The Cherished One (13 page)

He was learning to read her as best he could, trying to gage where she was in the spiral, wanting to claim her at just the right point, but there came a time when watching her, hearing her uncontrolled moans, seeing those bobbing breasts and feeling how drenchingly wet she was for him had him nearly out of control himself, and he knew it was now or never, regardless of where she was.

Max reached for her hips and lifted her, keeping her eyes locked with his as he positioned her on the tip of his manhood, holding her there easily, then watching her eyes pop as he allowed her weight to slowly slide himself inside her, to force her to open her body to him, to allow him to claim her in the most primitive way a man could own a woman.

When she had taken all of him, to the hilt, and he had moved her legs in such a way that she had no choice but to do so, he growled, “You are
mine
.”  Max began pounding in and out of her, grasping her hips so that she couldn’t avoid the power of his strokes, rasping himself in and out of her, up and over that spot he had so carefully tortured almost to fruition, and within three strokes he felt and saw her go wild with it.  She nearly fought him in the midst of her pleasure, pounding on his chest and shoulders, as if she couldn’t bear the enormity of the pleasure.

But he wouldn’t allow her to escape it as he watched those lacy wings of hers sprout and flutter over them, and indeed, he drove her on to a second, mind shattering explosion that had them fairly flapping before he allowed his own release to overcome him with a howl that, he was sorry to note, caused those beautiful wings to retract suddenly, as if they could not tolerate so animalist a sound.

It was so raw, so pleasurable it was almost violent in its intensity, but in the aftermath, he simply held her.  There were no words.

The dream ended with her curled up in his arms, in that big overstuffed chair, with the two of them simply staring into the fire, until it faded into sleep for her.

The next morning, her bed looked like a cyclone had hit it, and her panties were literally soaked.  She searched her mind for any trace of his presence, but no more overt presence was there but the usual tinge of him at the back of her mind.

Still, he continued to visit her in her dreams throughout the week, although they were not all as wondrous as the first.  A lot of them, after the first, ended up with her being disciplined – sometimes she was only disciplined, and not pleasured at all, which was the type of dream she was much less enamored of.  Sometimes she was spanked and then pleasured, which was much more to her liking, not that he seemed to be paying much attention, necessarily, to what she liked, although she had to admit that he did tend to have a pretty good memory about her preferences, especially when it came to intimate matters.

He was scrupulous about not wearing her out, and never occupied her dreams for too long, always making sure she got a good night’s sleep, and if she was having a hard time sleeping, or hadn’t gotten much rest the night before, he did not visit her that night, and the next evening, he made sure to pleasure her to within an inch of her life, which always made her sleep better.  He was nothing if not a gentlemanly incubus.

Chapter Nine

On the third night after she got home, he came to her in her dreams and brought her back to his bedroom, only this time he bent her over the edge of his bed.  In his hand was a very intimidating looking leather belt, which she soon felt the brunt of across her backside.  It was unbelievably awful, and yet he seemed to absorb at least some her pain – but not in a way that alleviated it, more in a way that allowed him to experience it through her. Almost feed off of it, as if it was blood.  Every stroke and resulting moan or groan or scream only made him hotter, and what was worse was that he would occasionally reach between her legs, which he’d been forced to lash well apart, to the bedposts, in fact, only to prove to her that her protests were lies, because her body loved the lash. 

Every time he found himself there, he would linger where he was, with his hand between her obscenely opened legs to make sure that he reminded her of the ecstasy that he could bring to her that was – unfortunately for her – always just below the surface, ready to be called up at any time, no matter, it seemed, how harsh the punishment.

But he stopped, of course, just short of the stroke that would take her over that last crest and into spasms of ecstasy.  Instead, he took a step or two away from her and aimed that wicked belt at her backside, her thighs this time, instead of her already ravaged hind end, wrapping the buckle end around the palm of his hand, but leaving a goodly length that would provide a solid thwack against her skin, and leave an unmistakable trail behind it, but wouldn’t wrap around to the sensitive sides and fronts of her legs.

Every stroke had Fawna howling, and trying to stomp her feet within their bonds, not that she actually could.  Her backside was throbbing and pulsating and stinging and burning, no matter what his fingers or the wetness between her legs told him, and he was reaching for yet another implement!

Max showed it to her, of course, knowing that seeing it was almost as bad as feeling it.  It was small and thin and white, like a conductor’s baton, and it looked more innocuous than it probably was.

And she was dead right.

She couldn’t even howl after he administered the first stroke.  The line of fire across her hindquarters was indescribable.

But then, directly after applying that God awful stripe, he pressed two fingers inside her, along with two other fingers that reached around to the front of her and found that secret spot, bringing her back to writhing at the near peak of pleasure within a shamefully short amount of time.  Max leaned forward, over her roasted rear.  “As much as you don’t like it, Fawna, Cherie, you like it.”

She screamed, “NO!” louder than she ever had before in her life, and continued to do so, not that it stopped him, and soon that “no” simply became a scream, first of agony and then of ecstasy, when he repeated the process, and brought her back again.  It took just a bit longer each time, because each stroke hurt that much more, but he was always able to get her there.

Finally, he threw the baton away, released her legs and turned her over, kneeling in front of her open legs as if he was at prayer.

“No,” Max said into her head as he laid his mouth over that ultra sensitized part of her for the first time, “I’m going to worship.”

And worship he did, with his mouth, his fingers, and every other part of his body, until he knew she was about to burst with it, and then he rolled, so that she was on top of him, because he loved the sight of those fey faerie appendages floating above them.  He knew he would need to control his tendency towards canine howling, and he did it, so she would grace him with the sight of those beautiful wings of hers as she raced into the sun.

***

Max had been trying to be good, trying to be circumspect, to stay out of her mind as he knew she wanted him to, at least during the day.  He hadn’t been as good about that as he knew he should have, especially the day she arrived home.  High emotion seemed to draw him to her, and she’d been happy and excited to get home.

Max had heard her thoughts when she’d been talking to her mother and brother, and he found the conversation very revealing and very painful.  Her confusion about him, about his motives and her feelings for him, as well as his for her, opened his eyes, helped him realize just what an uphill battle he was going to have in winning her over.

But it was a campaign he intended to win, and the dream visits he intended to commence would help.

He deliberately stayed away from her for almost a week after she got home, letting her have some time to get settled and see her family, rather than descending on her like some stalker.

Besides, he could almost – almost – get his fill over her at night.  But not quite.

Instead, about a week after she’d come back, he surprised her by showing up on her doorstep, which, considering their recent history, was a relatively brave thing to do.  He was wearing a gorgeous, lightweight, light gray suit that had to have been designer, and he looked like a runway model.  Okay, he looked like two runway models, because he was at least two times beefier than they were.  But he was a stunner.  He hadn’t gotten his hair cut exactly, but he had had it styled and tamed somewhat, and he looked, on the whole, pretty damned uncomfortable.

His clothing choices to date had been much more in keeping with his identity as a vampire.  Black, black and more black.  Black suits. Well made and expensive, but definitely not designer.  Heck probably not even of this century, but then, what did he care?  He had absolutely no one to impress.

Dain got to the door before she did, and all he did was stand there, grinning like an idiot, keeping the man on the doorstep while he critiqued the other man’s outfit.  “Nice threads, man.”

Max cleared his throat.  “Thank you.  Is your sister in?” he asked.

Only Fawna knew that he wouldn’t have been here if he hadn’t already known she was home.  She’d felt him coming and had dashed to the door like an eager schoolgirl.  “I’m here.”

Max gave her a huge bouquet of two dozen lavender roses, already arranged with baby’s breath in a gorgeous Baccarat crystal vase.  “Oh, my, they’re amazing!  Thank you!  Come in, please.”

Dain raised his eyebrows, earning himself a glare from his sister.  He reared back, hands up, trying to look innocent.  “I don’t have a problem with him coming in, but Momma’s gonna have something very different to say about it.”

And he was right.  Her mother was on him immediately, practically accosting him while Dain physically restrained her.  She was raining hellfire and brimstone down on his head for threatening her family and hurting her daughter and threatened him with dire consequences she was going to see to it personally that he suffered because of his evil actions.

To Fawna’s surprise, Max managed to appear quite contrite, and even went so far as to apologize to Fawna’s mother, her brother, and herself.  He then produced a small, wrapped, blue velvet box, a sure sign that someone had been shopping at Tiffany’s, and when Lilliana unwrapped it, however reluctantly, her mother couldn’t help but be stunned by the gorgeous, delicate little fawn broach she found nestled in the box.  “I designed it myself.  I wanted to give you something exquisite to remind you of your exquisite daughter.”

“Well, Mr. – Mr. uh...” She looked to Fawna, then Max for help.

He smiled down at her, saying, “Just Max, Madame.  My surname has been long since lost in translation.”

“Well, Max, that certainly is a step in the right direction towards redeeming yourself.  You may come in, but I’m going to be keeping an eye on you, and what’s more, her brother is going to be keeping his eye on you, too.  I would warn you to mind your manners, or your head will soon be separated from your shoulders.”

Fawna wanted to sink into the carpet beneath her feet, but she couldn’t.  Max, bless him, merely bowed very low as her mother departed in regal fashion.  “Madame.”

Dain wasn’t so easy to get out of her hair.  Her attempts to shoo him away weren’t working.  “What are you going to do, chaperone us everywhere we go?”

“If I deem necessary, yes.”

“Majesty, I do have something for you...” Max went outside to bring in a bigger box than the one he had handed her mother. “I didn’t have enough hands to carry everything.”

He handed the box to Dain.  “I understood from your sister that you are a baseball fan, and that your favorite player is Babe Ruth?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Fawna was thinking that he’d been doing some unauthorized rummaging around in her head, and that she was going to take him to task about that as soon as she could, but she was too intrigued by Dain’s gift to do anything about it now.

Dain tore off the wrapping paper, creating a mess in the process, of course, and ripped open the box.  Inside were a baseball and a bat, both signed by Babe himself.  He was over the moon.

She leaned in to Max’s ear.  “Nice job.”

He didn’t bother to lean back, but whispered into her head, “Thanks.”

“Why don’t you go play with your new toys, Dain?”  She made shooing motions with her hands.

“Are you kidding?  These are going under glass immediately.”

“Good, why don’t you go call someone about that?  Call one of your friends to come and gawk at it.  Go somewhere and drool on your new toys, Dain, anywhere that’s not here.”

He frowned at her, but didn’t make any move towards the door.

Finally, Fawna leaned towards her brother and whispered with deliberate, evil calm, “Dain, do you remember the pictures I found on the internet of you and that dancer?”

He colored most spectacularly while clutching the bat and ball, as if she might reach out and take them from him in a fit of pique.

“And who you really didn’t want to see them?”

Dain rose as gracefully as he could when his little sister was strong-arming him.  “I think I’ll go call Ty and Andy, see if they want to come over and gawk.”  He stopped directly in front of Max.  “Thank you for the gifts.  But, you know what my mother said?”

Max nodded.

“Well, it goes double for me.”

“Of course.  I understand.  I want to assure you that I intend her absolutely no harm, Majesty.”  Again, Max bowed dramatically low.

“Oh, dear God, you’ve got to stop doing that!”  As soon as Max rose, Fawna smacked him hard on the shoulder.  “He’s going to be impossible to live with!  He’s gonna want everyone to start calling him that and bowing and scraping.  Cut it out!”

“You know, sis, I think I’m beginning to like this guy!” Dain quipped on his way out.

Fawna put her roses on the table in the foyer, where the mirror reflected their beauty.  “These are just gorgeous.  Thank you.  You didn’t have to come over here bearing gifts, though.”

Max smiled sheepishly.  “I supposed it wouldn’t hurt, though.  All I can do is continue to say I’m sorry, and not hurt anyone.  Eventually maybe they’ll forgive me.”  He reached out and took her hand, kissing the back of it.  “Maybe even you’ll forgive me.”