as the electrical charge of her father’s power seared through her once more, tearing the hole in her belly wider. A gritted, “No,” made it past her lips. She toppled over, landing with a hard splat in the pool of her own blood. Her viscera boiled up and out of her, piling onto the floor arou
nd her body.
Silence.
No. The thunder of her heart and the harsh cadence of her breathing were deafening.
Wetness soaked through her jeans and into her knickers. The books on the shelves she’d been scanning mere moments before Raymond’s arrival slanted sideways and grew moss: Charles Dickens, Charlotte Brontë, James Joyce… Through pain-slitted eyes, she stared up at Raymond. Tall and refined, his features sculpted and handsome, his hair a rich mane of silver-blond falling to his collar, he was a man who could be as warm-hearted as ruthlessly cold. Let a soul act according to Raymond’s rigid specifications of behavior and all would be dandy. Break a rule and the poor sap earned herself one beastly punishment.
Until recently she and her father had an unspoken agreement about those rules. If she chose to break a minor one, she would do so outside of his general knowledge and make sure her actions wouldn’t damage his reputation in any way. The one exception was her penchant for dressing like a tart. She did that with full awareness it cheesed him off. But then…he’d never overtly told her not to do so.
On his end, Raymond wasn’t supposed to act behind her back. He would tell her what to do and she would do it, but it was understood that there was always this communication.
He’d broken this rule.
Without asking, Raymond had used information Pandra had acquired regarding the Vârcolac, the bloodsuckers who held the dubious honor of being Raymond’s mortal enemies. They’d earned this unenviable status by kidnapping Toni Parthen, Raymond’s daughter from his first wife. Toni and her brother, Alex, possessed an extremely rare and powerful gene called Royal Fey Dragon; a gene Raymond wanted bred into his grandchildren. With this scheme in mind, Raymond had always planned on reuniting with the daughter he’d abandoned. But the Vârcolac had ruined that by abducting her instead.
For nearly a year now, Raymond had been trying to snatch Toni back. To no avail. He needed to find an easy way into the Vârcolac’s secret, underground town to wage a proper war. His brilliant plan? To kidnap a Vârcolac delivery woman—Pandra had unearthed her schedule, and this was the information Raymond had swiped—and persuade her to reveal the entrances to the Vârcolac’s lair. But Videon, Pandra’s mental half-brother, had tortured the poor girl to death, which had inadvertently led to another woman getting captured: Marissa Nichita. She was the pregnant wife to one of the Vârcolac, making her a perfect bargaining chip to trade for Toni. Except…
Pandra had released Marissa a little over an hour ago.
Two could break the rules in this sick game she and Raymond played, eh?
But, of course, Pandra’s actions had violated her father’s most stringent and unforgivable rule: never openly defy him.
And so here she was… sweat running in rivulets down her neck, her vision tunneling.
Raymond clasped his hands behind his back and gazed down at her coolly. “What a perishing disappointment you turned out to be, Pandra.”
She gritted her teeth against a stab of pain piercing through her sternum…her heart. Not from her father’s power, but his words. What a pile of wet lettuce she was. Here her guts were spewed around her like tangled macramé, and what made her want to cry was one, wee sentence of Raymond’s. And he was only confirming what she already knew. She’d thrown away her status as her father’s favorite—or his second favorite—with both hands.
Raymond turned and walked crisply for the door, the tap of his Gucci loafers across the marble floor managing to sound both elegant and lethal, the same as on his trip into the library to mete out her punishment. Her father’s power shot out of her like someone yanking a cord from an outlet. Her bowels jerked once against her fingers, then came to a quivering rest.
“You may put your ring back on now.” Raymond’s voice floated back to her as he disappeared down the hall of this Fairbanks Ranch mansion that served as both her home and prison.
My immortality ring. She squinted up to the top of the desk where she’d left it. Enchanted specifically for her, that red crystal ring would take away the worst of this horrendous pain and heal her with miraculous speed. But up there on that desk it might as well have been in Siberia.
Other options? Lie here and let herself waste? What a perishing disappointment you turned out to be, Pandra. She blinked slowly. Tempting.
“You sure as hell dropped a clanger by lettin’ that girl go, Pandra, you dimmock.”
She carefully angled her vision toward the doorway.
Her older brother, Murk, was standing just inside the library.
She stared at him dully. He could be here to insult her as much to help her. It was anybody’s guess. “I hadn’t realized that,” she rasped past the dry lump of her tongue. “Thank you ever so much for enlightening me.”
Murk crossed the library and knelt at her side, heedlessly planting a knee into the shimmering pool of her blood. “Sufferin’ fuck, he really brasted you, didn’t he?”
At twenty-six, Murk was two years her senior and the eldest of the seventeen-sibling blended family who’d been brought into this world—same as Toni and Alex—to be Raymond’s breeding machines for the ultimate Fey race he planned to propagate for regular human takeover.
Murk was a right frightening-looking blighter, tall, broad, muscular, and black-eyed like her. He kept his hair shaved off, exposing a ghastly array of black flame tattoos that began above his ears and trailed over the top of his skull.
All seventeen of them wore black flames, the tribal markings denoting them as born of Yavell, the last Om Rău female in the world with pure demonic bloodlines.
Pandra’s flames had been on her stomach, now utterly buggered.
Murk inspected the snarled mess of her intestines. “Hurts a shitload, doesn’t it?”
Her focus automatically shifted down to Murk’s belly, where she knew a gnarled scar was. So he’d been privileged to endure this same punishment, had he? For what transgression, though, she didn’t have a Scooby.
She swallowed tightly as nausea speared up her throat. A spate of vertigo tilted her senses upside down, and her eyelids dragged down.
“You’re going into shock,” Murk informed her.
“My ring,” she croaked, her lips trembling.
Murk used a small crystal dish to scoop her ring off the top of the desk. He couldn’t touch it directly because of the painful shock it would give him. “You’ll close up soon after you stick it on, so first we’d best put you back together a bit.”
She sucked in a sharp breath as her brother painstakingly started cramming her intestines back into the gaping hole in her belly. A halo appeared around her pupils and her pulse beat frayed.
Chapter Two
Pandra leaned toward her dresser mirror and applied her fire engine red lipstick, smoothing on the finishing touches for her upcoming night out.
One of her extra-special nights out.
She was dressed in one of her few slutty outfits that didn’t expose her midriff; something she wouldn’t be doing for a while now that the tattoo on her belly was shanked through with an ugly red scar. Feck knew where her jewel belly-button ring had chipped off to.
A leather romper was tonight’s outfit of choice, the garment hugging her like skin to a grape. Plenty of cleavage was exposed from the plunging metal zipper in front, and the half-moons of her arse were put on display by the short-shorts—although her cheeks were covered by fishnet stockings that rode down to her knees. Below that, she was wearing tall black “pirate” boots, the leather hugging her tight over the ankles and calves then flaring into a wide cuff at mid-thigh.
In the reflection of her mirror she saw Jorgé, the Parthen butler, come to attention in her bedroom doorway. “Your gentlemen friends are here, Miss Pandra.” The butler stepped aside to allow two men access to her bedroom: Bo Bo and Duane.
Hardly her friends.
The two were a couple of deviant masochist grotbags who mucked about with her because they got their rocks off on the shocking and aberrant life she led ou
tside of this prissy mansion…and for the skill she had at terrifying them. Their relationship was symbiotic in its way. Whenever she needed an extra-special night out to blow off a head of steam, these two found her something vile to do. As a reward for their efforts, she lavished plenty of abuse on them.
Bo Bo, real name Beauregard, was short, stocky, and suffering from early pattern baldness. He vaguely resembled George Costanza from Seinfeld, but without the glasses. Base humiliation got him off, and he generally didn’t give her much trouble.
Duane was a different article altogether. He was a long streak of piss, tall to Bo Bo’s short, and lanky of build with greasy hair. He had a complexion riddled with acne and beady eyes like a shithouse rat’s. He was into full-on physical domination and pushed Pandra to make things worse for him. He was the dodgy tosser she had to watch.
True to form, as soon as Duane saw the mean look in her eyes, his expression brightened maliciously.
She squinted at the two in the reflection of her mirror. “It’s going to be blood sport tonight, lads.” She needed to clobber someone more than she needed oxygen. “What’s the crack on that?”
“Fight at the pits,” Duane answered.
“Blades?”
“Just fists.”
She turned around and settled her bum on the edge of her vanity, putting the lid back on her lipstick tube with a sharp click. “Dull as dishwater, Duane.”
“Well, there’s a—”
“Goin’ out?” Murk propped one shoulder against the jamb of her bedroom door.
She showed Murk her teeth in a smile. “Private party, love. No big brothers allowed. Terribly sorry and all.”
Murk surveyed the length of her body. “It’s too soon afterward, Pandra,” he said quietly.
She caught back a flush of heat. Did the gobbin really think she needed to be reminded that five hours ago she’d been wallowing in a mound of her own guts? She hooded her lids at her brother. “No worries, mate. I’m hale.” She lifted her right hand and wiggled her immortality ring at him.
The Community Series, Books 1-3 Page 66