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“How do you shift shape?”
When it’s time, you will learn. But feel free to touch me.
Need thrummed in her, controlled her. Her cunny ached for him. Her fingers itched to feel the rough and the smooth of his skin, itched to dally in the hollows of his sleek haunches, to stroke his belly, to curl around his cock. Unable to stop herself, she reached out. His hand met hers partway.
He slid his fingers between hers and drew her into a kiss—into a lusty open-mouthed play of mouths, a duel of tongues. His tongue slid into her mouth, filling hers with his warmth, his taste.
He tasted of berries and sweetness, not blood. There was a trace of smokiness—a cheroot, perhaps. The tang of alcohol. It was like kissing an ordinary man—
No, there was nothing ordinary about kissing Drake Swift.
He broke the kiss, and her gown spilled to the floor—he’d pushed it down her hips. Drawing his fingers through her hair, he pulled the pins out. The weight of her hair fell down her back.
Now the corset
, he whispered. He yanked the knot free easily, expertly loosened the laces.
There is
nothing more seductive than undressing a woman.
His gaze slid down to her bared breasts, the nipples hardening before his eyes. Then he looked down to her wide curve of hips, to the black curls at her crotch, to her generous thighs. Her body was silver-white in the moonlight, her nether curls as blue-black as the night sky,
Exquisite. Beautiful,
he said.
Mine.
He paced to the bed, and she watched, breathless, as he lifted a coil of rope from the bed.
Drake let the length of it slither down from his palm.
The pleasure of rope work is in the
anticipation.
Serena glanced at the shadowed paintings on the wall, each depicting a young lady bound and aroused—and felt her eyes widen. What a choice for décor! The painted ladies’ nipples jutted out and their heads tipped back in submissive pleasure.
This was different that being a captive. This was play, and it aroused her.
She stood with her hands over her breasts. She felt she needed some attempt at modesty, even though she wanted this. Her breath came in desperate pants as Drake lowered to his knees before her. The first rope brushed against her bare ankle—she’d grown up in a world where it was scandalous for a lady to show her ankle. She had to shut her eyes at the pure pleasure spiraling through her body—the ropes were fashioned from a material that was smooth but braided, which teased her skin.
Drake tied the end of the rope around her ankle with a sturdy knot. The rope bit lightly into her skin. Serena stiffened as he bent to her other leg. He would tie her ankles together, trapping her—
Instead, he picked up a second rope and slid this around her ankle the same way. Now two lengths of rope trailed from her legs across the floor. To the first leg, he wrapped a second rope around the loop of the first, and then he began entwining the ropes around her legs.
Oh, it excited her so—the brush of the rope, the pressure of the binding. It looked so erotic to see her legs crisscrossed by black ropes.
He looked up, smiled. She knew why—to reassure her, to share the moment of trust and intimacy.
Firelight reflected in his silvery eyes as he touched the rope to her wet nether lips. His eyes were like mirrors; she could see the shadowy shape of her face in them—she couldn’t guess at his thoughts.
You are soaking the rope.
He sawed it lightly between her legs. Oh! It pushed up between her nether lips, opening her. Her juices drenched her curls, her thighs.
Serena saw Drake wrap the ropes around his wrists and caught her breath. The black length wound and wound, imprisoning him as it pleasured her. He lifted—the rope rasped, ignited her clit Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 104
like a lit fuse reaching a cannon’s gunpowder.
Before she could even moan, the climax burst. Her legs went weak—the sawing rope held her up. It sparked another orgasm at the end of the first. Then another. She just kept coming—and she desperately grabbed the bedpost for support.
Drake unwound his wrists and let the rope drop from between her legs.
Oh!
She gasped.
I didn’t think I could come again without dying.
Rich, throaty, his raw, masculine laugh shimmered through her. She’d spoken in his thoughts.
He’d heard her.
He took the rope, sopping with her honey, and tied her wrists together. She was too weak with pleasure to resist. Holding the rope, he led her like a prize mare to the center of the room. He stretched, up on his toes, and threaded the rope through an eyelet hook. He was going to suspend her from the ceiling?
No!
Yes—you will enjoy.
Pulling the rope, he lifted her arms. He didn’t lift her off her toes, thank heavens, but her arms were held up above her head. Her breasts were lifted, her reddened erect nipples pointing at him.
He brought more rope. Tying the new length to the knots that rode on her hips, he pulled two portions between her thighs. They parted her cunny lips again, ran up between her derriere cheeks—and if she rocked she could tease her clit against them.
Don’t move. You aren’t to come yet.
She was on the brink though and had to hold completely still. Just the slightest rasp to her throbbing, abraded clit and she would explode again.
At her belly, Drake threaded ropes between the two that slid between her thighs, tugged up, and she almost squealed. She fought not to come—suddenly understanding the maddening pleasure of trying to hold back. Was this was it was like for Drake? On the brink of orgasm, but fighting it hard? What exquisite torture it must be for men, when every thrust was a trigger to their release.
Drake paced around behind her, swinging a black rope. The end slapped her bottom, and Serena gasped in shock. It hadn’t hit hard, but it had stunned her. He spanked again with the rope, slowly, then waited. She moaned in anticipation.
Without warning, his strokes came quickly. He lashed her with the rope. It stung a little but pleasured her intently. She was so close...
With a sudden, fierce motion, Drake slid the rope through the ones between her cheeks, and she hovered, fighting the climax. He tied a knot and pushed it lightly into the puckered entrance to her ass. Heavens, the pain of trying not to give in—
He moved swiftly—with a vampire’s speed. The ropes encircled her waist. He wrapped her breasts in the ropes, making a figure eight, squeezing her sensitive bosom.
She licked her lips, ran her tongue over her teeth—she needed something to chew on. Smiling, he obliged her need without a word. He pressed a length of rope between her teeth, wound it around her head. It caught her hair and tugged, yet she loved the pressure. She dabbed at the rope with her tongue, but Drake pinched her nipples, and she bit hard in the rough strands.
She wanted him inside. Rocking her hips, she pushed back, pressing her rear against his groin.
His cock nudged her steamy, moist cunny. She felt tiny, delicate, almost weightless, and she wanted to be filled. She didn’t want him to be gentle.
Drake squeezed her bottom, his hips thrust up, and she was so drenched, so ready, that his cock slid easily inside. Up and up until her bottom squashed against his pelvis, and she was full, stretched, and sobbing in pleasure.
His fangs brushed the back of her neck, sending shock and need rippling down her spine. He withdrew, right to the tip, until she whimpered.
Please.
He thrust back in, so hard their bodies Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 105
collided, and she cried out with the sheer pleasure of pounding against him.
Yes! Mine!
Serena, I want you.
Even in her thoughts she sensed the anguish in his words.
I want to come…now…oh, it’s going to happen!
Why she had to tell him, she didn’t know.
Didn’t care. Tears splattered her cheeks. She loved this—being bound, being impaled on his cock, being unforgivably naughty.
Serena pumped back, hard, grunting like an animal. He was huge, frighteningly huge, but she wanted it all, as deep as he could go.
She’d been wrong. If this was a vampire’s world, she wanted it.
Thrust in me
, she begged.
Do this to me
. Scenes from the forbidden Society’s books flashed in her mind, scenes of muscular powerful demons with legs spread, impaling sweet ladies on their large cocks.
She cried out in her thoughts—
I’m coming! Coming now!
Yes, she was coming. She bit down on the rope and let her body explode. It was so impossibly good. Her cunny clutched at him, and wave after wave of pure, head-spinning ecstasy took her.
God! God, my sweet, you’re so scorching hot, so tight, so…good!
His cock raged forward and she took it, loving it, coming again around it. He fell against her, gripping the rope above her head.
His cock jammed hard against her womb and his body bucked as though beyond his control.
Suddenly, heat seared inside her quim, and he grew impossibly large. He stilled, tensed, and roared her name by her ear.
Serena!
One last orgasm took her, and Serena hung off the ropes chafing her wrists, as though her muscles had melted into fluid.
You are mine!
he cried.
Mine forever
.
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I want to share my blood with you.
As he spoke in Serena’s mind, Drake tried to force his scattered wits to come together. He couldn’t think, and that scared him. A cold numbness began to steal over him, and his fingers were stiff and icy as he untied the ropes that bound her.
Dawn was coming.
He wanted to be the one to turn Serena—to claim her as his soulmate, to ensure that Lukos could not have her—and he had to hurry.
The ropes slid off her body as he sliced through the knots with his fangs. She rubbed at her wrists—he saw the chafed skin, and his heart lurched.
Did I h…hurt you, love?
His thoughts were blurring, his words beginning to slur.
She shook her head.
I liked it.
She turned to face him, bathed in moonlight, rubbing her wrists, staring at them in surprise.
Drake understood. She was stunned to have enjoyed bondage games. The innocence in her eyes twisted his heart in a way that no pain he’d endured ever had. Exotic and midnight black, her silky hair spilled over her shoulders, covering her round, full breasts. His touch was tentative—a first for him—as he brushed her hair back from her neck.
Her eyes opened wide, and she pushed his arm away as she stepped back.
I—I am not ready
to become a vampire. I don’t want it—I thought I did, but I don’t. Please—please don’t turn me.
I won’t,
he promised. Inside, raw panic sliced through his exhausted body. He needed to turn her as soon as possible—it was the only way to ensure he protected her from Lukos. He slid his arms around her, drew her into his embrace, held her tight. Her heart beat hard against his naked chest. Warm, supple, beautiful, her body molded to his. He kissed the top of her head, a tender gesture that made his heart ache. He’d never been tender with any other woman—except Mary, who had given birth to his child in the slums and died doing it. He hadn’t been able to protect Mary.
In the vampire world, he was still a newborn, barely formed and with no knowledge of what he was capable of doing. But he would protect Serena.
I want to go home—to go back to Lady Brookshire’s, I mean.
The longing in her eyes told him how much she wished she had a home. He could give that to her. They could soar together, rule the night together.
And I can’t let you leave, sweeting.
She struggled against his embrace.
I’m a prisoner?
I need to keep you here for your own good. Lukos must claim you before you turn on your
birthday—he will want to bond with you by changing you that night. That way, he can claim some
of your power.
One sweep of his incredibly powerful arms and he lifted Serena off her feet. Her legs dangled over his arm, her hand splayed over his chest.
You cannot just sweep me up and force me to do as you wish,
she protested.
I can try, sweet lark, because I love you.
He lifted his wrist to his mouth with his arm against Serena’s back, supporting her. A quick pass of his arm across his fangs and he sliced open his flesh.
He held his bleeding wrist only a hairsbreadth from her lips. He wouldn’t force her. But the Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 107
scent would speak to her nature. It would call to her.
Drake groaned in pleasure as Serena’s tongue, warm and wet, licked the blood from his wrist.
“How could you let this happen?” The instant he shouted the words at Lady Brookshire, Jonathon hated himself. Althea was enceinte. Delicate. And Serena’s disappearance was not her fault. Hell, if anyone should shoulder the blame, it should be he.
Rubbing his hand over the back of his collar, he groaned. “Blast…Althea, my apologies…in your condition…I mean…” His words died as he struggled to make a logical sentence. It was the thought of Serena at risk that stole the words from his mouth.
Althea kept her back to him and continued to rifle through Serena’s wardrobe. “Since I stayed in England against the wishes of my husband only because I was worried about Serena, I assure you I had taken great care to protect her,” she answered archly. “And I would say that she left willingly, wouldn’t you?”
Jonathon strode around Serena’s bedchamber for the fourth time. The window was shut, garlic flowers in place. The sheets, though tumbled on the bed, were not torn as they would be from a struggle.
“I believe I know who came for her,” Althea said. “A man she trusted.”