No Prince Charming

by J. C. Daniels

  Just before I would have slid the door open, a hand came up and pressed against it. I could feel him at my back, his strength, his solid warmth. His mouth brushed over my shoulder, nuzzled me just behind my ear. I shuddered and held still, hardly able to breathe.

  “I know you still want me,” he whispered as he slid a hand around my waist, flattened it against my belly. He eased my body back against his and I groaned as the length of his cock nestled against my bottom. “I can feel it…smell it…taste it.”

  His tongue stroked along the curve of my ear, sending little shivers down my spine. “I knew you still wanted me when we first saw each other, just the other night. It’s been three hundred years, but I’ve never forgotten that look in your eyes,” he said quietly. His hand rubbed over my belly in slow, ever-widening circles. Soon, the heel of his hand teased the curls between my thighs. “I knew you still wanted me and imagined you hated yourself for it. And now you tell me you still love me. Do you have any idea what that does to me?”

  I let my head fall back against his shoulder. He moved against me and my breath caught in my throat. “Actually, I have a pretty good idea.”

  He turned me in his arms, crowding me up against the cool glass of the door. He laid a hand on my chest, just a little above the slope of my breast. His thumb rested in the hollow of my throat, his fingers curling around the back of my neck. I felt my pulse jump under his touch and I caught my lower lip between my teeth as I lifted my eyes to his.

  “You can’t know,” he whispered, shaking his head. “You can’t possibly know…it’s like I’m dying inside—like you’ve completed everything I am, and now I can die happy. And yet it’s like I’ve been dead, and only now do I live, like you’ve brought life back inside me. It’s…” His voice trailed off and he dipped his head, rested his brow against mine.

  “It’s everything,” I said quietly.

  Now his lashes lifted, revealing a turbulent, emerald green gaze. “Everything. How can you know?”

  Swallowing, I focused and projected out and let him feel just what it was I felt within him. “Because I know. And because you complete me in the very same way.”

  I stared up at his face, into the eyes of the only man I’d ever really loved. The only man I would love…my prince. Perhaps he wasn’t always so charming, but he was the one man I’d been born to love.

  Still holding his gaze, I reached for the buttons of his shirt and released them one by one. A breath hissed out of him and his lashes drooped low, shielding his eyes. He caught my wrists, eased them to my side. “Elle, are you so certain this is wise? Are you so certain this is what you want?”

  “I know I want you…I know I’ve always wanted you,” I said. I twisted my wrists in his grip and linked my fingers with his. I pressed against him, rubbed my cheek against the chest I had bared. He still didn’t release my wrists, standing as still as a statue. Rolling my eyes upward, I stared at his face and dipped my head, tracing my tongue around his nipple.

  “Elle…” he groaned out my name, his teeth clenched. Twin flags of color rode high on his cheeks and that long, lean body of his trembled.

  “Michael…” I echoed, teasing him. I tugged against his hold, and this time he released me. I slipped his shirt off his shoulders and walked around him, pressing my lips to his spine.

  Michael lifted his hands, braced them against the glass. The muscles in his arms bunched, standing out in stark relief. Lean, chiseled muscles, his body graceful and fluid, so incredibly perfect, so incredibly strong. I feathered the tips of my fingers down his back and watched as that strong body shuddered under my touch.

  There is nothing like touching a man and watching him shake under your hands.

  It’s a potent drug. An addictive one.

  There is nothing like being wanted by the one you want.

  My mouth was dry as I fought with the belt at his waist. He remained still, his hands pressed to the glass, his head bent. Ducking back around him, I leaned against the glass and slid my hand inside his trousers. His eyes flew open when my hand closed around his cock. A sexy little snarl pulled his lips back from his teeth and I shuddered as he pressed himself into my hand.

  Then he reached down, gripped my wrist and pulled me away. When I would have used my other hand, he caught it, pinning both of them to the glass door just by my head.

  “Stop,” he muttered, nipping my lip. “Whether you see it or not, there’s too much unsaid between us. I want you, more than I want my next breath, more than I’ve ever wanted anything or anybody, but I can’t lose you again, Elle. It would kill me. So unless you plan on staying with me, unless you plan on being mine—always—you need to stop.”

  “All I ever wanted in my life was to be yours,” I said. My voice trembled as I said it. I stared at him and all the naked longing I felt was probably written on my face.

  He sucked in a deep breath. “Be sure, Elle. Be very sure. Because you won’t be able to run fast enough this time to get away from me.”

  “Do you promise?”

  His mouth crushed down on mine. A hand came between us, jerked hard. I heard these odd little rip-pop sounds and then felt the cool kiss of air on my breasts, followed by the heat of his body as he pressed against me. The shirt, I thought vaguely. He’d all but ripped the shirt off of me. A few seconds later, it drifted down to the ground by my feet and I was naked in his arms.

  Wrapping my arms around him, I opened for him. There was a strange little mewling sound and I realized it was coming from me. He boosted me up, my back still braced against the glass door. He rubbed against me and I growled against his lips, disappointed as the fine wool of his trousers stroked over my heated flesh. Naked. I wanted him as naked as I was.

  Tearing my mouth from his, I shoved him back, wiggling impatiently in his arms until he let me go. I went to my knees in front of him and reached for button on his trousers. I fumbled and fought until I had it undone. I did the same with his zipper. I shoved his trousers and underwear down and then opened my mouth, took him inside.

  I felt his shock. Felt his pleasure. His hands tangled in my hair and he tugged, but it was halfhearted at best. In another three seconds he was guiding me and I moved quicker, faster. I stroked a hand up his thigh, cupped the heavy, warm sac between his legs in my hand and tugged gently.

  He swore and the muscles in his legs stiffened. I dropped my shields and followed the cues I picked up from him, tightening my grip on his balls, sucking on him harder, harder. He liked it when I used the edge of my teeth, loved it when I took him so deep, it left me gasping for air.

  So I did all those things and when he would have reached for my hair, tried to pull me away, I tightened my grasp, squeezing. At the same time, I stroked my tongue over the head of his cock and then I bit him gently.

  He shouted out my name and then I felt his cock jerk in my mouth. Sucking on him furiously, I let go of his balls and gripped his hips, held him as I moved faster, took him deeper.

  I felt it only seconds before it tore through him, a rippling climax that left his legs weak and his head spinning. I swallowed and continued to move, sucking until he was panting and swearing, all but pleading.

  This time, when he pulled me up, I went, pressing kisses to his abdomen and chest, letting my breasts rub against him.

  “Witch,” he muttered, slanting his mouth over mine and kissing me. He whispered, “I should be a gentleman, carry you into my bedroom, take you slow and easy, but I can’t.”

  I smiled against his lips. “Why don’t you just take me instead?”

  He lifted his head, staring down into my eyes. Then he pushed his knee between my thighs, widening my stance. He held my gaze and I stared back at him steadily.

  I wasn’t the blushing, nervous virgin I had once been. I liked sex, even though it had taken some time to get past an instinctive fear. Most of my lovers took it slower, easier—they acted like the gentleman Michael had mentioned, keeping things slow, gentle and easy and the fear eventually stopped ju
mping out at me at the worst possible moment.

  But I didn’t want or need gentleness from Michael.

  Staring into his eyes, I trailed my fingers down my torso, stopping just shy of the blonde curls between my legs.

  Michael stared at my hand, naked hunger on his face. When I started to stroke my clit, he growled and grabbed me, jerking my feet off the floor as he lifted me. Then he was pressing against me, the head of his cock rubbing against the slick folds between my thighs. I arched my hips and shuddered as he entered me…just the slightest inch.

  “Now,” I demanded, glaring at him.

  He eased deeper.

  I raked my nails down his back and caught his lower lip between my teeth, biting him—hard.

  “Elle,” he rasped, his voice a harsh, hard warning.

  I could feel his hesitation, and when I focused I even had a glimmer of why. He knew I’d been raped. I don’t know how he knew, what he knew, how much he knew, but he knew enough and he wanted to take care of me.

  But I didn’t need to be taken care of. I needed him. “Fuck me,” I said, projecting just enough so he would feel my hunger. “Hard. Fast. Now.” I kissed him in between words and on the last word. I twisted my hips and tightened my inner muscles, milking him.

  I felt his control snap and I had just a split second to brace myself and then the world was spinning. No. Not the world. Us. One second I was pressed to the glass door and then I was pressing against the wooden floor of the deck, the boards biting into my back, Michael’s hot and demanding mouth on mine.

  He cupped my hips, held me still as he forged deep, cleaving through tight, tense muscles and not stopping until he’d buried himself inside me. Tight—too tight, stretching me, filling me. I groaned and pressed my hands against his shoulders. “Give me a second,” I whispered.

  He caught my wrists, jerked them over my head and rasped against my mouth, “No.” Then he used his free hand to cup my ass, angled my hips up before pulling out and driving back in. Deep. Deep. Deep. Stretching me. Filling me.

  I could feel his hunger now, twining with mine, pushing me higher, faster. He shafted me, the head of his cock rubbing against the little notch buried deep inside me, sending more and more heat hurtling through my veins. I shuddered and clenched down around him and through him, I could feel how it felt…to him. How I felt to him.

  It was too much.

  I screamed against his mouth and came, hard, fast, flying through the air. He was still moving when I drifted back down, still riding me, his mouth pressed against my ear, muttering wicked, naughty little promises that stole my breath away.

  He stroked a hand down my sweat-slicked back, squeezed the flesh of my rump and then stroked down the crevice between with the tip of his finger. I tensed and arched away from that touch. I’d had lovers, but I’d never let one take me there.

  Michael did it again and I caught my breath. His eyes bored into mine and in the end I couldn’t keep looking at him. I closed my eyes, hiding, as he repeated the foreign caress.

  “Haven’t you taken a man here?” he whispered against my lips.

  “No.” I kept my eyes closed. He slowed, stilled on my body, and then rubbed his mouth against mine.

  “Relax, darling girl,” he murmured, cupping my head in his hands and kissing me. He kissed me until I felt drugged on him, until I had no choice but to relax. Then he started to move.

  This time was slow.

  This time was easy.

  The sun rose over the eastern horizon, shining down on us and painting us with red and gold. Michael rolled to his back, bringing me with him, and I braced my hands on his chest, riding him.

  He tangled his hands in my long hair and muttered my name, praised me in the language of our birth, making promises that would have left me blushing if I wasn’t so damned eager.

  The climax washed over me this time—no breath-stealing explosion, no earth-shattering quake. No, it was gentle and slow and sweet and when it ended, I collapsed against his chest, all but crying.

  She was limp in his arms, her body relaxed and loose, her breathing slow and easy.

  Michael stood, cradling her body against his.

  She lifted her lashes, revealing lambent blue eyes. Her lips curled in a smile and she reached up, tracing her fingertip over his mouth. “Why are we moving?”

  “Because you should get more rest,” he told her, rubbing his cheek against her hair.

  His heart ached. Hope, after so much emptiness, was a painful burn inside him, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

  “I don’t want to rest,” she said, yawning. “I’m tired, but I can sleep later.”

  He slanted a look down at her and smiled. He understood just what she meant. He was worn to the bone but he’d rather stay awake, enjoy the feel of her in his arms for as long as possible. “Then we’ll just lie in the bed and talk. After you eat breakfast.”

  Elle wrinkled her nose. “I don’t wanna cook.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose, and when she smiled up at him he felt the burn of tears prick his eyes. “I’ll take care of it. You need some food in your belly, as well as rest. If you won’t rest you can at least eat.”

  Her eyes widened. A grin flirted with her mouth as she asked, “You are going to make breakfast?”

  “Yes. I learned how a long time ago.” He eased her onto the wide, soft bed and caught a blanket, easing it up over her shoulders. “After all, they wouldn’t agree to offer the Choice to any servants who might be willing to come along for the ride. I had to learn to fend for myself.”

  She dozed lightly while he made breakfast and opened her eyes to smile at him when he brought the tray into the room.

  “Breakfast in bed,” she murmured. “You know, you do have some charming qualities about you. You really do.”

  Michael smirked as he settled on the bed with the tray between them. Hopefully, he would be less likely to grab her with plates of hot bacon, eggs and toast between them. “Trying to push my buttons, Elle?” he asked, holding out a glass of orange juice.

  She took it and drank half of it in two big gulps. Then she licked her lips and grinned at him. “I already know how to push your buttons,” she said loftily. “I don’t have to try.”

  They ate in companionable silence. Every now and then, Michael felt the darkness of his own thoughts trying to weigh down on him, but he pushed it aside.

  Not now.

  Not today.

  He burned inside with curiosity, the curiosity of the morbid—he needed to know what had happened to her, now more than ever. But he wouldn’t cast a pall on these moments. They had time. She said she loved him still, and he had never stopped loving her.

  Whatever obstacles had kept them apart before no longer existed and he wouldn’t be kept from her. They had time.

  So he kept telling himself that even as Elle gathered up their breakfast and settled the tray on the floor by the bed before rolling against him, her cheek resting on his thigh.

  He trailed a hand down her naked back, staring down at her lovely face. Her eyes were closed, but she didn’t sleep. He couldn’t read thoughts until he actively chose to do so, but he could sense them—her thoughts were like a spring rain, brushing lightly against his consciousness.

  So lovely. So soft and gentle.

  Her skin was like silk, delicate and warm.

  Something dark and ugly slashed through his mind. Unconsciously, he tensed.

  The spring rain became a heavy thunderstorm, dangerous and devastating.

  Her soft skin was bruised now. She wasn’t lying in a bed with him, safe…loved. She was crying…and she wasn’t alone. There were two men with her, toying with her.

  He wasn’t aware his thoughts were no longer his own—wasn’t aware of anything save for the vision before him.

  Elle…wearing men’s clothes she’d been wearing the first time he’d seen her. Bruises on her face, the shirt torn down the middle, leaving her breasts bare. Before his eyes, bruises formed on h
er breasts, dark and ugly, and in the shape of a man’s hand.

  Her screaming, the sound of a drunken man’s laughter. And then her screams abruptly ceased, replaced by gasping harsh breaths as cruel hands closed around her throat.

  He heard his name, but it seemed to come from a far-off distance.

  A gentle hand stroked down his cheek, and abruptly he came back to himself.

  Elle stared at him, her eyes wide, her face pale.

  Rolling off the bed, he started to pace.

  “What was that?” she asked, her voice shaking.

  “Nothing,” he growled, even though he could still see those images. He closed his eyes to block them out, but they were still there, imprinted forever on his mind.

  “Don’t give me that,” she snapped.

  He stopped and looked at her. In the back of his mind, he could feel the rhythm of her thoughts. He was tempted to reach out, but he didn’t. He closed down, cutting his mind off from hers. Had he somehow unwittingly forged a link between them?

  “Were you trying to read my mind?”

  Michael closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face. “Not consciously, no. I’ve never had that happen to me before.”

  She was silent for so long. When she did finally speak, he braced himself, ready for her anger.

  “Were you in my mind?”

  “Yes,” he bit off. And what he’d seen, it would haunt him. For the rest of his life.

  “If you weren’t consciously trying to do it, then how did it happen?”

  “I don’t know.” He stared at the floor, one hand opening and closing into a fist. Useless rage boiled through him. The men who had hurt her were long dead. He could do nothing to ease her nightmare. And no matter what she said, Michael was responsible. He knew that, even if she wouldn’t openly admit it.

  He took a deep, slow breath and then looked up at her. “I didn’t consciously do it. I wasn’t even consciously thinking of it. One moment I was looking at you, thinking about how lovely you are. And the next…” His voice trailed off and he stared sightlessly into the distance. “I was just there.”