Beloved Vampire (Vampire Queen #4)

Beloved Vampire (Vampire Queen #4) Page 62

But I want you anyway. “And”—she drew his gaze, speaking aloud—“I understand now, what you all have meant about a true vampire-servant bond. Amara and Enrique . . . they never capitulate because you order it. They capitulate to you, submit to you, because that’s what they want.”

The flash that went through his gaze was so fast she could hardly follow all the emotions in it. Desire, yearning, desperation.

Rejection. She firmed her chin. “Don’t say it. Don’t say I don’t know what I want. The problem is I do, but what I want doesn’t make any sense. It doesn’t make it wrong.”

No. It doesn’t. But my desire to take what you’re offering may be.

He retracted his fangs, suckling on her wrist. It was to close the wound with the coagulants in his saliva, but it still had her lower body taut, willing to rouse to him again. When he lifted off her and moved back to his seat, her gaze drifted down his body. He’d un-tucked the shirt, the mesh disguising the evidence of her climax against the front of his slacks. Her scent would be there, on the fabric tight over his still-unappeased cock.

She eased off the seat onto her knees, feeling the limo’s carpeted floor.

“Jessica, don’t.” It was a warning, but one she ignored as she moved toward him. As powerful as he was, he couldn’t control his reaction, the naked hunger in his expression as she made the short trip in the subservient position, placing her hands on his thighs as she put herself between them.

“You have given me pleasure, my lord. Let me return the gift.”

“If you think of him even once, of the unspeakable things he made you do like this, I won’t . . .”

“Shhh. This is you and me.” Fiercely, she willed her mind to believe that, as much as she wanted him to do so. Letting her hands glide up, she found the muscles beneath the translucent shirt. Impulsively, she leaned forward, mouthed the hard ridges of his abdomen, tongued him through the fabric as a shudder ran through him. While she did that, her hand found his belt, the fastening of the slacks, opened them, freed the hard shaft from his snug boxers. It pushed eagerly into her hands. Heat and power, the tip glistening in a way that demanded her mouth.

Mason dropped his head back on the seat, his body gravitating toward her, so that when she lifted the shirt and dipped her chin, it was easy to slide her mouth around the broad head, taste him for the second time, but in these circumstances, it was as incredible a sensation as if it were the first. He groaned, his hand gripping the back of the seat.

Touch me, my lord. Let me feel your need. Drive me down on you as you wish to do. Take control as you must.

She swallowed as his fingers convulsed in her hair. With one rough motion, he ripped the lacings free, pushed her head up and tore away the mask, making her gasp.

As he cradled her face, he stared down at her, his fingers on her mouth letting her know he didn’t want her to speak. It had been easier to look at him, to act this way, with the mask. Maybe he knew that; maybe not. Maybe he just wanted to see her face.

Thinking that eased something in her, giving a raw intimacy to this when so many things lay unresolved between them.

Then, thankfully, he directed her mouth back onto him. He was as impressive as she remembered, and stretching her mouth to take him, to work her way down the glistening length of him, stirred things between her legs anew. She wanted to feel him come in her throat, wanted to swallow his essence as he’d just swallowed hers.

She drew him deep, dragged upward again. It was something she’d been taught to do with consummate skill, but until this moment she’d never had any joy in her ability, never been glad for the punishments she’d suffered for not doing it well enough.

Jessica. Even his thought was a feral growl. I am your only Master. Suck me.

Her body shuddered at the demand, and she renewed her efforts. She remembered how he’d watched her, amber eyes burning as he commanded her to rub herself against him, bring herself to climax. And she’d loved it, felt no shame in the way he’d held her afterward, pleased with her. Until . . .

Deeper. Harder. As he increased his possessive grip on her, she let the thoughts go for now and obeyed, eyes tearing. She relaxed her throat to take him, for he was moving her on him urgently, now that he controlled the rhythm. With this lesson on the contrast between indifferent brutality and rough passion, he was turning everything inside her to liquid heat. Her thighs dampened again, her sex contracting on its too empty channel as her movements rubbed her labia against her calf, where she was on her knees.

His hand spasmed on her head. He was close. Encouraging, pleading noises came from her throat. Noises of desire and arousal, her body leaning against his leg, surrounded by his heat and power, his gathering need.

I want to taste you, my lord. I will swallow every drop.

With a snarl, he climaxed, the heated organ clutched in her fist pumping the fluids in waves beneath the pressure of her fingers, shooting seed into the back of her throat. The thick, viscous fluid almost choked her because, like the size of his cock, it was more than expected. Still, she swallowed him down, allowing only enough to escape to lubricate him further for her closed fist, so she could keep pumping him, working him in her mouth. Teasing him with her lips, she nipped at the curve of the broad head.

When she’d drained the last from him, he didn’t give her time to put her temple against his knee, nuzzle his heavy testicles and semierect cock with her mouth and nose in languorous satisfaction as she might have wished. Instead, in those swift vampire movements a human was helpless to counter, he swept her up and put her on her back on the floor this time, his body stretched between her legs. His damp organ still had enough heat and hardness to press against her aching center, making her mewl and arch up against him. But he planted his hands on either side of her head, staring down at her with a harsh expression in his golden eyes.

All traces of honorable gentleman were gone, leaving the pure vampire, the one who would have what he wanted. She closed her eyes and tilted her head away, exposing her throat to him, a mute surrender of her body and blood, maybe even her heart and soul, for this precious moment.

He stilled. He stayed that way, his breath so close on her flesh, and God, she was trembling, wanting and afraid. Please don’t turn away from me. I need you so much, my lord.

“Shhh . . . ,” he said at last, but a quiver ran through that powerful body as he reined himself in. “I don’t want to do this here. I want to take you home, Jess. I want to have you beneath me, in my bed.”

She pressed her forehead into his shoulder, relief flooding her, because that was what she wanted as well. However, as intuitive and demanding as he was, she had her own lines in the sand. “Will you see me, or her, when you take me?” Before he could answer, she stared up into his eyes. “See me.”

The pain that flashed across his gaze was replaced by a tenderness that captivated her. He touched her face, his fingers caressing her short curls. “I always have.”

“Then what happened?” she whispered. “Why did my thoughts about Farida change things? Why did you leave me standing there like that?” Discarded.

“Never discarded, habiba. Never. I was wrong to do that to you. I’m sorry.” When he ran a thumb over her lips, she touched it with the tip of her tongue, causing his body to tighten against hers in a delicious way that made her want to writhe beneath him. His eyes glowed. “Do you wish to go with Amara and Enrique?”

“It depends.” She rubbed her cheek against his hand. “Are you going to act like an ogre again?”

“Probably,” he admitted, though there was a grudging smile in his eyes.

“Will you order me to go home with you, my lord?” She waited, sensing the struggle in him as his gaze coursed over her face, her throat, the nearly exposed breasts in the low neckline. When he pressed his lips together, she imagined the heat of his mouth there.

“No, Jessica,” he said at last. “Not until you call me Master by your own choice.” Rising on his knees, he tucked himself away and refastened the pants, then sat back on his heels. Because he stayed between her legs, she understood he wanted her to stay as she was, her legs open to him. He placed a hand on her leg, his fingers gliding up the inside of her thigh. Those vibrant eyes glowed in the semidarkness.

If you were mine, I would make you sit across from me during our drive and keep the skirt pushed to your waist, your thighs spread. I would dip my fingers in my whiskey, paint your cunt lips with it, suck it off as I wished. Or simply watch you sit that way, obeying my pleasure, trembling with your increasing desire. It is what we vampires enjoy.

“Not only vampires,” she admitted in a low voice, stirred by it, stirred by all of it. She trembled because she wanted him so badly.

Mouth, fingers, cock. Heart, soul . . .

His gaze rose to her. She wondered if it was possible to delve that deeply into Lord Mason. And if she’d lost her mind for wanting to do so. His gaze flickered.

“You are already in my heart and soul, Jessica. But there are things I need to tell you. Not merely the Council’s decision. I do want you, on levels far deeper than my cock, and you’re in the unique and terrible position of understanding, as few do, how deep those layers can go. It has been . . . a very long time, since I’ve wanted to claim a woman that way.” Their surroundings, a quiet limo, the noise of the club muted outside, were an odd backdrop for such momentous words, but everything else vanished for Jessica as he said them, as he wrapped her in the spell the import of those words offered.

“I wish to Allah that it were not so, because if I could have remained detached from you, I would not feel I’ve made your decisions far more complicated, obscured your future.”

She was unsure if he’d just rejected her or brought them closer together, but he clasped her with unexpectedly gentle hands, helped her back onto the seat. He straightened her skirt, stroking her thighs, resting his hands on her knees as he stayed kneeling before her, eye to eye.

“Perhaps it will make things easier if I tell you that I will not claim you as mine until you call me Master, and mean it, to that deepest, darkest level of your soul.” Though his hands were gentle, the look in his eye, the resolve in his voice, was implacable. “I will not take away your choices until you want me to do so. And”—that shadow crossed his gaze again—“the things I have to tell you may change things, how you view me and my world.