The Cherished One (8 page)

“The back of my arm.”

“Show me.”

Knowing he expected an immediate response, and knowing that her bottom couldn’t take much more of his correction, Fawna heaved an exasperated sigh and sat up.  He didn’t let her go far, just put one leg down and had her sitting in front of him, on the edge of the couch.   It was, for a bullet wound, a very small scar, but it was an affront to him that a woman as exquisite as she should be marred in any way, especially by something as brutal as a bullet.

If anyone was going to mark her in any way, it was going to be him, and he was going to be the one wielding the implement.  And the mark would never be permanent.  He found the current trend towards piercing and tattoos distasteful.

It was long since healed, and was little more than a puckered pink line at the back of her arm.  It didn’t hurt, and she rarely even thought about it, especially since it wasn’t something she saw very often.   Then he did something then that she didn’t expect.  Max leaned over and pressed his lips against the scar, as if he was kissing it better.

“I’m sorry you were hurt.”

“Why?”

It was a valid question.  “Because someone as beautiful as you doesn’t deserve to know an instant of pain in this life.”

Fawna snorted.  “That sounds kinda funny, coming from a man who’s essentially kidnapped me, who’s spanked me – which has definitely caused me pain,” as if to prove her point, she shifted somewhat gingerly in front of him, “and is supposedly out to kill me, after having already tried once.”

She found herself atop him again, his hand claiming her bottom, pressing her into him again, grinding himself against her, and she realized with a start that he hadn’t been fully erect until just now, and her eyes flew open at the sheer size of him at full capacity.  “Perhaps I’ve reevaluated my goals.”

Fawna wasn’t at all sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, but he wasn’t giving her much of a chance to consider it.  Max’s mouth took hers, descending like a hawk after a particularly plump rabbit to claim her mouth in a way that she should have resisted, should have done everything in her power to challenge, to twist away from, not to give in to... and she found herself truly ashamed at how quickly he overcame what little resistance she was able to put up.

His hands roamed over her back and backside at will, strongly, firmly, keeping her in place, letting her know that he wasn’t about to allow her to escape, but also massaging and gentling, somehow, at the same time.  He was lighting fires that were well beyond her to extinguish.  She was weak, and wanted to blame it on the sudden loss of her beloved Dag, depression, dejection, fear for her life... But it was more than that.

It was him.  It was something in their connection, perhaps the fact they had shared blood, perhaps not.  Perhaps the fact she was, for all intents and purposes, his prisoner, and she was experiencing a bit of Stockholm Syndrome, perhaps a combination of all of it.  All she knew was that she wanted him, and that was the last thing she wanted to happen.  She should be screaming and shouting and clawing at him and exhausting her very last breath to get away from this vampire who had caused her to lose the man she’d held so dear, and, from his own mouth, very nearly her own life.

But right now, all she asked in this world was that he didn’t stop touching her. 

And he didn’t.  He had her naked in his arms in a second, without so much as a peep from her.  In fact, she applauded him silently, knowing he would hear it, because it allowed her fevered skin just that much more of his touch.  His hands were slightly cool, and she instantly knew he hadn’t fed lately.  “Do you need to feed?” she asked, wondering where that left her in the equation.

It had been a very long time since anyone had showed any concern about him.  It felt... strangely good.  And awkwardly touching, considering their situation.  “No, Cherie.  I’m fine.  And no one should ever feed from you again.  You would likely not survive it.”

He gripped her nether cheeks, one in each big hand, squeezing and separating, squeezing and separating, then running his fingers lightly up that tantalizing crevasse, then up the length of her spine, feeling her shiver from the chills his touch evoked.

His palms reached under her for a second, lifting her by her ribs so that she almost floated in the air over his mouth, pink peaked breasts hovering right at mouth level.  Max twisted and turned her as he teased and tantalized each morsel, suckling and licking and occasionally biting, just so that she remembered that he could – and would – sometimes balance the pleasures he offered her with an occasional sting of his hand, or teeth, or a ruler or a paddle... depending on what the situation called for, as well as what was at hand at the time.

She was purring.  He was quite sure of it.  He’d never heard his name purred.  “Maaaaaaaaaaax!”  It was part purr, part groan of pure pleasure.

As his lips kept her nipples achingly taut, the fingers of his right hand began to travel towards more interesting territory, slowly making their way over her flat tummy and beyond, to that startlingly bare mound, one thick middle finger parting eagerly plump lips to delve into the hot heart of her, eager to discover the extent of her interest.  The first bud he encountered was stiff and swollen, which he counted as a very good sign, but he pressed on to part those inner lips and delved – carefully – with one gentle stroke, inside her, finding her almost alarmingly, excruciatingly tight, so much so that his cock contracted within his pants as if in a dry come.

His bold curiosity was rewarded fourfold.  The broad tip of his finger was drenched in her slickness, and he nearly bellowed in triumph, carrying a fingerful up to that taut, aching bud and rasping over it several times, as a test, watching her response avidly.  Fawna’s eyes nearly rolled back into her head as she whimpered softly, mewling, like the purring kitten she was.

Not letting up the constant stroking of her greedy clit, Max left her breasts in favor of slanting his mouth across hers, losing his other hand in the masses of red curls as he relentlessly drove her to a writhing, screaming, crying peak.

The moment she began to convulse beneath his finger, he saw something he’d never seen before.  Two long, shimmering gossamer wings sprouted from her back, floating above them and beating slowly, allowing her to hover over him without his assistance.  They were rainbow colored, in places a lime green, sometimes a burntish orange, some places a bright red, others an azure blue, royal purple... it was an amazing sight, but as her pleasure faded, so did her wings, fading into her back as if they had never been and lowering her gently on top of him again.  For a moment, he questioned whether they had been, but then he knew they had.

“Wings?” he said, wishing he could bring them back.

In his surprise at her enchanting gift, he had lowered her onto him, and she lay, almost snuggled but not quite that relaxed around him yet, on his chest.  “Mmm-hmmmm.”

“You have wings?”

“I’m a faerie.  When there’s room – when I’m on top, they come out.”

“Half a faerie,” he seemed to enjoy pointing out.

He felt how much his reminding her of that fact hurt her, and resolved to stop saying it.  She didn’t say anything to him about it, but he could feel her withdrawal, and he wished he could have retracted that comment, because it seemed to have destroyed the fragile intimacy that had existed between them.  She gave him a hard look, one that didn’t seem to take into account – or, maybe, rather, it did take that into account – what they had just experienced together – gathered her clothes, and left him.  Although he couldn’t see them, he could feel the tears she was crying on her way to what had always been her bedroom in this place.  She closed the door and locked it, knowing full well it was a futile gesture, but it said what she wanted to say to him, none the less.

He let her go.  It just didn’t feel right to him to stop her.  Max stood.  It was near dawn.  She was apparently on a nocturnal schedule, which wasn’t surprising, considering her relationship with Dag.  He’d learned a trick or two that Dag hadn’t, apparently, and could sleep anywhere, any time, he wanted to.

And right now, that meant nowhere other than with Fawna.  He gave her some time to fall asleep herself, figuring that joining her right now would only serve to upset her.  After conducting a thorough search of the place for telecommunications equipment, and finding none, he tuned the television into a special on what the Earth might be like after humans, which he found extremely interesting, and after one episode, he could feel that she’d fallen asleep, whether she really wanted to or not, as she was exhausted, mentally and physically.

After grabbing the ruler from the coffee table on the spur of the moment, just in case, he joined her in the room – the lock was not a deterrent, considering his strength - which he spent a certain amount of time exploring while she wasn’t going to hassle him about doing so.  There were pictures of her when she was younger, with her family and her friends, almost always looking radiantly happy, the occasional award – all of them scholastic, he noted, not a one of them athletic – lots of books and games, and more shoes than he thought a hundred women would own.  The way the room was decorated was a wonderful reflection of who she was now, even thought it was probably decorated when she was younger.  It was done in pastel pinks and purples, with a lot of flowers – mostly roses – and ribbons.  Her bedspread looked like expensive wallpaper, with bouquets of pink and purple roses held together with complimentary ribbons.  There were tons of pillows and frilly decorations... it was so feminine it made him itch, but if it was where she was sleeping, it was where he was sleeping. 

Max stealthily lifted the corner of the comforter and sheet and slipped under them, wishing he had some sort of power that would allow him to do so without waking her, but he didn’t know of one.  Luckily, she was pretty much dead to the world.  She didn’t even wake up when he tugged her up against him, stroked her hair and fell asleep himself.

***

Fawna awoke before he did, and she would have sworn that she had gone to bed alone, but it didn’t appear that locking the door against him had done her any good what so ever.  She’d remember that in the future to save the cost of door repair.  She needed to get out of bed.  If she didn’t do it now, she never would.  When she thought about the wreck her life had become in such a short time, she just wanted to crawl under the covers and never come out.  She didn’t think she’d ever stop crying, and now she had much more to cry about.  Not only was she alone, but she’d shamed herself and her family by allowing herself to be fondled by someone who intended her – and Dag – harm.  Hell, he’d already told her that he was the reason she was alone, and yet she’d let him crawl into her pants anyway.  She’d never thought of herself as a slut, but it was beginning to look like she would win the prize.

Chapter Six

She’d never been the one night stand kind of girl.  All of the men she’d been involved with she’d been most thoroughly involved with.  They might not have been the “till death do us part” kind of relationships, but she could no more have slept with someone she didn’t know than she could have been cruel to an animal.

Apparently, that had gone out the window, because there he was behind her, with his arm still wrapped around her waist, dead to the world – in more ways than one.

She’d never let herself be led around by her clit, and she didn’t intend to now.  Fawna tried to throw back the covers and get out of bed, but the arm around her waist prevented her from doing so.  It was like a manacle around her tummy, and it seemed to be contracting.

“Let me go.”

Instead of gaining her freedom, her words had the exact opposite effect. 

She found herself rolled with very depressing ease, so that she was beneath him.  Her pajamas seemed to disappear from her body.  Fawna didn’t have time to consider if this was another one of his gifts before she found her legs spread wide, knees folded back towards her shoulders, and his raging erection pressed against the entrance to her body.  She could feel how large he was – at least as big as Dag, who was extremely well endowed – maybe even more so.  It seemed to be a thing with vampires.  Lose the ability to walk in sunlight, but end up hung like a horse.  Most men would have a hard time turning that one down.

Fawna had deliberately kept herself very tight by doing several different types of exercises, which Dag had appreciated enormously, and it had ratcheted up the pleasure for the both of them.  But that had been Dag.  This was Max, and she didn’t want him inside her at all.  She wished she’d kept herself tight enough to deny him entry entirely.

“Max –no– please!”  About this, she was definitely not above begging, especially since she was very concerned that she would end up enjoying this, as she had been forced to enjoy last night.

“There wasn’t much forcing going on last night, petite.”

“Don’t call me that!” she fairly screamed at him.

He considered her for a moment, reading in her mind that that was an endearment his rival used to have for her.  “Sorry.  I didn’t know.”  Max reached between them, wanting to test the waters of her response, wondering if she was at all receptive to him, and his search was well rewarded.  She was as slick now as she had been last night after a long bout of petting.  “Mmmmmmm, buttery,” he groaned, rewarding her by running that slickness up and over her already engorged clit.

Fawna began to struggle in earnest, but there was precious little she could do against his strength, especially when she was already in such a vulnerable position.  And she was already dangerously close to being driven to that point where all she could see, all she could think about, was that big middle finger of his, rubbing agonizingly slowly up and over the exact middle of herself, from the very bottom to the very top, of that most sensitive spot, lazily, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, but inexorably dragging it up to the top, then slowly down to the bottom, then making the return trip.  And nothing she did, no position change, no contortion, no bend or jerk seem to knock him off course because he had her locked down tight, unable to do much beyond breathe more and more heavily, and endure the rising tide of her own forced desires.