“Do you—” Her voice comes out as a croak and she clears her throat before trying again. “Could I have a shower first?”
“Only if it’s very quick. Let me show you to your room.”
If she’s surprised by the way I refer to it as her room rather than mine, or ours, she doesn’t show it. Then again, she’s probably exhausted. As am I.
I lead her out of the lounge, up the stairs, and to my favorite guest bedroom. It’s done up in different shades of blue and lavender, and the views during the day are simply awe-inspiring.
I’ve only ever seen them in photographs.
All my bedrooms have ensuite bathrooms, and I lead Sabina into the one adjoining this room. There’s a large Jacuzzi tub and a walk-in shower with a variety of shower heads—rainfall, waterfall, massage. It’s plenty big enough for two people but as much as I’d like to get in there with her, we simply don’t have the time. “Towels and washcloths are in here,” I say, tapping a cupboard. “Spare toothbrushes and toothpaste in this drawer. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash… anything else you might need are in this one. Please be quick. You have fifteen minutes. Every minute after that will earn you another five with the birch. On your thighs.”
She lets out a half-whimper, half-groan, and my cock throbs at the sound. She really is a little painslut—a genuine one. I love that.
“I’ll leave you to it,” I tell her. “Remember, you have fifteen minutes—I will make you regret every second you’re late.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I don’t miss the click of the lock turning the moment I’ve shut the door behind me. Now I’m finally able to grin openly. As if locking the door could keep me away. Still, if it makes her feel more secure for the time being, I’ll allow it.
Her time limit is mine, too, so I make haste to my bathroom and take a lightning quick shower myself. Then I dress casually in a black sleeveless t-shirt and black sweatpants, leaving my feet bare. I’m not a fan of suits, and generally only wear them at the club.
With minutes to spare, I return to the room I’ve designated as Sabina’s. I place a huge glass of water on the nightstand—alcohol is so dehydrating for humans—and the birch I’ve selected on the bed, so it will be the first thing she sees when she enters. The king-size bed has clean sheets on it and I’ve already secured my softest ropes to the wrought-iron headboard.
I don’t regret what I am very often. I miss the sun, and it’s a shame I never get to enjoy the views from my house during the daytime. Other than that…
But now, strangely, I find myself wishing I were a mere mortal. I could have joined sweet Sabina in the shower, taken her once more, then gone to sleep beside her, holding her close, instead of being forced to hide the truth by tying her up and retreating to my dark basement boudoir. I glance at the glass of water I set out for her, the sour tang of guilt on my tongue at the knowledge of what I’m about to do.
Drugging a woman is morally reprehensible, I know that, but I simply cannot risk her waking up too early. Tied to the bed, she’ll be unable to drink, eat, or go to the bathroom, and I don’t want her to suffer that way for a moment longer than absolutely necessary. So I slipped a little something into the water I’m about to make her drink. It’s tasteless, odorless, and very effective. If everything goes according to plan, she will wake up at around sunset and simply feel like she had a long, deep, dreamless sleep. There will be no time for her to slip out of her bonds—whenever I tie a woman up and leave her alone, I use a special knot which can be undone easily if you find the right place to tug, although I’ve never yet met one who figured that out, or needed to—or for her to go exploring and wonder where the hell I am.
The bathroom door opens and she emerges in a cloud of steam. I breathe in the sweet, hot scent of her skin and the grapefruit shower gel she must have used. A plain white towel is wrapped around her body, and her damp hair trails over her creamy shoulders.
I fucking love the way her eyes widen when she spots first me, then the birch lying on the bed beside me.
“Did you find everything?” I ask her.
“I did. Thank you.”
“You’re lucky,” I continue, “you just made it. A minute longer, and I would have had to punish you more. Now, come here.”
She’s tentative as she obeys, her movements slow, but graceful. “I’m about to tie you to the bed. Is there anything else you need to do first?” I mean this is her last chance to use the facilities, and hope I’m not forced to elaborate, but she’s smart and deduces my meaning.
“No, Sir. I just went.”
“Good girl. Drop the towel, drink some of that water, and lie down.”
I’m half expecting a fight but she obediently lays the towel over a nearby chair then drains half the glass—which should be enough—and lies down on her back, letting out a little groan when her ass takes her weight. The sound, as always, goes straight to my cock.
I marvel at how slender her wrists are as I fasten them to the headboard with two good lengths of soft rope, careful not to make her bonds too loose or too tight. She’s being much more compliant than I thought she’d be, and I wonder whether it’s exhaustion or something else. Perhaps she’s realized that there’s no point in fighting me.
After all, I always win.
“Is that comfortable?” I ask, gazing down at her stunning, naked form.
“Yes, Sir.”
“You can turn onto your side or your belly if you want to?”
She rolls over experimentally. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good. On your back for now, pet.”
Once she’s in the correct position, I pick up the birch rod and whip it through the air a couple of times, suppressing a smile at the expression on her beautiful face. There’s fear, certainly, but it’s mixed with not a little desire.
“Lift your legs up, there’s a good girl. Straight up in the air, feet together. Keep your knees relaxed.”
She’s supple, and does what I tell her without any apparent effort. Regardless, I wrap my free hand around her ankles to hold her in position.
Her ass is still a hot pink, the welts from the Lexan cane slightly puffy. Her cunt, peeping tantalizingly at me from between her closed thighs, is also still swollen, like a ripe guava. I feel the sudden urge to bite into it. Instead, I lick my lips.
“Why am I doing this?” I say, slipping into my dominant tone.
She closes her eyes and lets out a groan. “Please, Sir, can we just get it over with?”
She’s barely finished the sentence before I’ve applied the birch to her abused buttocks, a swift, hard stroke which makes her scream. “Shall we try that again?”
“B-because I w-wasn’t silent when I c-came,” she whispers, gratifyingly cowed.
“Better. Are you ready?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Brace yourself, pet. This is going to hurt. You can scream all you like—nobody can hear you.”
Holding her legs up with my left hand, I whip the backs of her thighs with my right, applying short, sharp thwacks of the birch up one side and down the other, extending the pattern of fine scarlet lines right up to her knee hollows.
Sabina screams continuously, almost as if I ordered her to, gyrating her hips in a futile attempt to get out of my way. I do love the birch; its appearance is so deceptive. I barely have to flick my wrists to get the desired effect, and even though it barely makes any noise on impact, the sting it delivers is severe.
I don’t have to whip her hard or for very long to achieve the results I want, and the whole thing is over in a couple of minutes. Still holding her ankles, I admire my handiwork and feel my nostrils flare as I catch the unmistakable scent of her arousal.
“There there,” I say soothingly, “it’s all over. You did so well. I think you deserve a reward. Spread those legs for me, knees to your chest, there’s a good girl.”
She’s stopped screaming and is panting now, and although I was planning to tease her using only my fingers, greed overcomes me. Once I
’ve let go, she does as she was told, splaying herself wide open by spreading her legs and bending her knees.
Without further ado, I bury my tongue in her sweet, hot cunt.
Gods, but the girl is wet, and my cock is rigid in my pants as I eat her pussy like a ripe peach, her juice and my saliva dribbling down my chin. Her clit is like a little marble on my tongue and I suck and lick it hungrily, cruelly gripping the backs of her abused thighs to hold her in place as I devour her. I can smell her blood through her soft skin, and the resulting deep, dull ache in my groin only serves to anger me—she has no right to affect me this way.
She’s close, her whole body is trembling, and I slide my tongue as deep inside her as it will go before giving her one more long, lingering lick right up to her clit. Then, reluctantly, I release my hold on her and stand up, wiping my chin.
“I think that’s enough,” I say. “If you’re a good girl, I’ll finish this once you’ve woken up.”
Sabina is writhing, twisting in her bonds, her thighs still splayed, reduced to a begging, helpless, lustful wretch. It’s so fucking hot to watch, I wish I had time to plunge my cock inside her.
Later.
“You can lower your legs now,” I tell her.
“Please,” she moans. “Please, Sir. I’ll never be able to sleep…”
“Legs down.” My growled order brooks no argument and, with obvious reluctance, she complies. I tug the sheet up to cover her, then bend and press a kiss to her forehead. “Good girl. Sweet dreams.”
“Wait, where are you going? You’re not really going to leave me here, tied to the bed?” There’s an edge of panic in her voice, and I feel a pang of regret.
“I won’t be far, sweetheart. Get some rest now.” Without giving her a chance to reply, ignoring her whimpers, I switch off the main light but leave the bedside lamp on, just in case she wakes up. All my drapes are blackout curtains, so she’d be hard-pressed to see anything even if she wakes up during the day. Suppressing a sigh, I leave the room.
It’s almost sunrise, I’ve only just made it, I think as I make my way down to the basement where I must hide from the deadly sun, as I have done now for countless centuries.
I’m tired, horny, and drained, and yet the echoes of Sabina’s whispered pleas follow me down…
13
Sabina
I jerk awake, filled with confusion as to where I am. Trying to push a sticky strand of hair off my face, I realize my hands are tied to the headboard, and it all comes back to me in a rush. I’m at Maximus’s house. We played together, he fucked me, then he took me home. Turning my head, I’m shocked to see he isn’t lying beside me. Surely he didn’t leave me here by myself for… how long was I asleep? I glance at the window but the thick curtains give nothing away—not even the slightest chink of daylight is to be seen.
Licking my lips, I realize how thirsty I am, and my gaze is drawn to the half-full glass of water on the nightstand. I do my best to reach it but unfortunately the rope Maximus tied me with is too short.
Where is the asshole, anyway?
I feel weirdly groggy, almost like I’m hungover, but I only had two gin and tonics last night over the course of several hours, so it can’t be that. I try to make my body move, to kick off the sheet, but it takes a huge amount of effort and I soon give up. Instead, I force myself to take some deep breaths, fighting back the rising panic.
I’m in a virtual stranger’s house, tied to a bed. Naked. My head is foggy. Did he drug me? Surely not. A creep like Ethan would stoop so low, but not Maximus. He’s a sadist, definitely, and dominant to the bone, but he’s also demonstrated a caring, solicitous side. He works in security, for god’s sake. He protects women for a living.
That would be the perfect cover, a little voice tells me, but I decide to ignore it. No, he’s probably in the bathroom, or down in the kitchen making us something to eat. I don’t really feel hungry, but I’d just about murder someone for a coffee.
The minutes tick by as I lie there, my mind racing. Nobody could need that long in the bathroom. Nor would it take such a long time to grab a bite to eat or make coffee. Where is he?
I shift in the bed and the ensuing ache in my butt reminds me of our session. An instant pang of desire shoots through my lower belly at the memory, my clit suddenly beginning to throb. I can’t remember the last time anyone had this kind of sexual effect on me. I thought I would die when he licked me to the very brink of orgasm before leaving me to lie awake, desperately horny and craving the solace of sleep.
Fortunately, despite my fears, I had passed out fairly quickly. Now, though, my nerve endings are all roaring back to life. Great, I think. Now I’m thirsty, aching and horny.
And I’m tied to the bed so I can’t do a damn thing about any of it.
I tug experimentally at the ropes around my wrists, twisting my head to get a better view of the knots. I discover I’m actually able to put my hands together, and immediately make use of that advantage by fiddling with the knot on my left wrist.
This is like some cheap horror movie, I find myself thinking as I yank at the soft rope. If I do manage to get myself free, I’ll probably find something to wear, go downstairs, and promptly discover a human head in the fridge.
First Zeke, then Ethan, now this. Is there no sane, normal guy left anywhere in the world? Have they really all already been paired up?
At least my focus on untying myself is distracting me from the pulsing between my legs.
“Come on,” I encourage myself, feeling the rope loosen slightly. I’m going on touch rather than sight, as I can’t keep my head twisted at the right angle to see what I’m doing without getting a crick in my neck. Then my fingertips discover a little loop which seems to be out of place in the otherwise neat knot. I give that a little tug, and almost groan with relief when the entire knot unravels immediately. I should have paid more attention in Girl Scouts; I might have worked it out sooner. With one hand free, I roll over onto my belly and find the loop on the knot around my right wrist. Sure enough, pulling that unravels the last thing binding me to the bed.
Thank fucking Christ. I sit up, clutch my head in a vain attempt to relieve the sudden pounding in my temples, and reach for the glass of water, draining it in a few greedy swallows. Then I swing my legs over the side of the bed, wincing as my sore butt and thighs slide across the sheet, and get unsteadily to my feet.
Yanking back the drapes, I blink against the glaring sunlight. Then, when my vision returns, I gasp at the view I’m presented with. Nothing but stunning Arizona mountains as far as the eye can see. Not another house in sight; just nature at its most raw and beautiful. Lucky, lucky Maximus to be able to enjoy this on a daily basis. I don’t know why he bothers with curtains, it’s not like anybody would be able to see in, even at night with the lights on.
My bladder decides to wake up then, and I mince gingerly into the ensuite to take care of that. After washing my hands, I smooth my hair back from my face and flick it behind my shoulders before examining my reflection.
I do not look my best. My eyes are bloodshot. My mascara is clumpy, and I lick my finger to wipe the smudges from beneath my lower lashes. Then something else catches my eye: a mark not unlike a bruise on the side of my neck. It must be from when he bit me during the session last night. I can’t remember the last time I had a love bite—not since I was a teenager, in any case—and I lean closer to the mirror to get a better look.
The blood turns to ice in my veins.
Surely not, I think, my heart beginning to pound twice as fast. It can’t possibly be what it looks like.
There are two puncture wounds starkly visible within the bruise. They’re exactly the right size and shape to be…
No, you’re being ridiculous, I tell myself. Vampires don’t exist outside of novels and movies. Maybe he nipped me accidentally with his teeth while he was sucking my neck—but those marks would be different. Human teeth are blunt. They leave very different impressions. Whereas these… I’m lo
oking at two perfect holes, not unlike those left by a snake bite, only farther apart.
Unable to stop myself, I prod the area, gasping at the sudden, sharp sting. He was biting me for a long time—god, it felt good—but surely that was just a coincidence. Yes, I was coming so hard my knees almost gave way, but even so I’m pretty sure I would have noticed him drinking my fucking blood.
Only I passed out. He could have done it then.
No. Absolutely not. I always did have an overactive imagination, and this just proves it.
Then where is he? I can’t help asking myself. Why are you in what’s obviously a guest room and not his room? Isn’t it customary for a man to actually sleep in bed with you when you spend the night at his place? Did he drug you and tie you up so you’d sleep until sunset and be none the wiser?
Is that even a real thing—vampires having to hide from sunlight?
Before I drive myself absolutely insane with these thoughts, I decide to take action. Step one: find something to wear. There’s no closet in the guest room but I remember leaving my dress downstairs in the kitchen. Until I get down there, I’ll just have to use the towel slung over the chair. Picking it up, I wrap it around myself, grateful for the protection even though it’s flimsy.
Holding my breath, my heart hammering in my chest, I tiptoe to the door and open it furtively. A quick glance down the vast hallway confirms there’s nobody around, so I head down the stairs and into the kitchen. To my absolute relief, my dress and purse are exactly where I left them. I waste no time in dropping the towel and tugging the dress over my head, then rummage through my bag for my phone.
Crap. It’s dead.
Unable to suppress a groan of fear and frustration, I lean on the counter and try to corral my thoughts. I don’t have my phone. I don’t have my car, and I’m out in the Foothills somewhere. I’d have to walk for miles just to get off his bloody property, and then a lot farther to get back to civilization.
Her Vampire Addiction (Midnight Doms Book 9) Page 9