I'm yanked out of sleep by a feeling of dread. My eyes shoot open, before I even realize what's going on, and I sit straight up.
My instincts were right. Lucien's looming over the bed, a dark look in his eyes and a smile on his lips. I hurriedly close Dante's undergarment around me and pat his leg. "Dante."
He shifts in response. "Mmm."
"Dante, unlock my feet."
Now Lucien speaks up. "Yes, Dante, I would appreciate it if you would do that for me." He's smiling amiably, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
Finally, Dante sits up and meets Lucien's gaze. They consider each other for a moment, then Dante sighs. "Don't break her." Lucien's grin only widens. Dante reaches over and unlocks my feet.
As soon as he does, Lucien grabs my wrist and roughly pulls me up.
He gives me a catlike smile. "So, little bird, are you ready to be my personal servant today?"
"As long as I can eat when I need to," I say doubtfully. I don't think I can prepare myself for whatever his plans are.
Once I'm standing, he eyes my up and down and I glare as I cover myself.
"Hmm, this won't do," he says, putting his hand to his chin.
"The maid dress is in the other room," I grumble, and moved to go fetch it.
But Lucien stopped me. "No, no, that's not to my taste. I have something else in mind."
Dante chuckles from behind me, and I realize he's been watching with amusement. I whirl around to glare at him too, but Lucien grabs my chin and faces me back towards him. "Now, now, I'm your master today. Now, follow me."
I can practically feel the smug aura coming off of him as he leads me to his room. To my surprise, it looks completely different from before. It's decorated in a distinctly non-European style. There's a Persian rug, and sumptuous fabrics hanging from the walls and surrounding the bed. It feels homely, even though it's completely new to me. I wonder if he's been collecting them for a long time.
"This is lovely," I breathe in awe, but Lucien ignores me, disappearing behind a tapestry. I take the opportunity to look more closely at the embroidery and weaving of the fabrics in the room. As I thought, they smell old. There's an earthy smell, yes, but there's also flowery fragrances, incense-like scents, even a touch of coffee-
"Well, that's an interesting predilection." Lucien's suddenly right behind me, and I realize I had put my face into the drapery around his bed to sniff it.
"It-it's because it's old, so I wanted to….smell it…" I trail off, realizing that the explanation didn't really make it any better.
He chuckles. "Not as old as me."
I finally turn around, and blanch a little at how little fabric he's holding. He grins at my response, but before he can make a comment, I snatch it from his hands and move behind a curtain to change.
If it were a full set of clothing, I would be excited - the colors are rich, the embroidery is detailed, the fabrics themselves are obviously high quality. But...all he gave me was a small vest, which barely covers my bra when clothed, a sash that I do my best to wrap like a skirt, though it is still quite revealing, and some small piece of cloth whose function I don't know. I'm afraid it's supposed to be underwear.
I feel satisfied enough with how I dressed, and when I come out, I'm too interested in asking about his home culture to be embarrassed. But when his gaze lights on me, he stares approvingly for an uncomfortably long time without speaking, and I feel my cheeks heating up.
"Umm," I say, fidgeting. "I...didn't know what this was," I say, holding up the small, sheer piece of fabric. It has two little strings attached along one hem. I really hope he's not going to say it's an undergarment.
But when he takes it from me, his hands move up rather than down. It's a face veil. I suppose I should have known.
"There we go," he says, nodding approvingly. "Now you're ready to play the part."
I actually feel a little better with the veil on. It makes me feel a little more invisible, even though I know it doesn't do much to cover up my blushing.
"Now," Lucien says, stretching exaggeratedly and settling into a pillow seat, "I think I would like a morning massage."
I nod, and go to move behind him. "Not my shoulders," he says, and pushes me down with his foot, grinning.
I roll my eyes and start massaging his feet. They're certainly different from what I'm used to. At the Palazzo, we humans had to take care of each other. So the human servants would help the thralls when they were drained, and in return, we helped them with the physical wear and tear of working for vampires. Vampires are terrible managers - they don't understand time like we do, or how stress takes a toll on the body. To them, standing for several hours is no different than sitting for hours. So it was a common bonding activity for us, to keep us healthy and sane.
And his soft baby feet are the antithesis of every rough, hard sole I've ever massaged before. All I can think about is my resentment towards vampires living cushy lives for centuries while working down mortal humans to the bone, before they even reach old age.
"That's enough," Lucien says, breaking me out of my thoughts. "It's time for breakfast."
At that, my eyes narrow. Mine, or his? Those are very different things.
He answers my silent question again. "Both. I'd like to relax in the main room with some coffee."
I serve him his coffee in silence, still ruminating on what kind of 'punishment' this is supposed to be. But when I turn around to get food for myself, he stops me. "Make sure it's hot food," he says.
Ah. Right. His 'preference'. But with the food in this place, that's not an easy thing to do. The best I can do without making more of that godforsaken soup is a meat and cheese sandwich toasted over the stovetop. It's delicious, but I eye the basket of fruits sadly as I do. I even find myself missing vegetables. Fresh, crunchy, juicy vegetables…
When I come back, he offers me some of his coffee. When I take a drink, I almost spit it out in surprise. It's ridiculously sweet.
"Too hot?" he asks.
"Too sweet!" I reply. "I would have never guessed. Although it's not like you have to worry about cavities…" I add sourly.
He chuckles, and passes me the pot instead. All I add to mine is a small amount of cream.
"Drink up. I do like it warm."
"How can I be?" I grumble. "In this getup." His eyes glitter for a second, and I hastily add, "I would rather not go to the bath again."
Lucien waves his hand dismissively. "That would take too much time. I was just lucky Adrian had poured hot water already. Now, how else do you make a human hot?"
A fire? I think, but I just quietly sip my coffee.
Lucien leans in, and I brace myself for a bite. But instead, he murmurs into my ear. "Arousal."
I feel my cheeks grow hot immediately and give him an accusing look.
"What's that look for?" he teases. "It's a scientific term. Fear is a form of arousal. Anger is arousal. Why did you think specifically of sexual arousal?"
"You know why," I grumble.
"So tell me," he says, leaning his elbow on the table to watch me. "What arouses you?"
I try to ignore my racing heart at his phrasing. "Well, vampire society makes me angry."
He rolls his eyes. "I know that already. Something more interesting. More individual."
"My...fears?" I offer hesitantly, and his grin deepens.
He's definitely going to use this against me later. But I'll prove to him that even knowing that, he can't break me. "Small spaces," I begin. "I hate being restricted." His eyes flicker noticeably to the ribbon on my wrist. I continue. "And I'm afraid of drowning. I love the water in theory, but I can't swim…" Lucien's eyes are practically sparking with interest. "And…"
"And?" he prods.
"I can't think of anything else," I say honestly. But he doesn't believe me.
"Spiders, snakes?" I shake my head.
"Heights?" Nope.
"Darkness?" At that one, I laugh. What kind of thrall could I be if I was scared of the dark?
He seems dissatisfied, and I feel pleased with myself, even though it's not anything I've done.
"Alright, I'll take the easy way, then," he says, and moves to place himself on top of me. I watch him with wild eyes, but try to keep myself under control. I don't want to give him the satisfaction, even if I know I can only do so much to stop my body from reacting on its own.
"If you kiss me, I'll burn you," I warn him.
He just smiles devilishly. "I won't touch anything but your hands."
I suppose that technically he isn't touching my lap, just hovering closely. Still. I narrow my eyes at him.
"You said you'd answer anything I asked, right?"
"I said I wouldn't lie when I answered," I correct. "Not that I'd answer."
He chuckles. "You say that, but a physical response is an answer in and of itself, no?"
I don't like where this is going.
"So, Adelaide, what turns you on?"
EVen though it's exactly what I was afraid of, I stiffen up and turn red in embarrassment.
"Oh? So you already know what you like. I'm guessing… a lot of foreplay. Lots of...oral play…"
"You sound like Adrian," I grumble, trying to defuse the atmosphere with sarcasm.
"What, you don't like licking? Every woman I've ever known loves it."
"Hmm, well- eep!" He interrupts me by licking my neck, and he chuckles at my response.
"That's not much different than a bite, you know. Are you really turned on by that?" he teases.
"It's a sensitive area!" I argue hotly. "It would be the same response on my wrist or something."
"Is that an invitation?" he asks, pulling my hand towards his mouth.
"No!" I cry, but I can't pull my hand away. His breath tickles my palm, and I shiver involuntarily.
His breath turns into short puffs as he chuckles at my reaction. "I haven't even touched you yet," he murmurs huskily.
The sound of his voice makes me lose even more composure. Unfortunately, he notices, and leans into my ear. I resist the urge to squirm. Don't give him the satisfaction…
"What are you thinking about right now, hmm? Perhaps of naked bodies, between the sheets...gyrating…pumping...hot, heavy voices and the wet sound of-"
I interrupt him. "Okay!" My face is blazing, but I glare at him anyway. "Any more and I'm going to burn you."
His eyebrows raise skeptically. "Would you really?" But before he finishes his sentence, he jerks his hand away from my wrist as I burn him.
But he doesn't seem unhappy, and instead tilts his head to the side with a slight smile. "Hmm." He brushes my hair away from my neck and slips his hand under the veil. "I suppose this is hot enough. I am hungry."
He bites slowly, sinking his fangs in millimeter by millimeter, and I can't stop the tiny moan that escapes my throat. I squirm and push at his chest, but he doesn't move an inch. I feel his chuckle on the skin of my neck, and I try my best to relax. But it's no use. He pins my hands to the couch, and sighs with satisfaction as he drinks. From time to time, he pulls away and repositions himself, just to make the bite twinge a little more and to tease more noises out of me. All I can do is try to stay as quiet as possible, even as I writhe underneath him.
Again, he drinks slowly, like he's savoring it. But I don't think he's savoring the taste.