Beloved Vampire (36 page)

For once, she was more than willing to use her knowledge of vampires for her own pleasure. Knowing what got their engines running on all cylinders, she teased his bottom lip, tracing wet heat with her fingertip, and grazed a fang with her knuckle, letting the tip score her skin, enough to produce blood.

“Ouch,” she whispered, turning the digit so it was in his mouth, dallying with the curl of his tongue. He tasted her, the amber eyes brilliantly intense on her face as he soothed the cut. Mason’s fingers flexed on her back, above the band of her panties, bunching the cloth of the shirt in his fist.

“Will you hurt me, Mason?” She asked it in a voice she was surprised to hear quaver. Maybe this was one of her crazy moments; she didn’t know. All she knew was, as much as she didn’t want to go back to her room to the lingering vibrations of her nightmares, she didn’t want to leave him here with his. She didn’t want to think about those screams, what they meant. Sometime soon, she would want to know, but not right now.

“Only if you beg me to,” he responded in a dangerous voice, thrilling her with the matching flash in his gaze, the strength of that arm cinching in so she was pressed hard against him. She closed her eyes, a shudder running through her body. His other hand moved down and gripped her buttock, winning a soft mewl of desire from her lips. Lifting her body, he rubbed her against his cock in a way that slid her clit against it, the sensation heightened by the friction of the clothes between them. When he groaned, she gasped herself, the bolt of sensation startling her. She desperately wanted him, needed him, inside of her now. Her panties were already soaked, and she knew he could feel it, sense it, smell it.

Her body couldn’t care less about the folly, the complexity and the irony of her attraction to a vampire. Every time she was in proximity to him this started to happen. Starved for his touch, the rest didn’t matter, past, present or future. She didn’t want a self-pleasuring, or Amara’s mouth, or even Mason’s provocative thoughts. She wanted his strong hands, his heavy cock, the weight of his body demanding everything from her. Total surrender of thought or choice, whether madness or not.

He had her by the wrist now, her fingers free of his mouth, but he was . . . oh, God. He was kissing her wrist, one fang sliding down her frantically beating pulse, the long, slick side of the enamel, not the sharpened point, teasing her. Turning his gaze back to her, he reached out to the wall beside him, where a pair of crossed daggers was mounted. He pulled one free of the scabbard without even glancing at it. Before she could get apprehensive about his intentions, he took the blade to his throat and pricked the artery there.

His other hand cupped her face.

“It will help your fingers heal more quickly.” His molten gaze held hers. “No argument,
habiba
. I burn to feel your mouth on me.”

Rising on her tiptoes, since he’d lowered her back to her feet to pull the blade, she found she couldn’t quite get there. Giving him a disparaging look, she raised a brow. “A boost would be helpful.”

Never mind her voice was a bit breathless. A spark of humor went through his gaze, but it was lost in the fires of lust that weakened her knees, making her need the assistance even more. The hold of his arm increased, his knee pressing between her legs, compelling them to open. As he slid her up the hard column of his thigh, she cried out.
Oh, God.
That flexing muscle between her legs, the spasms that rocketed through her clit. She curled her arm behind his neck, undamaged fingers digging into his shoulder, and brought her mouth to the cut.

At the first touch of her lips, he tightened everywhere, muscles rippling along chest and arm, cock convulsing where it was trapped beneath her hip bone. To a third-mark, the smell of blood was appetizing . . . but only the blood of the Master. She licked at the dagger mark, feeling him harden further against her as his mouth brushed her ear.

Take me to bed, Mason. I want you inside me.

Giving orders,
habiba
?
He nipped her sharply and electricity strummed through her.

Please, Mason. I need you.

You need many things, love. But I’m not sure if that’s one of them.

She bit and he growled, swinging her over to the bed and taking her down on her back, pinning her with his body as he cupped her head, holding her to his neck until he deemed she’d had enough. It felt glorious, the length of him stretched out on her. Lifting her legs, she tangled them over his hips, those bare buttocks, so taut. Straining up so her damp center rubbed against his cock, a swatch of thin cloth separating them, she willed him to tear her panties away, to simply take her.

“You can feel how wet I am for you,” she gasped. “Do it.”

But she could already see it happening, that thing that had happened every time they reached this point, and she wanted to howl, wanted to have his strength so she could force him forward. The doubt collecting in his eyes, the decision swinging another way, despite what it was obvious both of their bodies wanted. He caught her face in both hands, held her still.

“Goddamn you,” she snarled. “You want to. I can feel it. Get over yourself. It’s not that big a deal. Just fu—”

Stop it.

“I’m not her,” she shouted in his face, not caring that temper flared in his eyes. “I’m not your precious, never-say-a-foul-word, submissive Farida. I’m not perfect and beautiful, trapped in your memory like some freaking zoo animal. You’re the one who keeps drawing away.”

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.

029

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.