WIP Wednesday

I stopped for a bit working on this week because I thought I found my plot bunny for an upcoming pax at Amber Allure, but that didn't pan out, so I'm back to my vampires again.

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US Marine Curtis Lenske hung from the wooden cross on the opposite wall. His clothes had long since dried, and his once-white shirt was gray with grime. Blood caked his feet where they had caught on either the sand or something in the sea, but other than a few scratches along his heavily muscled arms and an abrasion over his left cheekbone, no other injuries marred his succulent body.

Felice hovered at the door, waiting for him to notice her presence. To the casual observer, his bowed head might indicate sleep, but she knew better. His telltale heart thudded too quickly to be unconscious, and the minute twitches of his fingers weren’t reactions to dreams. She itched to stand before him and drink him in, but this required patience. She had a strong feeling that Curtis Lenske was not a man who broke easily.

It took nearly five minutes of standing there silently for him to finally lift his head. When he did, he did so slowly, deliberately, like his skull weighed far more than the norm, and he stopped the second his icy blue eyes could meet hers through his lashes. There was no other reaction from him. No taunt. No smile. No grimace of fear. He merely waited, as she was, staring at her with the expectation that she would speak first.

Another five minutes passed where neither of them moved. In that five minutes, her nipples tightened to hard peaks and her stomach growled twice. She spoke only because she was hungry and for nothing else.

“No begging?”

He didn’t even blink. “For what?”

Felice shrugged. “To be set free, perhaps. Many men have hung from that particular cross and wept for their liberty. I would not presume that you’d stray far from your predecessors’ path.”

“But you didn’t let them go. Which means you’re not going to let me go. So again I ask you, for what?”

She liked his boldness. Confidence with a fearless attitude to back it up. It was no wonder Octavian had wanted this one as a prize. A disposition such as this combined with that physique made him quite valuable.

“What do they call you?” Long strides took her across the room, his scent more pungent with each step. By the time she stood in front of him, her mouth had watered twice and her pussy was wet. “If I’m going to keep you, I’d like to know what to call you.”

His penetrating eyes narrowed. “You know my name. You took my tags.”

“Your name and what you’re called are two entirely separate things.”

“And what do your vamp pals call you?”

“Mistress. A few have permission to use my name, but I try not to encourage that.”