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The solarium. Around the pillars in the breezeway, weaving in and out. He caught her against one, gave her another brain-numbing kiss, before she dropped under his arm and took off again.
She embraced the exertion, trying to outrun the fears that might try to spoil this moment, make her afraid of it. Like the trepidation she’d felt in the limo when she thought his savagery might overtake him and he’d ravish her there. Seeing his face as he chased her, she saw both sides of his nature. The male who would protect her, and the vampire who wanted her a little afraid. But it was the type of fear balanced with anticipation, a sweet drug to them both.
In the kitchen, she changed her strategy to projectiles, firing fruit from the bowl at him, and when she was out of fruit, going for a basket of hazelnuts. Mason dodged them easily, stalked her around the table. He lifted a banana. “I can think of a few uses for this.”
Her eyes widened, but laughter was dancing in them. “So can I, my lord. They’re good on sandwiches, with peanut butter.” The other dress strap had fallen and as she tried to outmaneuver him, the bodice fell a little lower. Following his glance, she saw he was hungrily dwelling on the tempting swells of breast and hint of areola. In the next moment, he leaped. Despite her shriek and dodge, he caught her by the waist and lifted her onto the table, pushing her to her back as she swallowed, those dark pupils getting wider.
“Push the dress all the way down, Jessica. Show yourself to me.” I can hear the racing of your heart, habiba . Show me your beautiful breasts.
With a slight tremor, her fingers loosened on the fabric, then edged it downward, the gauze bodice catching on the nipples before releasing them to jut upward, begging for his attention.
“Why would you eviscerate the men I choose to love?” she asked in a whisper. “Wouldn’t you want me to find happiness?
Someone I wouldn’t have to share?”
Jessica waited, her breath held as his gaze lifted, very slowly, back to hers. “It doesn’t have to make sense, my love. It is a vampire’s nature to be sexual with whomever he pleases, but to be very territorial with what he considers his. I might share you with another, if I thought that would bring us both pleasure. But I suspect I would be quick to take you afterward, to ensure you understood to whom you belong.” He lifted the banana, began to peel it, drawing the yellow skin away from the firm white fruit.
“You have no trouble with Amara having Enrique.” Her fingers curled against the fabric she held at her waist.
“Because it was Enrique who was my servant, and who suggested the idea of third-marking the woman he loved, so they could serve me as a married couple.” Putting his hand over hers, he pushed them gently but inexorably to the side, and then began to gather the short skirt. His gaze lowered, and air touched her exposed sex, for she’d worn no panties tonight. He’d moved closer, so her legs dangled on either side of his hips, spread for him. He studied her most private region with that casual ownership and fascination that made it almost impossible for her to remain still.
But you must do so, habiba , until I command you otherwise. Consider this practice, a safe way to determine if you do in fact have the willingness and desire to be my servant.
She pressed her lips together, and she thought she was going to hyperventilate soon, as hard as she was finding it to breathe. But she couldn’t look away as she spoke in his mind.
Your hair. Will you take it down?
His gaze lifted again, and she saw a trace of surprise there. But he complied, loosening the tie holding it back so it fell loose on his shoulders, framing those strong features, the warrior’s face.
He slid his fingers between her legs, finding her slick wetness. Jessica gasped and arched, and as she did, his fingers flexed to open her channel so it wouldn’t break the fruit as he took the peeled banana into it. She caught her lip between her teeth at the sensation, the fruit’s roughened texture and coolness. Easing what felt like more than half of it into her, he broke off the rest, tossed the peel aside and bent to place his mouth over her needy core. His fingers slid free and were replaced with his tongue. As he swirled it inside, he used it, then teeth and lips, to mash the banana into pieces and eat it out of her flesh.
Jessica was helpless not to respond, writhing on the table, crying out while he gripped her hips.
When he finished with that, he turned his head to his third mark, that silhouette of a tiger on the inside of her thigh, a reflection of what she’d put on her back. Though he only brushed it with his mouth, it might as well have been a hot brand, for the sensation that shot through her contracted her sex so she almost came then. He rose, his lips glistening from her juice and marked by the fruit, and peeled an orange next. After splitting the fruit over her breasts so the juice spattered there, he tasted. Licking the stickiness from her skin, he sucked on her flesh and then her nipple, drawing them deep into his mouth by turns, as she dug her fingers into his arms, her feet curling tensely around his calves.
He placed a slice in his mouth, then cupped the back of her neck, drawing her back up to his lips with swift strength as he rose over her.
Eat from my mouth, habiba . Let me nourish you.
She was eager to comply, but he held it in his mouth, on his tongue, so she had to go fishing for it, an erotic exercise that had her moaning as her hands fell to his waist, holding on to him there as she finally got hold of it, took it into her own mouth and chewed, the juice exploding in the back of her throat as he kept his mouth sealed over hers.
She curled her arms around his shoulders as his hands drifted down her back, making her shiver as he traced the scar, the tiger tattoo, while she traced his.
Your design pleased me very much, habiba . Though it strikes me it could be mistaken for a caged tiger.
Just perception, my lord. Can you think of a reason a tiger might like to be caged, tamed? She raised her gaze to his, shy and daring at once, moving her hand around to touch his mouth, while her other fingers tangled in his hair. She wanted his skin, and she tugged at the seam of his shirt, conveying her desire.
Giving her a look torn between sweet indulgence and simmering desire, Mason straightened, spreading his arms out. “See how far your tamed tiger will let you go, habiba. Do as you desire.”
She didn’t hesitate. Driven by the lust he’d roused in her to volcanic proportions with his clever mouth and hands, she curled her fingers in the front of the shirt and ripped, sending the buttons scattering. That amber flame jumped again, a curl of lip exposing a fang, but he remained still as she pushed the fabric aside, placed her palms upon his bare chest. Her fingers spread wide on his hard, muscled flesh. All that power, dangerous vitality, that immortal strength, fearsome and yet tempting beyond a woman’s will to resist. She put her mouth on him, using teeth, knowing how the beast within responded to that. So many things she’d learned about vampires, things she’d never expected to be glad to know, she used now with ruthless pleasure, testing his resolve.
Scraping over a nipple, she followed the lines of his ribs, the ropes of muscle, then went to the fastening of his trousers, passing over that to palm him through the fabric, test the length of her hand against the shape and size of his arousal.
Sliding off the table, she was bemused when he took a step back, keeping his arms out to his sides, giving her that still, predator’s look. Putting her hand back on his chest, she moved him farther, toward the stool at the island counter. When she got him there, indicating with her mind she wanted him to sit, he did so, and she stood between his knees. Putting her back to him, she straddled one of his legs and gripped his bootheel. Third-mark strength made it easy to slip both boots off. Then she turned back to him and, on impulse, slipped her arms around his neck, brought her mouth back to his for a kiss.
Not hard and demanding this time, not overt in hunger, but devastating in simple, sweet need, wanting to taste his lips, press her hands on either side of his face, on his brow, her fingers sweeping over his eyes, the sides of his nose, even trace his ears, the column of his throat.
She didn’t have to voice the thought even to herself, because he was deep in her subconscious, as he’d said he could be. Before she even knew she wanted it, his arms lowered, his hands coming to rest on her hips, bringing her forward to lean into him, to be enveloped in his arms. He held her there for a kiss that went on and on while the wall clock ticked and nighttime insects buzzed outside, muted through the glass. The conflagration built from a flash burn to an enduring heat as the kiss spun out. The pressure of the erection against her abdomen, the tingling need in her breasts and the moisture between her legs gathering for him, wanting him, were all desires, but they were meant to be savored, drawn out.
The tiger was no longer in his cage, but he did not leap forward to savage and tear, which he was more than capable of doing.
Instead he lifted her, guiding her to fold her legs around his hips. Rising from the stool, he carried her through the darkened kitchen, through the hallways, still kissing her. He let her stroke her hands through his hair, wind her fingers in it and tug as her desire grew to soft whimpers in her throat, particularly as his movements rubbed him against her. He could move as lightning striking the earth, but he could do this, too, a slow drift of wind through trees, no longer stalking his prey but absorbing the sounds and sensations the night brought to him.
She knew when they were in his bedroom, for that was where his pheromone-like scent was heaviest, such that even the night she’d come into his nightmare she’d wanted to stay there, wrapped in it. Wrapped around him. She wanted to look at his room, see all the things he kept closest to him when he went to dreams, but right now everything in the world was gone, even the terrible things they’d shared earlier, every terrible thing that had ever happened to her. Now, there was only this.
He laid her on her back on his large bed and she saw the open canopy above her, the contours of a stone ceiling. Instead of divesting himself of his trousers and her of the dress still rolled down on her hips, he lay down upon her, bare chest to breast, his hips cradled inside the grasp of her legs, one arm beneath her shoulders, the other propping his weight off her as he deepened the kiss, changed the angle. She caught hold of his biceps, her arousal spiraling higher, the deep, drugging strength of the kiss approaching euphoria, a mindless spinning. That spinning was starting to draw from lazy circles into a need to tangle, interlock, make the sense of connection even more complete.
