The Mark of the Vampire Queen (16 page)

When she came back on the second night, so close to dawn he met her at the car with a cape, she was pale. She didn't speak, but once they were inside she pushed him down into a chair, straddled him fully clothed and bit into his throat, seeking nourishment she seemed to need badly. She murmured her pleasure at the taste of his blood, the feel of his hands on her hips as she purposefully rubbed against him, arousing him to the point of bursting.

Because of his worry, his need for her had a sharp, emotional edge that made the physical craving even more acute. But she'd moved off of him and left him with a wicked though somewhat wan smile.
Until Sunday, my servant.

 

She was a demon, he decided. It was now Sunday night and he stood in the driveway waiting on her. With mild concern, he wondered if it was possible for constant erections to cause permanent brain damage from blood loss.

I'm ready whenever you are, my lady.

He'd sent that mental communication to her about fifteen minutes ago. Since she was a woman, he'd expected and had the time to make a few more adjustments to the bike, as well as throw a stick to Bran's brother Fionn. Sunday night was blessed with a pleasant temperature and light breeze to keep off the mosquitoes. A sliver of moon was tilting in the early evening sky.

She came out wearing a lavender knit shirt, dark jeans, matching sandals and some simple jewelry. Except for the mall, he'd never seen her in jeans. The lines of the denim were straight and elegant, turning her ass into an upside-down heart where the garment nipped in to the waist. She had her hair clipped up loosely so tendrils fell around her oval face. No makeup, not that she needed any. All in all, she looked like she was ready for a picnic in the park. She'd told him to wear comfortable clothes, so he was in his normal garb of jeans and a T-shirt.

She handed him a flyer. “That's where we're going.”

He glanced down. Started. “There's a Renaissance Faire at Langston Field?”

She nodded. “They set up outside of town several nights ago, and I thought you'd like to go.”

Seeing the pen and ink depiction of the knight on the horse and the amply endowed wench offering food and drink brought back memories, most of them good. Though he tried to squelch one of them in particular, he felt her amusement sweep over him.

“Too late, Sir Vagabond. Now you're in trouble.”

“She was just a friend. We were a bit drunk that night.”

“Not too drunk to give her a good time, I see.”

“If you're going to eavesdrop on my thoughts, you deserve what you get.” When his thumb passed over the drawing of the knight and his steed, other memories came back. Sitting on the back of a powerful horse, charging forward side by side with other knights. Brief, poignant moments where he felt immersed in something that had always been more than a performance to him. But it hadn't been enough to hold him, keep him. Only the woman in front of him had been able to do that.

He raised his attention to Lyssa, knowing she was watching him closely, inside and out. “Why are you doing this, my lady? I'm not complaining; it's just these past few days…I guess I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Stepping closer to him, Lyssa slid her hands up behind his neck and brought his head down for a kiss. They didn't often do it this way, where his greater height was particularly marked. Jacob lost the flow of his thoughts as she stretched up on her toes and pressed her body into his. Abandoning whatever the hell it was he'd asked her, he kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her. Softness, firmness, perfume, blissful
curves
. With the hand holding the flyer, he gripped her left buttock, the paper crackling as he molded it to the perfect shape.

“Don't ask questions. I just want to give you something. Something you'll like.”

You're doing that now, my lady.

He brought both hands into play, grasping her tightly to lift her against him. She made a noise of pleasure, goading him further. He was raging for her, his cock enormous in a blink of time. He wanted, needed her now.

When she pushed away and backed up several steps until she was leaning against the bike, her gaze was one of wanton challenge.

It seems you've missed me. Am I teaching you to be insatiable?

The playful demeanor disappeared. Christ, even the dark mink sweep of her lashes could make him hard. She opened the top button of her shirt, teasing the cleavage with long-nailed fingers he'd painted himself.

I want you.

Which of them had thought it? And did it matter? He closed the gap between them and crowded her, trapping her between himself and the bike. As she put a palm on his chest, his hand closed over her deceptively delicate wrist, pulling it to the side and behind her, arching her body up into his.

Perhaps it was her own strength that made him act more savagely, more unleashed than he'd ever been with a woman. Her hair smelled like the exotic scent she used. It was something that if inhaled too deeply couldn't be detected, but it was there when one breathed normally, part of the lightness of the air. Capable of teasing a man to madness, like all of her, for she could deny him whenever she chose.

She watched him, the shadows in her eyes suggesting her internal struggle with her overwhelming desires and needs. Her lips parted as if there were things she wanted to say that she never would.

It was a struggle his sudden, sharp, male need cared little about.

Whatever it is, my lady, let it go. I just want you. It's that simple, every day, every moment. The beginning and the end of everything I need is here.

When he lifted her onto the motorcycle's seat, she relented, wrapping her legs around him as he growled his approval into her mouth. Pulling the clip free, he buried his hands in her abundant hair, deepened the kiss, invading her with ruthless determination as he intended to invade her elsewhere. His hands went under her knit shirt, his long fingers tunneling beneath the band of the bra and pushing it up so he could support her breasts with his own hands, earning a quiver of response from her as he captured her nipples in the creases between his thumbs and forefingers.

He knew she was wet for him already, knew it the way he knew he was ready to detonate. Putting his hand between them, he rubbed the heel of his palm against her mound and was rewarded by a convulsive tightening of her legs, her hips jerking up to meet him and increase the friction.

He pulled the shirt over her head and unfastened her jeans swiftly, backing off enough to strip them down her legs, taking her sandals off. Despite the urgency goading their actions, he had to take a moment to savor it. She sat on his bike in the driveway, under the spreading branches of a live oak dripping with Spanish moss. Wearing just her bra, a swatch of silky gold panties and all that glorious hair. The lawn rolled away behind her, verdant green painted with touches of fall color.

Her hands were on him, too, opening his jeans. She'd barely unzipped them before she gripped his bare buttocks and brought him back to her. Pulling aside the crotch of the panties, he thrust roughly into slick heat with a deep groan of relief she matched with a cry. He pumped into heaven, feeling the friction of the panties' elastic against the shaft of his cock even as he tightened his arm around her waist, keeping her close. Her buttocks rested just on the edge of the bike seat as she held her legs clamped high on his waist. When she leaned against his strength, her head dropped back as he held her with one arm and pushed her bra back up with the other. Holding it at her throat, he let his fingers apply pressure there. Her breasts trembled at his thrusts, his cock pushing in and sliding out of her pink lips, glistening and soaking the surrounding thin silk.

Fuck me, Jacob. Ah, God…

“I missed you,” he muttered as she brought herself back up, straightened and curled her arms around him so her head was tucked under his chin, her upper body pinned against his chest. Her fingers still dug into his buttocks, driving him, holding on to him. Perhaps because she was not looking at him, he could say what was rolling through him. While he knew she could hear it in his mind, he wanted her to hear him utter the words deliberately, as an oath instead of just a stream of consciousness. “I miss you every second I'm not inside you like this.”

Letting her hold on to him, he slid his hands under her thighs, bringing her clit more in contact with his cock, which was hard as the chrome of his bike.

Her eyes widened and her body convulsed, giving him a surge of furious triumph as her nails bit into him. Her fangs glittered from the soft white light cast by the outdoor lanterns as her mouth opened on another cry. She spasmed inside as well, giving him no more choice in the matter than he'd just given her. He flooded her, feeling the two heats mixing together, wetting his ball sac. The inside of her thighs pressed against his hip bones. He kept pushing into her, staying right with her through each aftershock, wanting the impression of his cock filling and completing her, imprinting on her memory. So perhaps she wouldn't deny herself or him for such an interminably long time again.

One day, two days…the hours when she slept. All of it was too long.

Humor rippled through her, mixed with passion as she caught the thought. She held on to his shoulders, breathing shallow breaths as he held her close, pressing his head on top of hers.

“What is it you miss so much during my sleeping hours, my greedy servant? My smile? My eyes? Or this?” She contracted upon him, squeezing him with such artful skill he thrust against her in answer.

“All of you, my lady. Everything you give me when you do this. Your wet pussy, your panting breath, your nails digging into me, your heart and desire in your eyes, those soft whimpers in the back of your throat. It tears the heart out of me.”
I never knew there was anything that I'd want for all eternity until I met you.

Her nails pierced his skin, her forehead pressing against his chest so he couldn't see her face, but her emotional reaction to his words and thoughts flooded him like a wave.

Sometimes he forgot she'd lost her husband so recently. That such admissions could hurt her because the intensity was reminiscent of what she'd wanted but never had with Rex. When he felt her struggling to rein it in, he knew whatever she'd planned tonight, she didn't want to be drawn into her own shadows. Changing tactics, he raised her head with a nudge of his, brushed her lips with his mouth. Nipped sharply. “You got this out of your system? Ready to go now?”

She blinked back the tears he knew she didn't want him to notice and managed to toss him an arch look. “I think I might need to freshen up first.”

“No. Don't.” He gripped her with a sudden fierceness. “Wherever we're going, I want to know that my seed is sticky between your thighs. When you take your panties off just before dawn, I want you to smell me on your flesh and in the silk.”

As her eyes darkened with desire, he knew he'd banished the shadows. Reaching up, she stroked her thumb over his lips, her touch lingering when he made the contact a kiss. “I won't be taking my own panties off, Sir Vagabond. I can almost guarantee you that.”

 

The Faire was set up on acreage outside of town, a nature preserve set against the backdrop of Stone Mountain with its impressive carving of the trio of Confederate generals.

Nearly five acres of pavilion tents were interspersed with torchlight to distract attention from the large outdoor stage lighting that had been rented to further illuminate the area. A roar of cheers rising beyond the forest of tents told Jacob some type of competition was in process. The crowd of parents and children he saw milling among the tents suggested it was not a joust, however, which would typically draw most of the Faire attendees to the makeshift arena at the rear of the fairgrounds.

Other than a small scattering of cars, there were five school buses in the parking lot. “This is a school booking,” he noted. “It might not be open to the public.”

“It's not,” she agreed. “They're holding a special nighttime performance for an inner-city school. It was made possible by a private benefactor who asked if she might attend herself to see the children enjoy the Faire. And bring a guest.”

He digested that as she used his shoulder to brace herself and swung her leg over the bike. He'd redone her hair for her and she'd rearranged her clothes, but as he wished she'd not done anything else. To all outward appearances she was perfect.

“I suspect this benefactor is someone with more money than God.”

“That's such a ridiculous saying. What use would God have for money? Hence, a pauper has more money than God.”

“A pauper you are not, my lady.”

Lyssa cocked her head. “These children don't have much of the good memories money
can
buy. Plus, it served my purpose. I was planning a birthday gift for someone very dear to me. Terry said you liked the nights the troupe entertained schoolchildren the best.”

Jacob came to a halt. Eyes widening, he turned, taking a closer look at the cars and the pavilion tents in the distance. The colors. “This is my old troupe. They changed the flyer.”

She nodded. “Happy thirtieth birthday, Jacob.”

“This took some time to set up. When did you—”

“You think I just sit around every evening, waiting for you to do my hair and wipe my ass?”

He winced. “I'm never going to live that one down, am I?”

“I'm still offended by it.” She sniffed. “I plan to bring it up as often as possible, because that's my right as your Mistress.”

He snorted. “It has nothing to do with you being my Mistress and everything to do with being female.”

However, he tugged her forward until she was standing toe-to-toe with him and he had his lips pressed to the tip of her nose.

“Thank you,” he said.