Taken by a Vampire (Vampire Queen) - By Joey W. Hill Page 0,230

sternum, dipping into the open collar of his shirt and slipping several buttons to caress his bare flesh. “I’m hard and ready here . . . Master. I want ye. All of ye. And I want to take.”

His gaze was suddenly fierce and burning, his meaning clear. Evan felt his testicles draw up at the thought of it. So many years, and it was something he’d never offered his servant. Despite Niall calling him Master, it didn’t feel like he was asking. Instead it was somewhere between harsh begging and adamant demand, Niall’s constant ability to straddle the line between servant and something entirely not-servant.

Evan dipped his head, barely a shift of motion. Niall slipped the other buttons, pushed the shirt off Evan’s shoulders, but left it there as he traced the pale lines of Evan’s collarbone, down his chest, over a nipple. Evan’s fangs unsheathed, his bloodlust rising as his instincts perceived the challenge, the emotional intensity of it. Niall leaned in, putting his mouth to Evan’s throat. As he did, Evan banded an arm around his shoulders, holding him fast. He let out a growl of his own as Niall bit down hard enough to draw blood, to taste him.

He stroked over Evan’s ribs, down to his waistband, working at the belt, sliding it through, opening the slacks. Male impatience took over, such that when his grip closed over him, Evan caught his hair, pulling his head to the side so he could sink his fangs into that delectable throat, drink deep. His servant. His lover. His friend.

He wanted Niall as well, wanted him with that fierceness the Scot understood now, with his heart just as open. Rising, he drew them both up, and when Evan retracted his fangs, licking the blood off his lips, Niall tugged him over to a patch of soft grass. He worked his way around Evan, tasting his throat, trailing his mouth over his shoulders, his hands sliding into the loose waistband of the slacks to caress his hips. As he pulled Evan back against his broad chest with an arm banded around his chest, he reached into the slacks and underwear to scrape his upper thigh with his nails, close to Evan’s rising cock.

“Fuck, Niall.” Restraining his natural desire to dominate gave the moment an edge sharp as a knife blade, but Evan held back. He wanted to experience his servant unleashing a passion he’d kept pent up for far too long.

Niall took them both down to their knees, pressing himself up behind Evan, then shifted away to nip down his spine, tracing it with his tongue as he tugged the slacks off Evan’s hips. He didn’t waste time, immediately cupping Evan’s ass in rough squeezing hands, thumbs teasing the seam. When he pushed Evan forward, wanting him on his hands, Evan might have resisted, except Niall’s heated, moist mouth was suddenly on his rim, licking and working into him, an indescribable sensation that sent his cock jacking up hard against his belly.

Evan dug his fingers into the grass. He’d turn the tables eventually, roll the Scot over and thrust into him hard, savoring that muscular ass that could squeeze down on his cock in an excruciating, perfect way.

“Ah . . .” Niall’s tongue was devil-inspired. Then Evan detected the scent of lubricant, knew his servant was working it over his thick cock. He pushed up and turned, capturing Niall’s wrist. When he took over the task, he watched the Scot’s breath shorten, his eyes get more dangerous and determined with every pumping, slick stroke. Evan could make him come in his hand, and Niall knew it. He could turn it into a wrestling match, but of course Evan would win. So the Scot went for a more devastating tactic.

“Master . . .” He breathed it, his face harsh, intent. “I want to fuck you. I need to fuck you.”

Evan caressed Niall’s bare chest, fingers slipping over the dragon, the chai mark. His servant had spent centuries embracing a life he wasn’t sure he deserved, or should want as much as he did, but in the end they’d come to this, to celebrate what they’d been given. It filled his heart, such that he knew he’d give Niall what he desired.

With a feral smile, Niall took Evan’s wrist, began to twist it slowly, an armlock that would turn his body around, ending up with that arm up against his back as Niall pressed him to the ground. Evan allowed it, the slow