“Niall will punish you on my behalf while I watch.”
“Yes, Master. I apologize. To you and Niall.” It had bothered her, the way she’d treated Niall, and she wanted to make amends. But he also picked up an undercurrent of anxiety.
The second mark gave him access to her thoughts, the snarl of emotions there. While punishment and pleasure were bonded in the vampire world, and she was fully capable of integrating them, the damaged part of her remembered Stephen’s torment, his idea of punishment.
Sexual sadism was part of both human and vampire races. Vampires tended to indulge it a little too enthusiastically at times, whereas humans tried to suppress and deny it. Most servants had a built-in facility for embracing the vampire version of it, but what Stephen had inflicted on her was equal to the seven levels of Hell. Rather than giving him a reason to back away from punishment, however, it was the most important reason Evan had to remind her of the type of pain that she would welcome. His servant had his own tastes for inflicting sexual punishment, the kind a woman like Alanna would be helpless to resist, the pleasure absorbing her as much as that moon miasma.
“Niall.” He spoke aloud when the Scot didn’t move. The man’s cock had leaped at Evan’s decision, but he wasn’t sure of the timing. Even without direct access to her mind, Niall was picking up on the same warning signs as Evan. His honorable servant.
Do it. Trust me.
Niall went to her. In one fluid movement, he went to one knee again, bending her over it so her palms were flat on the ground, her hiking shoes digging into the earth on the other side to hold her balance, body tented over his thigh. The pants at her ankles, the sweet, vulnerable curves of her ass and the pink folds revealed by the tear-shaped opening between her thighs, created a memorable picture, one that hardened his own cock.
Niall was very good at spanking women. It never failed to arouse Evan to watch him do it, but more importantly this time, it should push Alanna past the lock she’d put on her own desires. Another vampire might scoff, reminding him that she’d been trained to let herself go for pleasure. But what Evan saw was a show pony, one who would run if commanded to gallop, but she never forgot where the fence was, modifying speed and direction to stay within that boundary. He wanted her caught up in the euphoria, running full tilt at that fence. He and Niall would help her soar over it.
It was the key difference between InhServs and a servant like Niall, and why Evan would always prefer the latter. InhServs were for those with ambition, and he was sure they did their jobs wonderfully. But unlocking passions Niall had suppressed for so long, helping him discover those he’d never even suspected existed within him, giving him free rein to explore anything that interested him . . . Rousing him to a fight, enjoying the plethora of emotions and passion that tangled between commands and service, anger and passion . . . That was what made having a servant such a deep, damn pleasure.
Evan sensed it in Alanna, like a masterpiece waiting to happen. He just had to figure out which colors, which approach and medium to use.
Niall wrapped his hand in her hair, pulling on it to hold her head down, even as he kept his forearm pressed against her upper body. He wouldn’t let her fall, but he was making sure the position felt precarious, exposed. “How many?”
“Until I say stop. Alanna, count them off.”
“Yes, Master.” Her voice was even, precise. Her mind was in the same state. She knew how to handle this. There was little performance to it, because the visual was what stimulated a vampire. She was only required to experience it as he desired.
As he desired . . . Evan frowned, nodded to Niall.
Niall’s large hands were the key to his effective technique. He would sweep up from beneath and hit the widest part of the buttock with an effective smack that would resound through all the nerve endings between pussy and ass, up through the lower belly, even making the nipples tingle. Evan shifted position so that he saw the pink tips harden from that first stroke. She let out a small gasp, her fingers digging into the earth.
Niall alternated sides. Thwack. Thwack. Her breath started to labor, because he knew how to make it hurt as well. However, between hits, he would rub both buttocks, kneading firmly to make her shudder, writhe, then force herself to stillness when he hit again, a reproof for her movement.
“Legs spread out more, lass. Your Master wants to see your pussy cream.”
Niall didn’t help her, not obviously, for that awkward wriggle was part of the punishment. Then he was at it again. Evan’s nostrils flared, taking in her arousal. Trained to please, to perform . . . Her mind was doing something different, though, something unexpected. Her head dropped lower to the ground, and the gasps became harsher. She wasn’t rising up to Niall’s hand; she was bearing down, as if she was trying to grip his leg with her body, hold on to an anchor in a world that was starting to spin too fast.
Her arousal was building so fast, already stoked from the earlier marking, the way they’d touched her but not allowed her a release. That spin was uncontrolled, a hazy, disorienting world.
Evan’s eyes narrowed, watching her come apart. Her pussy was wet and getting wetter, but her fingers were in tight balls on the ground, her hair falling forward over her face. Her breathing was hitching in her throat, close to a sob. Niall hit her twice more, but his servant was keyed into it as well.
Something’s wrong.
Yes. Bring her to climax. Hard and fast. Give her no choice, no time to think. Let’s see if we can bring it to a head.
Three more flat-handed strokes, her white buttocks now rosy with his handprints, and then Niall stroked through her wet folds, three fingers pushing into her pussy like a cock, working and teasing the walls within as his thumb found her clit. He clamped down on it, squeezed and worried it. Alanna’s cry broke forth as if it had ripped a strip from her heart.
“Noooo . . . no, please . . .”
Evan was sure she wasn’t even aware of what she was saying as the climax tore through her, her body well used to obeying skilled physical manipulation. But the heart and soul couldn’t be trained, and they’d been sorely treated, too fragile to handle an assault like this. As the climax shuddered through her, her forehead was pressed to the earth next to her closed fists. He knew she was crying, trying to hide it, her mind a maelstrom of things she couldn’t understand. She’d been tortured by her former Master, was facing the possibility of death with every breath she took, trying to understand her new Master and his servant in ways far beyond her depth . . .
She couldn’t hold a lock on her emotions in the face of a powerful orgasm. Confused and frightened, she rode a tide of harsh emotional response that blasted through the wall of her training. The aftermath left her aching, throbbing with need. All alone.
I truly am ruined. Broken. Dark emptiness closed over her mind.
Niall had turned her in his arms, was trying to cradle her, but Evan wasn’t surprised to see her struggling to get out of his arms.
Let her go, Niall. She needs to breathe.
He didn’t want to do it, his arms reflexively tightening. Niall.
With an oath, Niall let her go, though it wasn’t from his sharp directive. The Scot knew Evan was right.
Stumbling a few feet away, she fell hard to her knees because the pants still hobbled her. Bending over, she folded her arms across her stomach, began to heave.
Niall . . .
The Scot was already there, scooping her hair out of her face as she retched into the grass. She put shaking fingers down, tenting them to hold herself when it was done. She was shivering, her eyes glassy, lips wet with her stomach’s refusal to accept any of this.
“I apologize, Master,” she gasped. “I . . . will do better.”
In her mind, he saw she had no idea how she was going to manage it. It was just the only thing she knew to say.
Don’t comfort her, Niall. That will make it worse. He opened the link between the two servants’ minds so his hardheaded servant could see it. She was like glass. The least pressure was going to break her. There will be time to comfort later.
“You didn’t displease me, Alanna,” Evan said evenly. When her head came up, brown eyes staring at him, he nodded, let her see it in his calm expression. “Put your clothes back on. We’ll be heading back to the cabin within the next hour.”
6
I’M coming for you. We will go to Hell together.
Alanna woke, heart pounding. Since she didn’t hear the echo of a scream, she’d bitten down on it before it could escape. Even with the blocker, the nightmares still came. The InhServs had mocked her, beaten her when she woke them with the cries. So great was her crime against their purpose, they probably would have done Stephen’s will for him, staked her with metal, if the Council hadn’t forbidden it.
Sitting up, she drew steadying breaths. One . . . in, out. Two . . . in, out.
She hadn’t been asleep long. Through the window of her small guest bedroom, she saw dawn had come, turning the moon into a translucent crescent in a dark gray sky. It would be overcast this morning. When she rose and cracked the window, she could smell the rain coming.
She thought about the night she’d spent with her new Master. Painting with him, eating on the ledge with Niall. The soreness of her bottom after Niall’s punishment. She touched her waist through her thin night rail, sliding over her rib cage, across her abdomen. Though she touched nothing improper, the firm press of her fingers against her skin made her shudder. Her whole body had become an erogenous zone.
She remembered Evan’s gaze on her as she’d removed the shirt, displayed herself to him. The moment he had commanded her to undress, her body had liquefied. Then there was Niall, holding her over his knee, punishing her at the command of their Master. When he’d spanked her, only his hand snarled in her hair kept her from sinking her teeth into the seam of his pants leg. She’d craved ruthless male hands, the pierce of sharp fangs, the thrust of their cocks, pounding into her body, using her, needing her. Wanting her.
The ache in her throat was going to choke her. She’d ruined it. As the climax came upon her, something had invaded her mind, the same thing that invaded her dreams now. Failure. Hopelessness . . . Fear.
