The Vampire Queen's Servant (11 page)

She continued to rock upon him
in that relentless, slow-rolling motion, creating friction between them. He
groaned as more of her juices made tiny tracks over the petals of flesh. Still
arched, she brought one hand back there—holy Christ—penetrated herself, thumb
rubbing her clit. Then she stretched almost as far as she'd made him do to
paint a circle of her fluids on his ankles, the arches of his feet.

When at last she rose, her pale
face was flushed. She sank her fingers into herself again, oiling herself all
the way to her top knuckles. Sweeping her hands behind her once more, she
gripped his cock. Using her dew to lubricate his shaft, she pressed her
buttocks around him, rubbing. Slow, up and down.

"Did you know when cats rub
their faces against you, they're marking you with their scent?" she asked.

He didn't have a clue as to the
price of a newspaper or who was president. He was hypnotized by the glide of
her body. The feel of her ass pressed around his cock, sliding up and down,
aided by the response leaking from him. Her upper body tilted up, the small
breasts quivering, her glossy hair whispering on her shoulders.

"If I decide to keep you,
I'll mark you this way often so other vampires know you're claimed. We have a very
keen sense of smell."

She released herself abruptly
and leaned down over him, her breast just over his mouth. "Please me,
Jacob."

He wanted to bite down like a
rabid animal, but somehow he remembered himself enough to close his lips over
the nipple with a gentle sucking pressure. His cock was hard and large, sliding
along the back of her thigh, so close to her pussy it made him want to groan.
He'd never focused on using his tongue so persuasively. Suckling a woman's
breast was as much of a complicated art as eating her cunt. If a man could get
past his fascination with nipples and only stimulated them when the timing was
right, the rewards were great.

So he licked her slowly,
methodically, almost like a cat bathing her, and was rewarded by her purr. Catching
her fingers in his hair for just a moment, she released him to stretch her arms
the length of his bound ones, closing her hands on his wrists below the
manacles. He marked
her
now, with the wetness of his mouth on her
breast, with the liquid on the tip of his cock, bumping insistently against her
buttocks, her thighs.

As the purr became a growl and
her movements became more urgent, he began to use his teeth. Now he seized the
nipple, bit down, held it with rigid pressure as he flicked it rapidly with his
tongue, released it to let the blood rush back into it, then did it again.

Her pussy was slick against his
abdomen as she stroked her clit against his cut stomach muscles. Feeling her
against him, he couldn't keep himself from fucking the air to communicate how
much he wanted to be inside her.

She shifted, pushing the other
breast into his mouth. He was even rougher now, nipping, pulling hard as her
hip movements became more frenetic. When he heard the incoherent plea in the
back of her throat, he knew he was hearing a woman on the edge of losing
control. He lashed her with his tongue, strained to reach her with his cock as
she moved wildly on him, using his stomach with the singular fierceness of a
woman doing laundry on a washboard.

As she began to climax, he
snarled his desire against her but kept up his sensual torment on her breast,
feeling the hard nipple of the other one brushing the stubble of his cheek and
the curve of his ear as she surged forward, humping herself on him with
abandon, her thighs spread wide to bring her clit in full contact with his hard
stomach, knees sinking into the bed. Her flesh spasmed against him when she
cried out, a pure note of pleasure that gripped his cock and made it throb
futilely for what she held just out of reach.

She went for a long time. The
climax wrung cry after cry out of her, then small harsh moans of aftershocks
that kept her shuddering, her head bowed and hair covering her face. The soft
strands draped over him like a curtain. Like the climax at the salon, it was
the release of a woman who'd denied herself for far too long. As if she'd just
been freed from a prison of her own making and had given herself leave to find
the type of pleasure in a man's body she hadn't received in quite a while.

There was an emotional component
to it, too, in the way she fell over him, her body arched over his face and
fingers gripped on his forearms again. When she drew back, pressed her temple
into his shoulder, she nestled her cheek into his armpit as if she were getting
as close as she could. Close as she could get to having his arms around her.

So when she shifted, trying to
match every part of her upper body to the corresponding parts of his, he
followed his intuition. When she stretched out her arms far enough to brush his
bound hands with her fingers this time, he twined his own with hers, holding
them with simple, loose intimacy. Her lashes fanned his skin as she closed her
eyes, pressed her temple to his. The searing, almost spiritual pleasure he felt
for her was enough to distract him from the agony of the most intense erection
he could ever remember having.

At length, the last shudder
passed through her. He stayed still beneath her, quivering, his head turned so
his breath was on her hair, lips pressing there. Feeling her breasts against
the upper part of his chest. While he was in torment, in some odd way he wished
they could stay like this forever, knowing he'd brought her pleasure, feeling
her quiet joy in lying on top of him.

Untangling herself from his.
grip with reluctance, Lyssa pushed herself up, pressing her bottom back against
his turgid cock. Studying the blue eyes that held so much lust she couldn't
quell a hard quiver of response, she ran her fingers with deliberate casualness
over the hardened nubs of his nipples, the muscles damp with her climax.

"I did warn you,
Jacob," she said softly. "You disobeyed."

"Aren't you glad I did,
then?" His voice was husky, so unconsciously sexy in his own desire Lyssa
wanted to take him all over again.

"Yes," she said
simply. "But you won't be. I'll be back in an hour."

Rising to stand over his naked
body, she saw understanding dawn. A surge of fierce temper flooded his
expression, goaded by the razor edge of a sexual frustration so high it would
exceed even a male wolf's chained near a pack of females, every one of them in
heat.

"Before you say a
word," she said in an even softer voice, "remember you're here by
choice, for the moment. If obeying my commands is too much for you to handle,
then I'll free you and let you be on your way. Is that what you want,
Jacob?"

She kept her expression
unreadable, impassive, while inside her a voice was shrieking at her to relent.
He'll leave, and you want him. You want him worse than you've wanted
anything in a while. Damn Thomas
.

If she said that phrase too many
times, could it impact where the monk had gone when he crossed over? She was
superstitious enough to say a prayer to take it back, though it felt strange to
pray in a moment like this, with her body still vibrating with the orgasm, aching
for something more fulfilling.

She wanted nothing more than to
kiss Jacob's snarling mouth, taste herself on his lips and ride that engorged
cock, feel a sense of connection. She'd just relieved a need without giving
herself the intimacy she truly craved. He was so angry he obviously didn't
trust himself to respond to her question.
Good
. It gave her the excuse
to regain her sense, to put some space between them.

"Since you don't know your
answer, I'll leave you alone to think about it."

She could use a variety of
excuses for the reasons she found herself wanting Jacob. Enforced celibacy,
Thomas's knowledge of what attracted her, loneliness for a mate, and perhaps
some of all of it held truth. But she knew it was more. When he looked at her,
she felt like she'd found something precious she'd be insane to relinquish.
Perhaps Thomas had cast a dark spell, something to compel her to take Jacob as
her servant. If she hadn't known the monk's devotion to his God so well, she'd
have given the idea more merit.

He had picked a man for her who
was everything she wanted and nothing she needed. But if she was crazy enough
to keep him, he had to learn the basic lesson she was trying to teach him.
Otherwise his time in her world would be cut short for reasons far more serious
than the loss of a position in her household.

Jacob wanted to strangle her.
Strangle her then roll her beneath him, feel her trembling body open, trusting
him to give her pleasure with his hands on her.

Fuck this. And fuck Thomas
for not explaining this better.

But as he thought back, he
realized the dying man had indicated that
all
vampires lived by the
code of hierarchy established by dominance. Even as their queen, Lyssa had to
continually earn the title. Otherwise, she would have become a pawn long ago,
political currency trotted out by anyone who could take her and use the value
her blood gave her.

When she'd made the decision to
marry Rex, sealing a political alliance between the ancient Asian royal house
and the more distant remnants of the Western European one, it had been her
decision. Jacob was dealing with a woman who'd lived long enough to know
exactly what she had to do to protect what was hers. No matter the trappings of
culture and civilization with which they surrounded themselves, vampires
brought a level of brutality to their personal and public politics that made
the machinations of human governments look like schoolyard antics.

He just hadn't understood how
deeply that sentiment pervaded vampire society, even into the sanctity of the
bedroom. He'd also made the mistake of arrogance, thinking all the long hours
with Thomas had prepared him. Those hours had been like kindergarten, the
barest concept of what education would require of the student.

He wasn't the type of man who surrendered
lightly. He too had a code of honor he'd clung to grimly, even when every other
decision in his life had seemed haphazard, no real plan. Many things had made
him leave Gideon, but primarily it had been a shadow that had haunted his
dreams since sexual awakening. He'd gone into the world to seek it as if he
were looking for a grail. Gideon had scoffed at him, told him he'd read too
many Irish folktales.