Page 23 of Red Queen

She’s a queen without a crown for her to get it back means my rules, my way.

She pulls her hand free, slamming the door and leans against it. “What now? Your whip?”

“Liked it, didn’t you, Eleanna?”

Her gaze slides free, giving her away but she’s not a queen just by birth. It’s in her blood and now I’m older, perhaps wiser, I see her for what she is as her gaze snaps back to mine.

She’s a warrior. It’s in that blue vampiric blood. She wields a sword as well as she wears a crown. Perhaps better. Or perhaps,I decide as my gaze slides slow and insolent over her, she’s a throwback. Something akin to her father but not. A queen born to rule in blood and death.

I want to bring that into the light. Bring the cruel queen that is also fair, into the modern age. She can still rule in blood and death but only when it’s called for. Not a queen of blood because of bloodletting of humans.

That latter queen is not one I want or like.

But the elemental queen who can rule through hardship and with the sword just as well as she can through words and quiet moments, one who leads with sword, intelligence and elemental ways, that queen?

Oh, fuck do I want her.

“Yes,” she says. “I liked your whip, the pain, the pleasure.”

“Even though it was insolent?”

“The way you look at me now is far more insolent.”

I walk up to her, crowding her in, hands coming to rest either side of her head as I gaze down at her, loving the fact she noticed. Loving she hates how I looked at her, stripping her bare and cataloguing every curve of her.

Now I drop my focus to those red, plump lips, the one that taste like sin and home, like power and vulnerability. The sweetness that hides the venom. And most of all I love how when I bit her, she tasted of the copper and life and indefinable aphrodisiac that’s blood.

Hers.

“You don’t like it, Eleanna?”

Her nostrils flare as her lips part, a silent invitation. “I said it was insolent. I didn’t say I hate it.”

“Good.” My gaze is locked on her mouth, how it seems to grow plumper, redder, more inviting. “Because if you did, then you’d be a liar.”

“I’m not a liar.”

The snap of words is like a hand tugging on my cock.

“No, you’re not. But you want all the control, don’t you?”

“Yes. I’m a queen not a whore.”

I drop a kiss on that mouth and it clings. Soft, hot, inviting. I can barely hold myself back from a ravishing, taking her mouth like I’m taking her cunt. A deep dive into the elemental side of a kiss. A fucking.

And I want her lips, the ones that move soft against mine, open to the stroking of my tongue, inviting me in to the delights and secret pleasures with in her mouth, I want those fucking lips wrapped tight around my cock as I thrust into her mouth and throat.

But I hold back.

Not out of fear or altruism but because this is a taming of sorts, a game where the prizes demand patience.

There’s a rhythm to this seduction.

The other night was an overture of dark grandeur. This is an interlude, a sonata of sweet, soft seduction.

The soft kiss spins out and soon we’re both shaking with the need for more, Tense with the effort of holding out. Holding back the urges.

She breaks first. Her teeth sink into my lip, drawing my blood. Her growl as she sucks it into her mouth to suck and swallow the blood is orgasmic and my cock twitches.

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