Willa Amber has long known she was a sexual submissive at heart, so it wasn't the open BDSM practiced at the exclusive House of MonMarte that sent her stomach plummeting. It wasn't even the knowledge that most of the Masters and Mistresses were more – or less – than human. No, what sent shivers down her spine was being so close to, yet so far from, Victor Breon. Vampire and Dom, Master Victor has had his eye on Willa for a long time; long enough to know that she belongs to him, body and soul. Now he just needs to prove it to her.
House of MonMarte: Willa's Master
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Copyright ©2010 Violet Summers
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He was the perfect romance novel hero. The artist in her itched to paint him. Naked and on his back, he'd have one arm under his head and the other would rest across his flat stomach; long, elegant fingers pointing tauntingly downward. She imagined thick thighs and narrow hips. She'd place a sheet along his hip, wanting only a hint of what he might be carrying between his strong legs. His fangs would be down and she would paint a trickle of blood at the corner of his full mouth.
Damn but she wanted him, and not just to paint. She yearned to know what it felt like to be controlled by one of the sexiest vampires to ever walk the planet. She wasn't a fool, though. Victor Breon was always in the company of some statuesque beauty, usually blonde and definitely stacked. Her five foot four frame and short brown hair wasn't his preferred partner. She bet her small rounded stature would inspire no lust in him whatsoever. It didn't stop her from coming here to watch him, even though she always swore she'd never return.
"More champagne, mademoiselle?" a slave asked, plucking a glass off his tray. She smiled and drained the rest of her drink before accepting the new one. The bubbles hit her belly and she giggled involuntarily. She loved the way champagne made her feel, light and airy and without a care in the world. Normally she only allowed herself one glass but tonight Lisa was driving, so Willa was on her third. Not drunk, but definitely light-headed, she moved to a pair of French doors; some fresh air would feel good and might help to cool down her heated body.
Willa walked out into the expansive gardens, wandering along the lush green grass. She kicked off her shoes, savoring the refreshing, velvety dampness of the lawn beneath her feet, and moved further into the garden beyond the flowers beds. Tall hedges, well over six feet, surrounded her on either side, providing a sense of intimacy laced with apprehension. She came upon a large marble table alongside a bench and had a brief mental image of a woman -- herself -- stretched out on the table, a bound sacrifice to a specific Master. Sitting on the cool surface of the table, she gazed at the full moon.
Tipping her head back, she closed her eyes and imagined Victor behind her, slowly running his hands along her arms, kissing the back of her neck and nibbling, softly at first, then harder, until sharp fangs stung soft skin. His hands would move slowly, surely, to cup her full breasts, stealing her breath. The scene played vividly in her mind and she lifted one hand to her left breast. She slipped her hand inside her low cut bodice, stroking her nipple.
She moaned a little as she moved her other hand to her thigh to pull up the skirt of her black silk dress. Her hand dragged across her panties. Soaking wet. She opened her eyes and checked to see if anyone was near, but the height of the hedges afforded her privacy.
She dipped two fingers between her lower lips and stroked around her tight clit. Hot pleasure shot through her and she moved her fingers faster, playing with her full lower lips and pinching her nipple even tighter. The slight pain rippled from her breast straight to her core. She leaned back on the surface of the wide table, propped on one elbow, and spread her legs wider, allowing her fingers to slip inside her entrance and stroke the wet flesh there. She pushed them as deep as she could reach and moved them sensuously back and forth, her hips rising and falling in rhythm with her stroking.
She cried out and her back arched off the bench as her orgasm rode up her spine; she was only a few strokes away. He'd be standing behind her, watching her, controlling her.
"Do not come." Willa froze, a breath away from explosion, reacting mindlessly to the low, accented voice that seemed to float straight out of her fantasy to wrap around her.
She knew that voice. Even if she'd only ever heard it from a distance in real life, she'd heard it often enough in her fantasies and dreams. It was the voice of her fantasy Master, Victor Breon. Scrambling back to an upright position, she snapped her knees together.
"Keep your thighs open." The voice -- it couldn't really be Victor, that had to be the champagne talking -- was filled with such sensual command that she immediately spread her legs again, helpless to resist. She heard him grunt his satisfaction. "You insult your hosts by coming out here alone instead of finding someone to share your pleasure with." His voice deepened. "You are a very badly trained submissive, Willa."