She glanced up and saw Lord Sommersby a few yards away, walking slowly alongside the gallery railing, watching the scene below.
She should call out to him. Tell him where Roman was. But she knew once she did that protective Lord Sommersby would ensure she had no part in pursuing him. He would get her out of here, and she’d have no chance to find the library.
Horror rushed like ice water through her veins—if Sommersby and Swift captured Roman, Roman would tell them what she was.
The madam—the tall woman with the shimmering topaz gown, the pile of raven black curls, the magnificent diamonds—clapped her hands.
At the sharp clap, many of the corset-clad girls scurried to the center of the room. Giggling, the girls began to kiss. The madam spanked one on her bottom with harsh slaps of her open palm, and the girl turned, presenting her now-rosy derriere. She still lushly kissed the other girl, mouths wide open. Grunts and murmurs of male appreciation filled the room, especially when the madam picked up a black leather switch. The girl held her cheeks apart, and the madam thwacked the girl’s rear thoroughly with the leather straps. After the girl’s buttocks were flushed red, the madam lifted a device from a table, a long rod of black with a tail of peacock feathers and two gold chains attached.
Graceful fingers dipped the rod into a tall brass container and withdrew it. Clear, viscous liquid dripped from the tip.
“What is she doing?” Without thinking, Serena asked the question of Drake Swift.
She immediately regretted letting the words slip out.
“Penetrating her arse.”
A quiver of heat and agony shot through Serena.
The madam pushed with hearty force until the rod disappeared deep into the girl’s bottom. The girl was rocking and panting with each thrust, her loose auburn hair tumbling over her back.
Once the rod was within to the hilt, the woman—the madam—looped two chains around the girl’s bare thighs. She attached two to the girl’s corset. The girl giggled with delight, waggled her bum, and began to spin and dance around the room. Peacock feathers swirled and spun with her wild motions.
Mr. Swift breathed heavily. Serena felt the warmth of those deep breaths against her ear.
“Does that not hurt?” she asked. Her own bottom tingled.
“It pleasures her,” he insisted. “She will perhaps reach orgasm many times. Eventually she will wish to remove it, for it is large and is spreading her wide. After several hours, she will yearn to stop. That is when she will be selected by a vampire as his companion and he will heighten her pleasure.”
Serena could not understand why the thought of such a bizarre thing made her own body weak and shivery.
The madam continued to slap the girls on their bottoms and continued to slide large rods into Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 26
their derrieres. She chained each one in place. A larger and larger rod was used on each girl. For the last, a beauty with chestnut ringlets, two other girls held her to support her as the madam worked the enormous black pole inside.
The first girl was already straddling a man’s lap, crying out in pleasure as she bounced upon him. The chains were taut, straining to keep her filled. Two other girls lay upon a divan and began to kiss each other’s privy curls. One banged her bottom roughly against the divan. The other spread her thighs wide and wriggled. Did that provide stimulation?
Men—vampires—sprawled on the various chairs, watching the display, exuding raw sensual power. All were cast in shadow, so they looked mysterious and dangerous. Some crooked their fingers—summoning a girl to dance before them.
The girls would play with their nipples or hold open their nether lips, then spring around to display their bottoms. One girl with enormous breasts was able to reach her nipple with her tongue, eliciting a cheer from the bright-eyed man watching her. Another man dragged the girl toward him, until she crawled on her knees on their chaise. He pulled her hips to his face so her quim was at his mouth. With his large, gloved hands, he began withdrawing the rod and thrusting it in her, the chains attempting to resist.
Serena realized his tongue was licking the girl’s privy parts, tasting the moisture there, and the vampire made hungry, growling sounds. Another girl crawled between his thighs and began to undo the placket of his trousers.
Serena’s face was aflame, her throat dry and tight.
Mr. Swift leaned forward—heavens, she felt his erection push against her backside. He was aroused. She wanted to push back against him. But she tried to stay completely still.
“Is this the sort of thing you do?” she croaked the question at him. She should disapprove. But she found watching so arousing, so irresistible.
“Is it the sort of thing you would want to do, little lark? Wouldn’t you wish to perform for him, to entice him beyond all control?”
She had no answer, swallowed hard. “But those women are enticing vampires. The vampires will feed from them, hurt them.”
“But you know vampires do not always kill—and the only ones allowed here are those with control over their feeding urges. And the girls are well treated, in a way. They have warm beds, beautiful clothing, and are very well fed. They have every comfort they could imagine. These are not girls trapped and abused by a brutal madam.”
“They are free to leave?”
“Yes, but they don’t leave.”
“Why not—if they have freedom, why would they not take it?”
Swift leaned closer. “Because they need to offer their blood. They cannot exist any longer without joining with a vampire and surrendering their blood.”
“Slaves? Or worse—food!”
“In all relationships, one partner feeds on what the other offers. In different ways. The vampires are as much their slaves.”
“I don’t believe that.” She glanced up and caught Lord Sommersby’s gaze. She saw the way his lips parted, the tense way he held them. Shadows shielded his eyes, but something in his expression knocked all the air from her chest.
Slowly, like a prowling beast, Lord Sommersby walked toward her. Instinctively, she wet her lips in anticipation of his touch, his kiss. She was living her dream. She moved back from the rail, which pressed her derriere against Drake Swift’s rigid erection. She was aware of her heat, her scent, her wetness, and the power of the two men who had vowed to protect her.
Serena gasped as Drake Swift kissed the back of her neck. As he suckled. A burst leaped from Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 27
there like a tiny firework. It raced through her, furiously fast, and exploded between her legs in a flood of wetness.
Ecstasy. Pleasure. Goodness, at just that touch—that hot, lovely touch—she’d climaxed!
She cried out.
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Jonathon heard Miss Lark’s little cry of pleasure and almost came on the spot. A bolt of sensual agony crippled his legs, and he had to stop walking.
Miss Lark’s head arched back, her cheeks flushed pink, and she breathed frantically. She’d climaxed at just the touch of Swift’s mouth to her neck. Of course she would. She was a born vampiress.
Swift groaned, “Yes, sweeting,” and reached for her plump breasts.
Jonathon clamped his hand on Swift’s shoulder and shoved his partner. Swift took a step back, a dangerous gleam in his eyes.
This wasn’t the first time Swift had pleasured a woman Jonathon had wanted...
“This isn’t a game, and Miss Lark is a respectable lady.” Jonathon kept his voice low, but his temple throbbed and he felt the beat of his pulse in his skull. Damn, he was hard and aching for Serena Lark. He hadn’t sought sexual release in a year. Frustration kept him sharp on the hunt.
And what woman would want to be the mistress of a man who spent his nights slaying demons and his days locked in a laboratory, slicing the brains of vampire cadavers with a scalpel?
He couldn’t let himself desire Miss Lark. And he had to ensure his blasted partner did not learn her secret.
“Out of my league, you mean.” Swift’s hands fisted at his side.
“I—I fear it was the drug,” Miss Lark said, and she touched her cheeks, wincing as though she’d burned her palms.
Swift, who thought she was an innocent miss, was taking advantage of her shock and confusion. Jonathon lifted his fists.
“Gentlemen, stop!” Miss Lark managed to make a whisper into a shout. She wagged her finger like a disapproving governess. “Roman—the vampire who captured me—is leaving. He was speaking with the madam once more and is going into the crowd. We should go now to the library.”
Miss Lark set his head spinning. Beneath her veil, her cheeks were still flushed from her ecstasy. Her words were rushed as though she still hadn’t caught her breath. She’d just witnessed the lewdest acts he’d ever seen. But she was fixated on the bloody library.
What did she want there? Did she really not know she was a vampire? Did she believe Ashcroft’s lie about her parents’ deaths by vampire attack? Had she really come here to find a book that might tell her about her parents? She was such a mix of innocence and determination, vulnerability and strength, he couldn’t tell if she was lying to him.
He saw Swift move to her side. “We should follow the vampires.”
Jonathon had the privilege of rank, and he gripped the brass rail to spend some of his tension.
“Too dangerous to combat a half-dozen vampires in their own den.” He looked to Miss Lark and tried not to remember her climaxing for Drake Swift. “You said the vampire was speaking to the madam?”
With bright pink cheeks, she nodded, and her raven black curls danced against her back.
“Then Madame Roi is who we want to speak to. The vampire Roman will be subordinate to her. She had a great deal of power. She rules the vampires of London.”
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Miss Lark frowned. “That is something I have never understood. If you know she is a vampiress, why do you let her live?”
Swift grinned. “Because she has the protection of powerful men.”
“Which powerful men?”
Jonathon sensed she had already guessed the answer, but he gave it to her. “The Earl of Ashcroft. His Grace, the Duke of Russex. Lord Williams.”
Miss Lark looked perplexed. “But why would the three most important men of the Royal Society protect a vampire madam?”
With lordly arrogance he waved the question aside. “Miss Lark, why don’t you tell me how to find the library?”
Her gray eyes narrowed. “Only if you bring me with you.”
“No. Too dangerous.”
“Then I won’t tell you. Instead, I will come back and find it.”
Swift grinned. “She will probably come back…alone.”
Good Christ. “All right, you can come, Miss Lark,” Jonathon conceded. “But you will do everything we say.”
“Indeed.” Swift grinned.
He let a seething growl escape. Sexual banter had not been his intention.
“I’ll go first,” Swift added in his irritating devil-may-care tone. “Check for trouble.”
Jonathon had never been happier to watch his partner leave.
Serena saw Drake Swift vanish behind the heavy crimson drapery. She was alone with the earl, and the instant the curtain stilled, Lord Sommersby grasped her arm and drew her close to his side.
Within the narrow slits of his mask, surrounded by the deep violet paint, his eyes were molten, reflecting golden candlelight. “What book is it you want, Miss Lark? What exactly are you searching for?”
The man had instincts too well honed for her good. “I don’t know,” she lied. “I wanted to search the library and see if I found any—”
She broke off at the sound of a coarse female voice. “I want ye to fuck me from behind over the gallery rail, milord. Won’t ye please?”
Astonished, Serena watched as the curtain opened and a blond courtesan sashayed in. The woman wore one of the black corsets, with the gold chains attached, and one of the wands was buried up her bottom. Her companion, a man who stood almost as tall as Sommersby also wore the domino and a mask of black silk.
Why hadn’t Mr. Swift warned them the couple was coming?
“Oh!” The blond jade saw them and gasped in surprise.
Before Serena could think, Lord Sommersby’s broad shoulders and wide chest filled her view.
He bent, until his mouth hovered just an inch over hers. It was part of the disguise. He would not kiss her—or if he did he would not mean it.
Had he known she had climaxed? She had foolishly cried out—and had been mortified. It had been so unexpected, so astonishing. She’d prayed both men had no idea what had happened to her.
Lord Sommersby’s lips grazed her cheek, through the veil. How sensual his mouth was. The firm brush set her skin tingling, made her gasp. “You must know how much I desire you.”
His hand cupped her chin and turned her lips to his. “No, my lord. I had no idea.”
A smile. His lips quirked up in a smile. A brief one that vanished quickly.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the dark-haired vampire bend the blonde over the railing.
His legs spread, and he thrust his hips forward. A frantic womanly squeal followed—obviously he’d penetrated. The man began to grunt, hoarse, fierce grunts. And the woman cried, “Yes! Yes!”
and “Deeper! Deeper!”
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Serena swayed—Sommersby settled his hands on her hips. Held her steady. “Start moving back, my dear. We’ll slip away without them noticing.”
“No kiss?”
“No. Now take a step back.”
For one mad moment, Serena wanted to press forward, push her lips to the earl’s, but she obeyed him. She let him guide her backward until the velvet drape brushed against her back. She thought of Mr. Swift, and fear began to throb around her heart. Where was he?
Christ Jesus, his hands were shaking.
Drake Swift looked down and dispassionately watched his fingers tremble. The signs always began this way. First, he’d slowly lose control of his limbs. Then his speech. Blackness would creep in on the edge of his vision.