Brash, impulsive… Tara's words came back to her, and all Lyssa could think was, "Thank God." He knew her power, but it still didn't stop him from these impossibly forward moments she welcomed like a drug. Somehow they carried her away from a need to control everything, to worry about his place and her place…
Putting his hands on either side of her face, he held her as he kissed her, caressing her neck, making her need him inside her suddenly, desperately. Reaching in between them, she found his jeans and opened them, his lower body lifting to allow her to move them down to his thighs. She moved her hands to herself, but he guided them to his shoulders, coaxing her to let him be the one who gathered her skirt, bringing her bare skin in contact with his hard stomach, the thrust of his cock, the feel of crumpled denim next to her calves. He murmured a sound of appreciation as he only found her beneath the cloth. His hands were sure as he took her down on him, holding her steady. He slid deep into her with the torturously pleasurable ease of watching a sunset melt on the horizon, the heat spreading out, the beauty of it taking over and surrounding all the senses.
Oh God, he was perfect. She wished she could let him into her mind to tell him… and then she did. She gave him the images in her head, letting him see how she was seeing him, how she was feeling him, wanting him… harder. Wanting him whispering to her, all barriers and rules gone, at least at this level.
He pulled the pins from her hair, letting them clatter to the floor as he gripped her hair, used it to pull her down on him even more powerfully, his eyes darkening, pupils widening as he drank even more of her in.
"Fuck me," he demanded. "Fuck me."
God… yes. That was what she wanted, that guttural desire that was all hers. A natural part of him to take over a woman, held in check as he served her until she tore off the bridle as she did now, giving him his head and feeling all that power surging under her, wild and unfettered as it was meant to be.
"I'm going to make you come, my lady," he growled, his hands dropping to seize her hips, forcing her down on him, her clit smacking against his pubic area each time, a blow that shuddered through her system even as he stretched her further, took her deeper, widened her thighs to open up her cunt, bring the labia and clit in closer contact with his hot skin. "Fuck you until you're screaming my name, until none of it matters. Until you know you're mine. That you can trust me with everything, forever."
His. It was insane. But she felt so intertwined with him now, she didn't have any energy to argue, could only ride as he was compelling her to do with the grip of his hands, the jerk and thrust of his hips. The orgasm swelled up hard and fast and still he was taking her down in those relentless strokes, spreading her wide. He curled his arm around her waist as she began to climax, pulling her down with one arm as he found her clit with his thumb, held her slightly off of him and used his hips to piston into her, holding her immobile as he worked her, in and out, his thumb working that tiny bud of flesh. The climax battered her as she writhed, holding tightly to his shoulder, one hand gripped in his hair as the pressure became too overwhelming and she screamed as he said she would.
With a sound of fierce triumph, he shot his seed into her, his powerful shoulders flexing under her hands, his head pressing down against her sternum. She held her jaw to him, biting down on her lips as she hoarsely cried his name, whispered it as her cries became whimpers and her clutching hands eased into short, jerky movements on him. To stroking, light touches of amazement.
When he leaned back on the sofa, he framed her face in his hands again, keeping her balanced on his loins. The dinner, the things she'd told him over and over… the broken arm. Those were the things that were supposed to make sense. This was supposed to be confusing. But right now it was just the opposite. The possession by the fire, this, every time he smiled at her or kept on serving her even as he rebelled against her… those things were all so clear, though she couldn't describe or encapsulate them with words to explain exactly what was so clear.
"My lady?" With a half smile of exhaustion, he tapped her forehead then drew her down so she was comfortably wrapped in his arms. "Turn it off. Let's watch the movie together."
"I'll watch the movie, and you'll fall asleep," she said against his skin. His laughter rumbled against her cheek.
"You're likely right about that. I guess I'll just have to trust a mere lass to keep me safe while I sleep, no?"
The affected brogue came easily to him, and made things shiver up her spine even as she snorted. Mere lass. "Yes. I'll keep you safe. I promise."
He was silent for a moment, then startled her with a drowsy comment. "It was curious to me that you didn't know about the soft-shoe, my lady. I guess I expect you to know everything."
She rubbed her face against his chest. "Weren't you listening the other night, Sir Vagabond? Just because I'm as old as I am doesn't mean I've reached this state of all-encompassing wisdom where I just sit on the top of a mountain soaked in enlightenment. Good for you, too, because you'd go insane with the inactivity." When he chuckled, she closed her eyes at the thrill it gave her to feel him vibrate against her body again. "I know a lot of things by experience humans will never live long enough to understand, including yourself. But one thing I've learned is we don't overcome our nature. It's so much a part of us, I'd say it's maybe half of our souls."
When Bran raised his head, she looked at the dog, wishing she could have his simple acceptance of life. "If our nature is to want to love and be loved," she said softly, "we don't overcome that, get past it. On the same note, I could live ten thousand years and not understand why we do the things we do to each other."
She waited for his response, but his even breath told her he had succumbed in her embrace, the taking of his blood and the climax too much to keep him conscious. He'd drifted off on the soothing notes of her voice, trusting he'd not come to any harm with her.
When the total lack of sense she was using could well be the death of him.
If she dared, she would have said more.
Or why, knowing I shouldn't have you at all, I want you so much. Reaching up, she touched his face, brushing his brow. All the wisdom in the world doesn't make me immune to the way you desire me.
With regret she rose and covered him with a lap blanket, leaving him to dream alone. Though her mind mocked her, she had to keep making the attempt to teach him what being a servant to a vampire queen truly meant. Her heart called her a coward, running from her desperate wish to stay in those arms all night long. Maybe even beyond that.
But they had to get through the Council Gathering. She had to get through it. If nothing else, she'd at last acknowledged she would need Jacob to do that. It was time to focus on what needed to be done. Time was too short to indulge her heart.
* * *
Chapter Thirty-two
He hadn't seen her directly for several days, but Jacob tried to accept it, rationalize it. She was fighting her own feelings for him. Therefore, in an odd way these repetitive absences were gratifying. Frustrating as hell, yes. Particularly when he felt her presence so close it was like the yearning left in the aftermath of an erotic dream.
Oh hell. He wished he were as stubborn as she thought he was, too stubborn to let any doubts filter into his mind and heart. He couldn't help thinking about her words, things she'd said and what she didn't say. The things that had happened during the short time in her service. Maybe she could influence his mind, and she was using this absence and her ability to manipulate his thoughts to make his doubts build, because one thing in particular kept needling his consciousness.
Her conflict, the physical and emotional pain she seemed to be confronting. Was he contributing to it?
It was as if they were back on that damn merry-go-round, or maybe they'd been on it the whole time, circling around, again and again, dealing with the same conflicts and issues. He'd had his sense of himself challenged over and over. What he wanted, what he would endure to have it, whether his willingness to do that was right or wrong. That had been his focus. How he was handling things. But now all the things Gideon had told him, all the flaws in his character repeatedly pointed out, rose more prominently in his mind as each day passed.
What about her? What did she really need?
She'd said it. So had Tara, even Carnal. Every time a vampire was around him, his formidable Mistress included, he felt swamped by their years of knowledge, so much greater than his. Their surety, based on experience, for what was right and true.
Not suitable to be a servant. Thomas had been sure, but with all the debris between now and his memories of his time with Thomas, the certainty the man had instilled in him was flagging. Had it been the desperation of a sick and dying man, hoping a coincidence had given him a way to perform one last significant service for his lady? Jacob thought of Lyssa lying in the hallway, seeking her own death. The anger he'd evoked in her, the frustration. Had she accepted him or had he forced the issue? Was he the best man to be her servant? Yes, she had a will of iron, but the Irish were stubborn enough to wear down iron.
It even crossed his mind that the compulsion to be with her could just be the pathetic cliche of a human drawn to a vampire's magnetism. Maybe he'd just been trying to spin the elusive threads of a wishful dream into the fabric of reality.