Taken by a Vampire (Vampire Queen) - By Joey W. Hill Page 0,23

room, or the central garden, the only place at the Berlin castle that received much sun.

Arousal was more than training, however. It was also an instinct, when the stimulus was right. She wasn’t afraid of her ability to respond; she was worried about her ability to channel it properly. Her pulse was definitely tripping as Evan kept his thumb gliding over it, his eyes tracking her expression, her elevated breathing. When Niall slid her hair over her left shoulder, freeing the strands from their wide silver clip, the vampire watched the red curls tumble down over her breast. Now Niall’s breath was on the right side of her neck. As his lips settled there, gooseflesh spread out from the point of contact. She hadn’t been touched in months. Months.

The body was anatomically designed to experience pleasure. It was never to be resisted in a vampire’s presence, unless they ordered that as a form of torment, because vampires relished seeing their servants surrender sexual control at their command.

But Evan’s simple touch roused something different than that. In Stephen’s service, she had no trouble channeling her responses to his requirements. Yet she’d noticed servants outside his household who experienced orgasms with tears, looks of clinging adoration toward their Master or Mistress, impulsive acts of devotion in the aftermath.

InhServs were taught that “natural” servants were much less disciplined, so such emotional reactions were to be expected from them. It was not a failing, but a sign of why an Inherited Servant was a cut above. No InhServ would say that outright, because it suggested ego, but it was generally understood. Then she’d seen Adam with his Mistress. He’d pressed a fervent kiss to her foot, rubbed his cheek there as she touched his hair . . .

Why was she thinking about something like that now? What was Evan expecting, looking at her the way he was? Was she supposed to be doing something she wasn’t? The best InhServ anticipated her vampire’s need before he had to tell her. She’d been one of the best, but now she had no frame of reference.

Niall’s mouth opened, a heated moistness on her throat that tightened her nipples, drew in her breath. An electrical current ran between that contact and Evan’s thumb stroking her pulse, a current branching out, building a response in her lower belly, her thighs. She was dampening because she was supposed to respond that way, because he would require her to be wet if he wished to take her or have Niall take her, but it felt . . . She was afraid.

No. She was never afraid, not of this. But they were making her feel something different from what she was used to feeling.

“Shhh . . . you’re tensing, muirnín.” When Niall ran his hand down the arm she had propped on his thigh, she realized she was gripping him with tense fingers. It horrified her. He covered them, interlaced them with his own. “Let’s change this up a bit, aye? He’s a voyeur, and ye need to get lost in your heid.”

Sliding down the side zipper of her skirt, he moved their linked hands under the waistband. Touching the lace band of her panties, he traced the soft skin, then pushed farther beneath the silky fabric, guiding her fingers over her smooth mound, the tender petals beneath. She swallowed as he tapped her clit, then slid his middle finger below it, teasing wetness. “There ye go. Lie your head on my shoulder, close your eyes. Pleasure yourself, lass.”

She flicked her glance up to Evan, saw his slight nod, the intentness of his face, the firm set of his mouth. He brought her hand up to it, teased the palm with his lips, tasting her.

His fingers were truly extraordinary. Elegant but capable, like the hands of a master artisan, or a tree spirit. She remembered a card Adam had sent her, showing a male dryad coming to life, the branches of his tree becoming arms, wrapping around the body of a human woman. She was kissing his face, evolving through the bark, a powerful, graceful spirit that shared life with the tree. Evan’s hands reminded her of that. He also smelled like the forest.

The hard enamel of his fang slid over the pad of her index finger, a reminder that she’d been told to do something for them. Stephen had rarely commanded her to masturbate before him, but Niall’s hand was sliding between her fingers. The roughness of his skin was a