Page 56 of The Sanguine Selection
A lonely tear releases from her blue eyes, blazing with hate. I can’t tell if it’s from anger or loathing, either way the sight satisfies me and I drop my head, licking the salty tear off her cheek. I grip her chin and lift her face towards mine. “I won’t ask you again, next time I’ll just take what I want.” My eyes flit between hers, a blue so pale it would challenge the beauty of a sunset.
Her nostrils flare and I feel her legs relax. “That’s a good girl.” She blinks at the praise as I release her chin and skim the back of my hand down her body. She sucks in a breath when I reach her pants, but I do not slip my hand inside them. Instead I tease her from the outside, first cupping her cunt and squeezing, knowing even my cold hands feel warm by this point. “I have a surprise for you, you know.” I begin to move my hand up and down the seam of her pants. “And I’m anxious to give it to you.” I run my nose up her neck, licking a pathway to her ear. I growl against her skin and caress the tender flesh with the tips of my fangs. She shudders, her desire floating around me like the mist of her heated breath. “But you have been so naughty, little slave, that I am no longer sure you deserve it.”
I add little slaps to her cunt as I rub, adding pressure with each stroke, and by the way her breathing shifts, I know she’s enjoying it. Little does she know, I have absolutely zero intention of letting her come, not after lack of submission. “I wonder, pet, if I dipped my fingers inside your pants, would your sweet cunt be wet again. She bites her lip and closes her eyes, head falling back against the tree. “Now this is a fucking sight to behold. Just look at you draped so prettily for me, like a piece of fucking art.” I glide my hands back to her chest, cupping her breasts in my palms. “Tits out, nipples like twin chips of ice.” I take my time toying with them, and she can’t stifle a moan, the sound going right to my cock. “You know what I think, slave? I think you like it when I touch you. And I think you hate yourself for liking it.”
She opens her eyes and glares up at me as I give her frozen buds an aggressive tug, loving the way her breasts bounce back against her chest when I release them. “So fucking pretty,” I purr, running the back of my hand down her cheek. “So soft and delicate.” I flick open the button on her pants and slip my hand inside, dragging a finger down her very wet cunt. “Mmm. So fucking juicy. Proof, slave, that you are enjoying this.”
She mewls and squirms as I dip my finger between those lower lips and release a moan of my own at learning just how wet she is, how fucking warm. I take my time, toying with her entrance then slide my fingertip back up to ever so slightly skim over her clit. She gasps at the sensation and her hips buck towards my hand, wanting more, needing more, making me chuckle. “Tell me you like it, tell me how good it feels and maybe I’ll let you come.”
I know she can’t bring herself to do it, and I love the conflict in her eyes as she tries and fails to form the words. She can’t do it, can’t admit to herself that she could like such a thing.
So I stop. “I’ll have to try harder next time,” I muse, slipping my hand from her pants. I tap her clit one more time, then button them back up. Next I fix her shirt, reluctantly hiding away her pebbled nipples and perky breasts. Then I reattach her collar before removing the leather band from her hands and threading it back through her coat, closing it up.
“You disappoint me, slave, and that is no way to treat your king.”
I can almost taste her anger in the air mixed with the sweet tang of her arousal and I arch an eyebrow, daring her to say something. I know she’s pissed, left wet and wanting, but that is just how I want her.
I begin walking again, down the lit path, thinking of all the other ways I intend to tease her body. Hot wax. Snow. The kiss of a whip or two. See what kind of noises I can coax out of her, how hard I can make her come without even touching her cunt.
My dick is so hard it aches, but I refuse to touch her in that way. Not yet. It’s too…personal. I need to remain detached. Already I’ve crossed a line with her I promised myself I would never do again. She’s toxic to me, a drug I cannot help but take. But I also cannot be away from her, and not only because I worry for her safety. It’s because Iwantto be near her. And that is a problem.
I let her sit in my disappointment, stew in silence as we continue down the lit path. Up ahead lies her gift, skewered on the sharp end of a spike. Her human eyes cannot make it out yet but I’m more than happy to point it out.
I wrap my arm around her and stop a few feet away. “Your gift, slave,” I say, pointing to the severed head. She jerks to a stop, eyes wide, hands coming up to cup her gaping mouth. “The head of the wolf who touched you. No one touches what’s mine. I protect what’s mine.”
“You…You killed him?” she stutters, unable to move her eyes away from the gruesome sight.
“With my bare fucking hands, slave. He hurt you, made you fucking taste him…” I can feel my rage burning within me and try to smother it. “His death was far too lenient for his crimes. He should have suffered, as you did.”
She shifts her gaze to me, dropping her hands from her beautiful face. “Thank you.”
Now it’s my turn to stiffen. Whatever her reaction might have been, that was not what I was expecting. But it pleases me. “The vampire is dead too, but sadly, there was nothing left of him for me to display.” She nods and gulps and I find my legs walking to her even though I tell them not to, find my hands holding hers, even though I’ve forbidden myself from displaying her kindness. “I told you, I protect what’s mine. And you are mine, pet.” I run my thumbs over the back of her hands and her lower lip quivers, bright eyes glistening with tears. “His head will remain here in the woods as a reminder to anyone who dares to lay even a single finger on you. The price for such transgressions is death.”
“I’m yours?” she asks softly.
I nod. “Mine and Marek’s”
I don’t elaborate as I tuck her under my arm and guide her back to the castle. I don’t tell her the truth, continuing to lie to myself. I call her slave, I boss her around. I use her when I see fit, exploit her for my own happiness. I treat her as more of a pet than a peer, more animal than human. Because if I don’t, if I relent and admit to myself how she really makes me feel even for one moment, it might all come crashing down—just like it did before.
Besides, I made a vow to myself, to my twin, that I would never love again.
And that is a promise I intend to keep.
27
Oxana
Several days have comeand gone, most of them spent in my crate like an animal. Sometimes they come for me, to feed from me, their bites are painful, yet so much more than that. I hate myself for feeling the way I do, how I’ve started to crave the pierce of their fangs, the scrape of them down my skin, the fanning of hot breath that skates over my body as they decide on where to ensnare me for the day.
Sometimes it’s just one. Mikhail with his longer hair, dark and soft as it drapes over my body. He’s more aggressive than his twin, keeping me on the edge of pain longer or drawing it out farther. And when his eyes begin to glow, an enticing crimson, I know he’s also close to going over the edge. I still can’t get over what he did for me—skewering the head of that wolf, a message to anyone, not to touch what’shis.
Because I’m his now.
The sense of ownership, of entitlement to my body brings up all sorts of emotions I’ve not yet decided to digest.
Then there’s Marek. More regal, more controlled, his bites precise yet no less profound. He is more calculating, conscious, the definition of what a vampire king would be. His hair just touches his shoulders, just as soft and luscious as Mikhails is. And when his eyes glow, a swirling golden, I almost get lost in them, forgetting just who and what he is. His bites I want just as much, find myself arching into them even as disgust with myself battles my conscience.
And sometimes, though rare, they feed off me at the same time. Those times I’m all but restrained. They use ropes or straps of leather to hold me down. And often I’m held in place by nothing but their power. I can feel it in the air when they use it, a thickness to every breath I suck inside my lungs, a spicy tang, the scents of their power. It coats my tongue in the most delicious flavor. My body becomes immobile during those times, though my skin remains clear of anything to hold me back.
