Nightfall (27 page)

“For formal dinners.” Dix shrugged. “On a normal night,
Butch and I might chow down on burgers in front of a game on the widescreen,
but vampires have particular rituals when it comes to meets like this.”

Quinn set his jaw, nodded. It wouldn’t help to ask what
would be happening at dinner, would it? He’d just assume the worst and anything
better would be a nice surprise.

When he closed his door behind him, he found the room was
comfortably furnished but not overly large. Another statement, because they
certainly had the space to make it larger.

Quinn, once you’re dressed for dinner, I want you to come
see me. But before you do, use the ointment I told you to pack. Lube yourself
up well.

Her tone was as neutral as a robot’s as she delivered the
ominous instruction.

He quelled the feeling of being cast adrift and all alone,
suddenly in a place where the language was foreign and the person he’d come
with as much a part of it, separate from him, as the Grand Canyon was wide. But
she was his Mistress, right?

Since they’d deigned to give him his own bathroom, he
decided to take a quick shower and do a smooth shave. Then he faced what was in
the dresser.

The outfit could have been worse. He’d imagined studded
leather straps, metal rings to go around his cock and balls. Instead it was
just a tight pair of shorts in some sort of sleek material that fit him like a
seal’s skin from just below his hipbones to high on the thighs. Obviously
intended to highlight his ass and every hill and valley of his package. Christ.
There was no way he could stand in front of other men in this.

Are you dressed?

Define dressed.
But he moved to take care of the
lube. Thanks to her desires, he was now pretty efficient at getting his ass
lubricated. As he pushed the shorts to his thighs, braced himself against the
bathroom counter to comply, she helped. He felt the sensual hum of her
attention, and his cock jumped, responding to it as she made it clear she liked
watching him through his eyes, in his mirror, seeing his arm flexing as he
fucked himself with his fingers, worked the lube in good to make himself ready
for God knew what.

When he replaced the shorts, washed his hands, she spoke in
his head again, a little breathless, which just made more of his blood drain to
his groin.

Come here, Quinn.

He went through that pass-through door, relieved to find it
unlocked. He wasn’t sure if he could handle the unspoken message if he’d had to
knock.

Everything is about getting back to the bar and the ranch,
to what we are normally.

She spoke the reminder in his head, but when her gaze slid
over him, he saw his Mistress wet her lips, eyes widening just a bit. Despite
his own discomfiture, his body had no problem responding to her approval. He
was starting to find it hard to walk as she crooked a finger at him. “Come
here, Quinn,” she repeated.

The order actually helped steady him amid this tornado of
what
the hell
. She was sitting on the bed in a sexy blue velvet dress that clung
to her curves and stopped high on the thigh. She wore black stockings, and he
could see the edge of her garters. She also wore some killer heels. She looked
edible. For Butch?

No. Because it was expected she’d dress for dinner. For her
pleasure and for those looking at her, which, yes, included Butch, but… She
lifted her gaze to him.

Also to make my servant think of the only thing that
matters. My pleasure, and how I will make him serve me.

When he approached at her gesture, she molded her palm over
his thigh, slid her hand up over that sleek covering, cupped his cock and
testicles, kneaded and played, obviously enjoying the way they felt under her
touch. No preamble, just going right for what she wanted, like a man. Her other
hand snaked around, gripped his buttock, dug in.

“Nice,” she murmured. “I like this look on you. Maybe I’ll
have you wear these beneath your jeans in the future.

“I think I’d sweat like a son of a bitch doing ranch work.
Not exactly breathable cotton.” He touched her face, sliding his hand down over
her lip. “It’s all healed. How’re the ribs?”

“All better. I might need some blood later.”

“It’s yours.”

Holding his gaze, she rose to slide her arms around him. As
she lifted onto her toes to kiss him, it became a thorough, tongue-tangling
gesture that had him tightening his own arms around her, biting back a groan as
she rubbed herself against his cock.

I know that, cowboy. I find a lot of pleasure in the
thought you’re all mine.

So did he, even if he was thinking he’d lost his mind. “So
tonight?” He knew he’d regret asking.

She sobered, easing back. “I don’t know, Quinn. Butch may
want pleasure, pain or something in between. What he did to me earlier…he’s
allowed to punish a vampire in his territory, even push the issue of sex with
me if he wishes. I can refuse him on that, though the avenues for recourse if
he overrules me and forces it are pretty ineffective. But most of the time
vampires exercise their hungers through their servants at formal occasions.”

“So Dix is gay?”

“Gay and straight aren’t really terms we have in the vampire
world. Pleasure is pleasure. Butch has likely enjoyed men and women, and Dix
the same.”

Quinn tried to wrap his mind around it in some rational way,
not panic like a calf let out of a chute. “So…ah…condoms?”

“Not necessary. Vampires nor servants can pass STDs. The
only viral disease that affects us is something called the Delilah Virus, and I
expect if Butch had that he would let me know before allowing his servant
carnal knowledge of mine. We can trust his integrity on that.”

She gave him a brief synopsis of the discussion in the
garden then. It did loosen things inside him, to hear the specifics about Butch
being in their corner, even though the guy still pissed him off.

“This is one fucked-up world,” he said bluntly.

She gave him a tight smile. “Is the human one so different?”

“I feel like we’ve evolved past the whole survival of the
fittest, might makes right thing. Or at least we’ve become enlightened enough
to recognize it’s not the best way.”

“Here you have. How about in Haiti? Russia? Name your
dictatorship? What you consider the rule of the land doesn’t exist everywhere.
Hell, it doesn’t exist in nature at all. There is balance between weak and
strong, where the strong survive and prosper and the weak adapt or disappear.”

He had no answer to that, but fortunately she was
distracting him, running her nails lightly up his thighs. She appeared to be
fascinated by the way the sleek material outlined his groin and, under her
regard, it had to expand its hold. He bit back another groan as she caressed
him even more boldly, stroking his length.

“You’re going to embarrass me.”

“No.” Her gaze lifted to him. “I want you to walk down there
aroused, Quinn. I want you to show Butch you serve your Mistress, that nothing
distracts you from her pleasure. That’s all I want you to think about. If Dix
is ordered to shove his dick into your ass, make you come, every drop is for
me. Every pleasure you feel, however reluctantly wrested from you, from your
understanding of what you are or are not, is for me. You understand? Tell me.”

“Yes ma’am.” He swallowed. Fuck. Damn. Could he do this?

The next moment, it was a moot point. He was following the
pendulum curve of her delectable ass down the hall, tracking the length of her
legs. The sheen of the stockings and a glimpse of those garters led him like
the carrot in front of a stubborn mule’s nose. He felt her amusement at the
comparison, and it made him feel better. No matter what happened, they were
connected. Together.

Always, Quinn.
Her shoulders straightened, chin
lifting as if she’d increased some type of resolve inside herself. When she
reached the first floor and turned toward the dining room archway, she sent him
one final thought.
No matter what happens, promise me not to doubt that one
thing.

Dix was wearing the same kind of shorts. For a wiry kind of
guy, he looked like he had a pretty sizeable package himself. Not that Quinn
had any desire to look, but when a man thought something might be used as a
weapon against him, he tended to size it up. Dix was standing against the wall
behind his Master’s chair, just as he’d said. Quinn held the chair for Selene
and then, emulating the other servant, he stepped back against the wall behind
her. She gave him a flickering glance, apparently not realizing Dix had given
him the instruction. She greeted Butch as if the two of them were cordial
acquaintances, just sitting down for a friendly dinner. With an edge to it.

The quiet Mexican woman—Yolanda, he assumed—served, once
again coming and going like a shadow. At Selene’s glance, Butch explained.
“She’s a second mark. She’s been with me quite awhile, a gift from my sire on
his last visit, about…” He considered. “Ten years ago. Diego tends to travel
and disappear for a few years at a time. She’s an incredibly good cook. Dix and
the hands get the most benefit from it, but even the small portions I can eat
as a vampire are worth it.”

He lifted a bottle. “I comfort myself by figuring out the
best vintage to go with those bite-size samplers. I’ve learned to be a wine connoisseur,
because alcohol is the one thing we can have to excess without unpleasant
effects to our digestive system. You probably have a pretty advanced palate,
making up all those drinks in New York.”

“Texans have pretty advanced taste buds, all those Tex-Mex
flavors. Don’t assume I’m a snob.”

He chuckled at that. “Here. See what you think, Yankee.” He
poured her a glass and Dix came forward to bring it to her before he returned
to his spot.

“Midwesterner. I’m from Michigan originally.” She sipped,
nodded. “That’s very good.”

From there they proceeded into unexpectedly typical dinner
topics. Butch spoke of some vampire-related things, but he also asked Selene
about the bar and New York, even directing a few questions to Quinn about the
ranch. Those discussions sometimes included Dix’s input, verifying or differing
in approaches. It was an odd setup for dinner conversation, but it seemed to
work. Yolanda brought out some small plates with bite-size portions of what
Quinn expected would be his and Dix’s dinner later.

He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, because they hadn’t really
known what the plan was, and now he knew he should have taken the time, because
the rumbling of his damn stomach was going to embarrass Selene. Then again,
since he didn’t know what the after-dinner entertainment would be, maybe it was
best to face that on an empty stomach.

“Quinn.” Selene gestured to him. “Come kneel by my chair.”

In front of them. Christ. A little awkward and
self-conscious, he came to her chair and dropped to one knee, placing a hand on
the back of her chair by her shoulder, his bent knee brushing hers. That
position felt a little better, a little less servile. Given Butch’s speculative
look, he maybe should have done it the other way, but she touched his jaw,
bringing his attention to her.

Only me. There’s only me in this room. How about you
kneel to me the way you would in your bedroom? Or mine?

As she held his gaze, he found he could do it. He put the
other knee down, sat his ass on his heels, though he kept a hand on the chair
back. She gave him a forkful of what he had to admit was one of the best
enchiladas he’d ever tasted. Yolanda brought more out, as if summoned by Butch,
and Selene fed him most of it as she spoke with the master of the house about
casual things. Quinn tried not to think of himself as a dog being handed scraps
from the table, and it was easier than expected, because in this position, he
could see his Mistress’ stockinged thigh, the edge of the garter.

I’d like to feel how nice a shave you did for me. Rub
your cheek on the bare part of my leg.

He bent, did that, and scented her fragrance. Powder and
perfume, but unmistakably arousal as well. He’d aroused her by eating from her
hand. Suddenly he didn’t feel like a pet at all, but a man whose submission
turned her on tenfold. Her fingers slid through his hair, tugging, her nails
scraping his nape.

Return to the wall now.

He pressed a kiss to her leg, earned a more reproving tug to
his hair. Dix and Butch were both watching him, and Quinn was uncomfortably
aware Butch’s regard was laced with sexual fascination. While it was hard to
determine what Dix was thinking, it wasn’t disinterest, not by a long shot.

“You do much wrestling, Quinn?” Butch asked, tearing off a
piece of bread and taking a taste.

“Yeah.” At Selene’s subtle prompting, he cleared his throat.
“Yes sir. I wrestled in high school. On the ranch, there are all sorts of
things that have to be wrestled down to the ground.”

“True enough. Later on, during after-dinner drinks, we’ll
tell you how we had to wrestle a bull to the ground bare-handed. Good thing
those horns weren’t wood or steel,” he said wryly, “because he nearly skewered
both of us, the bastard.”

Dix chuckled at that and Quinn managed a tentative smile in
return.

“You and Dix move over there.” Butch nodded to the outdoor
screened patio available beyond the open double doors of the dining room. The
space was clear, no outdoor furniture. “Let’s see which one of you can wrestle
the other to the ground and hogtie him. Whoever wins, their Master or Mistress
gets to decide the prize.”

Okay. Not the usual activity one did at dinner, but it
wasn’t something unknown to him, especially when Dix gave him a grin full of
you-are-so-going-to-lose.

The guy was way stronger, more experienced, but Quinn wasn’t
much for losing a fight either. He’d been the captain of his wrestling team.
Dix had moved to a side cabinet, something that might normally hold fancy
dishes, and pulled out a coil of rope. As he and Quinn moved onto the patio, he
dropped it on the floor in between them. Then he took up a wrestling stance,
facing Quinn.