A dead-center hit, right on the clit already engorged by his soapy fingers. As she bucked up with a gasp, he held her, giving her an an- chor with an arm over her chest, his forearm pressing down on the tops of her breasts, increasing their sensitivity to the water that lapped across them from her convulsive movements. He clasped her upper arm, holding her in position while he reached under her with the other hand and palmed her ass, lifting her up to an angle where she was even more vulnerable to the spray. "Oh, gods . . . " Her hand gripped his thigh, using more of her strength. He responded to the pain by easing his fingers between her buttocks, playing with her rim as he worked her against the jets, let- ting the punishing flow of water drive her. Her breasts, just the tips, were out of the water, jutting hard and erect from the instant, almost punishing level of arousal. Go over, my lady. Let it go. Let me see you come. It shuddered through her exhausted body the way surf would wash over her if she lay on a beach within the tide line. He wanted the climax to ripple over every exposed nerve, one nerve at a time. She made soft, keening noises of pleasure, pressing the side of her face into his shoulder and nipping at him, holding on. As she undulated, his cock pressed into her hip, eager to serve her, and he could tell that spurred her even higher. The power of denial, mingled with the knowledge she could have him whenever she wished. She was still shuddering with all of it when he let her sink back into the cradle of his lap, removing his fingers. "My lady . . . " He whispered it huskily, holding her close, almost as close as the interlocking pieces of their minds. He prayed to whatever god would listen that he would never fail her, the woman who was the answer to a lifetime of questions and needs. In her mind, there were images of dark and light, wonder and happiness, violence and pain. His lady had led the proverbial inter- esting life. She was his destiny. He'd known it from the first time he'd seen her. Whenever, whatever lifetime that was. All lifetimes. At length, she slid down against him, curling against his upper chest, stretching out her legs so they intertwined with his. She fell asleep that way, unconcerned about his arousal pinioned under the soft flesh of her right buttock.
Or rather, highly cognizant of it and indulging a Mistress's pleasure in making him wait. However, he found himself oddly content to stay in this position, be her bed and hold her above the water. Though she had no danger of drowning, he didn't want her sleep disturbed. While he didn't know the mood she'd be in when she surfaced, since she was capricious in that regard, he had no illusion tonight's magical connection would continue forever. The night a servant re- ceived his third mark was a honeymoon period. Even if his lady's mood prevailed, because of the illness she suffered and the chal- lenges they faced, this honeymoon would be far shorter than either of them would wish.
Returning to the present and far less pleasant matters, Jacob focused on what Debra had told him. When Lyssa had resisted giving him the third mark, he'd thought it had been grief and stubborn guilt. She'd lost her husband, Rex, and her servant, Thomas, within the past two years. While she still hadn't shared the full story with him, Jacob knew Rex was the reason Thomas had gotten the fatal disease that somehow infected Lyssa. Debra had given him a horrific idea of how Rex had accomplished it. Lyssa had killed her husband herself when she found out he was responsible for Thomas's death. She'd then had to make the vampire world believe the honorable and always loyal Thomas had poisoned and staked Rex and she'd killed the servant as punishment. Despite her Machiavellian nature, she was also a woman. It was a web of lies and deceptions that would have broken any woman's heart. In the end, Jacob realized she didn't want to give him the third mark because he would die with her. She'd been protecting him. So he'd bullied, coaxed, nagged, cajoled. In what he knew she still considered a weak moment on her part, he'd convinced her. His choice. He wasn't afraid of death. He was afraid of being where he couldn't protect her. Love her. And with the third mark, she could draw from his energy to help prolong her own life and give her more of the precious time she needed.
If only Brian and his fellow vampire science geeks had known about Thomas, been able to study him until his death. Andrev was a born vampire, from human and vampire parents. Lyssa was born vampire and Fey, the oldest living vampire with powers no other vampire had . . . Perhaps it would go differently for her. If only they didn't have to hide it. But vampires like Carnal were trying to undermine everything she'd built. Carnal, the vampire who'd been made by Lyssa's late husband, Rex. Carnal preferred a world where humans would be cattle for the bloodthirsty whims of the vampires. As the number of born vampires had decreased, the Vampire Council had allowed more vampires to be made, against her advice. A growing number of these made vampires, whose impulse control and bloodlust were not as well controlled as their older, born breth- ren, were impatient with the many Council rules. Closing his eyes again, Jacob pressed on the bridge of his nose, relieving the tension building in his head with his thoughts. The vampire world existed in prosperous harmony in the shadows of the human-dominated world primarily because of her efforts over the past several centuries to establish the current Vampire Council structure. The elaborate ritual courtesies and rules had created a bal- ance between vampire bloodlust and blood need. In vampire terms, that form of governance was young. It had only been in existence for the past couple of centuries, following some bloody territory wars to enforce it, of which she'd been a terrifying part. She was the Council's muscle. The last direct descendant of roy- alty among the vampires, she didn't sit on the Council but was con- sidered an important advisory member of it. Over a thousand years old, the limits of her strength and actual age unknown, she was all too aware that when she died, the Council would have to manage on its own against those like Carnal. She had over fift y vampire fugitives she'd granted asylum in her territory. The upcoming Vampire Council Gathering was the vital turning point. At the event that occurred every five years, she would petition for permanent asylum for them, as well as reinforce the strength of the Council in any way possible with her presence as their queen.
If she got through the Council Gathering without suspicion, even if she died soon thereafter--and his mind shied from that thought-- the illusion that she was still around would be in place long enough for her vampires to position themselves accordingly. It was not un- usual for a vampire of her stature to go into seclusion for extended periods, communicating with other vampires only through her ser- vant or other trusted agents. She could conceivably be gone five years before the truth was known. He was helping her put all the pieces in place for that illusion if needed, and she would consolidate it with the contacts she would make at the Gathering, confirming who her allies might be. Places her fugitives and even her legitimate territory vampires might go if they had to flee her Region. She was finally trusting him to be her ally, to guard her back, while he wanted nothing more than to focus fully on what would cure her of this damn disease, keep her alive and vibrant forever. "You do realize I could have slit your throat three times while you've been sitting here daydreaming?"