Evan leaned forward now, stroking her cheek as she made pleading noises. She could smell the musky scent of his cock on his fingers. Though he was obviously hard and ready to release himself, he was studying her every reaction, driving her out of her mind. Vampires were the epitome of patience when it came to this. Anticipation was their greatest aphrodisiac.

Sliding the chair closer, he gripped his cock, finally giving her the gift of angling it toward her mouth. She took him in deep as he propped his hips on the edge of the chair, knees splayed wide to push her down on him deep. Then he held her there, hand fisted in her hair, not allowing her to suck or pull, just feel the length and breadth of him stretching her mouth, tickling her throat, while Niall teased her pussy with his mouth, tongue flicking her clit. Then his whole mouth sealed over her to suck and nibble. Because they’d started this so soon after her climax, she was trapped in that hyperstimulated state, unable to go back or forward, imprisoned by their skill.

Her pleas became short screams as Niall began to thrust his tongue rhythmically in her, making her want to move her hips in an act of copulation against him. Evan hadn’t forbidden it, but he was making her stay still on his cock, so she assumed that meant the rest of her body. But oh, it was so hard.

She’d always anticipated what her vampire wanted before he wanted it, staying a step ahead and ready to shift gears at the exact moment he desired. Staying a step ahead of Evan was impossible, because he and Niall were fully on top, their demands like rushing water, powerful rapids taking away her ability to move or think . . .

“Please . . .” Her fingers dug into the floor.

“Now, Alanna. Start sucking me. If you come before I do, you’ll be in for quite a punishment.”

She got to work with a fervor that had his fingers tightening in her hair in reproof. “Easy,” he chuckled, a dark sensuous sound. “I’m the only one who uses fangs around here. Niall, take your pleasure.”

Yes. Oh . . . God.

Niall left the floor, fingers gliding up her legs. In the next moment, the head of his cock was pushing into her cunt. He stopped when it breached the gate, and she lifted her hips involuntarily, begging to be fucked, for him to come in deeper, harder.

“She’s hot for it now, Evan. Completely lost, pretty flower.”

“Fuck her, Niall. Be rough about it. That’s what she needs.”

The Scot sank into her wetness and the clenched postclimactic tissues. He stretched her painfully, but she welcomed every inch. He let out an unintelligible oath, a reverent expletive. Those large hands gripped her buttocks, nearly covering them as he began to work himself inside of her in long, powerful strokes. She tried to do the same with Evan’s cock, taking him deep, working her tongue furiously against him. Too fast. She needed to slow down, but she was ravenous, sucking and nipping at him, pulling hard as Niall fucked her. He was ruthless, making her feel the slap of his testicles against her clit with every thrust. She wanted to close her legs, reduce the sensation, but he knocked her legs farther apart, and she was lost.

She came again. Through the insanity of it, she kept trying to work Evan’s cock in her mouth. He wouldn’t let her use her hands. Holding her neck and hair, he pushed her down on him when she couldn’t coordinate her own movements, could only scream out her climax against his cock.

That wave kept coming. Was it possible the hypersexuality that came with being a third mark—a servant’s only chance of keeping up with a vampire’s insatiable sex drive—had not been impacted by the blocker? The thought energized her, renewed her resolve. She’d failed to wait for him to come first, but she would finish him. When he convulsed under her tongue, his thighs pressing against her shoulders hard, a precursor to ejaculation, she felt the surge of triumph. But then he drew her off him abruptly.

“Down on the floor, Alanna.” Naill withdrew as Evan spoke. “Faceup. Head between my feet, arms at your sides, legs closed.”

She was confused. What could he . . .

“Now,” he said sharply, and she dropped. She was looking up at his glistening erection, the heavy sack of his testicles, the spread of his thighs as he rose. As Niall moved forward, straddling her shoulders, Evan fed that beautiful cock into his servant’s mouth right above her. She imagined the pressure building, saw his testicles drawing up . . .

She’d wanted to feel him jetting against the back of her throat. But he’d denied her, because she’d failed the test, hadn’t she? She stared up at Niall, the ripple of muscle across his abdomen and through the long lengths of his thighs as he used his strength to increase his suction on his Master. She wanted to be part of it. She wanted . . .

By the InhServ oath, it didn’t matter what she wanted, what she felt. What mattered was what the Master wanted, and she’d failed. The shame and humiliation of this was her punishment.

She refused to let those horrible tears fall, though to do it she had to go cold and dead inside once again, cutting herself off from all feeling. If she’d done that earlier, she wouldn’t have come so quickly. She’d let herself get carried away by . . . by what? The close darkness of the room, the two men’s desires . . . her desires.

Apparently sixteen years of training and discipline, thirteen years of exercising it, could be weakened and erased by one traitorous act. Or she’d always had the weakness of character, and it had never been tested. Just like this test, she’d failed.

Niall reached down and grabbed her wrist, bringing her hand up to his stomach. He wanted her touching him, and her traitorous fingers curled into his flesh, seeking the heat and hardness of him.

Now there was enough room between them to see what she’d felt on the bed. He had a tattoo on one side of his chest, a large dragon whose head and shoulders covered his pectoral, the lower body and long, spiked tail curling over his rib cage. She traced the tail, the gleaming scales of the haunch, as she heard Evan’s breath rasp faster. Yearning and hungry, she saw the slick stalk of Evan’s cock exposed a few inches, then taken deep by Niall’s mouth again. Her gaze followed his working throat, back down to his chest.

A female dragon wound around his biceps, screaming back at the male dragon. As Niall serviced his Master, the flex of his body brought those dragons to life. She let her hand glide down his belly, toward the temptation of Niall’s stiff organ. She stopped short of touching it, however. His cock was the vampire’s personal property, and she wouldn’t go there without a direct command.

She curled her fingers against his lower abdomen, staring at the male dragon. As she’d detected with her fingertips, the design was marked with ridges where the ink had been set into the flesh with the aid of Evan’s blood. A third mark’s flesh healed all wounds without scarring, unless marked with his Master’s blood. Looking at the painstaking detail in the two tattoos, she wondered at how long it had taken, the pain involved. Had Evan himself done the work?

He works with paint, metal, clay . . . whatever medium strikes his fancy . . .

Evan came at last, exploding in his servant’s mouth, his groans of pleasure enough to make Alanna press one hand on her empty belly, her nails digging into Niall’s flesh. She turned her head, pressing her mouth to the side of Evan’s bare foot. Even if that was forbidden, she needed to be a part of their connection.

She also wanted to put her hand between her legs. Not to stimulate, but just to hold herself, a small comfort. Instead, she opened her eyes, watched Niall finish the aftermath, licking Evan clean. As he did, he gave the vampire a sharp nip, earning a box of his ears, a tug of his hair, though Niall glanced down at her in a perplexing sense of conspiracy, his brown eyes glinting. She hadn’t brought Evan to climax before her own pleasure. Niall had managed to retain such control, while balls deep and thrusting inside her.

Maybe it wasn’t her failure that made Evan push her away before completion. He’d let his servant fuck her, but Evan himself hadn’t. She was another vampire’s leavings. Unclean. The word came back to her, hated yet undeniable. She wanted to go back to her own bed. But her wants weren’t important, damn it all. Did she need to have that tattooed on her flesh? The sad irony was that she’d need Stephen’s blood to make it permanent. No, maybe not. She was more human than servant now, right? She could cut the words into her own flesh, the reminder that her wants were supposed to be the furthest thing from her mind.

Niall sat back on his heels. When he did, Evan knelt over her. Before she could guess his intent, he’d grasped her chin and pulled it up. Her heartbeat stuttered as she found herself locked in the grip of gray eyes as steely and determined as any Council vampire’s. “Alanna, what have you noticed about me since you’ve come here?”

He was angry at her. She deserved it. She had to make sure she responded appropriately. Honestly. The only way a servant could.

“You’re . . . different. From the other vampires I know. You’re . . .”

“How do I experience things?”

She scrambled for it, trying to think it through. “You don’t like to miss any details. You take time to absorb them.”

His touch eased. As he stroked those long fingers along her face, she couldn’t help it. She raised her face, seeking more. It startled her enough she might have drawn back, except a pleased warmth entered his gaze. Daring, she put her lips on his hand. His gray eyes heated further, encouraging her. She kissed his fingers, traced the lines of his palm with her tongue.

If he liked to take his time, not miss any details, he would want that from his servant as well. She could do that. She was trained to be very thorough, missing no detail when it came to pleasure. She’d just never done it spontaneously like this, without specific direction.

A sweep of her lashes showed he was hardening again. Her pussy, still recovering from taking Niall’s thick cock, didn’t care. She wanted him now. Her Master. Some sense that she was still a servant, serving a vampire.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I failed. I won’t fail again.”

“You’ll fail if that’s my intent. I wanted you to lose control,” he said.