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"You don't talk like this, think like this."
"I don't belong to you, you just implied it. So you don't tell me what to do, how to think. Who to love or fuck."
"Stop it." But he didn't move. If anything, his hands tightened on her waist, pulling her closer. "Or I'll--"
"What? Spank me?" She turned lithely in his arms, rubbed her backside in one provocative stroke against his cock, which she found was getting satisfyingly hard. She pushed all thoughts out of her mind except one. She imagined a man that wasn't Dante. Instead it was a man with golden hair and seafoam eyes pushing her back on her bed, taking her clothes off, murmuring to her in a sexy accent as she trembled in his arms, wanting to be his forever, surrounded by his love and care. Dante's snarl cut through the thought, his hand clamping on her throat hard enough to constrict air, his hand at her waist stilling her so she was held tightly against his pelvis. In one move, he swept the table free of her settings, all of it hitting the floor with a hard clatter, a shattering of glass. Pushing her face down on the surface, he curved his lean, powerful body over hers. She'd been wearing a loose, faded pair of jeans, and he did not undo them. He simply ripped them down the back so they fell limply to the floor, and he dispatched the panties the same way, a rough tear that jerked against her skin, leaving her exposed to the air. The tank became tatters next, making her gasp as he left her completely naked and exposed, vulnerable as he held her to the table with one hand on the back of the neck. She could feel his fury, his possessive rage provoked, and it made her tremble, but that wasn't her only reaction.
"You think you can give me up and I won't be with someone else?" she pushed harder. "You'll be some generous martyr and do without me, or pretend I don't matter? I can feel your feelings before you even know you have them. You don't share, Dante, and you don't give things up. You're a selfish bastard who will keep what's his, because you can't bear to lose another single fucking thing in a life that's been full of losing."
One more word, and you will be very sorry you pushed me this way.
Closing her eyes, she imagined her blond lover in vivid detail. The curve of his jaw, a little unshaven, because she did like that stubble, something Dante didn't have. Strong hands, cupping her breasts, making her hum with pleasure as his thumbs teased the nipples, making her arch up toward his mouth . . .
She was ready for physical retaliation, but she hadn't expected a mental invasion. Dark fire swirled into her thoughts, and her golden-haired lover burned up in ash, replaced by a different lover who stepped out of that fire, gazed down upon her with flame eyes, dark hair and a mouth meant for carnal sins. She wanted to reach up to him, and realized she couldn't, for her bed had been replaced by a metal frame onto which she'd been stretched and bound, unable to move, though she could feel the trickle of response between her legs as his gaze covered every inch of her with intense heat. You will have nowhere to run from me, not in your mind or heart, or soul. I am there, because it is all mine.
She swallowed, feeling an unexpected frisson of fear, for as certain parts of her automatically tried to shut down, he was there, deep inside, where every trace of disappointment, betrayal or loss were kept, some in various stages of healing or transforming from active thought into a softer remembrance. Every insecurity she had about him or herself, it was all there, and he was turning those stones over, examining each one. Then he went even deeper, to childhood nightmares. Now she was frightened. There was no sense of the world she'd been in. There was just this, a place of her and him, and fire. It was not the Dark One world or her own. It was a place of Dante's making, a prison to which he could take her anytime he chose, using the strong binding of that third mark.
While he was plundering her soul, he started on the outside as well. He began on her feet first, licking, biting, nuzzling, working with excruciating slowness up her ankles, her calves. Sweat beaded on her body as the flames closed in. The only thing keeping her from being burned alive was his command that kept those dancing tongues of fire just outside the frame. But he took one in his hand, passed it close to her body, dropped it on her flesh for a bare second of searing heat before he swallowed it with his mouth, then brought the heat and wetness of his tongue to her flesh.
She writhed and moaned. She called out his name and begged. He was ruthless with the pain and pleasure both, alternating them. He bit her, taking samples of her blood high on her thigh, at her ankle, then licked and suckled and kissed her flesh, sometimes so hard that left marks as well.
Spread open the way she was with no friction, the arousal built to unbearable heights, but he had no mercy for her now. He stayed away from her throbbing, soaked sex, the jutting points of her nipples, but gave in-depth attention to every other part of her, until she was crying out the way she would in orgasm, without the orgasm. He didn't respond to her pleas, using her as he desired, as if she was a slave in truth to whom he owed nothing, and she owed him total obedience. She fought the restraints when it became unbearable, but he continued teasing her with his mouth.
"Please, Dante . . ." Opening her eyes at a touch of coolness, the powder-fresh smell of her own room, she realized she was on her own bed now, but tied down like the vision into which he'd propelled her. He'd used belts and scarves from her closets. Looking down her body, she saw him back at her inner thigh, licking away drops of blood from the area he'd just bitten. Not even a hair on his perfect head touched her needy, pulsing sex. And he was still fully clothed, except for the open shirt.
He rose as her eyes opened, and left her in the room alone. She barely had time to wonder where he'd gone when he was back, bearing the casserole she'd left on the stove. Coming to the head of the bed, he sat on the edge of it and used two fingers to dig into the tightly packed vegetables and pasta. "You will eat your dinner now," he said.
She figured he'd lost his mind, because her body could care less about food. It wanted him. But at his searing expression, she parted her lips, and he fed her from his fingers. Her body was trembling, sweating, and she was making little whimpers in her throat. What had just happened? Somehow, he'd used that third mark in a way she hadn't expected, and there'd been nowhere for her to hide from him. It had been terrifying, yet at the same time, at some level, she knew it wouldn't have been possible to go that deep that fast, without her willingness to take him into all those dark rooms. Whether he wanted to deny it or not, she had given him her heart, everything she was.
He met her gaze, but continued to make her eat. The act of giving it to her from his fingers, making her submit to his will, made her even wetter and needier. Her sex was contracting so much on its own she wondered that she didn't come, just from that motion.
"You will not come until I say you can."
"But I'm not yours. You implied as much. You'd give me away, so that means I can choose anyone to replace you."
Perhaps it was the frustration of her body that made her crazy enough to keep taunting him. She might not hold the reins on the third mark, but with her gift, she knew that she could reach him at the most visceral level, the place he didn't even understand himself.
In answer, he made her eat ten more bites, and each one was harder to swallow than the last. Because between those bites, he reached down and fondled her breast, or teased her clit. Oh-so-briefly, but each time it sent a spasm of reaction through her, such that she bucked and cried out. When she subsided with tiny jerks, he'd feed her another mouthful, until she couldn't handle it anymore. On bite eleven, after he pushed the casserole into her mouth and withdrew, so much like the provocative sexual slide of his digit into another kind of wetness, she snarled and spat the mouthful of food at him. It hit his chest and face.
He tossed the plate aside. Before it hit the floor and shattered, he'd opened the jeans and straddled her face, feeding his cock between her lips. She took him willingly, but he pushed hard and deep, and there was a lot of him. She gagged.
Relax your throat, Alexis. I do not intend to show you any mercy.
She for
ced herself to focus on that, to get past the initial panic, and yet he was still a great deal to take, particularly as he was ramming himself into her wet mouth, holding on to the headboard, his hips pumping swiftly so she felt the rhythm of his denim-clad taut buttocks against her chest, her arms caged by the columns of his thighs.
He took a long while, so that she assumed his intention was more punishment than his own pleasure. Her jaw ached and tears of stress ran down her cheeks, and her cunt continued to weep and throb in the open air. She was making pure animal sounds in her throat, vibrating against him. Her mind shut down, so she stopped thinking about the why or how anymore. She was just obeying, seeking to serve his pleasure until he'd grant her own.
There was a hard pulse against her tongue and she redoubled her suckling efforts, determined to have him come in her mouth, to feel him release, but he had other plans. On that precipice, so close she felt his seed leak out on her tongue, he pulled free, showing her glazed, tear-filled eyes he was even more enormous than when he'd gone in.
He released her ankles and one of her wrists, but before she could think about how to take advantage of her freedom, he'd flipped her over, brought her up on her knees, her forehead pressed to the bed. He used his knee to knock hers further apart, and then he was fingering her sex, collecting fluids on his fingers so she shuddered even more. Then he was at the rim of her backside, probing there, using that fluid to slip into the opening she'd never thought of for sex. A cold apprehension knotted in her stomach, but he gave her no time for that.
He sank a finger in deep, and she made a noise at the unfamiliar sensation, her thighs quivering. Earlier today, in a far different mood, he'd told her he was going to go slow tonight, savor everything. While she hadn't pictured exactly this, there was no doubt savoring had occurred. She was afraid she might die if she couldn't come soon.
"When will you come, Alexis?" His voice was harsh, guttural.
She strained to pull her ragged thoughts together. "When you say I can."
"Good." The broad head of that enormous cock was at her rear opening, so she braced herself, but he wouldn't give her that opportunity. His fingers went below, took hold of her clit and began to massage. She was so close, and yet he'd said she had to hold back. She screamed in frustration, trying not to move against him, and in one smooth stroke, he'd broken through her anal muscles and sunk himself deep.
Holy Goddess, he'd split her in two. She wondered if the collar was activating, burning his flesh, because the pain was incredible. However, mixed as it was with the arousal of her body, she suspected the protection spell wouldn't interpret his action as an attack. She was crying out, her body shuddering at this invasion, when he began to move, taking away his fingers so there was no possibility of her coming, just him slapping against her backside, bringing pain as she continued to burn inside. Tiny, bleating pleas came from her lips, but he was having none of it.
Mine. You obey me, submit to my pleasure. You will never taunt me like this again.
I will if you decide I'm better off without you. I'll . . . fuck everything that moves, complete strangers. I'll give my heart to someone who's the total opposite of you, who will treat me so much better, I'll never even think about you.
He snarled again, renewed his assault, so she yelped. Oh, God, this hurt. Please, Dante, it hurts so badly, please stop . . . please.
Abruptly he did, pulling out slow, but every movement of his body hurt the tissues, so tears were running down her face, making her sniffle and try to hide it by burying her face in the covers. Then his hands were on her, turning her, leaving the one arm tethered. He retied the other and her ankles again as that raw channel throbbed and her heart ached. She curled her fingers, needing to touch, but she made herself look into his face, show him he hadn't broken her resolve, even as she'd surrendered to his will.
As he stood at the footboard looking at her spread that way for him, she couldn't help but tremble more. All she wanted to do was love him, heal him. Be his. She didn't care how long it took for him to feel the same way. And she wouldn't consider it might not ever happen. The Goddess she knew had never been that cruel.
His mouth tightened, his eyes darkening further. At length, he moved back onto the bed, lying down upon her. Just that intimate contact made her cry out. He brushed her lips with his and, with a sinuous move of his hips, he slid his cock slowly, slowly, into her sex.
Though she wasn't sexually experienced, she'd been exposed enough to those who were to know that it might not be hygienic for him to go from that intimate rear opening to this needy one. But she'd always been immune to most infections, and she doubted Dante had ever had to consider the matter. And to hell with it, she didn't want to break this moment, no matter the consequences.
He stopped when he was in to the hilt, holding fast against her, his hands cradling her face so they were staring at one another.
"I don't deserve you, Alexis," he murmured. "You proving I'm a savage beast does nothing."
"I want you," she said, voice shaking. "I don't care what or who you are. I know you're mine. I knew it in that first dream." The pain in her backside was not the true pain, but what he had roiling in her gut. "You hurt me, you hurt yourself."
His thumb brushed her mouth, catching her tears on his fingers. "I'm sorry."
"I am, too. But you made me mad."
"And who is this blond lover of yours, this one you knew intimately enough to picture him in such detail in your mind?" There was violence simmering in Dante's eyes again, and Alexis managed to feel a tired flicker of amusement.
"An actor named Leonardo DiCaprio. He's a movie star. I don't know him personally, but I loved the character he played in this one movie, when he was a diamond smuggler in Africa. He had this really sexy accent. I've watched it a lot." She shuddered once again, and her muscles contracted on him. "I'd really like to come for you," she whispered. "I'm dying here."
"Then come for me, sweet Alexis." He began to move, slow, sure strokes that caught her on fire and turned her into a conflagration in a matter of seconds. When Alexis arched against him, the orgasm was as hard and ruthless as he was, wringing her out, making her buck for long seconds against his body, screaming. The sensation continued as he wrapped her hair in his fists, holding his jaw against her temple as he thrust into her with determination, releasing at last as well.
It made her take even longer to come down, the merciless aftershocks working her against him in spasms. He stroked her throughout all of them. Not until she was completely drained did he free her arms. When he lay down upon her, she buried her face in his neck, holding him tightly.
Don't leave me.
Dante closed his eyes against her hair. He didn't answer, but he did slide his arms under her and hold her tighter. He wondered if the feeling he was feeling now would split him in half, without him ever knowing what to call it. Or why her words sent shooting pain through every level of his soul.
Twenty-seven
THEY watched a couple movies that night, though he had an amusing aversion to seeing the movie she'd referenced with Leonardo DiCaprio. She flipped channels, showing him a range of offerings, comedy, drama, horror and sci-fi fantasy. Fortunately there were no vampire flicks, since she suspected the way the human world perceived vampires might need to wait for another day. After showing him how to use the remote, she fell asleep with her head on his thigh, her body and mind exhausted by their day together. As she drifted toward sleep, her lips curved when he began to stroke her hair.
Her dreams were not so pleasant, however. An apprehensive feeling took root, attended by a shadowy creature with leathery wings that might be a Dark One but wasn't. What made her most afraid was knowing that it wasn't evil, that its purpose was something undeniable . . . inevitable. She couldn't find Dante, but she knew he was there. No one would help her find him, though. Her father, Marcellus, David, even Mina and Anna, were all statues in a barren garden, a lonely wind whistling between them, coming from a landscape of fire and
ice. Her pleas to them were met with dead stares, a lack of movement or reaction. There were no feelings. She was in a place where she could feel . . . nothing.
When she tried to leave, they closed ranks and boxed her in. Desperation rose, for Dante needed her now. She could sense his pain, but worse than the pain was the resignation. He had no fear. While he would not be caged, he was close to accepting an end, believing he didn't deserve anything more.
No, no, no . . .
Her eyes sprang open and she bolted upright on an empty couch. Sometime during the night, she'd pulled a blanket over her, or maybe Dante had done that, in an unexpected gesture of tenderness. But where was he? When she scrambled up, a quick search showed she was alone. No note. She'd not yet seen his handwriting. Would it be neat, or a broken scrawl? She had so many discoveries ahead of her with him, but where the hell was he?
Throwing a sweatshirt over a pretty demi-bra she knew he'd like, she wriggled into jeans and a pair of canvas sneakers and left the town house. As she closed the door and headed down the steps, she came to a full stop, smacking her temple with a hand. Idiot. She'd completely forgotten she had another way to find him.
Dante, where are you? She attempted to keep the panic out of her thought, but quickly realized it was a moot point when one was thinking rather than speaking.
I am here. In the park across from your home.
Still caught in the disturbance of her dream, she almost gasped in relief. Heading for the park at a trot, a few moments later she came upon him.
He had his back against a tree, and was sitting on the ground. Turned toward a grove of trees, he appeared to be watching the birds peck the ground for the remains of bread crumbs that had been left by someone sitting on the nearby park bench in the early morning hours.
An old woman. She left. I think I frightened her, sitting here in the darkness.
Alexis approached him. He was wearing the jeans and open shirt, the band at his throat a silver glint in the early morning light. His feet were bare. In some odd way, he appeared young, sitting there, staring at those birds. Alexis sank down next to him, laying a hand on his knee.
