She went for a long time. The climax wrung cry after cry out of her, then small harsh moans of aftershocks that kept her shuddering, her head bowed and hair covering her face. The soft strands draped over him like a curtain. Like the climax at the salon, it was the release of a woman who'd denied herself for far too long. As if she'd just been freed from a prison of her own making and had given herself leave to find the type of pleasure in a man's body she hadn't received in quite a while.
There was an emotional component to it, too, in the way she fell over him, her body arched over his face and fingers gripped on his forearms again. When she drew back, pressed her temple into his shoulder, she nestled her cheek into his armpit as if she were getting as close as she could. Close as she could get to having his arms around her.
So when she shifted, trying to match every part of her upper body to the corresponding parts of his, he followed his intuition. When she stretched out her arms far enough to brush his bound hands with her fingers this time, he twined his own with hers, holding them with simple, loose intimacy. Her lashes fanned his skin as she closed her eyes, pressed her temple to his. The searing, almost spiritual pleasure he felt for her was enough to distract him from the agony of the most intense erection he could ever remember having.
At length, the last shudder passed through her. He stayed still beneath her, quivering, his head turned so his breath was on her hair, lips pressing there. Feeling her breasts against the upper part of his chest. While he was in torment, in some odd way he wished they could stay like this forever, knowing he'd brought her pleasure, feeling her quiet joy in lying on top of him.
Untangling herself from his. grip with reluctance, Lyssa pushed herself up, pressing her bottom back against his turgid cock. Studying the blue eyes that held so much lust she couldn't quell a hard quiver of response, she ran her fingers with deliberate casualness over the hardened nubs of his nipples, the muscles damp with her climax.
"I did warn you, Jacob," she said softly. "You disobeyed."
"Aren't you glad I did, then?" His voice was husky, so unconsciously sexy in his own desire Lyssa wanted to take him all over again.
"Yes," she said simply. "But you won't be. I'll be back in an hour."
Rising to stand over his naked body, she saw understanding dawn. A surge of fierce temper flooded his expression, goaded by the razor edge of a sexual frustration so high it would exceed even a male wolf's chained near a pack of females, every one of them in heat.
"Before you say a word," she said in an even softer voice, "remember you're here by choice, for the moment. If obeying my commands is too much for you to handle, then I'll free you and let you be on your way. Is that what you want, Jacob?"
She kept her expression unreadable, impassive, while inside her a voice was shrieking at her to relent. He'll leave, and you want him. You want him worse than you've wanted anything in a while. Damn Thomas.
If she said that phrase too many times, could it impact where the monk had gone when he crossed over? She was superstitious enough to say a prayer to take it back, though it felt strange to pray in a moment like this, with her body still vibrating with the orgasm, aching for something more fulfilling.
She wanted nothing more than to kiss Jacob's snarling mouth, taste herself on his lips and ride that engorged cock, feel a sense of connection. She'd just relieved a need without giving herself the intimacy she truly craved. He was so angry he obviously didn't trust himself to respond to her question. Good. It gave her the excuse to regain her sense, to put some space between them.
"Since you don't know your answer, I'll leave you alone to think about it."
She could use a variety of excuses for the reasons she found herself wanting Jacob. Enforced celibacy, Thomas's knowledge of what attracted her, loneliness for a mate, and perhaps some of all of it held truth. But she knew it was more. When he looked at her, she felt like she'd found something precious she'd be insane to relinquish. Perhaps Thomas had cast a dark spell, something to compel her to take Jacob as her servant. If she hadn't known the monk's devotion to his God so well, she'd have given the idea more merit.
He had picked a man for her who was everything she wanted and nothing she needed. But if she was crazy enough to keep him, he had to learn the basic lesson she was trying to teach him. Otherwise his time in her world would be cut short for reasons far more serious than the loss of a position in her household.
* * *
Chapter Nine
Jacob wanted to strangle her. Strangle her then roll her beneath him, feel her trembling body open, trusting him to give her pleasure with his hands on her.
Fuck this. And fuck Thomas for not explaining this better.
But as he thought back, he realized the dying man had indicated that all vampires lived by the code of hierarchy established by dominance. Even as their queen, Lyssa had to continually earn the title. Otherwise, she would have become a pawn long ago, political currency trotted out by anyone who could take her and use the value her blood gave her.
When she'd made the decision to marry Rex, sealing a political alliance between the ancient Asian royal house and the more distant remnants of the Western European one, it had been her decision. Jacob was dealing with a woman who'd lived long enough to know exactly what she had to do to protect what was hers. No matter the trappings of culture and civilization with which they surrounded themselves, vampires brought a level of brutality to their personal and public politics that made the machinations of human governments look like schoolyard antics.
He just hadn't understood how deeply that sentiment pervaded vampire society, even into the sanctity of the bedroom. He'd also made the mistake of arrogance, thinking all the long hours with Thomas had prepared him. Those hours had been like kindergarten, the barest concept of what education would require of the student.
He wasn't the type of man who surrendered lightly. He too had a code of honor he'd clung to grimly, even when every other decision in his life had seemed haphazard, no real plan. Many things had made him leave Gideon, but primarily it had been a shadow that had haunted his dreams since sexual awakening. He'd gone into the world to seek it as if he were looking for a grail. Gideon had scoffed at him, told him he'd read too many Irish folktales.
Jacob doubted the nagging feeling himself at times, up until the night he first saw Lady Lyssa. The shadow memory had shattered, drawing him to the actual woman behind it. The feeling had only grown stronger under Thomas's tutelage. Yes, he was a drifter, a dreamer. A man who'd been in search of a hazy sense of destiny for the almost thirty years of his life. But that destiny was her. He was certain of it.
This, though—he glanced up at the manacles, felt the scream of his muscles—hadn't exactly been part of the picture.
Okay. He made himself think past the ache, lingering panic, fury and—holy God—unabated lust. He had a lot to learn about Lyssa's world. But she'd wanted him free there at the end so he could touch her. He'd felt it. He knew it.
He had to earn her trust. Maybe then she'd learn to respect him. Curl up in his arms and fall asleep with ease, knowing he was there to care for her.
That one visual summed it up, a physical gesture of trust meaning so much more. It had the ability to assuage some of the emptiness inside of him, just by imagining it.
Everything else was what he had to learn to get there.
* * *
He'd have been surprised to know Lyssa did respect him. Enough to think she should boot him out on his handsome ass with the driver she was preparing to meet again.
Mr. Ingram sat at the kitchen island on a stool, yesterday's paper open. The empty plate that had held the eggs Jacob had prepared for him was at his left. As Ingram finished each section of the paper, he'd folded it neatly to his right. She wondered if he was normally that meticulous or if he was trying to stave off panic at being left with no instruction or direction while effectively imprisoned by her wolfhounds. It was the dogs' favorite room regardless, due to its warmth and proximity to food. Bran lifted his head in greeting but didn't move otherwise. The floor appeared littered with long hairy rugs tossed about to land in doglike shapes. The radio had been left on her preferred jazz station, Russ Freeman's stirring melody about a woman with gypsy eyes filling the room.
"Your man was kind enough to leave me a paper. It's kept my mind off my bladder, though I'll admit I was close to using cookware. Your main fellow there likes to show his teeth every time I shift."
"The closest bathroom is down that hall." She nodded. "Please take as long as you wish. Bran, off guard."
The driver jumped when the dogs erupted as if she'd run an electric current through the linoleum. They leaped for the dog door and charged out with repetitious thumps, yips and growls. In less than a moment, they were alone.
He cleared his throat. "I guess they needed to go, too."
"They tend to approach everything with zeal," she said with a tight smile. "Please. Go take your comfort and then I'd like to speak to you. At the very least to thank you for your professionalism. It's been awhile since I've had one man take such care for my well-being, let alone two in the same night."
He nodded, sliding off the stool. From his stiff movements, she suspected he'd hardly dared shift. Apparently his circulation had suffered as his bladder grew more insistent.