When she parted her lips, he put the quill in between them. "Hold onto that. Gently. Don't drop it."
Her world tilted as he bent, banded his arm around her thighs and--no other word for it--tossed her onto his shoulder. The capable movement, indicating the sprawling strength and grace of his body, his palm gripping her ass, the choker pulling against her throat, exacerbated her desire for him, her need to feel him inside her once more. It seemed the wanting him never ended.
"Glad to hear it. But that pussy of yours is going to do without for awhile. Everything my way, my lady. That's just one lesson you'll learn about wearing my collar."
He employed the fireman's carry, her head hanging down, hands trying to find purchase on the rise of his ass, the rugged landscape of his muscular back, as he took her out of his office and workout room to the futon. Settling down in the center, he turned her so she was draped over his legs, hips arched over them and knees sunk into the couch cushion. He gripped her face, turning it toward him. Taking the quill from between her lips, he set it beside him.
"You need a good spanking, Lady Kaela," he said shortly. "Being in my mind when I told you no. Calling me Master before I gave you permission. You may heal fast, but pain is pain, and I could leave you black and blue with my hand alone. I think I should wear your ass out good. Shouldn't I?" His tone sharpened, making her start.
"Yes." She was whispering.
"I didn't hear that."
"Yes sir."
"Better." He wrapped his hand in her hair again. "Breath control's off the table with a vampire, more's the pity. I think you'd like that, my lady, me controlling whether or not you get to breathe. But you'll get some of the effects of it like this." He pushed her face down into the seat cushion and jerked the ties to the swimsuit bottoms, pulling them off before he began rubbing firm circles over her buttocks, a sensation that had the nerve endings begging, all her erogenous zones tingling.
"You disobeyed me partly because you're still floating in that post-subspace, where there's more intimacy. I don't mind that. Even like it. But you recouped your energy more quickly than a human sub, so now you're disobeying me because I'm giving you too much room to think. So get ready to lose control of your mind. And anything else I want to take from you."
Jared had spanked her a couple times. The first time had been an accident. She'd dropped hay in his hair and he'd threatened to spank her. She'd teased him by flipping her skirt at him as if she'd lift it. He'd driven the breath out of her, catching her up against the loft ladder and yanking the skirt up himself. She thought he was going to take her there, tear through her thin drawers. As a result she'd been instantly, gushingly wet. Eventually he'd done just that, but first, he'd drawn back his hand and...
Thwap!
She shuddered. She didn't want to think about all the things that could go wrong about this once she left the island, things that felt like subdrop multiplied by a hundred suicidal thoughts. She wanted Garron to help her stop thinking.
She got her wish.
He leaned over her, hooking the coffee table drawer with a foot, and withdrew something. When she started to turn her head in that direction, he pushed her face back down into the cushion. "Not your job to see what I'm doing, my lady." He tapped one thigh. "Spread these for me. Shoulder length apart. Put your arms behind your back, wrists side by side."
The position increased the pressure of her face in the cushion, made her wetter, and she moaned as he indulged himself, sliding two fingers inside to scissor and play. He unhooked the back of the swimsuit top, untied the neck, pulled it from beneath her so she was naked except for his choker.
"You make a man want to fuck you to death, my lady." Withdrawing his hand, he clasped both of her wrists and picked up what he'd taken out of the coffee table drawer.
She realized what it was as soon as he began threading her arms into it. A corset sleeve, meant to lace a sub's arms together behind her back, going from wrists to upper arms, as tight as could be tolerated. She'd seen modifications to them used at vampire events and vividly imagined one on herself. The strain on the shoulders, the way her breasts would thrust out, the tightness of the hold.
As the sleek, tough fabric molded to her limbs, her breath caught. She didn't breathe at all as he drew the lacings taut, increasing that sensation.
"Yeah, there you are. You like being restrained, my lady. It turns you on ten different ways and puts your mind back where I want it. Keep floating."
Which was exactly how it felt. The ties holding her to rational thought were cut like balloons, letting her drift and spin, even as her body throbbed, begged for even more. Anything he wanted to do to her.
He was pulling her shoulders back in increments until he had her upper body off the couch. He moved a cushion under it to hold her, indulging his desire to fondle the breasts that were now thrust out. She gasped at the tweak on her nipples before he placed another bigger cushion under her chin and pressed her face back into it, putting less strain on her neck.
Her shoulders ached from how far he pulled them back, locking her in the arched position. But he knew she craved greater levels of discomfort than a human sub. It pushed her deeper into that place in her mind. The iron bar of his cock against her belly said he fucking loved being able to push past those boundaries, indulge desires he'd never been able to pursue this far before.
With every restraint he added, her mind...went away. She had little licks of panic over it, but they were distant, intriguing reactions, not able to organize themselves into a full revolt as before. Her legs were spread, her pussy so wet she was sure it was dripping against his bare thigh. She loved that idea.
Now he cupped her jaw, lifting her face out of the cushion to tease the broad ivory feather of the quill over her lips. It made her want to lift her chin even higher, especially as he stroked it down her throat, over a breast. He was mastering her in his home. Like she was one of his possessions in truth.
"Damn straight about that. You're don't talk unless I command you to. Tell me you understand."
"I do." God, she wanted to call him Master now, but he hadn't offered it again, the chance lost, and she was afraid to ask. Afraid of what it meant. Afraid she'd beg. He'd said she couldn't talk anyway, a convenient excuse.
He moved her off his lap, laid her down on her side on the coffee table. Kaela licked suddenly dry lips as he lifted the quill. Opening his hand, he punctured the heel with the sharp end, efficient and deep, the welling of blood immediate. He waited as the blood formed a small pool in the cup of his hand. While he did that, he watched her, how riveted she became by that ruby bright flow.
He dipped the tip of the quill in it and leaned forward. "Eyes on the wall behind me, baby. You don't get to see what I'm writing until I say so."
Reluctantly, she obeyed. Her skin shuddered as she felt the press of the sharp tip and he began to write. It was scratchy, sharp, ticklish by turns, depending on where he was writing. Over the curve of a breast, around her navel, on her hip. When the blood clotted on his hand, he stripped off his T-shirt and punctured himself again. In the corner of her eye, she could see where. His pectoral, his biceps, his other palm...his throat. Except for his palms, he dipped the quill directly into the wound to ink the tip. Her nostrils flared, saliva gathering in her mouth as thin crimson rivulets of blood slid down his neck, over the curve of his biceps, down his pectoral, along the ridges of his abdomen.
And yet he kept writing. On her thighs next, then he turned her onto her stomach to make swirling, sharp scrapes down her back, over her ass. He cupped her chin, giving her support since the corset sleeve kept her arched up. She dipped her head enough to taste the blood on his palm and he gave her a sharp poke with the quill, an unspoken reprimand that had her pressing her lips tight together. She savored the small taste she'd stolen.
The lower curve of her breasts pressed into the ridges of the bamboo coffee table, a provocative friction. He leaned over her, his knees pressed against her shoulder and hip. He s
hifted his hold to her sternum, spreading out his hand there to give her additional support.
"Spread your legs."
When he wrote on her inner thigh, the feather curling over to tickle the seam of her ass, the back of the opposite thigh, she was whimpering, pleading without words, since he'd told her she couldn't speak.
At last he put her back on her hip and shoulder, facing him. He touched the bloody quill tip to her lips, her tongue, letting her have another taste of him.
"You can look now. See how beautiful you are to your Master, inside and out. I'm writing the words I think of when I look at you, my lady." The quill dropped, began to trace the word he'd written on one breast. "Strength." Down to her hip bone, her lower back. "Laughter. Tears."
His dark eyes were fire, capable of making her shake inside, everything susceptible to him. Even without giving him the third mark, she didn't think she had any shields that could resist his invasion as deep inside her as he wanted to go.