Blood Deep (11 page)

Thrusting his tongue out, he licked her creamy cunny, tasting the pleasure he’d given her. With one hand, he freed his cock. He moaned as it sprang from his trousers, standing up to the heavens and pointing to Miranda’s slick passage. The purple lights whirled around her, brighter now. The energy of her orgasm was combining with his magic, lighting the carriage with a beautiful, unearthly purple glow.

It reminded him of a sunset, and that made him bury his face between her thighs and lick her harder.

“Lukos.” She spoke his name breathily. She clutched his shoulders. This was his world—the darkness of a bedroom, the gloom of a carriage, the crisp, cool dark of the forest, where leaves crunched underneath a woman’s arse as she fucked. His world was night, and he could glimpse in Miranda’s mind and BLOOD DEEP / 85

see her thoughts were always about sunshine. His only pleasures were erotic ones, and he saw in her heart a great love for family. Dimly, he remembered that—what it was like to be part of family. To love others.

She opened up too much in him, this woman. So he clasped her firm bottom and pulled her quim tight to his face. So he wouldn’t have to think.

You are magical, Miranda.
And she was. Her cunny was still pulsing, the walls clutching his tongue as he thrust it in. She tasted of ripe, earthy juices.

Touch yourself,
she whispered in thought.

He saw her hands at her breasts, kneading and squeezing.

Her climax had shattered her defenses, and the magic was igniting her natural wanton urges.

I don’t need to,
he answered in her thoughts, and he held her hips as she began rocking against his mouth.

She looked down, her now disheveled hair falling free of her pins. It hung in spun-gold waves around her face. He knew his cock was standing proud, bobbing in rhythm to her gyrations on his face.

He still sensed a hesitation inside her, a ripple of fear. He wanted to free her completely. And he knew how to do it. He added another spell to the magic already swirling around the carriage. This one would control them both; it would tap into Miranda’s most private, darkest fantasies and bring one to life.

“What do you mean—my most private fantasies?” Miranda asked sharply.

She realized she was clutching her breasts, her skirts were bunched up on Lukos’s broad shoulders, and he was licking her silly. But she’d glimpsed his thoughts.

And they were extremely naughty.

Since the moment he’d saved her from Ryder, she’d felt a kind of connection with him. Energy crackled when he’d touched her like tiny bolts of lightning.

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“Now,” Lukos growled.

Suddenly, the blue lights lifted her, and a stream of blue stars forced Lukos to the floor of the carriage. He was lying on his back. She actually saw surprise—and fear—in his reflective eyes.

She was hovering twelve inches above the floor.

Lukos’s arms were outstretched above his head, and the blue light spun around his wrists, locking them together. The lights transformed into blue velvet—a band tied neatly to bind his hands together. Another band of velvet appeared at his ankles to secure them. And one, to her shock, wrapped around the very base of his . . . his erection, and magically tied a bow.

You dream of being in control. Dominating a man.
His deep voice vibrated in her mind.

Blushing hotly, she protested, “No, of course not. What madness.”

Deny it all you want,
he chuckled.
Why else are my hands
bound? I’m enjoying this, my love, and want to share this
with you.

She had to admit she liked having him this way. Though she suspected he could use magic to break those bonds whenever he wanted.

The blue lights suddenly rushed around
her.
Her dress opened by itself, buttons popping free of their loops, one after another, like tiny fireworks. Her bodice fell and was dragged down her arms as though by invisible hands. Her corset laces undid themselves—

she twisted to watch—and the ends whirled through the air as they loosened by magic. Her corset dropped just below her bosom; her shift disappeared. Simply vanished, leaving her bared breasts propped on the firm shelf of her corset rim. It made them stick right out, made them look huge, the nipples dark and hard.

The sight was unbearable exciting. It felt wanton and delicious.

Lukos licked his lips.

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He grinned. “I can control myself, my dear. Even when faced with the two most perfect tits in existence.”

Even that word in his husky voice—tits—felt deliciously naughty. She wriggled on him, making her breasts sway. Blue lights appeared at the tips of her breasts. “Oh,” she moaned, as the tingling sensation struck her nipples. Then she felt a jolt of agony. A thrilling, shocking pain. She could barely breathe.

Then saw. The lights had vanished, leaving two metal devices that were hanging off her nipples, pinching them. They were lined with velvet, but the pressure was so intense.

The lights swirled again, and her hands were pulled back.

Ropes wound around her wrists, just as they had done to Lukos; then they whirled up her arms and wrapped around her breasts, making a tight figure eight. The ends suddenly threaded through rings on the clamps on her tits. And when she wriggled her hands, she tugged those vicelike clamps, and sent pleasure and pain rushing from her nipples to her quim.

Dominating him, indeed. She liked the feel of the ropes.

Surely this couldn’t be
her
doing? Her fantasy? How she realized, in that moment, she was not a normal proper woman at all.

More ropes materialized, looped around the one binding her hands, and these wrapped in an intricate pattern of knots around her thighs, then encircled her ankles. She was bound, and each time she moved, the roughness of the rope teased her skin.

Her quim ached. She was fluttering the muscles herself. She wanted, wanted, wanted to come again.

“Then put me in your fantasy, love.” He laughed. “I’ll be happy to oblige.”

“Hush, I’m in charge,” she admonished. To her shock, a gag of silk appeared over his mouth, tied so tight she could see the curves of his smile through the fabric. Had she summoned that?

She was lifted by the blue lights and set down on Lukos’s 88 /
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face. Underneath her gown, she wore snug drawers with a lace-trimmed slit. She straddled Lukos’s chest, and he lifted his head, his eyes drinking in the sight of the drawers, pulled taut against her pubic curls. His hips gyrated slightly.

Instead of moving back down toward his groin, she pinned his biceps with her knees, and pushed her hips forward so her now damp and aching quim brushed his chin. She wriggled again, so her sex and its lips—exposed just at the tips—sank down against his gagged mouth. Her drawers and the pretty lace edging were growing wetter and she could smell her potent arousal.

Lukos breathed deeply. She felt his tongue push the silk into her. His mouth worked against her, trying to suck the lips of her sex but unable to capture them. As the blue lights rushed around them, Miranda danced her hips on him, twisting and grinding her mound into his mouth. She rocked ahead to bury his nose into fragrant silk and wet curls through the slit in her undergarments.

Ah, love, I think your fantasy is to torment me.

She heard a rhythmic pounding, turned, and saw his hips lifting and his bottom bouncing against the floor. It was thrilling to be in control—to have her wet, aroused, ripe sex on his face.

Feeling naughty, Miranda turned herself around, her cunny still against his mouth, but her silk-clad bottom pushing against his nose.

The swaying of the carriage sent her rocking against his face.

“You are not to climax,” she admonished, in a deep and threatening voice.

As you wish. I’m your prisoner, and this, my love, is your
fantasy.

The erotic smell of her excitement was becoming too much to bear. His silk gag was soaking wet from her leaking fluids and his saliva as he tried to manipulate her with his mouth.

Even bound, he was trying to pleasure her.

She was so excited she could barely think. He thought she BLOOD DEEP / 89

wanted to torment him? She could think of no better torture than reaching orgasm on his handsome face while he was destined to remain unsatisfied. The ties at her hands released.

Dipping a finger between her curls, she found her throbbing, aching clitoris—Caroline had told her about
that
—and rocked on him while rubbing herself. He let out a muffled groan. She wriggled to and fro, engulfing him with her generous bottom and growing closer and closer to an explosion.

His arms and wrists and hands strained at the bonds as she worked faster and faster. His hips began to thrust up in a rhythm to match hers, and she realized he was going to please himself.

“No,” she cried. In a desperate action—without thinking—

she bent forward and slapped her hand down on his thick shaft to stop him from moving.

He came. His whole body went tense and arched up from the floor of the carriage. His face lifted, burrowing right into her sopping, melting, eager sex.

There were no more magic lights. Suddenly, Miranda saw that the twinkling blue and purple stars had vanished. Lukos’s magic wasn’t controlling her—she was doing this because she was wild and wanton and she wanted it.

The shocking realization hit her just as she climaxed.

She writhed with the powerful explosion. Lights burst before her eyes—not magic lights, ones triggered in her own head by the wonderful pleasure streaking through her. She was crying out, loud enough to be heard in London.

As it died away, she fell back and hit the carriage wall. Miranda didn’t care. She clutched the two seats to keep upright and greedily sucked in breaths of air.

She had just flown. She had whirled and soared. And now she was damp with sweat and barely able to breathe.

Lukos sat up beside her and she impulsively reached out to him. She put her hand against his broad chest, right above his heart—

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Blackness. It enveloped her, and she suddenly couldn’t see anything, even with her eyes wide open. She heard a distant crackle and roar—the sound of flames. She smelled a sharp, acrid odor that made her stomach churn. Footsteps. Shuffling ones.

And rasping breathing. The sounds came from all around her.

She was twisting, trying to see in the heavy, hot darkness. Panic rose. Her limbs were shaking, and they felt numb, unable to move.

Something was coming for her and she was trapped.

An image suddenly appeared before her. It was a young man without hair. A woman grasped his jaw and wrenched his head back. A red light glowed. Suddenly that glowing tip plunged forward and Miranda saw it pierce Lukos’s eye.

She screamed. The vision vanished and another came. She felt pain through her entire body, and she saw Lukos strapped to a smooth rock surface. He was being whipped, punished because he had failed to learn the magic he was being taught that day. Blood ran freely on his back. His brain was swimming with the pain, but some magic prevented him from finding the escape of unconsciousness. She heard a deep, angry voice:
I will
whip all the rebellion out of you, Lukos. You are my servant. An
apprentice of Lucifer. Defy me one more time and I will destroy
you. I will have your body torn apart inch by precious inch . . .

The blackness and the images whirled away before Miranda.

They sucked into a glowing point of light, then vanished.

“You were tortured,” she gasped to Lukos. “I—I saw it.”

She shivered and realized she was perched on the carriage seat, her wrinkled skirts spilling out around her. She was shaking.

The blue ropes had vanished, but Lukos was sitting on the floor, staring at her with his brows slanted down over his glittering eyes.

He leapt up to her side and drew her into his embrace. He was the undead, but he was warm, and the fear and icy darkness inside began to fade away. “I saw you being whipped. I saw BLOOD DEEP / 91

your eyes—” She had to stop. Just thinking of it made bile rise.

“I felt your pain.”

“Angel.” He crooned it, rocking her.

She could not believe she felt such comfort in the arms of a vampire. But he had been tortured. “Who?” she gasped. “Who did that to you?”

His hands stroked gently. “What did you mean you saw it?”

Halting, she described the vision of him being whipped. Miranda knew it was dangerous, but as she stared into his handsome face, her heart lurched in sympathy.

Lukos wrapped his arms tight around Miranda. He had not embraced a woman to comfort her for a thousand years, not since he had last hugged his sister and had promised her that he would be fine, that his apprenticeship with Lucifer would bring peace and security to his home.

“Are you an empath?” he asked her softly. He had thought her only a mortal woman when he had first seen her on the road; now he realized she was a unique being, one he had never encountered before. If she was an empath—

She had to stay away from the likes of him. His memories of his time serving Lucifer could steal an empath’s mind, could send one into permanent madness. The devil wove magic to block some of the torture and fear, to help his apprentices survive, but an empath would feel it all, without any relief from Lucifer’s shields.

“I don’t know. All I know is that when I touched your heart, I saw images—dark, horrible, nightmarish ones.”

“Don’t touch me there again,” he warned. He did not want her to release his memories. If she could see them in her own head, experience them herself, she risked condemning herself to insanity.

“I felt something. A deep sort of tug in my soul, and I thought I could help you—”

“Don’t,” he snarled. “You can’t dare.” He had to push her 92 /
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away. He had to stop her, and to do that he had to make her see him as an evil demon again. Which was what he was. He brusquely released her and pointed to her dress. “Straighten your skirts or everyone will guess you’ve let a vampire beneath them.”