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He left her, moved to a closet. She heard racks sliding along a metal bar, clothes in the closet.
"Did Bill and Waylon unpack my clothes?"
"Hardly. These are a couple things I had put in here prior to your arrival, things I wanted to see you wear."
The rack made a little ping as an item was removed from it. He was standing before her, dropping a garment of fragrant silk over her head. He guided her hands through spaghetti straps, settling in place what felt like a lacy nightgown that pooled at her hips, leaving her bare-assed on the bed but the fabric folded in her lap.
As he removed the blindfold, he stroked her hair from her face, combing his fingers through it before he set the blindfold aside. She blinked, and though she'd not yet seen the bedroom, the first thing she wanted to see was him.
Because she'd been denied sight for that short journey between the grotto and her suite, the structure of his face and dark brows, the jagged path of the scars over his face and throat, the scattering of them over his broad skull, seemed sharper, more vivid to her.
"If you wore leathers and a patch, everyone would think you were an outlaw biker."
"Maybe we'll get a chance to role play this week. I'll put that on the list."
Even though she saw a flash of amusement in his gaze, that intensity she'd felt through his touch and the press of his body against hers was still there. He was just as aroused as she was. She was used to touching Fran whenever she wished, so she reached out to run her fingers along the ridge of his erection before she even thought about it. He caught her wrist, squeezed it in reproof. Folding her arms against her upper body, he used the tether to wrap both her wrists against her neck this time, securing the end of the leash to the collar. The position put the sides of her hands against the pulse points on either side of her throat.
"Hands to yourself, my lady."
The leash and collar were fragile things, so easily breakable. She fingered the links of the leash caught in the collar. The metal loops dug into her wrists, against her sternum, a titillating pain. When he disappeared into the living area without explanation, she let her gaze drift over the room, a weak effort to recall herself from the bright edge of lust, reclaim some of the self-control that being restrained made her want to abandon.
A gold and green area rug with a Celtic style border lay on the floor, a thick cushion beneath her feet. There were more live screens showing island scenes, framed by curtains so they looked like windows. There was a wet bar, entertainment center, a desk and a couch, making this room as comfortable and versatile as the main sitting area.
The bed was a replica antique, the mahogany headboard carved with an ornate scene of Victorian women playing with dogs and flowers. Something that would grace a titled lady's room in a different time. Jared had given her a little music box like that once. Not that exact scene, but that kind of thing. The bed was covered with a thick comforter, cupping her backside like a nest. The pillows looked equally inviting, for sleep as well as for other things. She imagined Garron piling up several up those pillows, putting her over them so he could do all manner of things. He'd hike up the pretty nightgown she was wearing, pull all that ivory lace and figure-molding fabric out of his way so he could do the type of things she usually fantasized about just before dawn.
So her attempt to distract herself from the heat of her desires was failing. Obviously. Or maybe her mind had turned in that direction out of habit, because she could feel the dawn's approach, even down below the earth like this. Jet lag didn't apply to vampires. No matter where she was, she responded to the cycles of sun and moon. Particularly the sun. She was old enough to resist it, such that she could stay up almost close to midday before the sunlight lethargy that affected all vampires to some extent would impair her, but perhaps here, with Theodosius's magic water, it would be different. While a part of her was ready to recharge out of habit, another part was so overcharged she might explode if the right wire was touched.
Garron returned with an electronic device that looked like a remote control for a television, only broader and heavier, the base shaped like an oblong egg. He set it on the nightstand and unwrapped the tether from her hands, unhooked it from the collar, but he kept his hand on her shoulder, his thumb sliding along that snug strap as his attention slid over her. This time she had the feeling he was evaluating her physical state as much as taking pleasure in her partial nudity. Her breasts were almost spilling out of the low cut lace bodice of the gown, the translucent fabric showing the smudge and shape of her nipples.
"Do you need the bathroom, my lady?"
"I know where to find it if I do." She arched a brow, nakedness notwithstanding. Some part of her did it just to see that crooked smile, the glint in his eyes. His pupils seemed to merge into the irises in a way that made them almost indistinguishable, except for occasional hints of a swirl of colors, like two paints when they were first mixed.
"Your choice." He cocked his head. "In the tunnel, before you bit me, you said 'it will be over before it starts'. What did you mean by that?"
She hadn't realized she'd said her thought out loud. She lifted a shoulder. "It's difficult to explain."
"Difficult or uncomfortable?"
She didn't have to answer him. But she met his eyes. "I had the feeling, if I went ahead and took your blood before you agreed..."
"That this is like Jeopardy? One wrong answer and you're out? You only get to take home what you've already won?" His brow creased. "Actually, I'm not sure if that's Jeopardy. Some of my co-workers watch game shows in the break room."
"There's a break room on Eden?"
"Wherever there are employees, there's a break room." He took a seat next to her on the bed, propping his arm behind her. Because the back of the gown scooped down just above the dimples of her ass, his biceps pressed into her bare back. He smoothed his other hand down her thigh. First using the palm, then one finger, taking a pass over her knee. Sliding back up her thigh, he sent a frisson of sensation up both legs, between them. Then he retraced his path along that seam toward her knees once more. Still only using one finger.
"Open your legs, Kaela."
She did, albeit slowly. Yet he didn't dip lower or take advantage of the position, which just made the throbbing want between her legs resume its insistent beat.
"When you're sitting with a Master, you stay open to him. So he can play with your cunt if he wants. You sit up straight..." He adjusted that muscled arm behind her so she did straighten, lifting her chest as part of the movement. His gaze slid over her approvingly. "So he can see your breasts, high and proud, the nipples stiff, begging for his attention."
This was the type of thing she'd seen new servants have to learn, though in more extreme conditions. Submissive 101 for servants was throwing them into an orgy populated by sadists and seeing how they did. She thought she preferred Garron's way, even if there was an element of sensual torment that might make her as insane as the other method.
"If you had taken my blood before I agreed, it would only mean you'd earned a punishment. And that I need to figure out a different way to help you understand what it is you're really seeking." He brushed his thumb over her lips, her cheek bone. The constant touching was a marking, a way of getting her used to the fact that he would touch her how he wanted, when he wanted. She understood that, even as she wondered at the way the knowledge made her want to tremble as much as the contact itself.
"It's not pass-fail, Kaela. It's a journey, and Masters like bumps in the road. If you didn't give me reasons to punish you, it wouldn't be half as much fun."
Now he was teasing her, but not in a soothe-the-little-girl's fears way. The set to his mouth, the lock of his gaze, showed her the sadist within, the one who would take pleasure in doling out a punishment, at kissing away the tears he'd caused. Garron wasn't a gentle Master, and he obviously looked forward to showing her that side of himself. The way her body became taut in response and that hunger rose anew said she could complement that crav
ing with her own desires.
Before she could take that thought any farther, he rose. Sliding an arm around her waist, he brought her to her feet, letting the gown fall into place. He pulled down the covers and scooped her up as if she weighed nothing, placing her in the bed and tucking the covers around her.
"You'll sleep awhile now. When you wake, I'll feed you again. There'll be some breakfast things. Theodosius said vampires can't eat much real food, but you enjoy sampling. We have several chefs here that could make dishes for angels." He picked up the tether again, snapping it on her collar and looping it over the post of the headboard. As she watched, bemused, he took a spool of thread from the nightstand, broke off a piece and ran it through two of the links before looping it to the post, tying it into a firm knot. "Lift your chin."
She did, eying him, and he did something similar to the collar buckle, his fingertips brushing her sensitive throat before he tucked the small spool in his pocket. "You don't get up for anything without contacting me."
