by Aja James
“This is not a game, Grace,” he ground out in a guttural snarl, no longer flippant, no longer amused, “If we continue this… if I give you what you want…I will also take what I want, damn the consequences.”
She didn’t hesitate in her reply.
“That’s fair.”
Even with the Consent she just gave him, Devlin held back.
Nothing was going according to his plan. He made sure to be in control of every situation he entered, a lesson he learned the hard way. But for the first time in the hundreds of years since he turned vampire, he was in control of nothing.
Not even his own reactions.
“I want you inside me,” she urged again, sensing his doubt.
Shifting her gaze to his fangs, she said, “In every way possible I want you inside me. And I want to be inside you too.”
She undulated her hips slightly so that the hot, slick opening of her core was pressed against the plump head of his sex.
Slowly, she sank down upon him just half an inch.
They both groaned at the indescribable sensation. It was sooo good. It had never been this good.
Between gasps of pleasure, she looked into his eyes and asked him one last time, “Yes?”
Devlin held her penetrating stare, tightened his grip on her hips and bared his teeth as the last shreds of his control finally snapped.
“Yes.”
Chapter Four
“Devlin, you missed the Queen’s summons, where have you been?”
Even as wobbly-legged and bone-deep sore as Devlin felt, he still registered the marked displeasure of the Chosen’s Commander, Maximus Justus Copernicus.
And just in case he hadn’t picked it up, the heavy tail lash against his shins from Maximus’ ever-present panther Simca would have alerted him.
But thankfully, the displeasure and pain were diluted through a thick post-coital fog.
About a dozen or more post-coitals worth of fog.
Really, he lost count after the first six or so orgasms. And who could blame him? Most of his climaxes seemed to last hours. At least a few of them probably did.
He had never been this physically wrung out in the whole of his existence. He felt like every last drop of semen had been squeezed and sucked and milked out of his body. Every last nerve ending fried to a crisp. Every last bone, muscle and sinew melted into putty.
God, his testicles hurt. His cock hurt. The roots of his hair hurt. His toenails hurt.
But he felt absolutely sublime despite all that. Countless, full-bodied orgasms had that effect on a man.
“Devlin, are you hearing me?”
“Hmm?”
He finally turned in the direction of the distant badgering that reached his ears, whose drums were still ringing from the large amounts of blood that had repeatedly rushed against them. Everything was muffled—the noises, the sights, Devlin’s ability to discern.
His brain had turned to cotton candy.
“You look wasted,” the Commander judged with a shake of his head. “I’ll debrief you later. Go get some sleep.”
Happy to oblige, Devlin staggered on unsteady feet down the corridors that led to his private chambers within the Cove, the vampire queen’s royal stronghold, hidden in plain sight in Midtown Manhattan.
Once inside, the door automatically and soundlessly slid closed while Devlin flung himself across his gigantic bed.
He let out an abbreviated, humorless laugh, too exhausted for the full version.
If this was what sex with strangers with no emotional attachment was like, he really ought to have started the trend a lot earlier.
Now, he was actually living the sort of life of debauchery his comrades had always given him credit for.
Twelve whole hours of nonstop orgy.
Not even a minute to pause in between ejaculations. Just long enough at 10pm sharp for her to feed her creatures. She just kept going and going, like the Energizer Bunny on steroids.
God!
Wasted was an apt description for his current state of being.
But somehow, through all that, he’d managed the superhuman feat of not giving in to his bloodthirst. Besides that one drop of blood from her pricked index finger, he had not taken advantage of the Consent she’d given.
Perhaps he’d be stronger now and less of a wreck if he had taken her blood. But he didn’t trust himself not to take too much.
He wanted Grace Darling with a ferocity that shocked him to the marrow of his bones.
Blame it on the chemistry. Or her sorcery of tantric arts. There was something about her—about the two of them together—that pushed Devlin to his limits.
Then broke right through them.
Strangely, the best sex he’d ever had was not with a woman he cared at all deeply for. It was laughable when contrasted with the first time he’d ever had sex, with a woman he thought he loved.
But as Devlin fell into a deep, dreamless slumber, it was not laughter that bubbled in his throat.
It was the burn of tears…
1810, England.
Summerfield house party, Essex.
“Oh Dev, I love you so.”
Long, graceful limbs pulled Devlin close, until his head was cushioned by an ample bosom, arguably the finest in all of England.
Restless fingers sifted through his heavy locks, massaging his scalp, rubbing his temple.
It felt like heaven.
“You need a trim, darling,” his lover murmured in her soft, exquisitely feminine voice, “but I loathe to have anything cut these gorgeous waves. Even when your hair is longer than fashionable, you always look divine.”
Devlin supposed it was love that made Lavinia speak so highly of his physical attributes, for when he looked in the mirror, he saw the visage of a studious, pale, rather thin erudite who preferred studying lost languages and unraveling mathematical equations to the typical pastimes of young men his age.
To the everlasting shame and disappointment of his father, the Duke of Devonshire.
His brother William, who was only a year and a half younger, fit much more the mold of their ancestors—he was a favorite in all of the gentlemen’s clubs, raced phaetons every other Wednesday, could hold his liquor better than most, was an avid hunter and horseman, collected hounds of the best pedigree, and held his own in the boxing ring.
There was no one prouder of William than Devlin himself. But the brotherly love went only one way.
“You are such a wonderful lover,” Lavinia continued to praise him. “Though it makes me so jealous to think it, you must have had other women before me. Have you?”
“No,” he answered simply.
He’d never understood the urgency and haste with which his male compatriots pursued female sexual companionship from the time they were old enough to understand what a cockstand was for. He was attracted to his fair share of women, but controlling his baser impulses had never been a challenge.
He hadn’t planned on saving himself, so to speak, for love or marriage. It just happened that he lost his virginity to the woman he cared for most in the world. What they just shared, he and Lavinia, was an expression of their affection, regard, and attraction for each other. It happened a bit earlier than he would have preferred, but she had been quite insistent and he was planning to marry her after all.
Besides, this might be the last time he saw her for a good long while, and he’d selfishly wanted to create some vivid, passionate memories to comfort him with during the darkest hours ahead.
She was silent for some long moments, idly playing with his hair.
And then, she ventured, “Do you regret getting carried away? Do you think I’m wanton?”
Devlin was well aware she’d set out to seduce him ever since they arrived at the house party in separate groups a week ago, but he was the one who chose to enter her bedroom this night. He allowed her seduction to succeed. He’d desperately wanted to make love with her before he left.
“No, of course not,” he answere
d. “We will, of course, be married. We simply anticipated our vows a bit. You know that I adore you.”
She sighed happily. It seemed she had received the answer from him that she’d been fishing for.
“When shall we announce our engagement? I cannot wait to be yours forever.”
“At tomorrow’s ball if you like,” he replied, then hesitated.
Ever attuned to his moods, she noticed his reticence.
“What is it, Dev? What’s wrong?”
He shifted until he lay beside her so that he could look directly into her eyes.
“I have already asked and was given your father’s permission a few days ago. My father has no objections.”
More to the point, his father didn’t care who he took for bride as long as she was capable of bearing his sons and came from a noble family of the ton.
She smiled at him encouragingly, reaching out to caress his face.
Devlin took a deep breath before continuing, “But I’m afraid our marriage will have to wait until I come back from the war.”
Abruptly, she retracted her touch.
“What?”
Devlin knew that this was a shock to Lavinia. She could not have been happy about it, but he hoped that she would understand why he felt compelled to serve his country.
“I have skills that are highly valued by the government,” he tried to explain, “I have been helping on a freelance basis even from school. The Duke refuses to buy a Commission for me—”
“Understandably so,” she retorted.
He was heir to one of the oldest Dukedoms in the country, which commanded a staggeringly large fortune and a dozen estates scattered throughout Britain. It was not his place to go off to war.
“And William is much better suited than you,” she added.
Devlin shook his head. How was he to make her understand?
“William has no interest in the military. Nor do I want him to put his life at risk…”
“So you will put yours at risk instead?” Her voice was becoming shriller with each passing moment.
He smoothed his hand up and down her arm, trying to calm her, but she twisted out of reach, pulling the bedclothes to her chin, hiding her glorious nakedness.
“I am more prepared for what lies ahead than you know,” Devlin told her quietly. “I’ve been training for this. I’m ready for this.”
“What about me?” she demanded of him, her eyes going wide with a sort of wildness and panic. “What am I to do for however long it takes for you to tire of this lark? You cannot expect me to wait a year, or Heaven forbid, even longer, not after what we just did.”
He had taken care not to spend within her, but he knew it was not foolproof as a means to prevent conception.
“We can marry by proxy if there is urgent need,” he said, “I don’t believe there will be, but you mustn’t worry. I would never let you down.”
“When are you leaving? You talk as if you’re going straight away.”
Devlin confirmed with a nod. “I depart for London after the ball, and sail for Portugal the day after.”
She sat up, swaddled in the sheets and blankets and turned away from him.
“How can you do this to me? To us! What if you never return?”
The further this conversation progressed, the colder Devlin’s heart grew. Lavinia was overset, he understood, but her thoughts evolved only around herself. It was as if she didn’t care if he lived or died as long as he married her promptly.
His suspicions were confirmed when she turned back to him with a sudden brightness in her eyes.
“We could marry by special license before you leave.”
She let go of the coverings and launched her soft, voluptuous self at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing her impressive breasts against his chest.
“It would be so romantic, Dev, let’s just run away to Scotland. I won’t feel as lonely when you’re gone if I’m your wife. I’ll be able to commiserate with all the other officers’ wives. You know they have more access to the men abroad than any fiancée ever would.”
The last part was true. Perhaps the rest of it too. But her frantic tirade moments before had planted a seed of doubt in Devlin’s mind.
He did indeed adore Lavinia.
True, she was sometimes selfish, occasionally manipulative. But he certainly wasn’t all virtue himself. Lavinia was also smart, funny, passionate, and had a practical, level head on her shoulders. Her laugh was throaty and unrestrained. Her saucy smiles made him forget how to breathe. Not surprisingly, she was immediately dubbed a Diamond of the First Water and Queen of the Season when she debuted in Society two years before. And she’d been its reigning Queen ever since.
She’d turned down numerous proposals. Devlin knew from all the talk in the clubs. It was difficult to avoid, despite his irregular attendance. She’d been the object of countless wagers, fisticuffs, even a couple of duels.
He might have been a virgin, but he suspected she had not been. Though she seemed uncomfortable when they’d joined at first, he hadn’t felt a barrier. Nor was there any blood when he’d pulled out. Untried, he might have been; ignorant, he was not.
It didn’t matter to him. He would never ask her about it.
But he wasn’t completely certain she loved him.
He’d never been certain throughout the course of their courtship, which had taken the better part of a year. Despite that she told him early on, and repeated consistently since, she loved him fervently, desperately, he never truly felt this love, or perhaps he never accepted her love.
His parents had hated each other. His mother had died in a boating accident with her lover of the moment a year after giving birth to William. His father flaunted mistresses in front of everyone in the household, servants and sons included, since as far back as Devlin could remember.
They both despised him quite completely, for different reasons—his father because Devlin took after his mother’s looks, all golden and blue-eyed and pale, his mother because Devlin was his father’s son, equivalent of Satan’s spawn begotten of her unwilling body.
And perhaps, most of all, because he was an “unnatural boy,” as both parents frequently called him. He was quiet, serious, sensitive and bookish. The opposite of his brother William who effortlessly cajoled everyone around him since the moment he was born.
Devlin sometimes wondered in moments of weakness and self-doubt whether he was lovable at all.
Even William, upon whom Devlin doted, seemed only to tolerate his older brother.
He wanted, needed, to believe that Lavinia loved him. But hearing her say it wasn’t enough. Perhaps time and distance afforded by his decision to join the war effort was a blessing for their relationship. He needed to know her true feelings, and be certain of his own, before they committed the rest of their lives to each other.
He intended to marry her, however. It was the right thing to do after taking privileges. He would take all responsibility for her. But he hoped a long engagement would help them see each other more clearly, come into their lifelong joining with a better, deeper understanding and appreciation.
He gently set her apart from him so that he could look into her eyes.
“We will be engaged,” he said firmly. “I will make sure everything is done right. I fully intend to come back to you. I will be fighting for my country and I will be fighting to protect those most precious to me. Including you. All I ask is that you wait for me. It is what someone who loves me would do.”
“What are you implying?” Her voice had gone shrill again, and she pushed away from him a second time. “That I don’t love you enough? Is this some kind of awful test? How can you be so cruel! How can you—”
“It’s not a test,” he replied calmly, “My decision to serve my country at this moment in time is separate from my relationship with you. This is something I have to do, I cannot explain it any better. It doesn’t mean I care for you any less. But being apart will help us see things more
clearly. Help us be more certain of what we feel, whether we are truly meant to be together… or not.”
“How can you say that!” she raged, “After everything we just did! Why are you doing this to me!”
Devlin took hold of her upper arms and held her steady, keeping silent while she continued her diatribe for some more minutes. When she’d finally exhausted herself and stilled, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, to each of her cheeks, her nose, her lips.
“Do you hate me now?” he asked in the same gentle voice. “Shall I not announce our engagement?”
She clasped him tight to her again and nuzzled her face in the crook of his neck.
“You’re awful,” she pouted. “I don’t know why I love you. Of course I wish for our engagement. You must announce it straight away. You had better come back in one piece and marry me soon though. You know I am not a patient person.”
Devlin smiled.
“Yes I know. I am asking much of you. But I will come back, I promise. Just please wait for me. Have faith in me.”
*** *** *** ***
After four hours of sleep, Grace finally rolled out of bed to start her day.
It helped that she had no office to put in face time, no direct boss to displease with her tardiness. She worked whenever and wherever she wanted, raked in an after-tax income of six figures annually and never suffered the pain of year-end performance reviews.
The perks of being indispensable to her employer.
Mind completely empty of thoughts, she prepared a latte using her Jura Giga Limited Edition Expresso machine, peeled a banana, cut it into precise slices and arranged it in a smile on her breakfast plate.
For the eyes of the happy face, she decided to use two macaroons from the batch her aunt Maria had brought a couple of days ago from a trinket and dessert shop called “Dark Dreams.”
Once her coffee was ready, she poured it into a large, cow-shaped cup with a super-glued handle, arranged it at three o’clock vis-à-vis the breakfast plate and sat down to dine.
It was a routine she had to go through every morning to turn on her brain. This morning was no different, despite the most explosive and euphoric sex she’d ever had just a few hours ago. Her mind didn’t analyze anything—it was a soothing blank slate.