Taken by a Vampire (Vampire Queen) - By Joey W. Hill Page 0,132

to bring her up onto her hands and elbows, his body still covering hers, he skimmed his hand beneath her, over the stiff, cold points of her breasts, down along her abdomen.

“Stay on your elbows, lass. Pull your hair over your right shoulder.”

She was breathing hard, shivering, but that heat against her back spread between her legs. When she obeyed, he cupped her breasts again, fondling them, enjoying the tight tips as he pressed his lips to the small of her back where he peeled Evan’s shirt away from her damp flesh.

“When he had ye bent on the picnic table I wanted ye tied there, your pale arse in the air, your quim slick and pink, ready.” The accent got stronger, its effect devastating. She imagined him walking right out of the eighteenth century, a Highland Scot as wild and untamed as the land itself. She closed her eyes, her body rippling in response. “Would ye like that, lass?” he rumbled.

“Yes.”

That dual level of approval coursed through her, increasing the heat in her core. Once again, admitting her own desires made these two men even harder. Her own needs and wants were something this vampire and his servant demanded to know.

Good girl.

Won’t you come join us again, Master? Evan’s voice made her push her luck.

You are a shameless wanton, but no. I will enjoy this through Niall’s mind and yours. Give me that gift, Alanna. Let me feel everything you want to feel under his touch. He is an incomparable lover.

She breathed out a low hum of pleasure as Niall opened his jeans. He paused, making an adjustment with a huff of sound. “Have to get my drawers out of my arse, thanks to you, muirnín. And just for that . . .”

He put a firm hand on the back of her neck, holding her there, and gave her several firm smacks across her abused buttocks, making her yelp.

“Lucky I didn’t use this.” On their last dash past the table, he’d retrieved the belt Evan had used. Now he looped it around her thighs, cinching them tight just above her knees. “No more running from me tonight.”

“No, sir.” She moaned as he captured her breasts again in his large hands, fondling and kneading, brushing his fingers over the nipples, rubbing them until she was squirming from the sensations shooting through her body from those sensitive zones. When his cock probed her wet folds, she was eager, ready. With her thighs held together like that, it made the entry even tighter, more excruciating, and would give her a slow build to climax. Niall had some of the same pleasurably sadistic tendencies as their Master, when it came down to it. And she didn’t mind.

He was in the mood to pleasure himself. She wondered if he knew how hot it made her, being so obviously used for his own desires. He started thrusting in, good and deep, grunting his enjoyment of it.

“So hot and wet . . . so fucking tight.”

His strokes became stronger, his testicles slapping against her clit, but not enough, not enough friction. She pressed back against him, ground against him, wanting more, needing more. He gave her backside another sharp slap, making her behave, but then he reached beneath her to capture a nipple and flick and tweak it, increasing the sensation.

“Oh . . . Niall . . . God . . .”

“Fuck, you have gorgeous hair.” He wrapped his hands in it, pulling her head back, his knuckles pressed into a mass of silken strands between her shoulder blades as he straightened to make his thrusts faster, more intense. She dug her fingers into the ground, holding on, because he was powerful enough to drive her into the earth itself. She could feel his strength, restrained to protect her far-too-human frailty, even as he was letting enough of his third-mark strength loose to make her feel totally taken.

He released, hot seed spurting through her, making her groan with the shooting pleasure of it, her body quivering, cunt squeezing him, so close to that pinnacle, but needing his help to get her there. She wanted it with a fierce intensity that could turn her into a snarling cat. She scrabbled at the earth, raked her nails over it, meeting him thrust for thrust, the earth becoming mud against her forearms, her knees dug into it, because they’d both dripped water into the ground they were plowing.

As he finished, he pulled out, making her cry out in angry need.