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She stroked his hair then unloosened her arms to drift her fingers once more through his long half-curling, half-wavy locks. He released her breast and rose so that her fingers could travel all the way to the tips.
Jean-Pierre had magnificent hair. It wasn’t blond or brown, but someplace in between. All the outer layers and long tendrils were gold, especially in sunlight; what lay beneath was darker, heavier, as though he were these two qualities blended, a soft more playful layer over the toughness that characterized all the warriors.
He was infinitely gentle with her as well. Did he know how much she needed his gentleness? Her pursuit of Rith had toughened her and brought her courage. But in this quiet intimate moment, her fears returned. She was reminded of all that she had lost when she’d been taken from the streets of Boston so long ago.
He placed a finger between her eyebrows. “Why so worried, chérie?”
She shook her head then laughed, that falling laughter of frustration. “I fear waking up bound again.”
“Oui. Of course you do. That will not go away very soon. So tell me, what more can I do to ease you?”
His smile was soft, almost teasing.
She should be thinking of him. After all, he had already given her two lovely light releases. “Kiss me,” she said.
He didn’t wait for further invitation but swept the few inches of his extraordinary height down to meet her lips. This time, he was not gentle and she leaned against him, against his hard chest, and slung an arm around his neck, across his thick glorious hair. She took what he gave and gave more in return until he released her with a groan.
He waved a hand. She wasn’t sure what he meant by it until he lifted her up on the table and instead of feeling wood beneath the thin silk of her underwear, she felt a soft fleece blanket. He was so damn thoughtful. Her heart began to hurt as she put her hands on his shoulders.
He looked down very low and eased her knees apart. The crook of his finger drifted over her clitoris. A gasp left her throat.
He met her gaze. “Your body, ma chérie, is a finely tuned, delicate instrument.” She kept gasping as he gazed into her eyes and continued that soft intimate drift.
His fingers spread and she felt a very strange movement then realized he’d folded off her underwear. She giggled then swallowed hard.
Fear began to move in a circle in her stomach, like a living creature that his touch, his nearness had awakened. Were they going to do this? Were they really going to make love?
She didn’t understand that small creature but the movements quickened and the creature began to swim up and up, paralyzing her stomach, her chest, her throat.
“Chérie, what is it? What is the matter?”
She shook her head and clutched at her throat. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” Strange tears burned her eyes.
He covered the hand over her throat. “Regarde-moi. Look at me.”
She fixed her gaze squarely on his but she couldn’t breathe.
He searched her eyes for a long moment. “I can feel your pulse racing.” He eased back from her. “I will stop.”
She gasped and shook her head. “No. This wouldn’t be fair to you.”
“I do not care what is right or fair. I worry only that you are in such sudden distress.”
Fiona forced herself to breathe, to move past the tightness around her throat, the grip of something like steel bands around her chest. She forced the creature back into her stomach but she could not make it stop moving in swift threatening circles.
She should leave, but she hated the idea of leaving like this. Something was very wrong with her. Something hadn’t worked right since she’d been rescued. Even after five months, she lived with such agony and fear.
Something had to give, had to change.
When he took another step back, and his gaze fell from hers, when she could feel not just his despair but his resolve as well, she thrust her arm forward and caught his neck at the nape. She would not let him go. “Enthrall me,” she cried.
“What? I do not understand.”
“Put me in thrall. I’ve heard tales of it. I know you can do it. All Militia Warriors enthrall the women they dance with and make love to at the Blood and Bite. Enthrall me.”
He shook his head. “Non. I will not take you like this.”
She understood what needed to happen next if they were to move forward. She understood the way the sun rose and set each day, the way the tide came in and went back out. She had to be enthralled. Her fears, not of her own making, wouldn’t allow her one more step with him.
Her resolve deepened and she let her arm fall away from his shoulder. She met his gaze in a hard stare and overlaid his mind with her thoughts. I have been held captive by a quiet monster and made to feel powerless. I know that I could not bear your weight on me without having those fears overpower the moment. But, Warrior Jean-Pierre, mon homme, who would be my breh, you must do this for me and for us.
I want your weight on me more than anything in the world. I want to be connected body and soul with you more than anything in the world, here and now, on this table from which you built this house. I beg of you to enthrall me and make me yours. Please.
The last word had resonance, and she watched him close his eyes and weave on his feet.
When he opened his eyes, she saw his new resolve and the creature fled to the darkest recess of her soul. His mind came to her through his gaze in waves of exquisite peace.
* * *
Jean-Pierre had bedded so very many women in this way, putting them in thrall and taking them into the red velvet booths at the Blood and Bite, the club designed especially for the warriors of Metro Phoenix Two.
But even as he felt Fiona begin to sink, as his vampire mind, that which was truly and purely vampire, began to send you will do my bidding thoughts over her mind, he knew this would be different from anything he had experienced before. And not just because of the breh-hedden.
Fiona was unlike any of the mortal women he had seduced. As he held her mind in a gentle seductive grasp, he felt her power. Waves pulsed toward him, over him, like fingertips exploring not just his mind but his body as well.
He was firm within his slacks, ready for her, ready to pleasure her. With a thought, he folded off his clothes, which brought a sharp cry from Fiona’s throat. Enthrallment didn’t mean a diminishing of experience, just an easing of fear.
He slid one hand to the back of her head and one behind her back as he laid her down on the soft dark blue blanket he had folded from his bed. He could not bear the thought of splinters in her ivory skin.
