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“Then why are you struggling?” he asked, and there was a look in his face, eager, dark, happy, all at once. He pushed my legs farther apart, until it was just this side of hurting. Until the muscles in my thighs began to ache with the stretch. “Why are you struggling, if you don’t want me to stop?”

I said the only thing I could think of, “I don’t know.” My voice was breathier than I thought it would be, as if my pulse was interfering. I realized then, that he’d spread my legs so far apart that I really couldn’t struggle, not unless I wanted it to hurt. It made me push harder against Jean-Claude’s hands. I raised up a few inches, so that he actually had to come to his knees, and press down, to hold me secure. Him coming to his knees meant that suddenly his body was exposed just above my head. He hung loose and soft just above me, and until he fed he would stay soft. I loved the sensation of him in my mouth when he was like this, because it didn’t last, except when he had not fed. Now, I could explore the softness of him as long as I wanted, and it wouldn’t change. I strained back for him, neck bowing, mouth reaching, and he was out of reach. Dangling just above me, but his hands held me down, and I couldn’t get to him. Jean-Claude had to know what I was trying to do, but he kept his weight on my wrists, and his body arched above me, out of reach.

My voice came out strained, breathless, “Please.”

“Please, what?” Richard’s voice from the other end of the bed.

“Ma petite has a penchant for men when they are soft. Until I feed, she could indulge this . . . desire.”

“And you’re keeping it just out of her reach,” Richard said, his voice dropped an octave lower so that it was almost painfully low, his voice just before it began to growl.

“Oui.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Is that not the game that you wish to play?”

A thin line of growl trickled from Richard’s throat. “Yes, yes, it is.” He was up on all fours, too, but unlike Jean-Claude he was thick and heavy against the front of his body. “But I don’t want it to be you she’s begging for, I want it to be me.”

“Why can it not be both of us?” Jean-Claude asked.

The two men stared at each other, and I had a moment to feel their, not power, but almost as if their wills were suddenly power. I could feel the strength of their wills aimed at each other. “You chose not to let me feed,” Jean-Claude said, “deliberately. You thought she would not have a use for me until I could be erect.” He smiled. “You underestimate ma petite’s love of the male body. She loves us in all our many forms.” That last held some note, some jab, that I didn’t understand. I should have, but the feel of their hands on my body, and the view of both of them nude had me distracted. I never seemed to think as clearly around them when they were naked, embarrassing, but true.

Richard’s face darkened with anger, and the first trickle of his power slipped past his so tight shielding. It danced along my legs like a breeze off the plains of hell. Hot, so hot. It raised goosebumps in a shivering line down my body. Me, shivering brought their attention back to me. Jean-Claude’s face was pleasantly neutral, hiding. Richard looked down at me, and the anger was still there, but underneath that was something else. It held sex, but it also held something darker. Something that promised things beyond sex, beyond anything safe and sane. A moment to glimpse in his eyes things he probably didn’t want to see in any mirror, before he turned away, so I couldn’t see his face. As if he knew what I’d seen.

“If you’re going to fight, get off of me,” I said. It was a little tough to put much authority in my voice when I was naked and they were holding me down, but I managed. My voice was suddenly mine again, not breathy, not sexy, just mine.

“That is not up to me, ma petite,” Jean-Claude said. “Are we going to fight, Richard?”

That hot, hot wind eased out from his body again. A line of heat to trail like something solid and reaching across my skin. It was like fingers, fingers made of heat climbing up my skin, touching