The Villain
Page 8
Her gaze strayed to the beautiful golden instrument, though Adam’s never left her. She could feel his gaze caressing her form, undressing her with his eyes. Her throat seized as she wondered if she would surrender her maidenhead here, on the carpet, in this music room, with the painted angels gazing down upon her.
“Would you like to play it?” he asked, straightening away from the door frame and entering the room.
The hard muscles now moved fluidly beneath his clothing and his skin as he approached her slowly, like a hunter stalking its next meal. She backed away from him until the pianoforte halted her progress. Her rear struck the keys, sending a discordant collection of notes floating through the air.
“I … I would,” she stammered. “If you will allow it.”
He paused when only a bare inch of space separated them, bracing his hands on either side of her against the instrument, his arms trapping her. She tried to hold her breath, but after a while, found it necessary to inhale—drawing his fragrance into her nostrils. Her head spun as that spicy scent of his seemed to imprint itself on her from the inside.
“Perhaps I will,” he murmured in a teasing tone. “Perhaps I will not. It all depends, Daphne.”
Lifting her chin and fighting to maintain her dignity, she met his piercing gaze with a level stare of her own. “Upon?”
“Upon what you are willing to give me in return,” he replied, reaching up to stroke the line of her jaw. “Are you ready to reveal more of your secrets to me, little dove?”
Goosebumps pricked along her skin as his touch skimmed the side of her neck, pausing over the ribbon as if in approval, then moving farther down.
“What would you like to know?”
Suddenly taking hold of her waist, he lifted her onto the surface of the pianoforte. The backs of her thighs struck the keys, filling the room with more disjointed notes. He sank onto the bench before her, their positions bringing his head level with her knees. Grasping her ankles, he gazed up at her, a wicked gleam creeping into his eyes.
“Did you choose a book from among those I sent?” he asked, tightening his hold on her legs, his large hands akin to shackles.
“I did,” she replied. “The School of Venus.”
“Ah,” he said. “The salacious adventures of the virginal Katy. Quite a … stimulating read.”
One of his hands slid up over her calf, sending a shiver down her spine. Stimulating, indeed.
“I found it interesting,” she admitted, her defenses melting away as both his palms stroked her legs, his rough callouses abrading the silk covering them.
He was doing it again, battering her defenses, tearing down her guard and forcing her to feel … to acknowledge how the pleasure affected her, how he affected her.
“Did you?” he prodded. “Perhaps it was also educational?”
Pursing her lips, she refused to break his gaze as he slid her gown up to her knees, his fingers curling around her garters. He moved his knuckles languidly against her skin, curling his digits around the lace and ribbon-adorned garters.
“The content, thus far, is hardly shocking,” she replied, raising her eyebrows at him. “It was nothing I was not already aware of.”
Releasing her garters with a tug, he smirked when she gasped at the feel of the fabric snapping against her skin. His hands glided higher, skimming her thighs, his fingers digging in once he’d reached her hips. She stiffened, her breasts lifting as she sucked in a deep breath and it caught in her lungs.
“My little dove has been naughty,” he teased, shifting closer and wedging his broad shoulders between her knees. “Tell me, Daphne, how many men have plundered your body … and I will allow you to practice the harp whenever you wish.”
“Th-there has only been one before you,” she whispered, closing her eyes against the shame flushing her cheeks as he nuzzled her mons through her gown—reminding her that only one layer of thin fabric separated him from her.
“A lucky bastard,” he growled, his breath heating the flesh between her legs. “Did he find his way beneath your gown, like this?”
She squirmed, her breath coming out in a rush when he gave her hips a squeeze. “Yes.”
Another growl emitted from his throat … primal, masculine. “How old were you the first time you let him touch you?”
“Ten and six, the first time. His family’s country estate bordered ours, and we were of an age.”
She had promised herself that she would not reveal these things to him, but he was leaving her with no choice. Just as he had that morning he’d thrown her, naked, onto the table, he was giving her no room to deny him.
Closing her eyes, she tried to pretend she could not feel his burning gaze on her. She reminded herself that giving him this secret would allow her something she wanted … and she’d already lost the fight over underthings with him. It would injure her pride to lose ground here, as well. Besides, these mundane details did not give him the full picture of her feelings for the young suitor of her past … nor did they ruin them. She would not let him ruin them.
“How romantic,” he grumbled, clear disdain tingeing his words. “The lord’s young daughter and the neighbor’s son … sneaking away to steal kisses when Papa isn’t watching. Such a wicked girl you were.”
Her response died on her lips as he suddenly jerked her gown up to her waist, baring her body from the hips down. Despite the fact that he’d already seen her naked, instinct caused her thighs to clench inward. They met the resistance of his shoulders, and he chuckled, seeming to sense her distress over being unable to cover herself.
She kept her eyes closed, hoping that detaching herself from him would make this easier for her. Perhaps she could pretend he was her first lover—a man who had touched her with such reverence and care.
His hand cracked against her inner thigh in a reprimand, and a gasp lodged in her throat as her eyes flew open. Gazing down at him in shock, she bit back a whimper at the stinging pain blossoming where he’d struck her.
His gaze burned into her, his voice clipped and abrupt when he spoke. “Always keep your eyes open. I don’t want you escaping me.”
It lay on the tip of her tongue to argue that she hadn’t been trying to escape. But they would both know it to be a lie. That was precisely what she’d been trying to do. As he turned his head and began kissing her reddened flesh, Daphne realized she should have known he would never allow it.
So, she kept her rapt attention upon him as he went on kissing the inside of her thigh, as if to soothe the skin he’d bruised. He hadn’t shaved this morning, and his sharp stubble prickled her skin, exacerbating the sting from his blow. Yet, his lips skimmed her in a pleasant counterpoint. The dual sensations did queer things to her belly, twisting her in knots until she was left uncertain of how to feel.
“Tell me more about your first lover,” he mumbled between kisses, bracing his large hands upon her thighs to hold her open.
She shuddered in his grasp, but could not move otherwise, forced to rest on her elbows as he turned his attention to her other leg, kissing her and running his nose along her skin as if breathing her in. The longer she watched him, the more some hidden part of her reacted … the more she enjoyed what he did to her.
“He was no one important,” she lied.
She might reveal her secrets, but she would not utter his name.
“Of course he was,” Adam countered, lifting his head and meeting her gaze once more. “He must have been quite special to you … if you allowed him access to your body. Did he touch you, little dove?”
His breath tickled her mons, the sensation lodging her breath in her throat. She could only manage a swift, jerky nod, which prompted a feline smile from Adam.
“Like this?” he asked, slipping a thumb between her nether lips, seeking out the little bud of her pleasure.
She gasped when he pressed down upon it, then began moving his thumb in slow circles. Her insides fluttered, her hips bucking against his hand.
How did
he do this … understand what her body would respond to with such accuracy?
“N-no,” she panted out between swift breaths. “I mean … yes, but … not the way you are doing it.”
He chuckled, the golden flecks in his eyes becoming downright molten as he held her gaze while still steadily stroking her clitoris. “Do you not like the way I’m touching you?”
The shudder that tore through her answered his question, even as she struggled to find words. Her mind had begun to fade as her body seemed to practically hum with pleasure from the press of only his thumb.
“His touch was lighter than yours,” she whispered. “Gentler.”
He laughed again, the one hand holding her thigh tightening, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to her core.
“What a gentleman he must have been. I’d wager he did not open you up and spread you out wide like this, did he?”
Her face flamed hot as she recalled the slender hands of the man in question slipping beneath her skirts, touching her through her drawers. She did not need to answer for Adam to know to truth.
“His loss, I say,” he declared. “How about this, little dove … did he touch you like this?”
She mewled when he pushed a thick finger inside of her, the wetness he’d coaxed from her core slicking his path. One of her feet slipped and struck several keys of the pianoforte, sending notes of music floating through the air to mingle with the soft sounds he pushed out of her with each slow stroke of his finger inside her. A familiar sensation began winding in her middle, growing tighter and tighter until she felt as if she might snap. Arching her back, she struggled to keep her eyes open as Adam had demanded. But she was spiraling, her body hovering on the verge of release.
“Did he?” he asked again, his voice growing sharper as he suddenly pulled out of her.
“No,” she exclaimed, the word coming out on a cry of regret at the loss of that thick digit filling her.
“How about like this?” he asked, pressing both thumbs to the lips of her mons and parting them to reveal the tender flesh inside.
Before she could reply, he laid his tongue against her, dragging it up and over her folds, then swirling it over her clit in one long lap. She cried out, her eyes falling closed again as the unfamiliar sensation sent fresh waves of desire through her. Now beyond caring about who he was or what he’d done, her body simply craved release. For thirty days, he would possess her body, use it as he saw fit. Why should she not derive pleasure if he wanted to give it? The alternative was something she did not wish to think of.
“N-no,” she whispered, trembling in his hold. “No one has ever done that to me before.”
He made a little sound in the back of his throat just before surging forward and putting his mouth on her. His tongue laved her clit while he suckled at her tender inner flesh, his hands holding tight to her thighs. Her head fell back, and she melted, her limbs becoming heavy as he nibbled upon her as if starving. He licked and kissed, suckled and tugged, causing her to squirm beneath him, her feet and legs striking the keys when he struck a particularly sensitive place and caused her entire body to quake. Then, he centered all his attentions upon her clit, drawing it into his mouth and sucking it with deep, merciless pulls that made her toes curl.
The tension in her core unfurled in a torrent that stole her breath away. Her lips parted on a silent cry as the tremors of a climax ripped violently through her, accompanied by a flood of moisture. Adam held her down when her hips lifted from the pianoforte, refusing to pull his lips away from her until the spasms had ceased and she’d gone still beneath him.
Opening her eyes, she found the ceiling above her spinning, her entire world tilting and swaying precariously. She’d achieved climax many times—both at the hand of her first lover, and at her own once she’d figured out that she need only touch herself the way he had—but it had never been so explosive, so all-encompassing. And he’d only been touching her with his mouth.
Struggling back up onto her elbows, she forced herself to look at him. It would not do to lose what she’d gained if he caught her trying to avoid looking at him. He was watching her with a smirk curving his arrogant mouth, the twinkle in his eye unmistakable. He knew what he’d just done to her and must be feeling quite proud of himself. He stood abruptly, forcing a gasp from her as her heart began to pound in anticipation of what he would do next. Her legs flailed, her instinct for self-preservation flaring to life as he loomed over her—so overwhelmingly large and masculine.
With a throaty laugh, he hooked his fingers into the ribbon tied around her neck and pulled, hauling her up against him. His wide body forced her legs to remain parted, leaving her open and vulnerable to him as he kept hold of the ribbon, his knuckles digging into her throat.
Lifting his other hand to her face, he held her captive with his fiery eyes, locked in her stare as he ran his index finger over her lips. The scent of her own arousal flooded her senses, mingling with Adam’s earthy, masculine aroma. It proved a heady fragrance, making her head spin and her body relax against his. He flicked his tongue out, tickling her upper lip, then her lower, then the seam of her mouth. She opened for him with a sigh, whimpering as their mingled taste overwhelmed her palate, causing desire to flare back to life deep in her belly.
Pulling away abruptly, he sat her up, taking both her hands in his and pressing them against his middle. She gasped at the feel of him through his shirt. Without the layers of a waistcoat and coat between them, she could feel every hard inch of his abdomen, his skin radiating heat through the linen.
“Now you,” he demanded. “Show me how you touched him.”
Her hands trembled as she wrinkled her brow, her mouth going dry as she realized what he was asking her to do. She’d only ever been so bold once, after much cajoling.
His hand shot up in an eye’s blink, his fingers biting into her jaw. She gasped at the naked intensity she found in his gaze, a quiet threat lurking in the depths.
“Obey, Daphne,” he said in a low whisper more threatening than any roar would have been. “If you fight me, I’ll only enjoy it more.”
His words spurred her into action, and she dropped her hands to his breeches, her fingers fumbling to get them open. Clenching her teeth, she forced her shaking hands into submission and managed to open his fall, freeing the heavy root between his thighs. Her mouth fell open in a shocked gasp as she glanced down at his cock, the long, thick organ stretching out toward her through the opening of his breeches, the head dripping with wetness.
She’d only touched one other man’s cock, and his hadn’t been half as big as this. Her gut churned as she tried to imagine him putting it inside of her and wondering if he might not split her in two. Shaking herself out of her reverie, she reminded herself of his threat. If she didn’t do what he’d demanded, who knew what he’d do to punish her.
Wrapping one hand around him, she tested his weight and length, curiosity propelling her past fear. When she had touched her previous lover, she’d been too ashamed to look at him, too young and afraid to be so bold. This would be her first unobstructed view of a man’s cock, as well as her first thorough exploration.
His skin was hot and smooth, so soft against her palm. Yet, when she gave him a little squeeze, he felt as if he were made of iron inside, hard and unrelenting. Grunting, he surged his hips, stroking it against her palm. She followed his lead, closing her hand around him, her fingers barely meeting her thumb as she stroked in time with his thrusts.
He grasped her other hand and urged it toward his cock, wrapping it around him just above the other. But he did not let go this time. Instead, he kept a tight hold on her fist and guided her, shifting his hips to meet each downward motion. His breath grew harsher, and against the base of his throat, his pulse hammered wildly.
“That’s it, little dove,” he groaned, quickening their strokes by coaxing her hands faster, the moisture urged from his head causing skin to glide easily over skin. “Stroke me with those soft, pretty hands.”
“Fuck,” he muttered, jerking against her and gritting his teeth, the corded muscles of his neck straining.
A shudder wracked him, and then he spent, his cock shooting hot spurts of his seed onto her. She gasped when it splattered her lower belly, another sudden stream of it staining one of her thighs, even more of it dribbling over the back of one hand. Staring at him open-mouthed, she remained speechless as he straightened and tucked himself back into his breeches.
Still breathing heavily, his chest stretching his shirt with each inhale, he gave her a wicked grin. “The harp is yours, little dove … whenever you wish.”
Then, he was turning to leave, striding for the door with all the swagger and cocky assurance of a man who’d just gotten exactly what he wanted.
Daphne remained where she sat on the pianoforte for a moment, still shocked. She trembled, her body humming as if her blood rushed hotly through her veins. As promised, he’d used her, and it would seem he was now finished.
Carefully lowering herself to the floor, she cringed as her gown fell to cover her. Adam’s seed still marked her, sticky and wet against her belly and one thigh. Hoping Maeve would not be in her chambers so she could clean the evidence of the encounter off her body in private, she left the room.
CHAPTER FIVE
fter cleaning herself up, Daphne left her chambers and continued exploring the castle alone. Despite now having Adam’s permission to use the harp in the music room, she had grown too restless to sit still and practice. Her encounter with the Master of this imposing palace was never far from her mind, each touch of his hand and stroke of his tongue indelibly imprinted on her memory. As she walked through the house, taking her time to inspect more of the rooms more closely, just the thought of the wicked things he’d done caused her face to flush. Her nipples grew tight beneath her gown, her thighs becoming slick from the moisture pooling there.