"Good. Very good."
As she opened his shirt, she moved closer, the barest brush of her body against his back, his buttocks. Her breath tickled his spine through the light fabric.
Though he knew it was a defense mechanism, Jacob tried to sort out the questions he had, mundane and less mundane, as if writing them down in his head for later reference. Anything to keep himself motionless as her fingers tormented him with nothing more than the unfastening of his shirt and her command to be still. Why did she breathe? Did she like coffee? Max had said she preferred a pot brewing in the foyer of Eldar, but she hadn't even asked for a cup. Was it the aroma? Should he make her breakfast? What was the driver doing? Had she ever had a man self-combust and die, incinerated by the fire she ignited in him?
Placing her palms on his now bare stomach, she kept one there while moving the other up to find his nipple. He swayed, leaning back into her as sensation shot through him. Her arms tightened, holding him. He felt her pleasure in his response, in the way she touched her lips to his neck. While he'd never thought of the throat as an erogenous zone for him, it apparently was now, for his cock became harder every time she went near it.
"Perhaps you're thinking this will be like those times when you let a woman control the moment. Let her ride your cock to climax while you held onto the bed rails and pretended you were bound. Soft games of pleasure with no real risk, the dark areas of yourself untouched, vulnerabilities unchallenged."
She came around to face him, her fingernails scraping his skin as she followed the waistband of his jeans, just inside the band of fabric. "Lovely musculature. Mature, lean. Not the body of an untried boy. There are scars here. You've fought battles."
"I've—"
"Hush. You do not have my leave to speak."
A sharper command this time, in a tone that shot resentment through him. She began to hum softly to herself. As if her dialogue was intended to be a one-way conversation, like a potential buyer examining a thoroughbred racehorse. He suspected she was doing it that way deliberately to goad him.
On the other hand, her expression was focused, fascinated, as if she'd been given a private viewing of a special work of art and was standing alone in a room with it, envisioning it as hers. The look in her eyes was enough to make him want to reach for her, hold her against his aching want.
That response grew even more intense when she unbuttoned his jeans and opened them, reaching in to clasp his hard cock and adjust it, bringing it out of the recesses of the pants. Moving closer, she let go to run her hands back along the inside of the jeans to palm his bare ass. Pushing her knuckles against the hold of the fabric as she kneaded him, she rubbed the satin of her robe against his cock where it was taut and erect, revealed by the open fly.
His hot flesh felt the bite of the open teeth of the zipper, but it couldn't dampen the inferno of desire raging through his blood like the sudden rise of lava in a smoking volcano. When she tilted her head, her lips were so close he couldn't resist any longer.
"No," she murmured.
"Yes," he insisted.
When he closed the gap, he stumbled forward at the lack of contact. She was no longer there, empty air the only thing in front of him.
"Take off the rest of your clothes, Jacob."
He spun awkwardly and saw a flash of her, then she vanished like mist with that rapid speed vampires had. His gaze went to the ceiling, knowing gravity didn't necessarily limit them, but he found nowhere for her to perch.
"Clothes off. Lie across the bed with your feet on the floor, your arms stretched over your head as far as they can go. If I have to tell you to do it again, I'll make you do it and crush your male ego." Her voice was a sensual caress, coming from several places in the room, moving like a capricious wind, disorienting him. "But even worse, I'll tie you down and leave you like that for several days, until you realize what belonging to me truly means. Enough to regret it."
Jacob lifted a lip, curled it in a snarl. "Give it your best shot, my lady."
He couldn't say why he did it. Maybe because he didn't want to capitulate so easily. Maybe because he had no game plan for this other than his intuition and unwillingness to be controlled.
He didn't see her coming. A shove knocked him to his knees and the shirt was ripped off his shoulders. When he flipped to his back, it was floating down to the floor. The candles flickered with the passage of her flight.
Rolling into a crouch, he didn't bother removing the pants. They were a tactical disadvantage open and low on his hips, but by the time he lifted a hand to remove them, she could be on him. He waited for it, that sense of impending air movement. Guessing her next direction based on her last strike, he ducked away, twisted back and grabbed, managing to seize a portion of her robe and tumble her across his legs.
Anticipating the lightning move of her hand, he reared back and dodged the grasp. He clamped down on her wrist, a move he knew she could easily counter by breaking his arm. But he had to believe the point of this impromptu match was not to injure. While he understood she was trying to prove something to him, he was just as determined to get his own message across.
He would be her servant. He wouldn't be livestock. At least that was what his pride told him, drowning out the voice of his psyche that said there might be darker issues involved in his resistance.
She'd frozen in a half-standing position, her slender forearm cuffed by his grip while she stared at him, two feet between their faces, her foot planted between his knees. He'd pulled her robe of her shoulder, exposing most of her right breast. Even as the pleasure of seeing that milk white curve made his body respond, a sense of shame swept him at this evidence of rough handling. Knowing how much stronger she was, he nevertheless eased his grip at the feel of those fragile female bones. With his other hand, he reached out and slid the satin back up on her shoulder, his fingers whispering along the collarbone, itching to trail down her sternum to cup one of those soft curves.
She straightened, drawing back from him. Her gaze narrowed. "You've fought vampires before."
"Yes, my lady."
"In the limo, you were wearing weapons. Several. I don't remember that Thomas had any particular skill with weaponry. In fact, I worried about his fingers when he handled kitchen knives."
"He told me of your enemies, of your world. My brother is a vampire hunter. He taught me how to fight them. But I quit. Thomas felt that was another reason I was qualified to be your servant in a way he wasn't. His words, my lady. Not mine." He added it quickly at her expression. "My brother and I… our paths separated some time ago. I'd rather not speak of him."