Dawn's Path: Completed Work

Chapter 29

The husky rasp of Angel's voice as she uttered the one word that summed it all up, condemning and saving them both in a urgent whisper, was a prayer and at the same time, a plea. And it was as painful, stinging and burning Lance to the very core of who he thought he was as thoroughly as the belt he'd chosen for this game had marred the creamy white flesh of her ass with an angry red stripe of pain.

He bit back the apology blossoming on his lips and fought against the inborn need in him to drop to his knees at Angel's feet and beg for her forgiveness. He hadn't meant to hit her so hard. He hadn't intended to leave a red welt on her skin. This was who she wanted him to be. Angel's hips bucked, writhing from the pleasure she felt from the pain. Her body was lax, leaning heavily against the dresser, her limbs dangling limply from the restrains as she reveled from the sting of the belt.

Damn him, some dark part of his psyche he'd neither acknowledged or even was aware existed liked what he'd reduced her to. She quivered. Her eyelids drooped, framed by her thick, dark lashes as she watched him from the mirror, yet she avoided looking at herself. The pink tip of her tongue eased between her parted lips, slicking a path of moisture across their silky surface in eager anticipation for more. Her pleasure at the punishment caused his cock to stiffen and ache with the need to give her everything she'd begged him for. He was the one playing. He was the poser. And for her, he performed like a circus pony in the ring.

He had no idea of what he was going to do with the implements he'd gathered. The intent behind them was self-explanatory. Each one of these objects would inflict a certain amount of pain, some more than others. Lance quickly figured it out. Angel might not have hard limits. But, he sure as hell did. And he was not about to push them to see how far she could push them.

The coat hanger would hurt like hell and be far more damaging to her skin than the belt had been. While on the alternative, the silk of the boxers would be cool and sleek, tantalizing against her skin. His cupped palm made a nice, loud clapping sound on her rump. But, it didn't really hurt her. The trapped air cushioned the blow and hardly left a pink flush behind. Good for effect, the sound was scary and the slight sting had her gasping and writhing. Restraining her moans of pleasure behind tightly clamped lips. Lance traced his fingertips up the curve of her spine and around her ribs. Flicking the points of her peaked breasts with his fingernails, he dragged his fangs along the nape of her neck and tongued her earlobe.

He continued to wreak havoc on her taut nipples with one hand while the fingers of his others walked a languid path down her belly to the thick thatch of damp curls between her thighs. Teasing the ripe bud at the apex of her sex, he swabbed his fingertips through the sleek moisture coating his palm. She was so wet, so ready for him, throbbing and swollen and so in need of more. The darker part of him enjoyed this way too much. Performing such a dangerous dance for her pleasure while denying himself the intimacy of holding her protectively in his arms. "I give you permission to enjoy it, Angel. Feel," Lance rasped.

He withdrew his fingers from her sex, lapping the taste and slickness of her with the tip of his tongue. Lance sucked her juices off his fingertips as she watched him, her eyes dark with desire and longing, through the mirror. Leaving her a panting mass of sexual frustration, letting the moment build and build, he ran his hand through her hair and fisted the strands. Ruthlessly forcing Angel's head down to the top of the dresser, her arms stretched to the limits and the mirror's wooden frame groaning from the strain. He held her in place in a position of complete submission.

Pinning Angel down with his forearm, Lance ripped his cock free from his pants and ran the ripe head up and down her slit. She was slick and his erection coated with the heat of her lust. He wanted to take her, rut with her like an animal. But, he wasn't a beast. And tonight wasn't about him. Angel writhed and bucked underneath him. Thrusting her hips in hopes he'd give her what she so urgently demanded.

He cupped his palm and delivered a sharp, stinging slap on her left cheek. His punishment. And his reward, the gasping, needy cry of the pleasure she could no longer hold back and he demanded. "Good girl," he cooed into her ear. Her reward, another gentle slap on the bum, and the swabbing of his fingertips over her swollen clit. He continued teasing her, working the nub, until he coaxed a cry of passion from her parted lips. She was so close. But, she was going to have to earn it. "That's it, Angel. Let go. Give me your pleasure. I want to hear it. Give. It. To. Me." He stilled his fingers, applying pressure to the point, reveling in the bliss of her impending orgasm and the eager cries on her lips.

Angel's body felt as if it were on fire. The t-shirt binging her wrists bit mercilessly into her skin. His weight, pinning her down was safety and security, as real as her labored breathing and the throbbing mass of nerve endings between her thighs. The dresser was cool and hard beneath her. And his stiff cock, teasing her entrance, seared her with the heat of a branding iron. Her left butt cheek stung from the slap of his palm against the flesh. And her nipples ached, abraded from the friction of being flattened against the dresser. His fingers, so hot, were still, pressing on the spot of her desire. His breath skated over the lobe of her ear. She was in a deep well of sensation, lost, drowning in the darkness. His coaxing voice urged her to let go, to trust him. Not because she was bound spread-eagle without a choice. But, because of his domination of her and her submission to him, the choice was hers to make. "Please, Sir. Please."

Lance froze at the sound of the words from Angel's lips. He was not her Sir. Never would be. Angel moaned at the sudden lifting of his weight and withdrawal of his body from hers. He crouched at her ankles and untied the knots he'd used to bind her. Releasing her, he gently stroked the reddened marks left behind. Had she used his given name instead of sir, he would be pumping into her, claiming her body and her passion as his own. The use of that one word changed everything. And it pushed him past his limit. If she couldn't say his name in that same heated fever of passion and desire. The game and any hopes of a relationship were over. He didn't have it in him to be her Sir. No matter how hard he might try otherwise.

He slid her wrists free and positioned her arms on the dresser. Angel lay stretched out across the top of the dresser. Eyes squeezed tightly shut. Her body shuddering and heaving from the ache of her denied orgasm. He scooped her up. Gently wrapping his arms, trapping their bodies together, his back to her front, he held her. He cupped her chin in his palm and lifted her head. "Open your eyes, Angel. Look at me. See me. Please, see me."

Angel opened her eyes and immediately wished she hadn't. The pain etched into Lance's features was too obvious. She thought he was into the game. That possibly his tastes ran in the same direction as hers and he simply hadn't realized it. A tear escaped the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek. She couldn't have hurt him more by addressing him as Sir if she'd rammed a knife into his heart.

He'd sacrificed so much of himself to do this for her. He'd given her the pain she'd needed to escape the horror of her past. And in return she'd given him nothing but pain and sacrificed nothing of herself. She could do this. Face the feelings she'd fought so hard to deny. Feel the sting of the whip on the fragile skin of her psyche and say what he so desperately needed to hear. Her words were the truth. But, in voicing them, they'd be irrevocable. And once they were real, hanging in the air, there'd be no taking them back. "I love you, Lance. Please, make love to me. I need...I need this to be real."

Lance relaxed his hold on Angel and rested his cheek on the narrow space between her shoulder blades. Pressing his nose to her soft skin, he inhaled her sweet scent. Her eyes never left his, joined through their reflection in the mirror. He saw the truth of her words and exactly how much those words had cost her to say. "Thank you, Angel," he whispered. "Thank you."

Both of them aching and their bodies quivering with the need for release Lance eased her thighs open and lifted Angel's leg, resting it on the cool polished wood beneath her. He slid in, joining them as one. She was wet, tight, and so warm. He worshiped the smooth skin of the back of her neck and her shoulders with gentle pecks of his lips as he pumped into her. His thrusts urgent and quick, marking time with their labored breaths and quickening heartbeats. Holding her tightly to cushion her from the hardness of the dresser, not for one second regretting that he hadn't wasted time getting her to the comfort of the bed, he quickened his strokes, filling her with all that he had to give. Not just his body or the hard length of him, but his love. Always, his love.

Angel gripped Lance's hair in her fists, dragging his lips to her neck. He loved her completely on a level that perhaps, she didn't deserve and would never fully understand. And what she felt in return terrified her. She'd proven she trusted him with her body. And now, with him driving her closer and closer to the brink, she trusted him with her heart. His hips thrust in an urgent wild rhythm, pounding his length into her with a need and urgency that matched her own. Her body needed this. His body needed this. And to prove the completeness of her trust and the depth of her love, as if by this point he had any lingering doubts, she bore her throat to him.

Lance was so close, almost there. And it hadn't taken him nearly long enough to reach that point. He held back, reveling in the slick, velvet, sensation of Angel's core, of the heady slap of flesh against flesh, and the heat enveloping the both of them. She was there with him, writhing and moaning with her pleasure. He teased her sensitive nub with his fingertips, pushing her harder and faster to the brink. He winced from the sudden nip of pain as she gripped his hair and pulled his lips to the supple curve of her neck. Instinct overrode any logic his mind might possess in the heat of the moment. Coaxing his wrist between her parted lips, he pierced her flesh with the sharp points of his fangs and took of her offering, drinking down her trust and her faith in him with greedy pulls of his lips.

Angel came with a fury the likes of which she'd never known. Lance spilled into her, his breaths panting against her skin with labored exhales and inhales. His mouth was gentle on her neck, coaxing the blood out of her and into him. And in those dizzying moments of pleasure, before her orgasm faded and her rational mind took over, she accepted his offering, biting down into the flesh of his wrist.

Their joined thoughts danced an intricate dance with one another. Emotions blended and mingled until there was no certainty of from whom they'd originated from. Joy. Love. Light. Warmth. Happiness. Pleasure. Ecstasy. Lust. Affection. Layer after layer, the lightness of floating on sweet fluffy clouds or perhaps cool, salty, ocean waves carried them drifting along.

They were bound one to the other. Naked and panting, drenched with their release and blanketed with the musky scent of sex, Lance rested on Angel and Angel on the dresser. There wasn't any point to seek out a more comfortable place or position. For this was the most comfortable and the most comforted, body pressed to body, blissed out and exhausted, slick with mingled orgasms, and fully sated, that either of them had ever been.

Angel would always have her issues. And Lance, his delusional need to protect her from them. But, they had each other. And on the other side of pain and terror existed a place they'd found through self-discovery where happiness and love was real as the rising dawn.

Chapter 30

Janine slathered down the mountain of blueberry pancakes stacked on her plate with a generous dollop of butter. Rich, decadent golden brown syrup rolled over the pancakes like a waterfall. Dripping over the sides of her plate to form a sticky mess on the counter. Greedily, she ran her fingertip around the rim of her plate and stuck it in her mouth, savoring the sweetness. The syrup and the butter were real. Not of that cheap shit the Super Center loosely labeled as pancake syrup. This was straight from Vermont, or at the very least, a maple tree and not some production line. And damn, was it good.

Today, Janine didn't have to worry about calories. Hell, she'd never have to worry about calories ever again. The only thing she did have to worry about was drawing her first breath after the transformation. And she was not going to spoil her day thinking about that. Given the delicacies Anna had heaped on the plates in front of her. Janine felt a bit like a death row inmate. And this, this feast, was too much like her last meal.

She had begged Anna to make her the special breakfast. Her last. As of tomorrow, Anna was permanently off kitchen detail. There would be no humans living in the compound and therefore, no one to cook for. Anna would have to find another pet cause other than stuffing her senseless. Under Anna's watchful eye, Janine dug in and took a bite. Reveling in the explosion of fresh blueberries, rich maple syrup, golden brown pancakes, and the decadence of real butter and hand whipped, whipped cream, she moaned in a daze of culinary orgasm. Seemingly pleased by her reaction, Anna turned to wash the dishes, leaving her to it.

"Last breakfast?" Alex asked. Staring at the sticky syrup dripping off the rim of Janine's plate, she seethed with outrage. Hampered by the mouthful, Janine stared up at her wide-eyed and blushing. Having found out about her best friend's pending transformation through the gossip mill instead of from Janine personally, Alex was furious. Daring herself to take just one taste, glaring at Janine in defiance, Alex poked her fingertip into the center of the pancakes.

The nauseatingly sweet stench of the syrup caused her gag before she could manage to get her sticky fingertip to her mouth. With a huff, Alex rinsed off her finger and flicked the water droplets on the tips of her nails at Janine. "When were you planning to tell me?"

"Today. But, since you already know, I guess that saves me the trouble." Janine glared at the hole left behind from Alex's finger, dead center in her pancakes, and pushed the plate away. Pancake abuse, especially when they were the last damn pancakes she was ever going to eat in what would be a no doubt very, very long life was a bit over the top and didn't give her that warm, fuzzy bonding feeling with her best friend. There was always bacon. Before Alex could maul the crispy strips to death, Janine snatched a piece from the mound and crammed it into her mouth, chewing so loudly she wouldn't need to be a vampire to hear it. "Why'd you wreck my breakfast?"

"You can still eat it," Alex retorted. She shoved the plate Janine had pushed aside back under her nose. Chewing loudly and very annoyingly on a strip of bacon, Janine still clutched the fork in her fist. Quickly jerking her hand back before Janine tried to stab her with the fork, Alex rapped her nails on the stainless steel countertop. "Well?"

"No thanks." Janine shoved the plate across the counter back at Alex. This was her last breakfast that wouldn't consist of blood and Alex had ruined it. Apparently, she'd slept through that sensitivity training they'd been forced to endure at Chris's insistence. Alex had to be adopted. Leigh and Alexander were such nice people. And Alex could not possibly be their biological daughter. Ok, the glaring wasn't helping. Alex wanted a pissing contest. Well, nobody did pissy quite like she did. Janine was a master of the craft. And the game was on. In a voice sweeter than the maple syrup congealing on the plate, she said, "Maybe, you should have some." She picked up the coffee mug from the counter, inhaled the steam, and took a long swallow, ignoring the heat burning her tongue. "Boy, is that good stuff."

Alex stared over the heap of pancakes, glaring at her used to be best friend. What a bitch! Some human habits died harder than others. And for Alex, coffee had been the one thing she had difficulty moving past. She used to sit, with a mug in her hands and stare down at the coffee she couldn't drink for hours. She'd tried a sip once and ended up regretting it. Months. It had taken her months to finally retire her coffee mug and put that particular part of her past to rest. And Janine knew it.

Alex's brown eyes blazed with fury and her red hair curled around her face like orange flames. "I can't believe I had to find out second hand." Gripping the plate she slammed it down on the counter, shattering it into hundreds of tiny shards. Bits of pancake, syrup, and butter, flung through the air like shrapnel, landing in sticky globs everywhere.

Anna ducked the aftermath and gasped in horror. She'd served Janine's breakfast on the good china. Quickly, before the girls did any more damage to fine dinnerware. She snatched up the Waterford crystal goblet she'd used for Janine's orange juice and ran for cover. She just hoped, no prayed, there was something left of her kitchen when these two were done with it.

"Maybe, I was putting off telling you because I knew this was how you'd react." Janine huffed as she picked sticky bits of pancake off of her designer blouse and frowned at the greasy splatters of butter on the silk. "I was right not to tell you. I'd like to know who did. I'd like," she said, flicking a wayward glob of syrup off her nails at Alex. "To shove the rest of my demolished breakfast up their ass."

Alex wiped the fleck of food off her cheek. "Janine I'm not mad. I'm hurt. I thought we were close enough that there was nothing we couldn't tell each other." She flipped her finger wildly, trying to shake the offending bit free. "My god, what did Anna make these with? Concrete?"

Janine chuckled and handed Alex a napkin. "They only turn to concrete after you eat them. Actually, you spared me from the trouble of forcing them down."

Alex sank onto the stool next to Janine and sighed. "I didn't mean to wreck your breakfast. You want me to make you something else?"

"Nah. I'm good." Kitchens and vampires did not mix. Alex couldn't cook worth a damn when she could eat. The woman had survived on cereal and microwave dinners. For her, vampirism was a step up. She watched as Alex dutifully set about cleaning up the mess. To Alex, the motions of scooping up the ruined breakfast and shattered remnants of the plate were a simple one-two routine. But, to Janine, Alex moved with a speed that was blindingly fast.

Disdainfully, Alex dumped the offending food and the shattered plate into the trash. She busied herself using activity as a way to avoid the real issue hidden beneath her anger. That Janine might not make it through the transformation and she'd lose another valuable piece of herself to this world that had already taken too much. "So, the big party is tonight."

"Yeah." Janine allowed herself a quiet moment to beam at her ingenuity. The party would be absolutely the bash of the century. Both vampire and human were going to have a blast. Alex avoided parties like the plague. She went. But, she rarely stuck around very long. And it took every ounce of coaxing Janine had to convince her to agree to go. Alex wasn't very confident with the whole vampire thing. And she had more than a healthy dose of paranoia that she might slip up, especially in a crowd. "Alex, I want you to come."