She stirred, coming out of her dreams into the reality of him, and he sensed her mind drifting between the two. Her fingers found his temple, drifted across his hair.

It’s dark. “I’m afraid. I need the light.”

“No, habiba. You only need to know the dark can hold more than pain and terror.” His lips returned to her belly, soft, persuasive.

The heat of his tongue traced a lazy circle, so that she couldn’t help herself. Jessica did as she wanted, tangling her fingers in the thick copper silk of his mane.

When her hand touched his head, it was a benediction, inspiring thoughts both sacred and profane. Mason took his time, nuzzling her, working his way lower, toward that slick, heated well that spoke of her craving need, which called out to his own.

But she needed him other places as well, and he responded, sliding farther onto the bed so that he could close his hand over one sweet breast. Amara’s gentle touches had not been enough. She needed demand, that barely leashed, near-violent lust that the right female roused in a male, to sweep her away. And though she didn’t trust a male for that, Amara had been right. In this dreamlike state, exhausted, for this one precious moment, she was letting herself trust him.

He read her surprise that he’d anticipated her desire to have her breast touched, and he smiled against her flesh. You fear having a vampire in your mind, habiba , but you have not been taught the benefits. Anything you desire I can see, feel. It need only cross your mind and I will give it to you.

He pleasured himself with the weight of the small curve, the sensitive tip that hardened further at his touch, eagerly pressing into his palm as she twisted and arched again. When her thigh rose, a pale column in the semidarkness, it fired his blood further as she tried to hook a heel around his side, pulling him to her. He closed a hand on it, so he could mouth his way along the inside as she shuddered beneath his touch, unable to pull free as he used his strength to hold her. A subtle reminder that she was all his, the dominance too much a part of him to put aside. He had no desire to quell it. With her, he found himself raging to use it in ways he hadn’t in some time, ways that would prove the differences between what she’d experienced before, at the hands of a male who never should have been allowed near her. No male should. Only him.

Her aroma was too much. He turned his face into her waiting pussy and indulged in a long, leisurely lick, gathering her sweet cream on his tongue and relishing her cry of response, the aggressive tug on his hair from her slim fingers. Sliding her leg over his shoulder, he raised her hips to his face, causing her to reach up and grasp the railings of the headboard, an unconscious surrender and anchor both.

Penetrating her with his tongue, he flicked, suckled and ate at that succulent fruit that offered juices to his laving tongue until he was growling. He wanted to score her thighs with the tips of his fangs, make tiny marks of his ownership over the tiger-shaped third mark. It was an urge he barely managed to suppress, conscious on the rising tide of his own desires that she was teetering on a fragile line.

In her mind, he heard whispers of incomprehensible things—needs, fears—and yet one thing for certain. More, more, more. She’d been forced to climax so many times, but never had she been given true pleasure, true fulfillment. Her body was so eager, so hot for it, that as he drove her higher and higher, as he’d hoped, it shed the shadows, began to burn fierce and bright, moving eagerly toward what the young female muscles and heated blood wanted.

He turned her then, in an effortless move, bringing her up on hands and knees, and covered her, pressing his still-clothed cock against that damp juncture as he reached beneath her and claimed her breasts again, knowing the blood flow rush would make the nipples even more sensitive. He scraped her nape, but didn’t bite. This had to be all about her, though he wouldn’t deny his own desire was building to a point beyond which he wouldn’t be able to recall himself. He was lost in her desperate need, so strong it overwhelmed his senses. So many things flooding her mind, jumbled emotions, desires, a five-year tsunami too torrential to be handled in one night.

She would need release, night after night after night, until it would ease to a downpour. He would gladly help her weather the storm.

Clothes . . . naked. Want you.

When he lifted off her to unbutton his shirt, she surprised him by turning around on her knees, lithe and quick. Grasping both sides of the open collar, she tore it. Her mouth fastened on his chest, tasting him, licking, and when she found a nipple she bit, pressing her body urgently against his, her stomach against his steel erection. Her hands were there now, trying to find the workings of his trousers.

Those whispers were becoming comprehensible, damn it all. She didn’t want to be in this reality. She wanted to be in some strange, out-of-control dream where she could pretend in the morning it hadn’t really been her wanting him this much, wanting to feel like this. She wasn’t ready. Truth be told, maybe he wasn’t either. The intensity swirling in this room wasn’t all from her.

He caught her hands, stilling her. Jessica.

She looked up at him with wild eyes as she pulled against his hold. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.

“I have to,” he said quietly.

“No.” She bared her teeth, tried to yank herself from him, tried to fight him. The things in her head became far less complimentary.

In fact, outrageously inventive, such that he would have been impressed, except he was swamped by the raging heat of her frustration and his own.

Scooping an arm around her, he brought her forehead firmly back to his bare chest, cradling the side of her face to hold her still.

She struck at his midsection, but he had the advantage in strength and balance on the mattress. While she subjected her body to a fierce struggle that left her panting, he waited her out. At length she drew her arms in against her, like a bird’s wings crossing over her breasts, hugging herself. He tightened his grip then, creating a cocoon for her against his body. She was still vibrating with her need and it burned in his lower belly, like searing fire held to a vampire’s flesh.

Judging her calm enough, he eased her back to the sheets. She stared up at him, so much swirling in the gray eyes. But as if she couldn’t bear to look at him directly, she turned her head into his fall of hair as he stretched out on her, fully clothed. He guided her face back to him.

You keep looking at me, habiba . Or I will stop.

Jessica caught her breath as his hand moved between them, found her wet folds, and began to manipulate her there with consummate skill. She was furious with him, for all she’d wanted was him inside her, and yet at that touch, she couldn’t deny him.

She was glad he hadn’t returned there with his mouth, for that, while incredible, had not met the emotional need of having him up here with her, his body on hers, his gaze close. His broad shoulder leaned over her, his leg trapping one of hers as his booted foot kept the other spread to give him the access he desired. Her lips parted, and her breath clogged in her throat. Fumbling, she found his arm, dug her nails into the hard biceps. She couldn’t bear to look into that face that knew so much about her, but she couldn’t bear for him to stop. So even though she wanted to bury her expression in that acre of muscular chest, so close and emanating heat against her, she stared in his eyes as he’d commanded. An excruciating, sweet torment, seeing how he saw her.

As he built her higher and higher, the breaths and gasps, cries and pleas, wrenched from her throat. It was too much. When her face contorted with her desire and she turned it away, into his neck, he stopped. His hand covered her mound and labia, in a way that had her twitching uncontrollably.

The true purpose of a chastity belt, love. That broad strap, fitted for the shape of your pussy, softened so it will not chafe, cups you. Yes, it locks you in until your Master wishes to access your sweet pleasures, but because of its restraint you think of his hand there at all times, possessing you, claiming you as only his. Now look at me. I want to see your face as you come. Watch you as you scream for me.

So close to that precipice, her body compelled her to obey, face that intent expression and the stern set of his lips. The concentrated demand there alone, as well as the impressive hardness pressed against her thigh, was almost enough to contract her muscles, send her over. What was she—

“No thinking, habiba. There is only us. Only this moment.”

He began to work her ruthlessly, the fire in his eyes growing as she bucked, a wave working up from inside her, increasing the pressure in her lower abdomen, her chest, her eyes glazing from the effort of holding his.

“Don’t stop . . .” She gasped.

“Don’t look away,” he returned, merciless. “I want to see your eyes while your cunt spasms against my hand.”

“Aahhh . . .” When her cry escalated into a scream, the climax cut over anything else she might have thought or said. His fangs gleamed in the darkness, giving her a thrilling shiver. Keeping the perfect rhythm against her clit, he never faltered. The teasing pressure of his fingers inside her lips, tickling and increasing the sensation, intensified her screams. Because he kept her legs forced open, she had to experience the full contact. Writhing, twisting and gasping, she held his amber gaze, clinging to that connection she needed to feel, so it wasn’t merely an empty physical release. He was here with her. He was here.

Always, habiba . I will not let you fall, unless I am there to catch you.

16

ROMANTIC nonsense, of course. The things that men and women said when they were in the throes of passion together. So Jessica told herself as she opened her eyes to a setting sun. Mason had left her, with great reluctance, sometime before midday, when the heat of the sun could be felt through the curtains. While she loved the light, she’d felt a little isolated after he left, a little more alone in the bed than she wanted to be. She’d sensed he wanted to take her back to his chamber again, and she wasn’t sure she didn’t want the same.

Madness, of course. But she’d faced that terrible dungeon room, the memories it held for her, and he’d talked her away from despair. Whether or not it was wise, she needed to believe in something. It was the irony of her life that it had to be another bloody vampire. Scrubbing a hand over her face, she propped herself up, realizing belatedly she was still naked, for at a certain point, he’d stripped the open gown off her shoulders.