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"No," she said, soft as a whispered breeze, her eyes locking with his. It was part of the pleasure, seeing a man obey, not from barked orders or because his hands were tied, but because he hungered for the restraint of his Mistress' will. "Stay still."
She rose and fell while he shuddered beneath her, grunts escaping his lips at the effort it took. For her part, she thoroughly enjoyed every solid inch of him, every reaction on his face. He was clenching the headboard rails so hard, they would bite into his hands, leave lasting imprints.
"This is how you're going to come," she said. "You'll wait until I come, and then I'll keep moving on you until you climax. But you don't get to thrust until you start to come. Tell me you understand. Tell me in the way you know I want to hear."
"Yes, Mistress. Fuck..."
"Don't close your eyes," she said, pinching his nipple sharp enough that his gaze sprang open as he flinched. "You watch me."
Rise and fall. Up and down. The friction of his corona on her opening, the hard stroke of impact against her clit as her movements became fiercer, built the climax in her like a storm. Seeing a reflection of it gather in his eyes, in his body, just egged it on. When she went over, she cried out her pleasure, but she still heard his raw voice.
"Yeah...that's it, baby. Come for me. Come...you're fucking...beautiful...Mistress. My Mistress."
He kept saying that. As she savored her aftershocks, she sensed his climax, his face getting that tight look, the eyes starting to glaze over.
"Now, Quinn. Go over for me. You can thrust."
His hips bucked up, thrusting his cock so deep into her it hit her cervix, not necessarily a pleasurable thing for most women, but for vampires there was a translation point from pain to pleasure that made them understand sadism in a way most humans never could. Except for a vampire's full human servant. Servants learned the way of it...if they were meant for that life.
That thought, which she should banish far, far away, was obliterated by her cowboy, whose animal nature had taken over. He interpreted "Go over" in his own way, releasing the headboard and seizing her hips to flip them, so he was between her legs and plowing her like a field of moist earth. He came, his breath hot against her ear, his ass flexing under the lock of her legs. As she raked his back with her nails, she relished his guttural noises. She flipped them again, seeing the surprise in his gaze when she did it so easily, shoving him back down with a hand locked around his throat. She worked herself on him, squeezing and circling her hips, grinding down on him, milking the last bit of climax out of him as he held on to her hips with bruising fingers.
When she at last slowed down, she knew she'd acquired the last drop. That surfeit slid down her vaginal walls, where it would make a lovely, heated, sticky pool between cock and cunt. Even as she loosened her grip, she knew she wanted to feed on him again, which concerned her, because she wanted to feed on him. Didn't need to do so. She shouldn't need to feed again for another day or so and when she did, she needed to take it from elsewhere. Food was always easy for a vampire bartender. One of those last call customers could be asked to stay a little longer to help the cute little barkeep move a couple heavy boxes. The next day, he'd have a pleasantly hazy hangover, where details were missing, such as the quick pint she'd taken from his throat.
The idea had no appeal to her at all, not with Quinn right here. So available, and learning to respond to her in so many irresistible ways.
Which was exactly why she needed to resist.
She slid off him, picked up her clothes. Coiling up the whip, she tossed it on the bed next to him. "You're right. You give a mighty nice ride, cowboy. Now it's time for this girl to get some sleep."
She saw the what the fuck look at her transition, knew she'd been too abrupt. But he wanted to stay with her, she could see it. That was the danger of Quinn Pedraza. A whole bar full of men wanting one-night stands, and the one who'd caught her eye was the forty-two-year-old with deep brown eyes, a heart of gold and a need for love and family. She was self-aware enough to know that was part of what appealed to her. Maybe she had become far more of a vampire than she realized, that she couldn't bring herself to care enough to stop this. But at least she could avoid the things that encouraged the wrong kind of intimacy. Like sleepovers.
"Did you see the reports I left you?" she said casually. "Everything look good on those?"
He blinked, sitting up, putting his feet on the floor. "Yeah," he said at last. "Yeah, looked good."
"Good." She was dressed now. "That's separate from this. All professional. This is your place, so if you have any concerns, you talk to me about them. Don't hold back."
He stood, stripped the chaps as if wearing them now and nothing else made him uncomfortable. His gaze was studying her, measuring. Caught between confusion and calculation of her intent. He was a smart man. He'd understand the boundaries she was setting. She just didn't know if he'd pay attention to them. Because he had that side to him as well, the alpha male she found far too irresistible.
She moved to the doorway, looking back over her shoulder as he pulled on the jeans, threaded his arms into his shirt, shrugged it on, leaving it unbuttoned. He hadn't yet buttoned the jeans, and all of it made her ache. No. No more candy tonight. It will spoil your dinner.
"Remember what I said, Quinn. You want to come before you see me again, you call me. That's an order. I can make that single tail hurt a lot worse." She gave him a deliberate look, lingering on his cock. "As much as that thought might turn you on, I can promise you there's a difference between punishment for disobeying your Mistress and punishment for pleasure."
The look in his eyes, an echo of the way he'd reacted to the lash, begging her for more with every twitch of body language, told her she was in trouble. Because he'd crave it either way, for pleasure or punishment. As a result, she had no idea if he would obey her...or not.
She turned and left him.
*
She hadn't said anything about when they'd get together again. Tomorrow night, every night, only when he was available...
It had been a couple days since he'd seen her, because he had some major issues at the ranch that kept him working well past dark. Much as his cock railed against him, he was just too worn out to go to After Hours when the day was done. Maybe that was good. The way she'd drawn back from him had left him a little ticked. Well, fine. He could prove he could control his urges just as much. He'd seen enough to know the bar was in good hands, and if she did a one-eighty on him, it'd get back to him, because at least one or more of his hands went there every day or two.
By asking them the right questions and during his trips to town, he'd learned a couple more interesting facts about her. None of the merchants who had only daylight hours had met her. Selene had sent Maria to the hardware store for a bucket of paint and brushes. She'd also sent the girl to the handicrafts store to get hand-woven rugs and the little accessories boutique to find hand towels and some other things. All of it no doubt to spruce up the apartment.
So far, she was sticking to the whole vampire lore pretty good. She might be nuts, but if she was, he was apparently a rabid squirrel. He hadn't thrown her out, even knowing such blatant signs of a mental disorder couldn't bode well for the long-term future of his bar. No matter how much of an improvement she was over Artie. But what had she said? Something in you already knows the truth and is okay with it.
Yeah, he was tired as hell from the ranch work and determined to show her he had a life beyond sniffing after her, but he wasn't too chickenshit to accept it was more tha
n that keeping him away. He'd gone back to After Dark that very second day to put things under his control again and essentially got his ass handed to him. Marked with some stripes and dings that he twisted around like a snake to stare at in the mirror the next day. He needed a few days for a reality check.
Unfortunately, his dick decided two was the max he was going to get, no matter how exhausted he was.
He woke up that morning, caught up in another of those near wet dreams about her, his cock throbbing and his hand already on it, muscle memory kicking in because his brain assumed Quinn was on board with keeping his dick calmed down in the usual way. Then he remembered what she'd said. Hell no, he wasn't calling her to ask her to jerk off. What kind of man did that?
But God, when he'd turned around after he submitted to that single tail, the way she'd looked...it was as if he'd given her the best gift any woman could ever get, way beyond diamonds, chocolates...anything. Would it be like that to her, him asking if he could come for her?
He wasn't sure if that was why he reached for his phone. He wanted to be fucked, yes, but he'd had plenty of that in his life. Copious amounts of fucking, more than most men ever did. He wanted to hear her voice, see how she was doing. She stimulated him in a lot of ways, fascinated him. He missed her.
The phone rang. It was about four a.m., still dark, and he was giving up a precious extra hour of sleep he needed, but he needed her more.
"Quinn." Her voice was a bit slurred. He was a bastard. She'd put in a full day, had probably only gotten to bed several hours ago, whereas he'd had the benefit of hitting the hay about ten.
"Hey. I didn't mean to wake you. Or catch you before you go to bed."
"Are you hard, Quinn?"
Wow. She didn't believe in preliminaries, and there was no derision to her tone, as if irritated that he'd called just for that purpose. But he didn't want her thinking that, regardless. "Yeah. But that's not why--"
"I don't care why else you called. I want to hear you come for me. Wrap your hand around your cock and turn on your side."
His brow furrowed. He was tempted to resist. Then he bit back the other words and complied.
"Are you wearing anything?"
