Beloved Vampire (Vampire Queen #4)

Beloved Vampire (Vampire Queen #4) Page 46

Mason pushed her legs off his hips and stood, countering her swing at him and moving back, leaving her in the middle of his bed, panting and wanting nothing more than to skewer him with one of those blades.

“Whereas you keep slamming down on the gas without looking to see if you’re hurtling over a cliff,” he retorted in a near shout. “If you want me to take your body, it means I will take you, Jess. I have been patient and tolerant, because of your situation—”

“Oh, to hell with that. I’m sick of—”

“You will be quiet.”

His thunderous snarl reverberated through the room. More than that, he injected the command into her head, into the very marrow of her bones, stunning her into silence. She’d known Raithe was far less powerful than Mason, but she hadn’t seen such an active demonstration of it until this moment. Vibration thrummed through her like the aftermath of an electric shock, leaving her staring up at him, frozen.

Mason turned away from her, snarling a stream of curses in Arabic she was sure it was best she not understand. She had a fleeting moment to regret the loss of view as he shrugged a robe over his broad shoulders and the tiger mark, before he belted the garment with a sharp jerk. He turned back to her. “Sit up.”

Swallowing, she did so, but he kept his distance. “Jessica, I am glad you know I am not Raithe. But I am a vampire. If I want you, a human woman, I will have you on my terms. Of all people, you know exactly what that means.” She wanted to block it out, deny it. Suddenly she wanted to go back to her room, but he wasn’t going to let her off so easily. He took a step toward her, commanding her attention.

“You keep pushing the boundaries. That’s acceptable, given your situation. I want you to know, no matter how much you test me, you can trust me not to harm you as he did. But let me lay this out quite clearly for you.” Coming back to the bed swiftly enough she didn’t have time to gasp, he cupped her skull, gripping her hair hard enough to yank her head back. It put his mouth at her throat, her eyes staring at the ceiling. She thrashed against him, but she couldn’t throw him off, could only clutch the sleeves of his robe to prevent the sense of falling, though he held her rigidly enough. “Put your hands on the bed, on either side of you, palms down. Do it. Now.”

With that voice resonating through her, she did it before she even thought to resist. His breath was hot on her wildly pumping neck artery, the hand in her hair tight, making it clear he was entirely in control of the moment. “If I decide to take you,” he said in a husky tone, “fuck you, as you were so crudely going to put it, I will demand your unconditional surrender. I will restrain you. I will want you to get down on your knees and take my cock in your mouth. You will ask my permission to come, always. There will be times I use pain to elevate your pleasure. Spankings, floggings. Not what you experienced with Raithe”—there was a slight easing of his touch, and she thought one fingertip might have stroked across her sensitive occipital bone, making her shiver—“not torture.

It was as I described it in the dungeon. This would be to put a pretty flush on your delicate skin, sensitize every nerve ending, so when I followed up with my mouth, you would writhe and beg to serve me in any way necessary to get that permission to climax.

Again, not some humiliation like Raithe. My demand would be that you experience the highest, most unbearable pleasure possible, reach the top of the highest roller coaster, before I let you go over.” He adjusted his stance so now his face was over hers, eyes burning, refusing to let her look away. “But in your mind, can you honestly separate the two yet? Can you truly say you are willing to surrender to another Master? A vampire, at that? You aren’t, and you and I both know it. I’m not here to satisfy your itch. You’re either mine, or my guest. You will not be both. I want you too much to compromise.”

After that startling revelation, he released her. With surprisingly gentle hands, he lifted her to her feet, taking her off his bed, setting her at a safe distance from it. Jessica was numb with shock and more as he traced the line of her temple, caught a curl in his fingertips and spoke in a calmer voice. “I thank you for coming to my aid. It’s been a long time since someone soothed me out of a nightmare. Particularly someone selfless enough to help me, while still trembling with her own.” Leaning in, he brushed a kiss on her forehead, as if the raging carnality of the past few moments had never existed. As if she were a child being sent off to bed, he said, “Good night, habiba. Enrique is outside the door with a robe and slippers to escort you back to your room. The halls in the lower level are too cold for your night-shirt only.” Dropping his hand, he turned away, moving to the small fire. Jessica stood, swaying. One part of her was ready to bolt, but another part of her wanted to stay. She didn’t have to be cold. He could stoke up the fire and she could curl up in his lap while he read, idly stroking her hair, just as she’d imagined. He’d said it wasn’t about brutality. It was about pleasure. Could it also be about tenderness, love? In all of Farida’s pages, not once did she take the upper hand with Mason. She always belonged to him, submissive to him, and yet she’d felt cherished, protected . . . loved.

But he’d made his terms clear, and he was right. Jess wasn’t ready to accept them. It might be many, many years before she could accept them, his all-or-nothing threat, or offer. Empty and now cold in more ways than one, Jessica moved to the door. When she stopped and looked back, Mason was staring into the fire. It was obvious he’d left her in his mind, because he showed no reaction to her thoughts. For one insane moment, she wanted to cross the room, go to her knees, ask him to help her understand. Why did she feel so drawn to him, have such a fierce desire to be his, if she wasn’t ready to surrender? But he turned farther away from her, a subtle denial that twisted in her chest like a knife.

Maybe it was the drama of the moment, the aftermath of their powerful nightmares. In the morning light, she’d be appalled at her own weakness, or consider this another episode of instability. From the beginning, she’d thought Raithe had made her what she was. From the beginning, Mason said her former captor had only fucked up what was already inside her. Who was right was a question only she could answer, and she didn’t know yet. She’d been willing to trade self-awareness for desire, and the illusion of warmth and safety. She wasn’t sure if that was appalling, or the best deal of her miserable life.

Forcing herself to turn the latch of the door, she stepped out, into a cold that was an emotion, not a temperature, a desolation even Enrique’s kind, concerned smile couldn’t temper.

Mason let out a breath, unclenching the hand he had braced on the mantel. Her thoughts were truly going to kill him. Since his own were supposed to be blocked from her, being with him by the fire was a mirrored desire. He’d love to hold her while she slept, wearing one of his shirts so she’d be cloaked in his scent. Then he’d lay her on the soft mattress and take her body, her nails raking the sensitive flesh over his tiger tattoo as she arched for him.

If he barely pushed the issue, she’d be his. And then hate him forever for making her choice for her.

“You can’t have her,” he muttered. “She’s not for you.” As the two pairs of screams revisited him, he shuddered and crouched in front of the fire like an animal in pain, crossing his arms on his knees and dropping his face into them. If anyone tried to hurt her, he’d rip them limb from limb.

He didn’t know if Jessica Tyson was crazy or not, but she was definitely driving him to insanity.

19

MAY BE she should handle her own sexual frustration. Lock her bedroom door, slide her hand between her legs and bring herself to climax. She wouldn’t imagine Mason. Her fantasy man would be . . . She swung a dagger gaze around the barn, and pinned Win ston, Jorge’s top groom. He was a handsome young man with curly dark hair, who right now was wearing only a pair of jeans. His smile was sexy and absorbing as he worked with Hasna.

She forced herself to hold the image of her fingers tugging on his dark curls, not coil away toward a more familiar, firm mouth. With an oath, she stabbed the pitchfork so hard into the hay it reached wood, the impact singing up her arm and drawing Winston’s attention.

His smile became a nervous nod as she snarled at the simultaneous sensual reverberation from the wrist manacle. Clucking, he took the mare out of visual range. Cowards. All men were cowards.

Helping the landscapers dig out trenches for a new maze garden, washing the gazebo siding with the maintenance men and even helping the household staff and Amara clean all the chandelier glass in the ballroom was not the surefire remedy for irritation and an overdose of sexual frustration she’d hoped. Not even the passage of three days had eased it.

She hadn’t heard or seen Mason, which was typical, but disconcertingly, this morning she’d felt nothing, as if he weren’t present on the property at all. Which made her wonder if that was why she couldn’t follow through on her fantasy. A sly, shameful part of her wanted him to command her to think only of him, and then reinforce that by branding every inch of her skin with his clever mouth, his hands, his cock.

Oh, Christ. She pulled off her bill cap and swiped it over her face as Enrique arrived with a lunch tray for her and the men. She wolfed it down, oblivious to table manners. The male aversion to an agitated woman was universal. Even Enrique offered nothing except cautious and brief pleasantries. He did remind her of her appointment with Robert for the afternoon—right before he collected the tray and departed beneath her stony regard.

God, she’d forgotten. She toyed with backing out of it, but in the end, she attacked more stable work. She’d exhaust herself to the point she wouldn’t care to make any decisions at all, though she was all too aware that underscored Mason’s point. She wasn’t ready to make choices. Ironically, the key difference between Raithe and Mason was now her biggest thorn. A Master controlled everything, except the submissive’s decision to belong to him, the most important decision of all. That was up to her. Damn male vampire.