was so moving. Particularly the way he strained to kiss her, in a way he hadn’t strained for the others. Emphasizing that, for all of them, he was performing. But with her, it was no performance. That was the true artistry of it, seeing the contrast between what was real, and illusion. What was art and what was mere entertainment.”
“A romantic interpretation,” Ian scoffed. “Typical for a female.” Lord Charles lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps. But I think the point Lady Danny is making is a sound one. For younger vampires, it’s about cock and cunt. But simply skimming the surface of physical pleasures can sap the mind. To really live, a vampire must seek deeper, explore all the facets of who we each are, what drives us.
What the need for blood really means.”
“And we each interpret that differently.” Danny inclined her head to him, lifted her wine. Then she altered the direction of her gaze, considered Ian. He met her look with a studied one of his own, let his gaze drift down over her breasts. His intent focus moved to the way her hand stroked over Dev. When it resulted in a look of displeasure on Ian’s face, her lips curved, half invitation, half challenge. It gripped Dev’s gut unpleasantly, even as he couldn’t stop the occasional slight jerk into the knowledgeable grip of her hand. With her free one, she dipped her finger in her wine, trailed it down her neck pulse and lower, to the ripe curves that held Ian’s attention beneath her pendant. Distantly, Dev noted that Ruskin was keeping an interested eye on all of them.
Mary was making rapid, muffled bleats into the pillow. “Let’s tone it down some, ladies,” Danny commanded. “I want to draw this out, turn her into a mindless animal before she comes.”
I need your mouth, Dev. I want it between my legs.
11
AT his startled glance, her blue eyes, smoldering dangerously, lifted to his. Yes. Right here, right now. Serve me before them.
Show them what you have that they do not. The ability to make me scream in pleasure, far louder than Mary.
Her grip flexed, causing his cock to convulse and hampering his ability to think clearly. He knew she’d already coaxed moisture from the tip with her knowledgeable fingers, for he could feel the damp spot in his shorts. I won’t bugger that poor girl in front of them, whether she comes or not.
Even though you can’t help thinking of it, bending her over the table and making her take every inch of you? Her gaze flickered. Like me, her capacity for pain is almost limitless, in human terms. You could cut her with your knife and she’d curl her blood-soaked fingers around your wrist, plead with you to cut her again.
She was good, absolutely ruthless, but maybe because sharing thoughts like these made it impossible to completely block everything she felt, he caught something. He thought it might be pity. Or maybe that was just his futile hope.
I won’t do it, my lady. Play your games with them, not with me. An idiotic thing to say, of course, as he stood before a group of strangers, letting her stroke him to the edge of spurting. He grimaced at her ironic brow.
Of course, I never said you had to bugger her before them. You imagined that. What if I sent her to your rooms after we retire tonight, order her to stay there until you’ve fucked her to your heart’s content? That arse is perfect for you, soft, like holding on to the two sides of a welcoming pillow.
The only arse I want is yours. The only woman I want is you. That’s why my cock is hard. Because you orchestrated this, because you’re what’s driving all of us half mad with lust, the female alpha of the pack, and you bloody well know it.
Though he had the heat of anger, the surprised flash through her eyes at the deeper emotion behind it had him fighting the urge to put his hand on hers, tell her to give over, bring an end to this circus and let him sate her lust in the privacy of her rooms. Serve her in the way he knew she preferred. Knew it to the bottom of his soul.
But it didn’t change what she had to be in this company.
“Are you and your nonservant having a disagreement?”
Ian’s mocking voice grated on Dev’s nerves. He could piss off. Because Dev was about to make a damn fool of himself without his help. Summoning up a memory of Shakespearean theater and praying he didn’t look a total idiot, he dropped to one knee by Danny’s chair. Bowing his head, he let his hand fall, brush the toe of one slipper, let her feel the heat and strength of his palm as he closed his fingers around it. “My lady, how may I best serve you?”
When she’d talked about the Mistress feeding her blindfolded servant, her voice had thickened. In her rooms earlier, he’d realized there was a vulnerable core to a dominant woman that only the man who surrendered to her might get to visit, perhaps even dwell there forever, if he won the right to a permanently open door. As her fingers whispered over his ear, he felt the tremor, realized the truth of it again. But her voice, when she spoke, was almost indifferent, though laced with a glittering lust that would stimulate the other two men in the room. Whether to lust or fury, he was uncertain.
“You may pleasure me, Dev. Use your mouth. Show these two vampire lords what you can do for me.” A pressure on his shoulder then, pushing him down. Then her hands were gathering the taffeta, the gold fabric draping over his head, and he understood. He bowed even lower as she adjusted, one slender leg under his arm, the other guided over his shoulder as he moved forward in the darkness, toward the scent of her arousal brought to the edge of the chair. He found her garter by touch, the attachment to her stocking, and he slid his thumb under it, following the stretched line of it up to her hip, while his other hand discovered the crease between thigh and bare sex. Christ, she’d been telling the truth. The only things under here were the garters, stockings and her.
Modest before them, she was. An aristocrat. She’d let him eat her pussy, but in a way they could only see by suggestion, and by her reaction.
Can you make me come hard and long, bushman?
I suggest you hang on to the arms of that chair, my lady. And hope they’re sturdy.
He didn’t know someone could laugh in their mind, particularly not in a soft, seductive way that gave his cock another hard jolt. It had a different sound, softer even than that earlier purr for Ruskin and Ian. What was the act and what was real? He wanted to believe this was the reality, the rest the illusion she’d described. He couldn’t do this believing otherwise, God knew.
He liked it like this, where all his focus was here, on her cunt, the rest disappearing in a dark void, his hearing muted by the dress and the clasp of her thighs around his head, increasing as he tasted her, teased the outer labia, tracing the line of it all the way around, overlooking the clit as he warmed her up elsewhere, flicking between the outer and inner sensitive lips. Breathing on her, delving into her drenching honey as her hips rose to his face. From the tautness of her body, he knew she had in fact gripped the arms harder.
Dimly, he could hear Mary’s pleading noises, which fair begged for a climax, the clink of silverware as the staff came and retrieved the final course, probably to replace it with tea. He wondered if the server was having to step over his bent legs to retrieve one set of dishes and replace it with another. Bloody oath, what a world. But he didn’t give a damn at the moment. All that mattered was this, the fact she’d now let go of one arm to grip his shoulder, finding him beneath the jacket to grip the thinner fabric of the pressed shirt. She yanked on him so hard he felt the seams tear, the spasm of her fingers a welcome caress.
Now at last he moved to her clit, working beneath the hood, biting gently, then moving his tongue over it in a leisurely coil, like a snake winding about on a rock in the sun, spreading a full measure of warmth over the expanse of sensitive nerve endings. She gasped, let out a harsh moan. The table protested as someone shifted. Perhaps Ian or Charles had turned his chair with uncharacteristic lack of grace, their attention now divided between the two stimuli. Even so, the hair lifting on the back of his neck told him more than physical lust was rising in the room. It wasn’t much of a leap to realize it might be inadvisable, having a human service her needs when there were two alpha male vampires in the room. Well, she’d said she’d handle the vampires, and until they hauled him out back and tore him limb from limb, he’d trust in that.
“Chiyoko, Aapti, stop now.” Danny spoke abruptly. “Mary, return to your duties. As you are, without any of your clothing. You will stay that way until sunrise. Let it be known that any man on the place who wishes to have you tonight may do so. As often and however he wishes, though I will hold them accountable if you are unable to perform your duties tomorrow evening.” Christ. Damn it, Danny—
She is fine, I promise. Obey me.
Her commanding tone was punctuated by subtle breathlessness, but he still had to marvel at her control, because her cunt was rippling against his mouth.
“Now, you two. Come enjoy my bushman. He deserves a reward . . .” She stopped, her hand molding over his forehead, only the thin taffeta between them. It broke the contact with his mouth, but her leg pressing into his back told him she wanted him to stay where he was. “For the treasure of his tongue,” she finished, though the hard spasm that went through her thighs told him how close he’d come to sending her over. He struggled to obey the clamp of that thigh, the alpha in him pretty worked up as well.
Remember that blindfolded servant, my love. Focus on serving me instead of your own desires. It’s important.
He did, but it was difficult to stay still when feminine but quite bold hands touched his back, his buttocks. Long, stroking touches, the hands of women who knew exactly what they were about. He’d thought of whores earlier, but this was far more than that. They were like the temple priestesses of ancient times, for whom coupling was an offering to their Goddess, women who possessed the skill and intensity that came with loving the act, considering it a sacred power of its own almost without equal.
Oxford scholar . . . your mind is as stimulating . . . as your mouth. Stop thinking, though . . . Just feel.
She’d eased the pressure of the leg, and so he laid brief, teasing kisses against her wet lips, trailing his tongue along the inside of her thigh as the servants touched him.