VQ 02 - The Mark of the Vampire Queen

by The Mark of the Vampire Queen (v2. 0) (mobi)

  It cast a shadow over the moment. Imagining such a thing bothered her more than it should for this man she’d just met. “I forbid you to speak of such nonsense. We’ll wash such thoughts away.”

  When she bent to pick up the first bucket, he touched her elbow, stopping her. “That’s far too heavy, my lady. Please, let me.”

  She could lift him on the flat of her palm, but the gesture sent a wave of pleasure through her. He tipped the bucket over himself, wetting his hair and letting the flow run over his body, though sparingly. Enough to dampen him, but not wasting anything. A man who’d obviously been in the desert lands awhile, if the bronzed cast of his face hadn’t told her that already.

  When he set the bucket down and straightened to use the sponge to spread the water over himself for the soap, it was she who stopped him. Instead of allowing him to slick back his wet hair from his head, she did it for him. Rising on her toes, she let her fingertips follow the lines of his eyelids, feathering over his lashes to collect the water so he could open his eyes again. When she drew her hands back, her thumbs caressed his lips, his throat. His clear blue eyes stared at her now, an obvious struggle going on in their depths.

  “My lady…I…You know you owe me nothing, yes? I demand nothing from you, even your hospitality.”

  “Deny hospitality to a traveler in the desert? Something rarely done to a mortal enemy, let alone a person who saved my retainers’ lives and possibly my own?”

  “It was a service I’d gladly perform a hundred times, so your beauty would grace the world another day.”

  “Or night,” she murmured.

  “A lady such as you,” he continued doggedly, “surely has a husband waiting. I’ll not bring dishonor to you. You owe me nothing.”

  She had to bite back a smile at his per sis tence, even as she felt his heat rising at her sultry teasing. “I do not have a husband, Sir Knight. I am a very wealthy, very inde pendent creature and I do as I please. Right now, bathing you is what pleases me.” She bade him turn then with her lathered hands. “If I wish to compensate you for your time, that’s my business and none of yours. You may find I’ve asked far too much of you as it is.”

  She ran the soap across the wide, muscular area between his shoulders. She wished she was home where she could have bathed him in a tub large enough for them both, but that was a pointless wish since he hardly would have been called to rescue her in her fortress. Flattening her hands on the small of his back, she fanned out her fingers and ran them over the curves of his buttocks, making sure she dipped in between, rubbing him intimately and lower.

  “Be still,” she said quietly as he started. “Or I’ll restrain you with ribbons from my hair to allow me time to please myself.” Her touch moved between his parted muscular thighs and gripped his testicles, lathering the heavy sac, and then down the length of the leg to where it met the water just below his knee. She did it to the other leg, taking another opportunity to fondle his balls, tease the crease of his backside.

  “Turn.” When he did, she dwelled appreciatively on his erect member before she began to lather it as well. He rocked toward her, closing his eyes, but he clenched his hands at his sides and did not touch her as she ran her hands up his belly, over his nipples and back to his neck.

  “You show restraint, Sir Knight. I like that. Your cock says it wants me, but your mind stays in control of your lust.”

  “My lady has not indicated whether she wants me to touch her.” He opened eyes of blue fire, like the flames that licked through her blood at his words.

  But she merely nodded to the next bucket. He raised it to rinse himself and she helped, spreading the flow of water over him, running her hands back through those delicious crevices under his genitals and between his buttocks, bringing herself close enough that the water splashed down her arms and wet her front before she withdrew enough to fan her hands across his chest.

  Though she knew his desire was high, it had become a game by his own unintentional voicing of it. He would not touch her until she commanded it, and she would delight in teasing him to raging before she gave him that command. But beneath his lust there was something else, in the way he watched her, something that kept her alert to the shifts in his mood, as well as to her own unusually strong reaction to him.

  “You’re a sorceress,” he said huskily. “A beautiful sorceress, determined to lead me to damnation.”

  She didn’t respond to that, just moved close enough to step into the tub, her wet feet on top of his, her dress floating in the small space of the basin. As she lifted up on her toes to reach his lips, his hands circled her waist, her clad body against his naked, aroused one, his cock pushing into her belly and lower as he raised her. His wet hair tangled in her fingers as she let her lust rise as well. Her grip tightened on the edge of bruising, her breath in the kiss becoming a low growl.

  “Like a lion cub,” he whispered against her. He surprised her by lifting her in his arms. Stepping out of the tub, he took her to the tumble of cushions that was her bed. He squatted beside her, casually immodest as a soldier was. As she lay back, she watched him toy with the front lacing of the corset she wore over her dress. His jaw was set in an attractive line, rigid with desire like the rest of him. Every muscle hard, his erection damp with viscous fluid at the tip.

  “It has been a while, my lady. I wish to be gentle.”

  “Don’t be. I will not be gentle with you. I promise I will make you serve me over and over tonight, drain you well before dawn.” Because she could resist no longer, she grasped his cock, hot steel covered in silk, the pulse of it seeming to match the pulse in her womb.

  He exhaled sharply at her touch, his hand gripping the pillow by her head as she stroked him, her nail scraping the underside, her fingertips teasing his balls. Gods, but he was a finely equipped man.

  His hand moved to her thigh, and he began to raise her skirt, gathering it slowly, gauging whether she was pleased or not. The touch of his fingers through the fabric burned. She wanted his hands fully on her. When the skirt was bunched under his large palms and he let his fingertips graze her thigh, she arched up as if he’d slid into her. His expression became more intent, and his attention shifted down to the slick lips of her cunt, already glistening for him.

  She didn’t want to be patient. Restless and almost on the verge of anger, she abruptly wanted to attack him for the way he made her feel. Longing for things…for this mere human.

  She levered herself up and had him on his back before he could resist, though she noted he caught her arm a split second before she did it, as if anticipating her move, even if he couldn’t counter her strength or see the speed of her movements. She straddled him on the floor of the tent, hands pinioning his wrists, her thighs gripping his torso securely and toes planted inside his knees, locking his legs down. However, her skirt was caught between them, denying her the full contact of his cock against the aching emptiness between her legs.

  “So you still do not fear me?”

  He put some serious effort into lifting his arms, subsiding a few moments later as she gazed down at him, expressionless. Except when she curled back her lip to let him see her fangs elongating.

  His eyes widened, but then he shifted to her face, studied something there she suspected was different from what she intended him to see.

  “No, my lady,” he said at last. “But I sense there is something you fear about me. Let my hands go, lass. Let me touch you and give you pleasure. I won’t abuse your trust.” His voice became thicker, deeper. “You’re wet enough to slide right on my shaft, and I’m sizeable enough to take you deep and hard. Just let me take you.”

  Who was seducing whom?

  She released him but rose. With a short gesture, she bid him stay still as she crossed the tent. He rose up on his elbows as she refilled and retrieved the wine goblet. When she came back she moved over his body, straddling his thighs, sitting on his knees so she had an unimpeded view of his aroused member. Lifting the goblet, she tilte
d it over him, watched the stream of crimson fluid run along the length of him. His stomach tightened at the stimulation, a pleas urable response, but her eyes lingered on the trail of wine covering him.

  She bent, her breath hovering over him, and licked delicately at the underside, the broad head of his cock. His hands fisted in the pillows on either side of him, giving her delicious visions of what it would be like to restrain and torment him like this for hours. Slowly she covered him with her mouth and went all the way down, taking the taste of his skin and seed with the fermented grape. She savored it, sucking on him as his thighs trembled, a powerful man restraining himself to let her have her pleasure. Little did he know that if she desired it, he would have no choice. But she’d always preferred submission like this, a willing choice in the end, though she couldn’t deny the predator in her was equally provoked by the fight up to that point.

  Releasing him, she raised the goblet again, trailing wine up his belly. Lapping it from his navel, she rubbed her breasts against his arousal. Spilled wine over his chest, over his throat. Licked at his nipples as he jerked in response. There she paused, inhaling him. She’d been tempted by the thigh, but somehow for this man, the throat, the flood of life pounding hard behind it like a waterfall, was more than she could resist.

  He knocked the goblet from her hand and seized her by the waist, dragging her up his body with sheer animal strength. His urgency had a gentle power to it she found difficult to resist. When he touched his lips to the cleft of her breasts rising over the top of her neckline, the barest press of his mouth sent a shudder through her.

  She watched, paralyzed by her own desire, as he opened the corset, untied the neckline of her dress and cupped her bare breasts in either hand. Sitting up with a ripple of stomach muscles to hold her straddled on his lap, he teased her with his cock, rubbing the cleft of her buttocks with the skirt in between while he captured a nipple, began to suckle.

  “Oh…oh.” Her body was moving of its own accord, grinding urgently against him, but he was of a mind to take his time, God bless him. Suckling with soft, moist noises. Something she would have thought coarse, but the sound of it made her hips move in sensual undulations, straining for more of the feel of that organ trapped behind her.

  “What is it you want, my lady?” He said it against her flesh, his tongue stroking, curling. Her hand caught in his damp hair, found his nape. “Tell this knight what he must do to serve you best.”

  “Your cock,” she whispered. “Inside me. I want to feel …” Taken. Immersed. Impaled.

  He moved her skirt out of the way and obeyed, bringing himself into line with her, lifting her and then lowering her slowly, slowly onto him as she cried out with the stretching pleasure of it, the fiery sensation it burned to the core of her.

  It had been far too long since she’d indulged herself in the pleasure of a man’s body. A body like this. A man like this.

  She grasped his jaw as he anchored her on him with his hands gripping her hips, fingers pressing into her buttocks. She didn’t pause or ask permission. He was hers. She would do as she liked, not questioning why the need was so savage with this human who should be just a pleasant diversion. Dinner.

  When she sank her fangs into his neck, he pushed her down even harder, growling as his hips jerked, pumped into her. She drew his essence into herself, the swirl of his blood on her tongue, a nourishment unlike anything she’d tasted before.

  Except once…her samurai guard.

  The memory interjected itself unbidden into this moment. Her stepfather, her mother’s servant, had Lyssa bite each of her guards, not only to bind them to her, but so Lyssa would know how to bind a human and could practice locating them around the grounds. Jun had been first. She’d been nervous, but he’d put his arm around her, held her to reassure her she wasn’t hurting him.

  It had been a very different moment from this, but the sense of overwhelming acceptance and love was uncanny in its sameness, despite the fact Jun had been her childhood bodyguard and she’d just met this man. While intense circumstances could provoke a certain amount of intimacy, it couldn’t explain a level this high.

  Her body was gathering under the sensual assault of his. It had been a while since an orgasm had been more than just a release. This was magic. Powerful energy, almost a sorcery of its own, capable of altering her world. When they went over, it would be a little death in truth, where they would end up rising together as a new being. A phoenix created by two souls.

  An odd thought for something she’d intended to be only physical. Coupling with her food was always a sensual experience, but solitary. She merely absorbed the reaction of her prey. But she felt linked with this man. He was riding the tide, holding her hand, being carried through the waves with her.

  Banding his arms about her waist to cinch her closer, he kept his head to her bosom, suckling harder as he built to his own climax. Because her hips jerked more violently in reaction, she had to relinquish her hold on his throat as her own release crashed down on her. He brought his head up, palmed the back of her skull and kissed the blood from her lips, raw, hungry, as his seed jetted into her and he growled into her mouth.

  It took her by surprise, the suddenness of it, the power, the sheer feel of it rippling over her, pleasure for pleasure’s sake that shuddered outward and seemed to make everything else disappear, carrying her to another peak with him.

  When at last she came down, she felt the stickiness of him between her thighs, warm and wet. She reveled in it, in his cock still inside her, hard and hot, while his eyes traveled her face, as if memorizing every part of her. He put her fingertips on the wound where she’d bitten him. Placing his hand over hers, he held her hand securely, obviously wanting her touch to staunch the blood.

  They studied each other for some time. She didn’t feel he was uncomfortable with the silence. Nor was she. In fact, the power of the past few moments eschewed any conversation. When at last he lay back on the pillows, giving her the wry smile that told her he was experiencing a man’s typical reaction to an overwhelming climax, he moved her by drawing her down with him, curling her into his arms so she could lay her head on his chest, feel his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. She tilted her head to study his profile, the straight nose, firm, sensual lips that were perfectly shaped for a man. He had a tough chin, sloping cheekbones with facial hair that had stroked her so deliciously her skin still tingled with the memory of it.

  Men did not typically think of her as someone to hold in their arms in this protective, sensually possessive manner. Most rightly realized they should maintain some distance, some wariness, an unconscious survival instinct warring with their lust. Or even that it was inappropriate to assume such intimate familiarity with her, no matter what carnal lusts they indulged at her behest.

  She wouldn’t have tolerated it herself, not from her usual dinner choice. But with him, she was content to lie there, smiling a little at the low rumble in his chest which told her he’d dropped into a postcoital, postbattle doze. Well, the man had been traveling on his own for some time, had fought a ferocious battle on her behalf and then pleasured her better than any man or vampire had for some time. She could forgive him a nap.

  She did some of that herself, at ease with him until the dawn started closing in. As lightly as she slept, she was surprised to wake and find herself curled in the pillows alone, a light sheet tucked over her to protect her from the morning desert chill. He was already dressed, buckling on his sword, watching her coiled, naked form.

  The impact of him leaving hit her on several levels, surprisingly intense. “What did you mean, you would die here?” She sat up, pushing her hair out of her face.

  He shook his head, a slight smile crossing his face. Coming to kneel by her, he put a hand to her brow, her cheek. “You take care of yourself, my lady. I would suffer much to know any harm had befallen you.”

  “You could stay and see to that yourself.”

  She hadn’t intended to say such a thing, b
ut she knew suddenly, fiercely, it was what she wanted. What she would command. He was not going to leave her. If he tried, she would compel him to stay.

  He shook his head again, a look of regret there. “My heart wants to stay more than anything. Nay, even down to my soul.” A look of wonder crossed his face at the startling realization of it, a mirror of her own amazement, she was sure. “To protect you. To lie with you. To find out what makes you laugh.” He reached out again to trace her lips, putting some slight pressure on one corner as if to make her smile. Miraculously he was successful, even as she swatted his touch away. Catching her hand, he lifted it to his lips. “But I made a promise, my lady. I promised a friend I would come to his aid, help with this battle he prepares to wage. No matter how senseless I believe it to be.”

  But you are mine. Sworn to my service. Where such a preposterous thought came from, she didn’t know, but it baffled her. What made no sense had a tendency to irritate her. “Very well.” She withdrew her hand from his touch. “Go play your silly war games. I certainly do not need to beg a man to stay with me.”

  It wasn’t so much the stinging of her ego that hurt as what she saw moving in his eyes. She wanted to lash out at it. She had many commitments, much to do, but he’d fallen into her lap overnight, a treasure she sensed was beyond measure. One that wouldn’t come again, perhaps for a very long time. Perhaps never. She wanted to squelch the absurd romance of such a thought. “Are you still here? Go and serve your foolish honor.” She curled away from him, turning her face into the pillows.

  “If I’ve offended you, my lady, it wasn’t my intention.” She was startled when his lips touched her rigid shoulder, lingered as she lay there stiffly. He even arranged the sheet back over her body before he rose. She heard him rise and move away toward the opening of her tent, a tent that, without windows, had seemed a sanctuary from the whole world for the past few hours.