The Maestro's Butterfly (4 page)

“You taste divine,” he said.

His rhythm covered her, his chest expanding and contracting, his heart pumping like a train. His warm, masculine scent marked her. His saliva wet her skin. She exhaled and relaxed with a sob when he tightened his body around hers and slid into her with 24

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his teeth.

Muscles in her back and arms seized with shock. Her eyes and mouth opened wide. Her pulse pounded against the hard shafts as he drove them deep. She tried to push him away and twist free, but he squeezed her against him. His fingers dug into her. A silky groan rumbled deep inside his throat. Finally, her struggles ceased. The Frenchman pulled his fangs from her flesh and sealed the wounds with his mouth to begin his insistent, rhythmic swallowing.

She swooned and grasped him, gasping. He supported her entire weight as hot, tingling waves spread through her. Miranda’s body relaxed as she submitted to this sensual, penetrating embrace, waiting for darkness to shut her eyes forever.

His whisper was rough. “You are going to die, eh? This is what you think?”

She nodded, feeling dreamy and drugged.

He laughed. “Such romantic notions you have about me, my dear,” he said.

A single sticky drop rolled off the side of her neck, but he caught it with his tongue. Miranda tried to stand up but her legs would not support her. “How much…?”

“Barely a taste, lamb. You are overcome by my charms.” He picked her up and took her to his bed. She was too weak to resist.

The mattress with the dark sheets accepted her roughly. She spun with adrenaline and loss of blood. Claudio did not restrain his gaze this time, but looked on her with the full force of his appetite. Those deep orbs engulfed and possessed her as he lay half on top of her and explored with his fingertips.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” she asked.

“Do you want me to?”

“No.” It was the pitiful squeak of a child.

“Good. We are not killers here,” he replied. “You have watched too many films.”

“Then what are you?” Her voice dripped from her. She felt sleepy.

“Misplaced in time,” he said. “Orphans who have outlived everyone.” He 24

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planted his elbows on either side of her and tried to draw from the wounds. They gave him nothing, so he focused on her face.

Miranda squeezed her eyes shut, still trembling.

“Ready for more?” came his whisper. He touched her with the points of his teeth.

“Let me go,” she begged, because that is what she was supposed to do.

“You don’t want that,” he said. “I know this because I can see inside of you. You are like glass to me.” He pulled away with a hungry smile. “Now be quiet. I am not yet through with you.”

He stole her breath with his mouth, kissing her with the taste of her own blood.

She tried not to return it, and fought as one fights the tide, losing as one loses to it. He teased a rhythm from her. This time, her tongue avoided the points of his teeth. Her hands pressed against his chest.

He bulged against her thigh. He ended the kiss and tucked his fingers into her cleavage, staring deep, gauging her response.

She gave him her eyes, and waited.

His expression hardened, jaw tightened, lips pressed together. His body tensed.

He ripped apart the dress, unwrapping her like an offering. Chilled, she hugged herself against the cold air. Her hands scurried over her pale, round breasts and soft tummy, trying to provide cover— but he would not allow it. He held her wrists above her head in one unrelenting hand as the other pressed its palm against a naked breast and closed its fingers. His sleeve tickled her underbelly.

She shut her eyes and spilled the gathering tears.

“Always they cry,” he said, now playing his fingers over her quivering abdomen, now over her lips. “This is not necessary.” He touched the moisture streaming from her eye. “I am not going to hurt you.”

“You already hurt me.”

“Was it unpleasant?”

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She opened her eyes wide and looked at him incredulously, but said nothing.

“Soon the bite will be easy for you, like making love, except you will be a virgin every time.” His fingers found the spot on her inner thigh he had touched in the car and traced a line to her groin. Her eyes rolled back and she gasped. Again, she tried to pull her wrists free, but was unable. They nestled in the pillow above her head.

Claudio’s grip tightened. Even in her groggy state, she knew it wasn’t because he thought she could get away. He simply wanted to demonstrate the power in his hand, to send her a message. It was enough to make her settle down.

His other hand left her. For a moment, pulling in a stream of air, she lay perfectly still. But the ripping of his zipper made her lift her head. The sight of his erection surprised her. She fell back into the pillow and looked at the ceiling.

“What did you expect?” he teased. “Spurs? Are you disappointed?”

She swallowed, and refused to look at him. The terror had subsided and her thoughts had begun to return to her, although she found it difficult to hold on to consciousness. Still, she wasn’t sure how much more of this intensity she could take.

He was right. She
had
wanted to be taken by someone relentless. But she hadn’t known a vampire would be the one to do it.

“I am still a man, after all,” he said, forcing her back to the moment, and cuffed aside the last barrier, breaking open the lace of her panties, leaving her nothing but vulnerability.

She shivered and allowed her eyes to return to his face. He was achingly beautiful, in spite of his oversized nose and heavy jaw. And now he was going to fuck her, no matter what she had to say about it. Her own moisture tickled over the sensitive spot between her vagina and anus. She was going to soak his sheets before he even entered her, proving every single point he had made tonight.

With a triumphant expression, Claudio placed the head of his erection at her opening. Miranda had not considered the possibility that it would hurt when he worked himself into her, but she hadn’t been with a man in a long time, and her body had 26

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forgotten how to yield, in spite of all the moisture. She cried out and made feeble, last-minute attempts to resist. He responded with patient force and his own hungry breaths.

The bedsprings groaned. His palms grew hot around her wrists. Her body soon accepted the pace of his thrusting. She let out a sob of relief as she felt herself submit to him.

When he released her wrists, she slid her arms beneath his tuxedo jacket and felt the heat of his back, pulling him toward her, pushing her hips to meet his.

Claudio dragged his lips along her cheek to taste her frustrated tears. “Don’t ever fight me,” he whispered. “You won’t win. And eventually I will cease to find it charming.”

The warning made her suck in a breath. She felt lightheaded and sleepy, and a little horrified to hear herself asking, “You’ll punish me?”

He smiled down at her, and thrust into her hard. “Yes,” he breathed. “I will punish you.”

“How?”

“I will use my belt,” he said. She shut her eyes tight, wishing she hadn’t asked.

She felt as though she were floating and feared she may die from overstimulation.

Someone’s fingers tingled.
Must be mine,
she thought, as though it made sense. Claudio continued speaking as he ground his hips into her. “You will see me take it off and you will know what is in store for you, that you will suffer at my hands. That you will learn your lesson.”

She parted her lips, but couldn’t say anything. Was he serious? Or was this just sex-talk?
He’s fucking me in his tuxedo,
she thought, remembering again he was a . ..

“Vampire,” she whispered, gazing up into his eyes.
I’m being fucked by a
vampire.

“Butterfly,” he answered. “Such a delicate little pet.” With that, he slipped an arm under her. She withdrew a hand from his jacket and reached for the lock that curled at his jaw. She had wanted to touch it for so long.

“Vampire,” she whispered again and leaned her head back, stretching her throat 28

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before him. He kissed the little wounds he had made, then pressed against her clit as he took her. An orgasm gathered its heat in the pit of her belly, as though her organs were contracting and on fire. Then they loosened, and the sensation erupted painfully inside of her, causing her to cry out and clench the shaft of Claudio’s penis. She thought about prey animals in their death throes beneath the taut bodies of lions, how their thrashing lessens and ceases, just as her movements were calming, how they cry out as she had cried out.
Petit mort...the little death of France,
she thought, and grew still beneath Claudio.

He waited for her body to calm, then began to grunt into her ear as he increased the force of his thrusting and gave himself to his own pleasure, pummeling her sensitive insides without mercy until his body tensed and his erection throbbed inside of her. She hoped, vaguely, that vampires couldn’t father babies. Then her eyelids fluttered, and darkness closed around her.

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Miranda opened her eyes to find Claudio propped on one elbow, gazing down at her. His chest was bare. He was not particularly covered by his bed sheet. “Good morning, butterfly,” he said. “Did you sleep well?”

Miranda sprang from the bed and stumbled, then put her hand to her head as if about to faint. In one fluid motion, Claudio was on his feet, holding her steady, and she was trying not to look.

“You’re nude,” she said.

“Something we have in common.”

She pulled away, tangling her feet and catching herself against the mattress.

Sniffling, she pulled off the blanket and held it against her breasts and stomach.

Claudio watched, amused. “It will take time for you to feel yourself again,” he said. “Your body is changing.”

Her chin quivered. “Changing? Am I going to turn into one?” She touched the welts on her neck.

“No. But you will be different. One of the others will explain it all to you later,”

he said with a motion of his hand. “They can talk endlessly about such things.”

“What did you do to me then?”

He thrust out his chin, allowing his eyes to blaze possessively. “I claimed you as my own. There is a certain primitiveness enjoyed by us vampires here.”

“Claimed me?” she said, dropping her jaw, scarcely able to believe her ears.

“
Claimed
me? This isn’t—it’s not a—it’s not a dime-store romance.” Her mouth twitched with tears. She leaned against the bedpost and swayed, dizzy.
I can’t cry,
she thought.
I’m pissed off.
Anger and tears were always a frustrating combination, she knew, especially when there was a man in the room. And this man had
I will drive you
mad
stamped all over him. She shook her head, and put her hand on her cheek, wishing 30

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her palm felt cooler.

He regarded her with a sigh. “If I am not mistaken,
Mademoiselle,
you came here of your own free will.”

She glared at him. “You lied to me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“You brought me here under false pretenses. You know good and well I wouldn’t have come if I’d known you were a…what you are.”

“Miranda, you have only a small idea what I am.” He pressed his lips together and strode toward her.

She backed away, her eyes wide. “Leave me alone.”

But he didn’t falter. He tore the cover from her hand and tossed it to the floor, then pushed her to the mattress.

“You bastard!” she screamed, trying to fight him.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

She bucked against him, bellowing with sudden rage.

“But I like it when you do that,” he said, and kissed her hard.

When he finished, she wrenched her head to the side, gasping. “Son of a
bitch
!”

“Very good, butterfly,” he said. “Anger is such a potent potion for love, and I know you would not have come here if you did not want to feel my touch.”

She glared at him. “Don’t call me butterfly. I’m not an insect.”

He stroked a wisp of hair from her eyes with his fingertip. “But you are my butterfly, my fragile little pet. And such pretty colors.”

“Don’t bite me again.”

He nibbled at her throat. When she squealed, he grinned, then rolled off of her and went to his wardrobe. “I have much work to do today, so I must go into town until this evening,” he said while considering what to wear. “But first you will tell me,what do you think of this, being captured by a mysterious man?” He chose a burgundy shirt and black slacks and lay them out on the bed. “It is delicious, yes?”

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“I hate you.”

“And you will hate me even more before you love me,” he said, and was on top of her again before she knew it. He lowered his head into the scent of her hair, smiling.

“You have now met a man who can see your hidden desires, as much as you would like to keep them locked away. And why is this? Why run away from fear when fear itself is what you crave?”

She looked at him in horror, embarrassment flushing her skin.

He rested his weight on her and began moving his naked crotch against the warmth between her legs. His voice became husky with renewed desire. “What do you imagine I want to do, make you feel terrible? Do you imagine I am evil because I refuse to let you escape the things you want for yourself?”

She turned her head toward the whip on the wall, and whispered. “You hurt people.”

“People,” he said, “are in love with pain. It is everywhere. Here, they try my patience so that I will give them new pain and allow them to hate me for a small while.

It takes their minds off their worries. But they cannot hate me for long. Do you know why?”

“No.”

“Because of the immense delight they feel at my hands. Whatever they want, whatever they are afraid to speak, I can give to them —— or withhold from them ——

at my pleasure. It is a frightening thing, to get what you want. Don’t you agree?”