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I'd like to feel how nice a shave you did for me. Rub your cheek on the bare part of my leg.
He bent, did that, and scented her fragrance. Powder and perfume, but unmistakably arousal as well. He'd aroused her by eating from her hand. Suddenly he didn't feel like a pet at all, but a man whose submission turned her on tenfold. Her fingers slid through his hair, tugging, her nails scraping his nape.
Return to the wall now.
He pressed a kiss to her leg, earned a more reproving tug to his hair. Dix and Butch were both watching him, and Quinn was uncomfortably aware Butch's regard was laced with sexual fascination. While it was hard to determine what Dix was thinking, it wasn't disinterest, not by a long shot.
"You do much wrestling, Quinn?" Butch asked, tearing off a piece of bread and taking a taste.
"Yeah." At Selene's subtle prompting, he cleared his throat. "Yes sir. I wrestled in high school. On the ranch, there are all sorts of things that have to be wrestled down to the ground."
"True enough. Later on, during after-dinner drinks, we'll tell you how we had to wrestle a bull to the ground bare-handed. Good thing those horns weren't wood or steel," he said wryly, "because he nearly skewered both of us, the bastard."
Dix chuckled at that and Quinn managed a tentative smile in return.
"You and Dix move over there." Butch nodded to the outdoor screened patio available beyond the open double doors of the dining room. The space was clear, no outdoor furniture. "Let's see which one of you can wrestle the other to the ground and hogtie him. Whoever wins, their Master or Mistress gets to decide the prize."
Okay. Not the usual activity one did at dinner, but it wasn't something unknown to him, especially when Dix gave him a grin full of you-are-so-going-to-lose.
The guy was way stronger, more experienced, but Quinn wasn't much for losing a fight either. He'd been the captain of his wrestling team. Dix had moved to a side cabinet, something that might normally hold fancy dishes, and pulled out a coil of rope. As he and Quinn moved onto the patio, he dropped it on the floor in between them. Then he took up a wrestling stance, facing Quinn.
The way Butch was watching them made it clear this wasn't like a football game. Two tough cowboys pitting strength against one another at his command got him off. Quinn distracted himself from that disturbing thought by looking toward his Mistress. When she moistened her lips, her gaze sliding over him as if she could already see his muscles straining and tight, his cock hardened, making it clear he wasn't entirely detached from all the sexual innuendo saturating the air.
Now the reason for the shorts was clear. It was like a gladiator contest, and the audience wanted to see as much of the contestants as possible. Quinn guessed he should be glad they weren't naked, with all sorts of vulnerable parts hanging out. Then he didn't have a lot of time to consider anything, because Dix lunged.
Butch had maybe given him a tip, calling to mind all the reflexes and strength it took to handle stock and rodeo animals. The vampire version of a friendly wrestling match was up there with wresting a bull in truth. Dix gave him about half a second to pick up on the tone and intent, and then he started pushing Quinn's skills hard.
From his tussle with Dix earlier, Quinn knew the other man was holding back some to make the contest more about skill than brute force. Quinn had plenty of the former and embraced the advantage. As they circled, grappled, rolled and broke apart multiple times, Quinn found himself actually getting into the spirit of the competition, trading insults and grunts of effort. They both started building up a sweat, so as they braced weight against each other, tried head locks, different holds and all sorts of efforts to bring one another down, they were handling slick muscle even harder to pin. They traded pins a couple of times, but both managed to wriggle loose. Dix was a damn sinewy bastard for sure, but Quinn was good at getting himself out of tight spots despite his larger size.
Still, time told the real story, and he tired before the other guy, goddamn it. But somewhere along the way, he rebelled against the idea of being trapped against his will, restrained, and the fighting became dirtier, more desperate. That was when Dix's elbow slammed into his mouth, and Quinn punched him in the face, and it became a brawl, with them bouncing off the walls, floor and the low brick border around the patio. A screen tore out of the frame, and then Quinn found himself on his back in the grass, Dix on top, and that rope in his hands.
He bucked, snarled, raged, but in the end he was planted on his belly, rock-hard cock jammed beneath him, his arms pulled back behind him, knees bent so Dix could tie his wrists to his ankles. Quinn cursed him, struggled, but then Dix gave him a slap on the ass and backed off. Quinn's only satisfaction was seeing that Dix was breathing heavy as he was.
"You're a strong son of a bitch," Dix offered. "Good fighter."
"You made your point," Quinn gritted. "Untie me."
"Not my call." Dix's gaze settled on him, his expression spawning a wealth of apprehension in Quinn's belly.
No. No way in hell. His gaze snapped to Selene, and he found her and Butch in chairs they'd pulled over to the opening to the patio, a closer front-row seat to the action.
Selene had that wooden, neutral expression. While he was sure--almost--that she wasn't thrilled to see him in this position with Butch present, it wasn't a position she wouldn't enjoy seeing him in herself, if it was the two of them alone. Hell he might even enjoy it then. But not this. This wasn't the way he was.
He set his teeth, bit his lip perversely to keep him from speaking in his head, pleading with her. If she had anything to say, she'd say it. But her eyes never left him and he held that gaze, his jaw set. Fine. He wouldn't say a damn thing.
He'd think of that butterfly in his hand, trusting him. The blue and yellow delicate colors, so easily crushed, but so strong despite its fragility. Able to endure, hold on through everything...
She rose then. He was braced to feel ashamed as she came closer, that he'd lost, that he was bound like this by someone else in front of her, but then he registered her reaction. Her gaze was skimming over him with pure hunger, lingering on his muscles straining against his bonds. His cock, mashed as it was beneath him, got even thicker, responding to her. When she trailed her fingers over his rigid biceps, down to caress his ass, stroke his calves in their restrained position, he quivered. Catching the hem of the slick shorts, she pulled them away from his ass, exposing the curves as she traced them with sharp nails. Her other hand coiled in his hair, and she tightened her grip on his ass so she could slide a finger into the opening she'd told him to lube up.
He bucked, gasping as she worked him. Fuck. Mistress...
Anything I want, Quinn. Anything that gives me pleasure. Say it.
Anything that gives you pleasure.
Say it aloud.
"Anything that gives you pleasure. God...no..." She was going to make him come, his body way more revved up by her watching their wrestling match than he'd expected.
No. Your orgasm is Butch's call. But only for the moment.
She rose then, standing over him, and he was staring at her feet in those killer stilettos.
"In a few more years, my servant will kick Dix's ass, my lord."
Butch chuckled. "We'll see in a few years, won't we?"
He moved next to her, and Quinn knew he was staring down at him, could almost feel the heat of the man's gaze on his bare butt. "Go sit down, Selene."
A direct order. Quinn glanced up to see her jaw flex, but she gave a short nod, returned to her chair. Butch's attention was moving over Quinn like he was considering his second meal of the night.
"It's hard, sharing them the first time. On a normal night, I'd go for the straight hard fuck between him and Dix, have Dix take him right here, a prize for getting him hogtied. Nothing as scintillating as watching two men go at it the way they can, all rough and tumble. I'm not so much for the vampire games, all the setup some of the born ones do, like a fucking royal court performance."
His lip curled, showing h
is disdain for that, but then he dropped to his heels and cupped Quinn's buttock, finger sliding to the seam, through the oil. "But he's a fine piece. I'm thinking I might take the pleasure for myself, then give Dix the leftovers."
No. Hell no, not happening. But he didn't have any choice, did he? Still, when Butch shifted, pressing a knee into his shoulder, Quinn didn't think. He just bucked and used every ounce of strength to shove away from the vampire, managing to wrench his shoulder and pull one ankle binding tight enough he could immediately feel the dangerous constriction around the veins. He snarled at Butch like a wild animal and found his throat seized by the vampire, Dix sitting on him somewhere behind, holding him down.
Panic and rage warred together. He'd kill himself and them before he'd let them take choices away from him. Goddamn...the haze of red took everything over and he was bellowing like a bull in truth, wrestling as much as he could, no matter the constriction over wrists, ankles, throat. He might be a third mark, but he was going to render himself unconscious.
No, Selene. Can't do this...Selene...
