The orgasm surprised her, for it had been a long while since she'd had one during sex with a human, no matter the stimulation. Too often, when she was nourishing herself from a stranger, she didn't want to feel the emotional emptiness accompanying a physical climax. Unprepared for the violence of the unexpected release, she increased the force of her bite, driving her fangs in deeper.
As if her soul suddenly had an agenda all its own that disregarded the shrieking warning from her mind, she obeyed its desire and released the precious drops of venom of the first mark into him. It coursed through a human's veins like a lick of flame. Instead of crying out from the searing pain, Jacob growled in response, lifted one hand from the table and cupped the back of her head. From his reaction it was obvious he knew what she had done. Exultation filled her at his obvious fierce pleasure in her decision.
He held her there, supporting her neck and skull with his large palm. The muscles of his other arm strained as he bore his weight and the movement of hers, helping him rock against her tight clasp of his body just above the hips. With a primal male sound, he came again, the heat of him filling her, making her moan against his throat. It was an agonizingly sweet pleasure, the sensation of blood and seed entering her from different points.
Even as the orgasm went from powerful waves to pleasurable ripples, slowing her movements, it took some time for her fangs to retract. He also rocked to stillness upon her reluctantly, but he was obviously spent as she drew out the feeding, enjoying the pleasure of nourishing herself with a willing lover. His body quivered with a shuddering aftermath, making her convulse with aftershocks. When at last she pulled out, she licked the wounds, holding pressure there with her lips as she put her forehead to his jaw, his mouth.
Neither of them spoke or moved for some time. Lyssa wondered at the feeling of quiet communion . As she finally laid her head back and he raised his, their eyes met, but she couldn't think of anything to say. The significance of the moment could not be denied.
On a surge of pure impulsiveness, she'd given him the first mark. The first step toward making him hers forever.
* * *
Chapter Twelve
She pushed against him. As he straightened, he took her with him so she sat on the counter's surface and he stood between her spread thighs. Gripping her hips to slide her forward, he effectively kept them joined and changed the angle, rubbing against the dense spot inside that female vampires and humans shared as a pleasure spot. When she arched in response, he took advantage of that, taking a firmer hold on one buttock, his fingers teasing in the cleft beneath her robe.
"Enough," she said softly. She didn't shove him away, she wouldn't be that cruel, but she wanted to be certain he understood. No matter the intensity of the moment, she didn't stop being his Mistress.
Jacob met her gaze. Removing her fingers from his throat, she saw she'd done a good job. All sorts of dark feelings of pleasure ran through her at the two swollen marks there. "Your hands by your sides."
Slowly, with great visible reluctance, he withdrew his touch, resting his hands alongside his thighs. When he started to pull up his jeans, she shook her head. Reaching down between her still spread thighs, she gripped him, caressed his wet testicles and brushed the hot sticky skin between their heavy weight and the musky dampness on his thigh. "If I choose to give it, my next mark will be here. I'll command you to spread yourself, hold yourself open to me. Without restraints, you'll have to remain still and trust my fangs will find your thigh and not other tempting areas. But now it's almost dawn. I want you close. Get dressed and follow me."
She set the house alarms before she took him back to her room. He watched carefully. The majordomo duties of a servant were extensive, particularly for a vampire with a Region like hers. From his close attention, she was reassured that Thomas had prepared him adequately for that, at least.
When she led him through the house and stepped back over the threshold of her bedroom, she realized it might be a mistake to bring him here instead of to a guest bedroom. The nested intimacy of the room, the rumpled covers, the lingering scent of what had been done here earlier, distracted her. As did the manacles still on the bed, tossed there when he'd freed himself.
She spoke the chant of opening and the wood floor shimmered. The colors of the Persian rug melted, buckling and evolving into the shape of a flight of stairs disappearing into the darkness of a lower chamber.
Jacob studied it, his brows raised. "I don't remember this in the catalog of vampire powers."
"There's much you don't know. You'll join me below. When I rise, we'll speak about your interim duties."
"You intend to test me. Again."
"Yes." She glanced at him without apology. "Thomas's endorsement means a great deal, but I must be fully convinced. Perhaps you'll flaunt this test as you did my last one. Or perhaps you'll suffer it despite your tricks. Spend the time thinking about who I am and what I want from you. Perhaps by tomorrow night, you'll decide you want your freedom and that will be the end of it."
"Or not, and it will be the beginning of something else. Perhaps you'll learn to trust me, my lady. Not every man who desires your soul for his own wants it for the power, or to delight in your pain. There are some who want only the honor of caring for you. Of being called your champion. Your protector."
Her heart tightened into a defensive fist, his words digging into the tender area like nails.
"My protector." Touching a hand to her brow absently, she smoothed her own skin, the tendrils of her hair he'd loosened brushing her knuckles. The sun was rising. Weariness closed around her like a trap. At one time she could stay up well past sunrise in the quiet darkness of this upper bedroom. She'd watch the sliver of light glitter between the frugal gap in the curtains. Sitting a foot away from where it laid its bright line on the floor, making the threads of the rug glitter, she'd read. Or think. Or simply be.
Even as she relearned how to breathe air that did not contain either the threat or the promise of Rex, she remembered the longing that came with his gentle touch on her neck when she dozed. Lonely versus alone. Rex represented both emotions. When she was tired, it could tear her apart anew to remember.
I always had the power, Thomas. You didn't understand that until the end, did you? I ripped out his heart as easily as I'd crush a peach in my hand. But it was too late for you then. Knowledge of my strength provided you nothing, used too late. That's why I must be cruel, make Jacob understand, even when my strength is not what it once was.
"Follow me or not. It's your choice." She started down the stairs. "If it were me, I'd go home."
He followed.
The bedroom in the hidden room was almost a mirror image of the one above. She wanted to feel she was in her room, not in a pretend chamber, regardless of which one she used. This one had more space, however, for times when she might need or decide to remain out of sight indefinitely. A sitting area and a library were here. There was also an eye-catching centerpiece. A St. Andrew's cross carved of teakwood, the grain smooth as a woman's silken thighs or the velvet shaft of a man's erect cock.
She ran her hand down one of the arms, then exerted pressure. The hinges were well oiled, so it lowered smoothly from an upright to a horizontal position.
"Take off all your clothes. There's a bathroom over there. You'll be restrained on this until I wake, about ten hours from now, so I encourage you to make use of it."
She didn't look toward him, but she could feel the conflict vibrating off him.
"Jacob." One quiet word, but she infused it with everything. Not only command, but the threat of taking away what he said he wanted. Perhaps she could have injected a hint of reassurance, but in this room particularly she remembered who and what she was, and her voice chilled accordingly.
"My patience is thin as the skin covering all your pleasing muscles and just as easily stripped away. I don't want to hear a word from you right now. The stairs are there. If you walk up them, the door will open and Bran will make sure you're escorted off the grounds. You won't be issued an invitation to return."
Moving to the armoire, she began to slide off her own clothes as she heard him go into the bathroom and close the door. Probably to stare at himself in the superfluous mirror and question whether he'd lost his mind.
At least you have a physical reflection, she thought. The mental one can be so much more frightening.
* * *
He was losing his mind. Jacob yanked off his clothes, folded them on top of the commode and looked at himself in the mirror. Something felt off about this whole scenario, as if there were huge pieces of the puzzle missing, a whole script he'd only been given a portion of to read before rehearsal. Access to this chamber, for example. No vampire he'd ever heard of had telekinetic attributes, let alone the ability to transfigure floor and carpet into a stairwell. It wasn't illusion. He'd walked over that exact portion of floor earlier and felt and seen nothing to indicate a chamber below the surface.
She was determined to force him to submit to her on a lot of levels, and sexually was the least of them. He wasn't stupid. As she herself had implied, he knew that was just the gateway to the deeper layers of himself. Perhaps if he knew she would eventually give him some answers, he'd feel a little less nervous about walking back out there, but she hadn't offered that bone. She was making him follow on faith. His head had never been so messed up, and all the things he knew about vampires were taunting his mind, making his gut clutch.