Page 37 of Trapped for Her Blood
I wonder if his plan is to ejaculate without ever going inside.
I hope not.
He lies me back on the furs, pinning both my hands over my head using one of his, all of this done in a single swift motion I don’t notice happening until it’s done.
And somehow, he never stopped kissing me. If there was a break in our mouth action, it was too fast for me to notice, and his kiss has turned more gentle again, soft nibbles, gentle licks, shallow probes, as he expertly teases and tastes me everywhere, leaving no part of my lips or tongue excluded.
His hardness shifts away from my belly, and I’m about to object at the loss of pressure, but his hand, the one not trapping my wrists above my head, starts to explore between my legs.
Starting near my knees, his long fingers stroke up and down my inner thighs, moving slowly and so gently it feels like his fingers are coated in velvet.
Sighing, I arch up each time his fingers near the now flaming-hot core of me, the part of me that’s wet and throbbing with desire—desire for him—and hoping thatthistime his fingers will touch where I want them. But each time his fingers rise, they deny me, instead trailing down my thighs and back up again in an unpredictable rhythm that’s driving me crazy with need.
My arms strain to release from his hold.
I want to touch him. I want to feel his body. I need to expose what lies beneath his stiffly starched shirt.
Zuben’s strong, there is no question of that, but how much of his strength is supernatural? Is the physical man as strong as the vampire? Is there a difference? Are his muscles long and lean like the overall impression he gives in his suit, or do they bulge like Ryker’s and Axel’s?
Zuben releases my wrists, but before I can move my hands to his body, he whips off his tie and binds my wrists, the soft silk loosely knotted so that it feels sexy not restrictive.
Straddling my body, he looks down at me in the firelight, but he seems tense, his jaw tight, his eyes revealing something that almost looks like fear.
“What’s wrong?” I lift my bound arms, but my movement makes the knot tighter.
“I will never hurt you,” he says. “I promise.”
“I know you won’t.” Ryker said the same thing before we had sex, and I guess that’s the reality of the vampire/human dynamic. That thought flicks more fire between my legs and I pulse there with heightened need.
“Let me drink from you again,” I say, remembering how his blood made me feel sexy and invincible, how it healed the last of my silver burns.
He shakes his head.
His focus moves from my eyes to my body as his hands slowly push up the thin fabric of my gown, bunching it up around my waist, and his hand continues to tease and explore my legs. I wish I could spread them wider, but their movement is constrained by his knees, just as my hands are trapped by his tie and held down by his other arm.
His long fingers of one hand are enough though, magic, tracing every inch of my thighs and my hips, and now moving onto my belly. My hips rise, my back arching in response to his touch, and the wetness and heat between my legs builds, making me squirm with need.
“Please,” I say softly.
“What do you want?” he asks, as his fingers stroke through my pubic hair, each tiny movement exponentially amplifying my pleasure. “Does this feel good for you? What else do you like?”
I sigh, not sure what to even ask for, unable to say the words in any case, and while I’m still considering how to respond, one of his long fingers finally slides between my folds.
It barely grazes me, but the touch is so stimulating it steals my thoughts and traps my voice.
His talented finger strokes through my wet crevice, and my hips leap, jerking up each time he crosses my entrance, although he’s stayed completely clear of my clit.
That’s what I should ask for. I shouldaskhim to touch it, beg him to offer me some relief, but the build up is so excruciatingly wonderful I don’t want his teasing to stop. And if he plans to start fucking me soon, I certainly don’t want to say anything that might stall that.
Closing my eyes, I resolve to just let this happen, to let him take control of my pleasure and his. He’s the one with experience, he’s lived for centuries, so I’m better to leave myself in his literal hands, let him give me intense pleasure until he’s ready to claim some for himself.
Lying here on these soft furs in the firelight, my body relaxes, almost melting as his finger strokes me, as my blood and nerve endings chase his touch. But soon, as much as I’d be happy to have this go on forever, to live out the rest of my life with his finger stroking between my legs, I can’t deny I want more.
And as badly as I want him to touch my clit and to push those long fingers inside me—not to mention his cock—what I most want is to touch him. My fingers tingle, trapped by the tie and his hold, itching to unbutton his shirt and feel the skin on his chest, on his back.
Will he be smooth, or have chest hair like Axe?
As if he heard my silent wish, his hand lets go of my wrists. Maybe I said it out loud.
