Vampire Mistress by Joey W. Hill Read Free Book Online Page B

cher . He fascinates you. No matter how close you come to his fangs and claws.
    Well, she was pretty damn close right now. Gideon caught her upper arms before she could topple, cleared the debris he’d created and slammed her up against the wall in the recessed stained glass alcove. The small fountain toppled, splashing water across their feet. Glass shattered behind her, the stained glass as well as the backlight bulb, sparks popping.
    Despite that cacophony, he’d done it all in one superbly graceful movement that told her exactly what this man did for a living. He killed. It was a calling, not a profession. His deadly grace came from more than practice and experience; it was natural instinct, a terrible gift of the gods. Even if her courage didn’t falter, her body had the sense to tremble.
    He shifted her into the corner, away from that jagged bulb, and kissed her, hard, fierce, his fingers biting into her arms. He wasn’t seeking pleasure, but brutal domination. Her feet weren’t on the floor. His thigh pushed between her legs, holding her up, riding her on flexing muscle; his cock ground into her hip. His split shirt slid off his broad shoulders, exposing part of his chest, the hard cords of muscle in his throat.
    His lips were drawn back, teeth clashing with hers. During those few harrowing moments, she forced herself to calm docility, despite the desperate thumping of her heart against her rib cage and the unexpected spike of arousal the grip of his hands and press of his body incited. She didn’t reject his kiss, merely waited him out, waited for him to realize she was neither resisting nor accepting. She hoped that James and the security guards were obeying her orders, which were to leave them be unless she gave the prearranged signal for assistance.
    Mostly, though, she thanked Goddess that Daegan had already left. That was all she needed, a testosterone match between a pissed-off vampire and an enraged vampire hunter.
    Gideon drew back, his breath coming fast, his eyes cold and hard. His mouth was a rigid slash, wet with hers. During the kiss, he’d shifted one hand to the base of her throat. Gazing at him, she knew he was feeling her rapid pulse beneath that grip. “Gideon,” she said softly. “Put me down. You are hurting me, and you are hurting yourself. I won’t tolerate either one of those things in here.”
    His lip curled in a half snarl, but it was silent. A quiver ran through his limbs, and she saw the muscles in his neck work, his shoulders bunch. The hands clenched on her, enough that she wondered if she would have to use that signal after all. Then he moved.
    Not to obey her, not exactly. He shifted his grip, so he was beneath her legs and back, and lifted her out of the broken glass. Fortunately, his hard biceps pressed below where her shoulder had hit the stained glass. He carried her away from it, putting her on her feet next to the wing-backed chair. Then he stood there for a moment, staring at her. He was a tall man, more than six feet, but with her heels, the height difference was reduced. His hands crept up from her waist, his fingers tangling in her hair, almost like a child playing in his mother’s curls, only the movement of his fingers inspired entirely nonmaternal feelings. He slid along the surface of the camisole, the heat of his touch burning the skin beneath the thin barrier of cloth.
    This man was not a submissive. There was nothing innate about it to him. She’d sensed that from the beginning. But what had fascinated and drawn her was what she felt now, in full, raging demand. He was seeking a form of submission, of surrender, that didn’t have to do with whips and chains and kissing the sole of her shoe. It had to do with service and loyalty, with something so absolute the soul, not the mind, was the one pleading to be called into service.
    She’d said she had a theory about his sense of chivalry, the type of man he was. Even in his rage against Tara, he’d confined