Vice's Domination [Demon Twins 2] (Siren Publishing Menage and More) (4 page)

The quick intake of air told Vice exactly what would come next. Unfortunately Claudia did not disappoint. “I may have consented to coming to your home, but as a guest, not a prisoner.”

“And as a guest, your safety takes precedence.” He lowered his voice, intentionally allowing his authority to thicken his accent. “And as ma slave, yon presence isnae needed anywhere else but in ma bedroom.” Before she could follow her gasp of outrage with any further rebuttal, he diffused the situation with a gracious invitation. “This evening you will be escorted to the opera house in Glasgow. Be sure you are not late.” Well, that wasn’t exactly gracious so much as it was domineering. He tapped the flanks of his beast and took pleasure in its immediate obedience. Neil could settle the ruffled feathers of the creature he’d left behind.

Chapter 2

I feel like a princess.
Sin smiled almost insipidly as the rolling mist swirled before the fog-lamps ahead. It had been difficult to remain angry with Vice’s presumptuous manners when a man like Neil had immediately begun to blindside her with his sharp wit and easy camadarie. And as though that had not been enough, the moment she’d arrived at the “estate,” which, in her opinion, was more like a palace locked in time with its charming balconied windows and countless arches, she had been caught up in a whirlwind of preparations. Like a real lady, she’d been appointed a capable lady-in-waiting. Thank heavens for that. She hadn’t known what to do with the contraptions that had been laid out on the bed. Garter belts and stockings were not things she came across while chasing after cattle on a dusty ranch.

She looked down at herself as the large car glided saliently through the streets, hardly believing she was the same person who had arrived in jeans and dirt-caked boots. The dress she wore was elegantly long, but the deep slits at the sides and short, capped sleeves gave it a sexy look and feel. The dark-crimson fabric molded to every curve of her body. The self-consciousness had dissipated quickly once the material had enveloped her like an ardent lover’s intimate embrace. The undergarments, which she’d expected to be constricting, were actually quite freeing. A short, thin shift replaced the oppressive underwire bra, and it was a good thing she had the garter belt to hold the stockings in place because she wore no panties. Her hair had been curled into delicate locks and piled high on her head. Claudia could not remember looking or feeling so beautiful in her entire life, or so wicked.

The pumpkin of her fairytale that she rode in was nothing to scoff at, either. She’d thought the sight of the large, sleek Lincoln that had been awaiting her in the courtyard was the cherry on top of the cake. And then she’d glimpsed the driver as he’d dashed around to open the door for her. She still couldn’t believe it. Pinching her arm, she reaffirmed that her sight was indeed not failing her as she shot another sideways glance.
Oh boy!
Troy McBride, as he’d introduced himself earlier, was still dressed in a snowy-white shirt beneath a black-waisted evening coat. His sophisticated dress made him look distinguished and altogether too gorgeous. But that was just the tip of the tropical heat grazing her cheeks and throat. Below the waist was where her true fascination lay. He wore an impressive red, black, and yellow tartan-patterned kilt. Her breaths grew shorter and heavier as she spied the tanned flesh of delicious-looking man meat peeking from beneath the raw edges as he worked the foot pedals.
Heaven save me but the man has thighs that a woman could sink her teeth and nails into.
And with all those rippling muscles, he probably wouldn’t even wince.

He broke the silence suddenly. “You look very beautiful.”

Claudia blinked in surprise. Of course the words took her by complete surprised. No one had called her anything remotely that complimentary before. “Pretty” was a far stretch from “beautiful.” But it was more the audible strain in his voice that piqued her interest. And why were his hands curled around the steering wheel as though he was lassoing in a bull?
Oh dear
. “Thank you.” She managed the small squeak as she shuffled slightly.
Damn these high slits.
He could probably see the pale sides of her luscious ass.

His hand reached out and landed on her thigh. Claudia froze and stared at his large hand dumbly as his heavy cologne of Old Spice infused with her swirling senses. “I mean what I say, Claudia Slater. You are a damn fine looker, and I’m sure proud to be escorting you on my arm tonight.”

His all-American way with words made Claudia blush furiously.
But he’s not American, is he? He’s a pure, hot-blooded Scot in a wicked kilt.
It was difficult stopping his softly spoken words from penetrating her heart. Hell, she was at least twenty years his senior. “Surely you would be more pleased with someone younger, and well, shapelier?”

His hands never left her lap as he tossed her a solemn green-eyed look. “Fishing for more compliments won’t get you any. I said what I meant, and you better believe it.”

Well dang. Ram it down my throat why don’t you?
“Why do you prefer older, full-figured women?” She quickly broke into a nervous laugh, trying to disguise insecurities she’d had for so long, it was practically a part of her DNA structure. “If it’s a Scottish quirk, I believe I may just decide to move here permanently.”

His strong fingers kneaded her thighs gently. “It is a
man
thing.” His eyes left the road once again, and Claudia stopped breathing at the heated emeralds that burned right into her. His neatly combed brown hair was darker, still wet from a shower he had to have just left. “Vice, Neil, and I have one thing in common. We want a real woman and aren’t intimidated when one comes along.”

Claudia stared at him incredulously. That was precisely what Reggie had cited as his reason for cheating on her. Well, he’d worded it a bit differently. He’d accused her trying to wear the pants in the house, of being more like a man. Her eyes lowered to her own shaky hands. “I don’t think I’m all that bossy.”

“Bossy has nothing to do with it. When a woman knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go for it, fight for it even, it gives her a kind of grit that can’t be surpassed by youthful, pert breasts and tight asses. Who wants to pluck at tiny nipples like guitar strings when you can unleash your manhood on luscious flesh? Beat a drum with the heels of your hands the way man was meant to fuck until his essence overflows from the deepest part of his spine. A mature, sturdy woman like you, Claudia, will not lie back and whimper in helpless acceptance. You will demand and drain every last drop of man’s very core.”

Her thighs pressed together urgently at his passionate words. What woman didn’t want to be fucked like that? How many times had she lain awake after Reggie’s total count of ten hurried thrusts and quick ejaculation, wishing her climax could be reached as easily? “I think I understand.” Her words were meant to be rhetorical.

He responded anyway in a husky voice that promised deliverance. “I’ll be happy to make sure you do just that.”

Claudia’s hand rose to her throat as her pulse began to race. She wished she could just throw him in bag and take him home with her. He’d fit right in with his American attitude, but there was still one thing she did not understand. “Why do you prefer that I am married?”

His hand moved away suddenly, leaving in its wake a rush of cold air. “That—trust me, lovely Claudia—is no fucking choice of mine.”

She scowled at the passing scenery out her window. There could only be one person’s doorstep she could place the blame for that unscrupulous demand—Vice.

* * * *

Claudia was caught up in the dazzle and glamour of prestige as she entered the Theatre Royal. She stared at everything at once, trying to absorb as much as possible to take back with her when she finally had to leave this bubble of illusions. The high dome glittered like the golden sun at high noon, with glorious lights affixed to its radiant center. Heavy-paneled balconies, painstakingly intricate with detailed patterns, towered over her. She blinked in awe as they tread slowly up the plushy-carpeted stairs. From the first pier, in a private box no less, she could see the full scope of the magnificent interior. The rich red walls were bright like ripe cherries. It was a striking contrast to the deep blue luxuriantly upholstered chairs. And everything was lined and trimmed in bright, shimmering gold. Claudia had never seen such a perfect blending of nature’s primary colors.
Exquisite.

“Not the third pier?” Claudia teased lightly as Troy pushed her seat closer to the balustrade.

“Not for what we have planned.” He left his ambiguous answer hanging in the air as he turned to pour champagne from an ice bucket.

Her attention was so raptly focused on the curtained stage, she failed to notice the arrival of a third party. He whispered a greeting in the soft Scottish lilt she recognized immediately as he held his hand out for hers.

“You look ravishing enough to eat, Claudia. Were you to trust me with your hand to kiss, I would be hard-pressed not to keep it forever.”

Claudia burst out laughing as she held her hand out willingly. “Neil, you sly devil. Try your syrup-coated words on someone who believes you.”

Neil’s blue eyes twinkled wickedly as he first kissed then placed her palm over his heart. “Never doubt the words of an earnest gentleman.”

Gentleman indeed.
Claudia stared at him shocked. In slightly less formal attire, he wore a crisp, pale-blue shirt that complimented his eyes and accentuated his fair complexion and mop of red curls. But the thing that caught and held her attention, as had been the case with Troy, was his neatly pleated blue-and-white kilt. In lieu of the evening coat, a broad strip of the plaid was instead tossed over one shoulder.
Not one delicious man in a heavenly kilt, but two! Damn.
Whichever fairy godmother was responsible for this deserved a lifetime of her gratitude.

She continued to ogle his strong legs as the fabric flared out when he threw himself negligently into the seat next to her. Heat rushed to her face as Troy took the seat on her left side. She could not keep her eyes off the simple yet naughty-looking kilt pin that seemed to wink an invitation to her under the multitude of soft lights. He handed her a glass of fortification with a knowing grin.
God help me, but I need a whole bottle of this.
She gulped down the flute’s worth without blinking. Her voice wheezed either from the icy chill of bubbly or just plain disbelief. Things like never happened to women like her. “Is there some occasion we should toast to for this intriguing dress code?” She tossed a quick glance over her shoulder, half expecting Vice to turn up in his own variety of Scotland’s finest invention. Hell, kilts were by far the
world’s
best discovery as far as she was concerned.

“Vice is still prowling.” Neil chuckled beside her. “The repertoire for tonight is classical ballet, so”—he gestured to his glorious attire— “why not look and feel the part.”

Fuck.
All Claudia was feeling was damn horny. She muttered softly, “It’s a blessing you don’t make it a habit.”

“You don’t like the kilts?” Troy’s question was so serious Claudia gaped at him, flabbergasted.

Not like?
Is he kidding?
“I think I like too much.”

“Oh.”

Yes, oh.
Now how the hell was she supposed to concentrate on anything with these two manly men sandwiching her with their hot, steamy presence? What did they wear beneath those things anyway?
Oh dear. True Scotsmen? Why did I even think about that?
But it was too late. Her first time in an actual opera house, and she was going to be leaving just as ignorant. She stared blindly as the curtains opened and female dancers in tiny fluffy tutus and traditional Scottish Aboyne dresses intermingled with agile men in skin-tight leotards as they came whirling out. Soft, sweet music of perhaps a thousand bagpipes filled the hall. But all Claudia could see were the images that had formed in her head of tight, flexing ass cheeks, and deadly, ready-to-strike cocks beneath coarse kilts. All she could hear was her blood thundering in her ears.

“You know, Claudia, the prima ballerina is always in the spotlight. There is something so special about her that as she stands there, the soloist, all alone in the spotlight, one can not help but stare at her, transfixed.”

Claudia turned to Neil as he spoke and gasped in surprised. He was not even looking at the stage. He was staring at
her
. “Really?” She swallowed the thick lump that had formed in her dry throat.

His hand brushed against the exposed sides of thighs and leisurely continued the exploration until he was caressing her ass cheek. “Definitely. She is so beguiling that each coryphée is helplessly enthralled and serenades her.” His fingers began to gather her skirts, lifting the hems inch by slow, sinful inch. “Her needs and her wants are all that matters.
She
is all that exists.”

Me?
She damn sure felt serenaded. Claudia looked at the audience below and across from them uncertainly. “What if someone sees us?” So far no one seemed to paying them any attention.