Page 45 of The Vampire Queen's Servant (Vampire Queen 1)

Chapter Thirty-one

"Oh no. " She shook her head, even as she continued teasing with one finger, enjoying the feel of his hard waist, the fit of his jeans starting to constrict, the crossed position of his ankles making it all the more pleasurable to watch his reaction. "Too easy. "

"All right, then. I've got it. " With a regretful look, part courtesy and all genuine, leaving her own arousal simmering, he rose from the couch. Taking her hand briefly, he brushed his lips across it before he went to the entertainment center. Selecting a piece of music from her extensive collection, he inserted it into her player.

Turning around, waiting for the music to start, he began to crack his knuckles meditatively as if he was using the process to review what he had in his mind. "Are you familiar with soft-shoe, my lady?"

Whatever she'd been expecting, it hadn't been that. "Not really. "

"Soft-shoe is a type of tap dancing, " he said. "Only it's done with soft-soled shoes, hence the name. Or in bare feet. " He glanced down at his own with a smile. She watched, fascinated, as he took each finger in hand, cracked and dislocated each knuckle, then restored it with a chilling pop of noise.

"It was first introduced by George Primrose in minstrel shows in the early part of the twentieth century. The key to it is the lightness of the tapping, performed at a smooth and leisurely cadence. It was also called the sand dance. I don't remember why, though sometimes I think it's because there's something soothing about it, like a lullaby. "

He adjusted the angle of the floor lamp, turning it so it was behind him. Picking up the baseball cap he'd apparently donned earlier and then casually thrown on the coffee table, he spun it, using two fingers of his right hand. "No thumbs, " he pointed out.

"Duly noted, " she nodded. Quietly enchanted.

He started the music. The piano tune was a sad piece from the 1920s like the fading sounds of a carnival, appropriate as he began to perform the spare, smooth movements of the routine for her, with the sweeps and turns of the entertainers of that era. His shadow was thrown up on the wall by the lamp. If she focused on that image, he could have been any of those long-ago men who'd charmed children and made men and women long for experiences never as good as they seemed in their memories. The true definition of nostalgia.

He did eventually use his thumbs with the cap, but that was all right with her. It was a dance style made for a man, with the wide wheeling of the arms, the leaps in the same place, reminding her of Gaelic warriors preparing for battle, dancing in firelight. Trying to connect to something that would make them everything good men hoped they could be.

She could have watched him do it for hours, the man and his shadow dancing for one another, mesmerizing her with the poignancy of it. When the piece came to an end, he did a spin to complete it. The hat rolled down his arm to his fingers as he finished in a low bow and then straightened, a little breathless, his lips curved.

As he came across the floor back to her, his thumb cracked when he dropped the hat on the table. Grimacing, he pulled on the lowest joint to dislocate and reset it again.

Lyssa bolted straight up on the couch, her eyes widening. "That's how you do it. " She pointed at his hand accusingly. "That's how you get out of restraints. "

He winced. "Busted. If it makes you feel any better, old wives' tales say I'm supposed to suffer terrible arthritis when I get older. " He considered her. "Of course, that was one of the major draws of the whole human servant gig, avoiding that. "

"You. . . " She shook her head at him. "I thought the attraction was spending an eternity exposed to my charming and sweet disposition. "

"That, too, " he agreed. She noticed he was studying her more closely. Dropping to one knee beside her again, he reached out, cupped her face. "You're hungry, my lady. "

He was beginning to detect the minute pallor changes of her skin that indicated she was ready for nourishment. It had taken several months for Thomas to pick up on it, and while she knew Thomas could have described it to him, somehow she knew he hadn't. Jacob was just that attuned to her needs.

"May I offer you. . . Something? It's part of my job, isn't it?"

"Yes. " She inclined her head, which tucked her jaw into the curve of his hand.

"Would you prefer it in wine, or. . . "

She could tell he was braced for her to reject him since she'd gone back to her mode of establishing emotional distance between them. An attempt that was beginning to seem like a pointless exercise when something as simple as a dance could make her wonder why she deprived herself of his company for any length of time.

She shook her head. "When it comes to you, Jacob, I prefer the source. "

Most of the time she'd taken her blood in wine from Thomas. He'd simply prepared it for her, cutting his arm and mixing his life source in the wine that diluted it and gave it a variety of tastes, depending on what vintage she was in the mood to taste. With Jacob, she suspected it would be a long, long time before she'd relinquish her right to put her lips directly to his skin, feel his shudder as she pierced him. If she had a long time, which she didn't. Which made it even more important to her.

"I'll take it directly from my servant's throat, " she said.

Nodding, he rose, his mind projecting what he was about to do so he knew he didn't have to hesitate and wait for a sign of approval. She was intrigued by the decision, in the way he constantly surprised her with his impulsive, assertive actions when it came to her. Of course the majority of her surprise had to do with her reaction, the fact she liked his impulses enough not to forbid them. When he slid his arms under her, she linked hers around his neck. Turning, he took his seat on the couch with her cradled in his lap, her arm naturally sliding along his back, the other holding to his shoulder.

"I've noticed you like the places that are the most life-threatening, my lady. The carotid artery, the femoral. I think you don't want me to forget my life is yours for the taking. "

An intuitive man. She let the thought whisper through his mind like the hint of danger. As if he sensed her hunger rising hard and fast to the surface, he tightened his arm around her back, drawing her closer while the music continued to play. His glance went pointedly to the remote next to his thigh.

There are some men who think sex and watching cable TV at the same time is the closest thing to heaven on earth.

Touch it and I shall remind you immediately your life is mine for the taking.

I didn't say I was one of them, my lady. The warmth of his smile touched her face as she closed her eyes, placed her mouth over him and bit, digging in as she would for the anticipation of sweet fruit waiting behind a firm rind. She knew he now understood she liked him to feel pain at the entry, that she'd been glad he didn't want her to use her secretions to desensitize the experience. She was stirred by how aroused he got without them, stoked by the stimulation of their two energies.

He stroked her back with his one hand, his other lying over her legs, palm resting on her hip. His arousal grew beneath her, but from his mind she knew he also understood that when she fed it might or might not lead to that. Sometimes the taking of what he was willing to surrender to her was something of its own to savor. It had a deep intensity to it she didn't want to mesh with sex, like not mixing two equally good foods together so as not to dull the nuances of each.

Plus he was enjoying the simple feeling of being in a state of wanting her, letting that yearning build but holding it in check for her pleasure, for when she called for it. Which ratcheted up her own desire. During the dinner, without prompting he'd startled himself by calling her Mistress. Closing her eyes, she savored the sweet taste of blood, the disturbing though exultant realization he was beginning to understand what serving a Mistress truly meant.

He wasn't a natural sexual submissive by a long shot, but by pledging his heart, mind and soul to serve her, whether it be her pleasure or need for companionship, or as her protector, he'd opened up the path in himself

. He was learning what pleasured her soul could create pleasure in his own, taking him places he'd never considered arousing before. For her and her alone he would submit, and that made his submission all the more potent.

Pressing her breasts against his chest, she dug in her grip on his arm. His own hand fisted the fabric of her skirt into a ball as he communicated back the same passion, his fingers flexing in a rhythm with her nursing at his throat, her generous swallows of his blood.

At length, she drew back, pressing and holding her lips on the wound as she'd done in the past, waiting for the blood to clot from the agents in her mouth, enjoying the taste of him settling on her tongue as she did so. He was still hard beneath her, and she rubbed herself against him, a passing stroke. His head dropped back to the sofa as he eyed her, his hand coming up to her face, threading his fingers into her hair. "I want you, " he said in a quiet voice. His thumb moved to her lips, to the fang that was still somewhat elongated. Pressing so it punctured, he gave her another taste. She took it into her mouth, suckling on his thumb as his fingers fanned out over her lashes, her nose, her lips. Nuzzling against his touch, she closed her eyes, taking the thumb deeper so his large hand masked her face. As she let him draw his thumb out slowly, she flicked her tongue against it, opened her eyes so she could watch the images rolling through his mind reflect in his expression.

"Would you like your cock in my mouth, Sir Vagabond?"

He swallowed. "I'm sure you can read my mind, my lady. But I would never presume to--"

"Tell me. " Her voice was low. She knew her eyes were bright, harsh demand and desire projecting in her voice, compelling him to respond in kind. "Yes, my lady. I want my cock in your mouth. I want to feel your lips, your teeth on me. I want you to swallow my come. Hold you on me with my hands fisted in your hair, watching my cock stretch your beautiful, perfect mouth. But there's something I want even more than that. "

He showed her in his mind, in great detail, such that she trembled and moisture gathered between her legs, feeling the images almost as if he were doing it.

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