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Debra had taken on more and more to make up for the lost hours, keeping the projects moving forward at a brisk pace. Despite that sullen thought about him never listening to her mind, she never complained.
He thought of how it had startled her, to find he was listening. That bugged him. Thinking about a variety of things, he held her for an hour, despite the work load waiting for them. He ran his hands down her back, over the silky fabric of her shirt. He unzipped the skirt so he could slide his hand down over one bare buttock, stroke it. Her panties were still caught at her knees, and he found her sleeping in such dishabille unspeakably moving and erotic at once.
Easing her to her back, he moved the panties to her ankles. He almost removed them, but when his gaze slid up the lengths of her long, slender legs to the shadowed juncture between her thighs, barely hidden by the bunched state of the skirt, he changed his mind. He tied the panties at her ankles, holding her legs together, then slid the skirt off of her. He shed his shorts and leaned over her. Tracing the gentle swells of her breasts over the top of the shirt, he bent to lay a kiss between them. Her lashes fanned her cheeks, her pale pink lips parted, so he lifted his head to kiss them as well, tasting the soft, moist inside of her mouth with his tongue. She mumbled sleepily, her breath sweet on his face.
He had to be inside her, and he saw that desire in her mind as well, even in her somnolent haze. She loved how they lost themselves together when they were joined. That drifting thought gave him pause, but not enough to deny himself.
Shifting over her, he straddled her closed legs, then guided his cock into the narrow channel between them. He rubbed it over the petals of her sex, enjoying the pleasure of her earlier arousal coating him there. He took his time with it, at last settling down upon her, bracing his elbows on either side of her head to hold his weight, thumbs stroking her cheeks, her forehead as he pressed into her. It was an excruciatingly pleasurable position for them both, the head of his cock pushed toward the top of her channel, stroking her there in a way that would take her far longer to come, but would also make her crazy with sensation.
He knew her body so well, like no male ever had, nor ever would again. He lifted his hips to draw out slow, then pushed back in again. He stepped inside her mind, feeling her arousal grow and bring her in a pleasurable slide out of sleep, such that she was making sexy little pleas in her throat. Capturing her wrists, he stretched out her arms, holding them to the bed as he worked himself over her, his gaze delving into the depths of her brown eyes, watching her moisten her lips.
"My lord..."
"Call me the other."
"Master." Her gaze flared at that, because he'd never made that demand of her. She wanted to come, he knew she did, but something different came to her lips. "Please let me watch you come, Master. I love to see you come. Feel it happen inside of me."
"You first," he commanded quietly. "You'll come first."
Because he didn't regularly attend vampire social events or avail himself of his servant as frequently in public venues, he knew there were those who thought he wasn't as driven by his libido as a "normal" vampire, but that wasn't the case at all. When he could focus on his servant like this, he enjoyed nothing better than tormenting her to the point she was trembling like a leaf, her every moan and sigh an entreaty for release. He held her on that cusp until she was panting, gasping, wailing. His cock had thickened inside her, and he was moving even slower, feeling how her nerve endings had caught fire, her clit swollen and needy, throbbing.
"Please." She couldn't go over until he changed the angle, so he kept her on the edge, mindless, begging, calling his name. Asking to do anything for him.
"Now." He changed the thrust, and sent her catapulting. Usually she'd bite down, try not to be too loud unless he commanded otherwise, but this time he'd taken her so far on that edge she lost control and screamed out her pleasure. Desire surged in him, sending him over that same cliff, spilling his seed inside her.
The ejaculation made him feel she was even more his, like a third marking all over again. It was an emotional reaction, not a rational one. He'd learned not to give it too much credence beyond the heat of the moment, but this time as he saw her come down, the want and need in her gaze was something he couldn't resist. He lowered himself on her, pressed his mouth to hers and held there. She made a questing noise against him, her palms sliding over his shoulders. He liked the way her fingers slid up into his hair, stroking. Her thighs quivered beneath the clamp of his own. Rising up, he got rid of the panties and then lay back down, guiding her legs up over his hips so he could slide back in to the hilt. She let out a keening cry, arching up to him.
"That's my servant," he murmured, kissing her jaw. He worked his way down from there, and her fingers tightened in his hair as he bit, taking a pull on that vein in her throat. He wanted her to feel the rush of lightheadedness, the reminder that her life was in his hands. Her pussy clutched him, a ripple of response, telling him the knowledge only made her want him to thrust deeper, drink harder.
I would give you anything, my lord. My life is yours.
Did she know he was in her mind? He didn't say anything, wanting to know if she would say anything further. She didn't, but he felt that sadness again.
Finished, he closed the bite mark before propping himself on one arm to look down at her. She gave him a smile, touched his mouth, running her thumb over the residual blood there. She usually kept her hands to herself until he commanded otherwise, and he always discouraged intimate little touches like that in the aftermath. Had he let this go too far? He was about to say something to take them off this too-intimate track, but she spoke first.
"I have the Helsinki figures processed," she said. "Once you're ready, my lord, we can go over them."
"All right," he said. "Go back to the lab. I'll get dressed and join you there."
He rolled off her reluctantly, watched her put her feet down on the opposite side of the bed. The curve of her back under her thin shirt was a vulnerable curve. She found her panties and skirt, slipped them back on, tucked in the shirt as well. She was talking, more information about the Helsinki data, but for once he wasn't picking up on any of that. Just watching her body language. Stiff, unsure, the language of someone holding a great deal inside.
Picking up her shoes, she nodded. "See you shortly, then."
"All right." He watched her cross the room and leave him, closing the door behind her. He listened to her pad down the hallway in her bare feet, head up the stairs. There was a pause there, as if she put on the shoes, but when he put out a questing tendril in her mind, he found she'd stopped for other reasons. She had her temple against the wall halfway up the stairs, her hand gripped tight on the railing. He felt that squeezing ache inside her, then she shoved it down, continued up the steps.
They'd gone through this in the first couple years, her adapting to the necessary reality of their relationship. He knew it had been painful for her, a difficult transition. So it was best to let it be, not re-open that can of worms. Human servants went through emotional ups and downs through the first fifty years or so of their service. All vampires knew this.
But in his extensive demographic data collection on servants, he'd discovered something less widely known. There was a greater mortality rate for full servants in those first fifty years than in any other time of their 300 year lifespan. Nearly forty percent of servants never made it past the half-century mark in a vampire's service.
A little over eighteen percent were executed by their Master or Mistress. While being fully marked was a human's choice, unfortunately the understanding of what carrying three marks meant often didn't become clear until the deed was done. Because the vampire world operated in the shadows of the human world, and secrecy was of utmost importance, a fully marked servant couldn't simply be released from service when they proved unsuitable. Such executions were done as humanely as possible, a cold comfort to the human, he was sure.
He'd at least come up with a way to dea
l with that, a mark remover combined with a mind eraser that was fairly effective. It was tremendously disorienting for the human, but the secret of vampire existence was protected, and the servant's life could be spared. Like most of his research, that had been driven by vampire benefit. Very few vampires relished having to execute their servant. And when a servant died, that sharp truncation of connection between vampire and servant was disorienting, emotionally and physically.
For that reason, another ten percent of new servants were lost to fights, because battles between vampires often involved taking out a servant for the same reasons warriors of old would take out a cavalry horse, hoping the momentary disorientation would help them take the head of the rider.
Then there was the last twelve percent, the group of servants whose early demise was rarely discussed.
Suicides.
He thought of Debra, the sadness in her face, and a cold feeling gripped him low in the stomach. He'd never even considered... No, she was rational. She'd never do such a thing. Like the best vampire servants, she was completely committed to his service. But finding out that it was not a reciprocal relationship emotionally was a difficult transition for most humans, used to framing a dedicated relationship in terms of marriage, family...soul mates.
Debra was the first human servant he'd chosen for himself. He was from a noble family, a born vampire whose father was a wealthy English landowner to the human world and a Region Master in the vampire world. Brian had been born to the entitlements of such privilege and was taught early the distinction between him and other vampires of lesser stock. It made the gap between vampires and humans even more of a chasm. That had been hammered home to him throughout his childhood and adolescent years. While he'd chosen a different path for vampires than his father had wanted, he was still very much a product of the culture in which he'd been raised.
Many vampires lost themselves in a servant's initial passion, forgot what the boundaries of the relationship had to be. He'd shut down any feelings like that in himself, ascribing it to a chemical urge, like endorphins. More than his family history took him down that path. Early in his studies, he'd envisioned a research facility dedicated to the vampire species. To accomplish that, he'd have to achieve credibility with much older vampires, and most doubted the maturity of a vampire prior to his first century mark. His self-control was constantly under the microscope.
Fortunately Debra had not only understood his drive in that regard; she'd matched it. She was one of the most remarkable women he'd ever met. He hoped he conveyed that in the responsibility he gave her, in the confidence he had in her findings and his overwhelming respect for her mind. But what he'd seen there tonight made him wonder if he was somehow making a grave error, overlooking something vital he needed to provide her.
He'd thought she'd reconciled herself to her role. He'd certainly taken some distastefully extreme steps to ensure it. But no matter what boundaries, protocols or lessons existed, most humans didn't understand what the relationship truly was until the first several decades had passed, and he and Debra hadn't even spent their first decade together. However, she was more mature, a faster thinker. What would take others thirty or forty years to realize, maybe she faced now.
And maybe the capricious heart alone made the decision as to what a servant could and couldn't accept. The thought disturbed him, but he pushed it away for now. Time for a shower. They had the Helsinki figures to review.
