Mason’s hand settled on her throat, squeezed lightly. It was a forceful reassurance that brought her attention back to him, captured her in his still-simmering gaze. You’re mine, habiba . You have nothing to fear. I share you with no one.

She noticed he didn’t qualify that as he’d always done before, indicating that it was specific to this night or any other circumstance.

It made her fingers flex in the grasp of his, and in a brief motion, he’d caught the back of her neck in one hand and lifted her for a hard, quick kiss that seared her to her toes. Nod to me, Jessica. Show me you understand.

It was antithetical to what she knew of vampires. They always shared servants. It was part of their culture. Still, she gave him a nod anyway, needing to trust him.

Good. Keep dancing. I like to watch you. While I share a drink with my young friend Evan, I will enjoy your beauty.

Not an overlord, Region Master or born vampire, then, for he did not give the man a title. Which, hierarchy-wise, meant Mason owed him only the courtesies he chose. No expectation for interactive play with servants. Though she’d wanted to believe his words, that additional realization helped.

As he moved away from her, threading through the crowd, she noticed that more than one submissive, caught up in the music and their dancing, dared punishment to trail a hand over his shoulder, his back. He moved passed them, unconcerned, and of course they gave way before the path of an obvious Master. She couldn’t fault their desire, but it was a reminder. When it came to vampires, they didn’t belong to humans. Humans belonged to them. And the human that forgot that was asking for trouble.

Taking a deep breath and using the dampening thought to settle her sizzling nerves, she tuned back into the music. Amara was right about one thing. The club DJ was driven by what would keep bodies and feet moving, building the frenetic energy that made the environment addictive and all-absorbing. They’d switched to “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!” by Abba, and Jessica couldn’t help but see the irony of a song that demanded a man after midnight. A man coming out of the darkness to fulfill a woman’s passion.

Beginning to move with that mysterious, almost exotic opening beat, Jessica tilted her head. Amara and Enrique were up in the scaffolding now, immersed in each other, their paired beauty and the one-step-short-of-illegal dance steps drawing appreciative attention. But when Amara did a lithe maneuver that dipped her over the railing, the harrowing move of a trapeze artist, she sent Jessica an upside-down wave. Enrique bent, nudged aside a gauze strip of her top and licked his way along the curve of an exposed breast, causing the woman’s eyes to shift back to him as he swung her back over the bar.

Jessica honored the DJ’s efforts, letting herself get swept away by the music again. She twisted and spun over a golden square now. There were two subs under the glass, a male and female moving in coitus. It was a mesmerizing display of muscles as they copulated in a sinuous rhythm far slower than the music, but yet still somehow fueled by it. Kneeling, she traced their profiles through the transparent floor. The man noticed, his gaze passing over her face. With a smile, he pressed his mouth to the glass as if kissing her fingers, while his partner met Jessica’s hand palm to palm. She held that position, even as her body stiffened and the man’s movements became frenetic and powerful, his climax rolling over him at the same moment, mouths opening against each other in cries of release.

Jessica straightened, watching them finish, then closed her eyes and began to sway. She imagined Mason taking her down on his bed, his body pressed to hers, sunk deep between her legs, giving her his seed, commanding her climax as his fangs took from her throat. No unbearable pain, just savage need. Was it wrong, imagining that she was cuffed, so he could move his mouth over her as he pleased? In her fantasies it was safe. She could get away, just by melting the restraints with her mind.

The music surprised her, changing to a soft rock ballad. She kept dancing, though, turning in a slow twirl, one, two, three. Step, plié, just like ballet class. Step ball change, just like jazz or soft shoe. She’d been a little girl when she took those classes, but she remembered the steps. Right now she was far from a little girl, and yet the child was there, a ghost in her consciousness. The present and the more distant past. Could she bring them both together and somehow leave the recent past in the cold, freeze it out?

When she reached the edge of the floor, gentle, nonintrusive hands eased her back toward the center. She spun slowly, executed an informal arabesque, remembering the lightness of the ballet moves that had supplemented the gymnastics. When she brushed another body, she heard a soft male laugh, nothing frightening, though, as again easy hands guided her back toward the center of the floor. It was like being in a dream. She had nothing to fear, for Mason was watching her.

Only when she realized she should be drifting into far more people did she reluctantly open her eyes. She was in the center of a circle of very aroused, attentive and attractive male submissives.

24

A glance around her showed that, while the dance floor was less populated during the slow ballad, the circle had been moving with her, keeping her from running into anyone, and providing her navigation when she reached the dance floor edges.

A lovely, sensual version of the horrid Marco Polo she remembered, such that the two layered together, black against white, and she wasn’t afraid. The ringleader of the circle had to be the tall man directly in front of her now, Lord Evan’s servant. When he gave her a slight bow, he drew close enough she could hear him over the music, leaning in so she got an eyeful of the expansive chest, the colorful tattoo of a male dragon molded over the flat of his abdomen, his pectoral. There was a smaller, female dragon wrapped around his biceps, roaring back at the male. “My Master offers you this circle to play with as you wish.” Holy God. She swept her gaze around the circle of six men, all of whom were gazing upon her with appreciation, but obvious reserve as well, awaiting her desires.

While the lust in their gaze was honest, clean and friendly, lust had a way of being too close to violence for her comfort, and she didn’t know them. They were surrounding her, loosely or not. Being the center of attention like this was a little nerve-racking.

Lift your gaze to me, habiba.

She found him as if she did have a homing beacon to him, even among the heavy crowds. Though he was sitting with Evan, sharing drinks, he’d chosen a table on the second-tier level at the rail so he had a clear view of her and the dance floor. And she had a clear view of him.

Dance for me.

Do you want them to touch me?

Warmth flickered through her mind, a reassurance and more, something that stirred her already heated blood. What if I do? What if that was my pleasure, to watch you be aroused, by my command, at the hands of others?

She swallowed, staring up at him. I’m not sure. But I’d be willing . . . to try. If I knew I could stop, if it was safe.

You are always safe with me, Jessica. Always.

She’d told him safety was an illusion. But here, under his amber gaze, the club’s flashing lights highlighting the hard beauty of his sculpted jaw and brow, she did feel as if she could dare to follow her curiosity, dare herself to face her desires, as well as her fears.

Let these men touch you with desire, habiba . Passion. Reverence. Remember the difference.

A communication must have passed between him and Evan, for Evan’s servant had moved behind her during the exchange. His hands settled on her hips, a strong but easy touch. His jaw brushed her cheek as he placed his lips against her temple, took her into a sway, easing her back against his body so she was leaning her backside against the column of his thigh.

“I’m Niall,” he murmured against her ear. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Since she wasn’t sure how Mason was introducing her, she chose silence as her response. She had enough to do anyhow, focusing on the way his hands felt, turning her in an easy two-step, into the hands of another man. Another strong, aroused body, a brush of hands on the bare skin of her back, then her fingers were clasped. Someone kissed them, she didn’t know who, because she’d reflexively closed her eyes, and then she was leaning back into Niall again.

“You prefer keeping your eyes closed, little one?” he asked, seductive amusement in his tone. He had a faint Scottish accent, and it shivered up her spine in a pleasing way. She nodded.

“All right, then. Tell me if anything displeases you, so your Master doesn’t rip my throat out, hear me? This is all for you. We’ll do nothing you dislike.” He dropped his touch lower on her hips, smoothing the stretch of the skirt, and the heat of his bare chest pressed against her naked, sensitive back, a reminder of her tattoo and scars there. Stroking a finger under the hem of the skirt, along the inside of her thigh, he made an idle circle.

“There’s moisture here. Heat. I think your Master has aroused you well. But those stockings are far too pretty to ruin. Meet Lars.” Another hand slid up her leg from below, a large hand. Lars cupped the back of her thigh, inching up to tease the curve of buttock beneath the skirt as his lips touched her upper thigh, suckling off the moisture. He cleaned the quivering skin, playing in a maddening way around the hem of her skirt, never pushing it high enough to reveal her sex, though his mouth was close enough to make Mason’s tiger mark on the inside of her thigh tingle.

She’d already seen nudity in the club, several couples fucking one another outright for the viewing pleasure of others in the public populace, so she knew it wasn’t a club rule holding them back. Since only Niall could receive mental commands, she expected he was directing them. But she kept her eyes closed. Though this was a roller coaster she’d entered willingly, she was afraid she’d lose her nerve if she looked.

She’d been moved to another’s hands, and the male holding her from behind now had long hair like Mason’s, because it was brushing her cheek. Reaching back, she grasped the silk of it. Flicking her lashes up for only a brief moment, she saw it was gold, spun flaxen. When she twined her fingers in it, the blond smiled and bent to kiss her throat, placing his lips where Mason’s had been. It reminded her of her lord’s demanding bite. It stirred her to think of him watching. Was he perhaps instructing Niall what would arouse her most, through the intermediary of Evan’s mind?