“Cherie,” Jean-Pierre began, an edge to his voice. “What did Endelle do?”
Endelle held her hands up. “Nothing. We took a trip to Militia HQ.”
At that, Fiona tilted her head and raised her brows. “Tell him the rest, Endelle. You owe me that much because at some point he’s going to find out and I don’t want him to think, on any level, that this was my idea.”
Endelle backed up. She shrugged. She didn’t exactly meet Jean-Pierre’s gaze. “We might have looked in on the men’s shower room at the work-out center.” She pursed her lips and pretended to examine her nails.
“You did what?”
Fiona didn’t quite understand what happened during the next few seconds. The air seemed to tighten all around her, Endelle flew back about five feet and landed on her ass, then Fiona had 260 pounds of pure, lean, hardened vampire pressed the length of her and smashed into the wall.
“Jean-Pierre, stop.” She felt the strange snake-like things begin to swirl in her stomach. “Stop.”
“You are not to look at other men, not like that, not without clothes on. I will not have it.”
She tried to push at him, but he was a brick wall. The writhing thing in her stomach rose. She couldn’t bear to be held down like this.
In the distance, she heard Endelle say, “Well, then. I’ll leave you two kids to it.”
She wanted to call her back to ask for her help, but Jean-Pierre’s body and something she could only feel as his energy flowed over her and around her, poking at her skin as though seeking for entrance. She couldn’t breathe.
“You are for me, Fiona. No others.” His voice was deeper than she had heard it before, ever.
The writhing, crawling beast climbed up her chest and into her throat. She felt strangled from within.
Then she felt him against her mind. He pushed against her shields. He pushed hard. She looked into his eyes, saw the strange hard glitter. She understood his dilemma, the extreme protective urges, the need for dominance and possession. He needed to mark his territory. She doubted he was fully aware of what he was doing.
Let me in.
Three simple words. Let him in. He wanted in. He wanted inside her mind, to take her mind, to dominate her mind. She had done nothing wrong and Endelle’s thoughtless little jaunt to MWHQ had cost her this, a major confrontation between herself and her vampire lover, who wasn’t exactly in his right mind.
She held her shields in place so he began to push, slamming against them hard, his body still a wall against her.
Funny…all the writhing fears had subsided.
Then she understood something else. She liked what he was doing and even more than that, she trusted him even in this ridiculous caveman posturing. He ground his hips against her and he was, oh, God, so aroused.
His scent surrounded her but instead of the usual coffee dominating, that which was male was in the fore, very male. A wind possessed her mind, spinning around and around, and still slamming against her shields.
When he powered against her shields one more time, she dropped them flat.
He bored into her, a deep overwhelming rush into her mind, swelling over her thoughts, her memories, flowing into every narrow recess, swallowing her up.
And still she wasn’t afraid.
She met his mind straight on and let him possess her.
She slid her arms up around his neck and leaned the few inches that separated his mouth from hers and she kissed him.
He plunged his tongue inside, not a surprise. He drove and drove and drove, making his point. His hips flexed and he pushed that hard, thick, rope-like length against her.
A moment later, without warning, she felt movement, a flying sensation, and complete darkness, a glide through nether-space began.
She landed in a very damp space, so at odds with the desert or even Sedona.
She drew away slightly, to look around, but didn’t get far since he pulled her against him. Where are we? She sent since she couldn’t exactly speak.
What returned within her mind was a cross between a grunt and growl. He moved back from her about a quarter of an inch and over her mouth said, “My house. A grotto. By the creek.”
He kissed her and the storm in her mind kept moving around, searching, hunting.
He found the memories, the quick preternatural voyeuristic vision that Endelle had forced on her, of men working out, of men changing in a locker room and finally men naked in showers.
He threw back his head and roared.
She didn’t know what to do with this beast that had taken her into his grotto. She saw that he was out-of-control. She felt his desire to do harm to the men she had seen. She felt that he was ready to fly once more through nether-space, to go straight to that locker room and that shower, but like hell was she going to let him do harm to a bunch of men who had done nothing wrong.
She summoned her increased physical power, broke away from the restraints that were his arms, but instead of stepping away from him, she planted both hands on his face. “Look at me,” she cried.
He seemed startled and he froze. She could feel the vibration of the fold that almost happened but didn’t.
He stared at her unseeing, breathing hard. He had to be in there somewhere. “Fuck me, Jean-Pierre. Right here, right now. Take me, as hard as you want, in whatever position you want.”
His nostrils flared. His lips quivered and drew back from fangs that emerged.
She pushed her hair aside and bared her neck for him.
He struck hard and she winced. Shit, that hurt. But as soon as he began a series of heavy lusty draws, her body softened and sunk into a deep pool of exquisite pleasure. He grunted over her neck. The word ‘mine’, repeated through her brain.
In small stages, since he still had possession of her mind, she pushed him out of that horrible locker room and directed him to the memory of last night when she was sprawled across his abdomen, with his fingers buried inside of her. She let him relive the cries that she shouted into the cool night air.
He drank his fill from her neck and she kept the memory in front of his mind. He grunted his approval.
But her body ached now, in so many places at once. I need more, she sent, her hands rubbing up and down his biceps, to his wrists. She rolled her fingers around in his palms.
He finally released her neck, but he looked wild, his mouth red, blood dripping down his chin. He was in so many respects a gentleman that to see him like this both surprised her then made everything within the deepest part of her body pull into a knot. She needed him and she needed him now.
He put a palm between her breasts, his brow low as he stared at her. The next moment, her clothes simply disappeared.
Another blink and his clothes were gone.
She looked around, wondering what he meant to do in this place of earth, stone, and water. There was a chaise-longue nearby but she doubted it would hold his weight and hers.
She watched the pad disappear and before she could determine what he intended, he flipped her around and forced her down onto the same pad.
She started to turn over, but his movements were brusque as he pushed a leg wide, then her other leg, her arms as well until she was on all fours and somehow that seemed exactly what she needed as well.
He was behind her and she thought he would simply thrust into her. Instead, she felt a hand on her hip and the next thing his tongue was all over her, very low, thrusting, tasting, pushing everywhere.
She cried out, arching her back. Oh, God.
His mind, still connected within her, still possessing her, shouted, Mine. He swept his tongue up her body then licked at her left buttock. She panted and wept. She trembled.
Then his fangs struck deep into the flesh of her bottom and she felt the potion leave fire and pleasure behind that began streaking down and down.
“Oh, God, oh, God!” she cried, long and loud.
He did the same to her other buttock so that she had two lines of intense sensation flowing toward everything that was delicate, swollen and ached beyond words.
Then he rose up behind her, pushing her legs farther apart. She felt his thighs against the backs of hers and his hard cock poised at her opening. She could hear him breathing in deep draws. Do you feel the potion, he sent.
How close are you?
She knew what he meant. She panted, swift short draws of air. Her back arched. Almost. Oh, God. Almost.
She gave a cry, which was all he needed. He drove into her, holding her hips to keep her seated in the position he wanted her. Now he thrust, hard bucks of his hips, taking what he wanted, what he intended to mark.
The orgasm barreled down like a sudden waterfall over a cliff. Pleasure flowed in a hard swift wave of sensation and she screamed and screamed, because it kept coming.
She felt his hand at the back of her neck as he wrapped her long hair in his hand and pulled her back toward him so that her back was arched as he thrust into her.
He was still pumping and she could feel her pleasure building again. The potion intensified every sensation. He had one arm looped low now around her waist as the other, holding her hair, arched her back so that his mouth was against her ear. “You must stay away from other men, do you hear me, Fiona? Do you understand?”
She tried to nod but he held her trapped and she didn’t mind at all, because pleasure began to erupt. “Yes,” she cried out then screamed some more.
That’s when he sunk his fangs on the opposite side of her neck and began to drink once more as he plunged into her. He held her immobile but it seemed to help the sensations that worked her flesh and worked it. She screamed and screamed.
His body tightened and he was so hard. He released her so that she once more supported herself on her hands. He gripped her hips again and as he came he let out another roar, a resonant sound that filled the stone grotto. His roars echoed up and down the nearby stream and what had been a mad chattering of birds stopped.
The whole world fell silent before the claiming sounds of his voice, as he pumped into her, rocking her body wildly, and giving her what only a man could give.
Her arms ached from holding the position, but she was smiling. She tried to think back on her former life. She thought of her husband, but what a mistake since he was still within her mind and knew her thoughts. He leaned over her, still connected, and growled in her ear. He huffed as well, several times, blowing into her ear and on her face.
She drew out of the memory. I was thinking only that I had been such a good woman in those days and now I’m here. I thought I was happy then, but civilization robs us of something, I think.
The only answer he gave was that he shifted his body, while still connected low. He pushed away her hair then, without using his fangs, he bit down hard and held her like that, his big gorgeous teeth sunk into her neck and holding her immobile.
His breathing was ragged. She still gasped for each breath. She had the weirdest thought that she wanted to stay like this forever, that no matter what happened, life could get no better than this…ever.
In stages, he began to withdraw from her mind and when he left, the sense of aloneness pinched at her. She almost begged him to return.
He took his time leaving the well of her body, almost as though he knew it, too, that once separated, life would again swell in a huge wave, flow between them and separate them once more.
But when he did withdraw, she rolled on her back on the soft pad, pulling up her legs to maneuver around his since he didn’t move. He was on his knees at the very end of the pad. He looked so serious, which made her concerned. What on earth was he thinking?
Jean-Pierre stared at the woman he had just taken. His brain seemed fractured and incapable of pulling together in order to once more start forming rational, sensible thoughts. He had taken her roughly, as a man who has become more beast than man. He had brought her repeatedly, so he knew she had been pleasured, but what must she think of him now? He hardly knew what to think of himself.
“The breh-hedden is an exacting master,” he said at last.
She nodded, her lips parted. She had bruises on both sides of her neck. She looked well-used, her eyelids low, her lips swollen and bearing a faint curve. She was still breathing hard as was he.
Her gaze moved over him in such a way that he swelled his chest and tightened his abs. She lifted up on her elbows then leaned forward to extend a hand to the dark line of hair below his navel. She drifted her hand lower until she touched his cock, which hung both satisfied and still partially erect off to the left.
She didn’t touch him though, perhaps understanding that he would be sensitive. Instead, she planted her hand, her thumb around the base, so that her skin met his skin and part of his thick pubic hair. “Mine,” she whispered.
In another circumstance, he might have smiled. Instead, though, he met her gaze and covered her hand with his. “Yours, cherie. Yours.”
She leaned back down, flat on her back. She drew her knees up then spread them wide. She would probably never understand how that affected him, that she exposed her greatest vulnerability to him like that, offered herself so willingly, this woman from pristine Boston, this blood slave.
He leaned down and put his lips to her mons and kissed her repeatedly. He felt her hand on his hair, petting him softly.
“Jean-Pierre, this is madness,” she whispered once more.
What did he have to give her?
What did she have to give him?
Their bodies? Oui. For now.
Would it be enough for the future?
He did not want to think of that, not right now.