by Maren Smith
She laughs even more awkwardly and quickly looks away, but not before I see the flush of pink darken in her cheeks and the stiffening of her nipples as they rise into dusky peaks. The steam carries her scent, but I have only to part the folds of her sex to spice the air with her arousal. She is wet, and soapy, but it only takes a caress of my finger to make her turn back toward me.
“I miss my gloves,” I say, just before she catches the back of my neck and pulls me hungrily into her kiss.
We have a lot to do tonight. I need to collect money, travel documents, clothes… for me and for her. I’ll get her a new identity and take her somewhere safe. I have many houses scattered around the globe, all of them guarded by someone like Consuela, content to collect a paycheck in my absence and ask no questions. Wherever we end up, I’ll have to bring my cars over one at a time, but we won’t return to Tucson. Not in her lifetime, maybe never again in mine.
I’m surprised how little that bothers me, but the only thing that can’t be replaced is what I am holding now in my arms. Backing her slowly up against the shower wall, I take her hands in mine and pin them to the tiles above her head.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, shivering. “I’m sorry for what I said last night. I was upset and I took it out on you, and I’m sorry…”
I touch a finger to her lips, caressing the bottommost with my thumb as she stammers to silence. “I bear you no grudges.”
Goosebumps break out all over her, a trail of desire that I read with my lips and my fingertips all the way down the plane of her flinching belly to the softness of her mons. Her sex is deliciously bare, every perfect fold ready for my inspection.
Her breath catches when I part her open between my thumbs. Her clit and labia are swelling, eager to be touched, licked, kissed. Bit.
Owned. By me.
Only by me.
Forever by me.
“I love you, Merris,” I tell her, lowering myself to kneel in the bottom of the shower, with the hot water beating down upon my back and her pussy splayed open and waiting for my first kiss.
She swallows convulsively. “I love you too,” she whispers back. Her eyes show how much that scares her, and yet too do they betray how much she means it. And all that even before I caress her with my fingers and lean in for that first delicious kiss.
She grabs her own hair—obedient submissive that she is just learning how to be. Her gasp is sharp as she fights herself to hold as still as possible. There is no sight half as beautiful as the heaving of her breasts as she strives not to arch, or the quivering that quickly takes hold of her thighs as I lash and lick, and eventually drape her thigh over my shoulder so I can get all the way in to drink the sweet nectar her pussy can’t stop weeping. For me.
Her body is mine and I adore it. Every trembling curve, every hidden vale.
I bring her right to the cusp of coming, when her shaking is at its most intense and every breath she exhales is just a shade shy of becoming a moan or cry. That’s when at last I stand, grab her by her ass and her thighs and heft her all the way up so I might drink the cries she makes straight from her lips when I enter her.
Mine.
I try to be gentle with her. I have spent the last five hundred years learning how to be civilized. The shifters dashed all of that to nothing when they tried to take her from me in the basement. Merris dashes it all over again when the blunted tips of her all-too-human teeth catch my bottom lip in a nipping bite.
My knee-jerk reaction is as savage as the warning growl that rolls up out of me. “Merris…”
Clinging to my shoulders, her legs wrapping tight around my waist, she throws her head back with a breathy laugh, not only accepting the force with which my hips now slap into hers, but exalting in it. I could have broken the wall with her, in the mood that husky laugh of hers put me in. But I try to rein it in. I try to be gentle.
If only she didn’t bow her head to mine and, in that hot breath of challenge, whisper, “Now who’s bound to whom?”
I think I have been almost from the moment that we met.
But I’ll never tell her that.
She nips the side of my neck, and I yank her off the tile wall, dropping her down into the bottom of that spacious shower. There isn’t an ounce of hot water left in Lucius’s pipes or so much as a rasp of voice left in my darling Merris’s cries by the time I’m through.
It’s hard to feel badly about that. After all, I am the Master.
I’m the only one who bites.
The End
Want More?
Get ready for the next book in the Midnight Doms series, Her Vampire Prince by Ines Johnson.
Her Vampire Prince (Midnight Doms, book 2)
Cari
How hard is it to die? Don’t ask me. I’ve been failing at it for a year.
My father lost his life in a fatal car wreck while I walked away without a scratch. Now I taunt that bastard Death on a daily basis. Volcano hopping. Street racing. Skydiving. But then Death comes for me.
Hadrian
For centuries, I’ve been a dead vampire walking. No warmth, no feeling. No reason to live.
Then she bursts into my life. A mortal daredevil with a carefree laugh. She literally falls from the sky and into my arms. She’s got a death wish and I’ve got a hunger only she can slake.
She’s my prey, but she wants to leave?
No way. She’s mine. And I’m never letting her go.
About Maren Smith
Fortunate enough to live with my Daddy Dom, I am a Little, coffee fanatic, was administrator at my local BDSM dungeon for more than six years, am a resident of the wilds of freakin' Kansas (still don't know how I ended up here) and submissive to the love of my life. An International and USA Bestselling Author, I have penned more than 160 novels, novellas and short stories, and am the author of the Masters of the Castle series.
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If you enjoyed this story, try these:
Her Montana Master
Fearless (Black Light, Book 10)
Read the Bad Boy Alpha Series that launched Midnight Doms
Bad Boy Alphas Series
Alpha’s Temptation
Alpha’s Danger
Alpha’s Prize
Alpha’s Challenge
Alpha’s Obsession
Alpha’s Desire
Alpha’s War
Alpha’s Mission
Alpha’s Bane
Alpha’s Secret
Alpha’s Prey
Alpha’s Blood
Alpha’s Sun