Captiva Craving - Vampire Werewolf Menage (Six Feet Under Series Book Two) (17 page)

“So it seems.” He unzipped his pants, his crown rising above the tight black underwear, the light catching a drop of pre-come. “After professing my love, something I’ve never done with any other female, not once did I think I would bring you back to
that
room.”

His special freaky-fun-playhouse with wall-to-wall mirrors she spent many days and nights in. That much, she remembered. “And?”

His hand shot out, his palm cupping her shoulder. “Negotiations begin and end with give and take. You do not want me inside you, though I can make you orgasm better than your Sixten.” He pulled her through the bathroom, his hand waving over a panel she never paid any attention to, and voila, a small dungeon-like room stared back at her. And just as she thought, it had no doors or windows. “Tonight, pet, your condition I will grant.”

“But?”

“You will obey.” He whipped off his belt, bringing the ends together and snapping them. “Yes, Blythe, you will obey.” A shiver shook her, running over her skin, until she pebbled the way he wanted. Her ankle leash scattered on the floor. “Now,” he stated calmly, “I asked you to remove your clothes.” He walked to black leather table and positioned himself on the edge, tossing his belt from hand to hand. “I’m waiting.”

Yeah, the no-touch thing was really going to work out for her. “And if I want no touch and no nudity?”

“I will not take another female,” he replied, sliding blue-black hair across his shoulder. “If that’s what you expect. I only rely on our bond now, but my bite will speed things along. Make you want things dark and nasty. The things only I can do to you.”

“No,” she croaked.

“No?” His golden eyes landed on her cleavage, her breasts shelving over the dress. “Well, then, we’ve reached the end of our negotiations.” He sucked air between his teeth, his fangs lowering. “Slowly lose that. I want to see those lush mounds, mold them with my eyes if I cannot with my hands.” His cock pushed up until it reached his navel. His thumb stroked the tip. “Do it now.”

She untied the front of her gown, the bronze silk sliding over her seashell-inspired bra, the pearls glowing red under the fiery lights. Below, a simple cream thong with a working bow barely covered her most private place. Lower still, nude laced-top thigh highs covered three-quarters of her legs. Their lighter sheen contrasted Blythe’s deeper complexion. Topped off by heels - always the highest heels imaginable - she still couldn’t reach his chin with the top of her head. Those silver pupils dilated, his eyes taking a walk all over her, not missing a thing. “In all my days, I have never witnessed anything more incredible than your body.”

Wonderful, what she always wanted to hear from the lips of the deranged.

He inclined his head imperially. “Bra.”

A simple clasp joined the front, and she fought the trembling of her fingers, willing her hands not to betray her. Not because she was proud, Blythe simply refused to fall apart. She wasn’t wired that way. And although she knew she could never take on a creature as powerful as Gianni hand-to-hand, she wasn’t flailing around in her mind, waiting for her rescuer. She needed time to figure this out, was smart enough to do it. And hopefully, playing games with Gianni would buy her that time. The bra fell; the beads hit the floor as though she dropped a medicine bottle. Cool air hit her nipples. Unfortunately, they puckered beautifully.

Gianni inhaled sharply, his irises bleeding into the whites. He stood again, trailing the hard floor with his belt, the buckle scarping loudly in the otherwise quiet room. His cock bobbed against his open zipper, his pants clinging to tight hips covering a perfect ass.

She wanted none of him.

But that bond betrayed her, and she dampened unbearably at his imposing maleness, his unbearable beauty. And she could cry from
want
. Her mouth watered for the taste of him, and then going dry, even for his blood. Gianni stopped in front of her, closing his eyes on another severe inhale. “Why do you fight this?” He sounded weary, almost defeated, but she knew better. His hand tightened on that belt and she understood what was coming.

She was.

When he was good and ready.

And that would be the first of many punishments for tonight.

His free hand wound her hair, pulling tightly before releasing her. “You smell as though you need my touch. Last chance.”

She stood silently.

A heartbeat passed, and then he fingered the bow topping the thin strip that divided her ass. The epitome of thongs, no doubt, this one would serve a unique purpose. Slowly, ever so slowly, he slid the thin ribbon from its knot. She felt the fabric give way, caressing her folds as he cleverly worked his hand.

She couldn’t stop her gasp, her knees nearly buckling.

He brought her hands to the front, his chest closing in on her back. His thick thigh went between her legs, catching her weight. The heat of Gianni’s body warming what was already heated, needy. “Wrists together, my Blythe.” She pressed one inner wrist to its mate, watching as he twirled the silk around her, drawing it tight.

Lips touched her ear, his words inducing another uncontrollable shiver. “No matter how much you plead, I will not take you this night. From this, you will learn my version of patience.”

He lowered his thigh, easing her body down while holding her wrists above her head. Staying stationary, his cock slid over her spine, the tip rolling over each vertebra, leaving a trail of precome in its wake. Blythe straddled a saddle-like seat, her knees touching carefully placed pads. A cuff fastened over each ankle. One-inch silver balls lined the peculiar device, threaded through the center, right where her soaking core sat.

Reaching over her, Gianni hooked her tied wrists overhead, the velvet skin of his erection brushing her cheek. “If you climax before I tell you.” He pulled back, circled her. Coming to the front again, he pointed at her face with his imposing cock. “Well...you’ll see.”

With his toed boot, he nudged a lever on the front and her strange seat became a machine. The beads spun in all directions, barely touching her though feeding her need, fueling her fire. Without warning, she neared that unavoidable crest, hanging there. “Oh, no!” She’d give anything to plunge two fingers inside her.

“You are all wet for me, Blythe.” He slid the belt across one of her shoulders, the leather sliding over the sheen of sweat drenching her body, the tip tickling one nipple before moving on the next. “Not him.”

Blythe longed to put her hands over her ears, blocking him out. She needed to come. To touch her clit, do whatever was necessary to leave the razorblade’s edge she currently walked. “Please.”

“What a pretty pussy you have, pet.
Please
me.” Back in front of her, he wrapped his belt around her waist, pulling her down to further the friction on those torturous, spinning balls. They brushed over her clitoris, her drenched lips, and the line of her ass. “Your little clit is so red, hard as stone. Are you sure I cannot suckle it…for hours. I would do this for you. Ask me.”

Blythe bit her tongue until she tasted blood. A hiss left him as he clenched the base of his cock and squeezed until it nearly blackened. “I have never been afraid. Until you.” He closed his eyes, dropping to his knees in front of her, a bloodthirsty savage parading as a sacrificial offering.

A slow moan brushed her panting lips. No way could she last another minute. Her inner elevator neared the penthouse, hitting the roof, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop it.

“I will never lose you again,” he threatened darkly, stroking his cock while watching her tremors.

His tongue speared her lips, seeking inside, rolling over the fronts of her teeth and ferreting out her traces of blood. With deft fingers, he pinched one nipple and she shouted out, whimpering in between screaming outbursts until she couldn’t see. She had no idea what she was saying, but he groaned in her mouth. Through their bond, Blythe could feel his satisfaction.

After standing, he dropped his pants, cupping his heavy sack with a purely masculine smile. “You broke our agreement.” He toed off the machine, the whirling balls stopping instantly. The stillness spurred on a different orgasm, one she didn’t see coming. “Ah.”

“Say my name.”

“Um!”

“Say it and I will try to restrain.”

“Fuck.” She bowed, nearly snapping her spine due to her constraints. “Gianni.”

Suddenly, his forehead pressed hers, his breath puffing into her face. She knew he was holding his orgasm back. And one thing she remembered. If he didn’t come inside her, there was only one other way he would come outside of her.

In vampiric speed, he glided to her backside. The heat of his stare on her ass, and that’s when the first lash struck.

“Against ancient-inlaid protocol,” Qudir answered, black flames replacing his midnight eyes, “Lovci moved in and out without contacting the Coven.”

“Hmmm.” Maestru drifted back toward the desk, meeting the Vojaks’ curious eyes before settling his sight back on his Vojak leader. “And you’ve spoken with the powers that be at the Dynasty?”

“Twice.” Qudir pushed gloved fingers through his coffee-colored strands, pulling at a chunk. “Our royals deny everything and are not amused by my questioning them.”

“Too bad.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what I said,” was the commander’s reply, “in a more colorful way.”

Sixten stepped through the door, scenting another Habaline Species mix inside the Sanctuary walls. A whirlwind of emotions stormed his body. Not one of them was good. “How are you containing him down here?”

“I have my ways.” Maestru slid his coat off massive shoulders. It landed with a definite thud on the edge of Qudir’s desk.

“Ah, the old salt on a bird’s tail trick.” Sixten wondered why Maestru could not share his secret, but then, Sixten had a few of his own. “I’ve never tried that with a shapeshifter.”

Maestru refused the baiting. “He’s being…
interrogated
.”

“That explains the screaming,” Sixten quipped, hooking a chair around his ankle and motioning for Kash to sit.

“No.” He shook his head, white flesh peeking from his wounded throat. “I’ll take over our prisoner’s questioning.” He attempted to blur by them, but in his weakened state, Sixten easily caught him. He ass planted his friend, slamming Kash in the awaiting chair while receiving an angry hiss in return. “You cannot be threatening me in the state you’re in.” Six rolled his eyes. “I swear I’m staring straight on at your glandular system. Fascinating. Been checked for mono lately? Those babies look a bit swollen.”

“Nothing a little blood can’t fix after I sharpen my blades on the shifter.”

“Let our visitor wear down a bit. Then
we’ll
go in, promise him a lovely female to feed from, and play good cop - bad cop. In case you’re wondering” - Sixten lifted his favorite blade from his leathers, scraping it across the palm of his hand - “I’ll be reprising my role as the bad cop.”

“You can’t reprise something you never stopped doing in the first place.”

“Point taken,” Sixten said, returning his ice-greens to Maestru. “Speaking of points, the werewolves have Habaline blades to stop our roaming friends.” He held up his rare blade infused with ore from the Habaline realm and wiggled it between his fingers. “Why haven’t I heard of this?” His was a gift from Rave, and he used it to kill him.

Maestru waited until the screams died down before he answered. “First I’ve heard of it. Explain.”

“We misted in. One popped open Kash.” He motioned to Kash’s throat and continued, “Before pressing a Stavz to my face. Funny how the Beta snuck right up on him using the correct blade to send him back to hell. Curious, you think?”

“More than curious,” Qudir said heatedly. “First those scrolls… or maps, and then this?”

Maestru released an exasperated sigh. “Holding out when we’re working on a common goal is self-defeating.” He lifted his wrist to Kash, giving him a stern look. Without hesitation, Kash hissed over his Coven Master’s vein before sinking his fangs into ancient crimson.

Sixten knew they were all thinking the same thing. The Vojaks had passed out a hard drive from Blythe’s brother they had stupidly shared with the werewolves and now they sat with their thumbs up their own asses. “We have no leverage to negotiate for those blades or for any
unknown
intel they may have scored from that Scottish raid.” Well, Sixten had information, but that would remain his secret. He was far too smart to throw in an ace he needed to keep squarely in his pocket, especially if one of the werewolves had a particular scroll he was keeping to himself. One Poison claimed he needed. Could it be possible the thing was closer than he realized? After gliding over the river tonight, he thought the impossible might very well be possible. “But if we take a minute to work on that hard drive of Anthony’s, maybe we will come up with unknown intel of our own.”

“I still have mine in the laptop.” Qudir hit the button, pulling up picture after picture. “Have you had time to eyeball your copy, Coven Master?”

Maestru’s hand was on Kash’s head, forcing it down so he would finish feeding. He glanced up, staring at Qudir’s screen. Only half way through mine, kept being interrupted.” Kash tried to lift his head and Maestru tightened his hold. “Commander, start at number thirty-four and work your way up.” Qudir started punching, his hands far faster than anything a human could keep up with, but the pictures moved slowly by vampires’ standards, so they could all take a careful look. “Our only clue is Blythe,” Maestru continued. “She’s three things in this immortal world: a Donor, Sixten’s chosen, and descends from lycanthrope.”

“Not just any lycanthrope, but the Beta’s bloodline,” Qudir interjected, sending a sad glance Sixten’s way. “She descends from strength, remember that.”

Kash’s head snapped up, releasing his Master. His eyes met Sixten. And even though he could never read his friend’s thoughts, they churned so loudly, there was no mistaking them. Rage. His pure, unadulterated rage at the thought of Blythe at the mercy of other males sought to destroy. Then, Sixten could see his possessiveness, his aching torture over the moments he had with his Blythe – the love they shared. Moments Kash never had with her. The room scented with raw jealousy, an inner pain Kash could no longer restrain. Sixten shook his head, he couldn’t deal with this now. Kash glided up, snapping his mouth closed, trying to contain his temper. Still, no words passed between them.