Page 137 of Vampire's Choice
Ruth studied the gesture, the intertwined fingers, until Kaela took her hand away.
Merc had settled on a cushioned bench next to Ruth’s chair. “Though you might prefer to keep your wings cloaked,” Kaela said, “I thought you might appreciate that seating option, my lord.”
“I do. Thank you.”
“Garron and the household staff deserve the credit,” she added. “They tend to anticipate my needs.”
“The sign of well-trained and devoted servants,” Merc noted. “Yvette has two in the Circus who know what she wants, almost before she has the thought. She has the same ability toward them. Anticipatory behavior isn’t limited to one side or the other.”
Ruth blinked. Her normally brusque companion had discovered a diplomat’s double-edged tongue. Merc, what are you doing?
He didn’t respond. His gaze had met Garron’s. The look between the two males held a variety of things. Speculation. Readiness. Aggression. Things Garron would never show toward a visiting vampire.
“Is there a problem with my servant, my lord?” Kaela asked in a neutral tone.
“If there was, would you dismiss him from our presence?” Though the question startled Ruth, Merc’s tone held only a mild curiosity.
“It depends on the reason. You’re guests, and though I will show you hospitality, I expect courtesy in return.” Kaela’s expression was frosty.
“There’s no problem, my lady. My apologies. You and Ruth were going to speak of history.”
“Will you speak of your own?”
“No,” Merc said. “I’ll listen.”
The servants brought in the first course, a pomegranate salad with pecans, goat cheese and pear tidbits. Merc’s was served on a medium-sized plate with a gold rim. The two vampires had a much smaller portion, in a condiment dish with the same embellishment. A small pumpkin muffin was placed on top. Merc had a trio of them arranged along the curve of his plate.
After a weighted pause, Kaela directed her attention to Ruth. “What would you like to know?”
Since Merc only seemed interested in his salad, Ruth grabbed for the redirect. “Can you tell me about your life during the Civil War period?”
“Of course. My husband and I had a modest farm that covered our needs, if we worked the land and watched our funds. Like most Southerners, we weren’t wealthy plantation owners.”
As Kaela painted the setting for her past life, it helped ease some of the tension Merc and Garron’s behavior had caused. Though the overlord glanced toward Merc often, including him in the conversation, she didn’t ask questions about angels. Even if, like anyone else, she was rabidly curious. Fortunately, the setting provided useful distractions.
Having dinner in an environment saturated with sexual promise was the norm for vampires. When the two servants reached climax, the conversation was paused to enjoy, to watch the struggle, the helpless convulsions of their toned and lovely bodies.
As they were still twitching, now with the discomfort that came from the continued, relentless friction of the vibrating toys on flesh made overly sensitive from the release, Garron went to the male servant. He removed the ear protection and spoke in a hard voice. “Your Mistress didn’t give you permission to come. Did she?”
“No. Forgive me, my lady.” The words were muffled, because Garron had stopped the front machine’s movement but left the phallus partially in the male’s mouth. The servant had long blond hair, pulled into a queue so the contortions of his face couldn’t be hidden, or how his lips were stretched by the girth of the toy.
Garron moved to the wall and returned with a quirt. When he landed the first blow on the blond’s buttock, the male curved in on himself, his breath sucking in.
“You’ll ask for the pain, not shrink from it.”
Garron’s command had a snap like Yvette’s single tail. It yanked Ruth’s attention from the servant to the male in control of him. At his Mistress’s order, she reminded herself. Don’t lose focus.
Kaela might be watching the display with erotic absorption, her fingers caressing the stem of her wineglass, but Ruth was sure she was monitoring her guests’ enjoyment. On the next blow, the male complied, lifting his hips to reach for the blow. Asking for more.
Merc was a statue on the outside. But he was hip deep in Ruth’s mind.
She was doing as she always did at such things. Staring at the display, visibly enjoying it the way she was supposed to be doing, while inside she imagined the roles reversed. Only this time she had someone to share it with. She was imagining herself on all fours, serving Merc’s cock like she had on the beach, as the fucking machine brought her to climax.
She felt the brush of his power inside her, an intimate caress, and barely controlled the tremble.
“Would you care to administer Embla’s punishment, Ruth?” Kaela yanked her out of her head, nodding to the female servant, then gesturing to the wall of toys. “Choose whatever you prefer.”
It wasn’t a request. Ruth knew it wasn’t. At such events, it never was.