Hellion (Seven Brides for Seven Bastards, 7)

by Jayne Fresina

  "No? You've had other men since your husband died, but you lied to me."

  She folded her arms. "Indeed I have not. You're looking for some reason to be angry with me, but you bark up the wrong tree, mutt. I told you the truth. There have been no other men."

  "Mutt? That is what you think of me, eh?"

  "It's what you are." She walked up to him until there was but an inch betwixt them. She tipped her head back. "A bastard mutt, part Spaniard, part Norman. Am I wrong?"

  "No," he snapped. "I'm no pedigree like your last husband. But a mixed breed, you'll find, is a vast deal stronger."

  "Is that so?"

  "Tougher."

  "Really?" She reached up and ran a fingertip down the side of his smoothly shaved cheek, mimicking the way he had touched her last night. "You'll have to prove that to me, won't you?"

  He didn't waste another moment, but picked her up by the waist and tossed her to the bed. Gasping, half laughing, she scrambled to get away but he was down on her, pinning her there on her front. Already he was hard, his cock pushing between the cheeks of her arse, but as he'd said to her, she needed punishing first. He wanted her arse glowing before he plowed it.

  "Stay down, wench," he hissed into her hair, tasting the sweet lilacs on his tongue. "A few stripes of the cane will make you repent for teasing and tormenting me all these months."

  She chuckled over her shoulder. "That's your excuse now, is it? That I willfully tormented you? If you truly want a reason to spank me, I can give you a better one than that."

  But he didn't care to hear another insult from her pert lips and he didn't need another reason. She had deliberately tempted him; he was sure of it. Somehow she'd bewitched him all these months, driven him slowly to madness until he couldn't keep his thoughts, or his hands, off her.

  He backed away from the bed and stared down at her lush bottom. Either he had a vivid imagination, or she'd just wriggled it at him impatiently.

  Sal licked his lips, anticipation roaring through him, setting fire to his body. His cock was so hard it hurt. "Open your legs. Wider. I want to see your pussy while I deliver your punishment. Arch your back. Lift your arse higher."

  He swung his cane and it landed with a crack across the cheeks of her bottom. She bounced slightly, catching her breath. He repeated the action and she cried out. A lovely red line already glowed across her buttocks and he knew it must sting. With his free hand he reached between her legs and felt the moisture gathering in the pink folds of her cunt.

  She slid her knees even further apart on the bed, letting him see, as well as feel how wet she was getting. He forced two fingers into her and kept them there while he spanked her a third time with the cane.

  Christ, she tightened on his fingers so hard she almost cut the blood flow. He chuckled softly. "Naughty wench."

  His cock throbbed with the need to be buried inside that moist haven.

  Sal began to tease her clit while he caned her again, harder. She didn't cry out this time for she'd stuffed some of the fleece bed cover into her mouth to stifle the sound. A fourth and a fifth strike followed. She lifted her hips, her reddened bottom sticking up in the air while he worked her pearl furiously with his fingertips. The mix of pain and pleasure was already sending her over the edge. So he took his fingers out of her cunt, not letting her finish.

  She growled into the fleece.

  One more he thought. One more to make six. One for every month she claimed to have been without a man's cock. He still couldn't believe that, for she was so responsive, such a sensual, passionate creature. She must have been up to something since her husband died.

  The skin of her arse looked sore, but she simply spread her legs wider, up on her knees, presenting her bottom high in the air for more.

  The sixth smack hit her across the top of her thighs and then he tossed his cane aside and put his mouth on the scarlet marks that lined her flesh. He licked them gently, felt their heat on his tongue.

  She purred. The woman purred like a cat. Or perhaps a tigress, he mused.

  "Spank me some more," she gasped out.

  But he knew he might split her skin if he did so with the cane, so he tapped her smartly with his hand. He watched as her pussy bloomed almost as pink as those stripes on her arse. It was slick and sticky.

  Unable to wait longer, he pushed his mouth at her cunt and ate it hungrily, while she was still on her hands and knees across the bed. Her back arched as he thrust his tongue into her, sucking and licking madly. Then, as he felt her pussy walls constrict, he launched forward, covering her body like a stallion with a mare. He looped one arm around her waist to keep her in position and he rammed his rigid, swollen cock into her wet, pulsing cunt. She was coming before he'd even begun fucking her, and as he felt her body peaking he began thrusting, riding her waves, driving her on to further heights.

  She clasped the fleece in her fists, pushing back, her caned bottom slapping into his groin as she shuddered and trembled beneath him.

  Sal fucked her with a hard and fast rhythm, his red hot, bestial passion taking over. It was indeed blissful inside that pussy, just as Dom had predicted.

  And it was all his to enjoy today.

  "Don't come inside me," she groaned. "I can't be pregnant."

  Of course not, he thought with another sudden flash of anger. Her new husband—about whom she still had not thought him worthy of knowing— probably wouldn't appreciate it.He ignored her. He would plant his seed in her womb. Gilbert de Vernon would be a cuckold before he'd even married her.

  In that moment, as he fucked her deeper and deeper, he realized where his anger had come from that day.

  He was jealous. For the first time in his thirty-one years. Jealous of another man.

  She tried to get away as she felt him coming, but he held her down on the bed, one hand gripping her beautiful hair, the other arm still wrapped around her waist. He held his groin tight to her body and let his seed fill her, his dick jerking inside her tight sheath.

  * * * *

  "You defied me!" she groaned as he collapsed his great weight all over her. "How dare you!"

  "Worry not," he gasped into her hair, breathless, "it's no guarantee you'll have a babe. It doesn't always happen after one try. Not even with the seed of a d'Anzeray." He laughed and it rumbled through his chest.

  She wanted to shout at him again, to rant and rail at his carelessness, but she was too pleasantly exhausted after that bone-shattering orgasm and with his muscular form pinning her to the bed she had the excuse of not being able to move anyway, let alone berate him further.

  The arrogance of the man! To spill inside her without permission as if she was one of his servants to be used as and when he chose.

  But she liked the sensation of his cock filling her, the strength of his body covering her, claiming her. It sent shivers up and down her spine. No denying it.

  Robert had never mated with her like that. He had preferred her on her back, not moving, while he rutted quickly between her legs. Her mind detached from the process, her body required only as a vessel, Helene used to count the notches in the rafters overhead while he finished.

  With Salvador, however, she was present every moment, every thrust. She was not a bystander but a participant. Even as he got everything his own way.

  The scent of his sweat surrounded her, mixing with the musk of their fucking. His cock was still within her, but deflating slowly. Semen trickled out of her, but he had spent so much that she was sure plenty yet remained. It was true, as he said, that once was no guarantee of producing a babe. She ought to know since Robert had tried many times to impregnate her and failed.

  Not that it was Robert's fault that she didn't conceive, of course; it was hers. She'd been assured of that so many times that she'd begun to believe it.

  Finally Salvador rolled off her. But he did not let go of Helene. He made her roll onto her side with him and kept his arm around her. She felt his breath in her hair, and the steady beat of his heart agai
nst her shoulder. Outside all was quiet as people rested in the heat. Even the dogs were not barking, but must be laid out in shady spots, too lazy even to chase the hens.

  "Kiss me," he muttered suddenly.

  They had never even kissed, she realized. But did she want to? Would it not make this into something more than it was meant to be? Frankly, she was shocked he demanded a kiss. But demand he did, forcing her to turn in his arms and face him. He cupped her chin in his hand and tipped it up for his lips. Helene submitted to it, not knowing what to do, how to respond. Robert's kisses had not been like this.

  Nothing like this.

  A soft growl crept up from Salvador's throat and she drank it down as his hands stroked her spine, tugged her closer. Oh, to have his strength surrounding her, his hard body tight to hers. She might never have felt anything like it before in life, but she had a damn good imagination and had often fallen asleep lately thinking of how it would feel to be held in this villain's arms.

  Her imagination had fallen short.

  His firm lips pried hers apart and his tongue pushed inside her mouth. She tasted her own sexual musk combined with ale hops from the refreshment Elyce must have given him earlier.

  Her senses were full of him, of his masculine heat. His hands were so large they seemed to cover her entire back, crushing her to his steely body. Did the man not know his own strength? Or did he plan to do away with her by squeezing the blood out of her, so he could claim her land this way?

  Slowly their lips parted.

  "You going to slap me again, wench?"

  She laughed. It came out of her suddenly, as the happiness welled up inside and she could not prevent the overflow. A dam broke. "Only if you want me to." Then she added coyly, "Perhaps you like that."

  "If it gives me a reason to spank you." He grinned down at her, his hands stroking her back, fingers tangling in her long hair.

  "You seem to make reasons up well enough," she replied.

  "I made nothing up, Hellion."

  She liked it when he called her that. But she did not care to be accused of lies. "I have had no other man since Robert. How many times must I assure you of this?"

  He stared down at her, his lips tight and sulky.

  Helene licked his chin and nibbled it playfully. "I've been waiting for you to make a move all this time. In the end I gave up and came to you."

  "Why? What changed?"

  She shrugged one shoulder and avoided his question. "You shaved today."

  "I did."

  "For me?"

  He didn't answer but claimed her lips again, his hand cupping the back of her head, his leg hooked around both hers. Already she felt his cock rearing up again, insatiable.

  Naturally, she mused, he was a demon not a normal man, so all his parts must work differently. It was fascinating really and her eager curiosity for learning new things was awoken. Helene reached for the warm beast nestled between them. She stroked the heavy balls and ran her fingers along the veins to the head.

  "I thought you might want to wait a while?" he muttered huskily.

  "Why?"

  "Other women would."

  Oh, he had to remind her about all his other women. That flattened her mood slightly. But then she felt the crest of his cock bulging, his shaft arching eagerly.

  For now he was hers to enjoy. And really, she could not be angry about his other women, since she would all too soon be lying with another man. She wanted to erase that thought from her mind and here before her was the perfect man with whom to do that.

  The thought of Gilbert de Vernon fucking her was, quite frankly, nauseating, but d'Anzeray soothed her, brought her the sort of contentment she'd never imagined could be hers.

  How odd it was that this man— for so long the great thorn in her side— should now become her lover.

  It was madness to let him in. Sheer and utter madness. Helene never wanted a man who would master her, insist upon telling her what to do, how to dress, how to speak to her servants, when to be silent— and Salvador d'Anzeray was a man who would do exactly that. He expected his women obedient and probably preferred them mute.

  Yet the dark crow that had threatened her borders for so long, was now coming inside, welcomed in. At least temporarily.

  He needn't get any ideas beyond this sunny afternoon.

  * * * *

  His cock stretched tall again already, showing off for this bossy woman. Sal had given up trying to make sense of this. He was attracted to her, liked her company, enjoyed her body. Why should it be made more complex than that?

  "Turn over," he growled. "Spread your arse for me."

  "But you can't—"

  "Yes, I can." He spat into his hand and wiped it over his straining, engorged prick. "I want your arse, Hellion."

  Her eyes sparkled with wonder. "But it will never fit there—"

  He flipped her over, not prepared to argue further. She was still protesting as he licked his fingers and began working them between her cheeks. Then she was reduced to gasps and moans while he readied her, stretching her carefully.

  At least he knew she'd never been had here— didn't seem to know it was even possible. Robert Calledaux must not have liked the sport, but then he could guess that Calledaux was the sort who preferred a straight forward in and out and the minimum of preparation. Something that didn't take too much time or effort. Like anything else the man had done.

  The way Helene kissed him was surprisingly unsure, clumsy and innocent. He'd found it quite charming. And very arousing.

  * * * *

  Dear God help me, she prayed silently, as she felt his damp, sticky crest forcing its way into her anus. He would surely split her in two.

  But he went cautiously, not ramming her as she'd expected. After the initial stinging burn, she managed to let her muscles relax enough to grant him entrance. She felt light-headed, dizzy.

  Slowly he possessed her, half inch by half inch, claiming virginal territory.

  It was a different sensation to having her pussy filled, but it was still enjoyable and when he reached under her to tease her clitoris with his thumb she climaxed with such intensity that she soaked his hand and the fleece beneath her.

  His teeth nibbled the nape of her neck and he sucked gently, making his mark there too. Then she felt the pulsing flood of his semen pumping into her body again, while he slipped a finger into her clenching pussy and pressed a soft growl into her hair.

  He was, it seemed, intent in marking her thoroughly with his scent, filling her with his essence.

  But their time together was not infinite, was it? So she let him touch her in all the ways he wanted, she welcomed it and tumbled over that precipice with him, without fear, over and over.

  Chapter Twelve

  "You'll have to leave soon," she whispered into his shoulder, her hair damp with perspiration and stuck in gently tickling waves across his chest. "You cannot stay all night."

  Sal glanced over at the narrow arched window and saw that the sun was setting. He'd spent the afternoon in her bed and it was indeed everything he'd fantasized. But he was not sated. He could not rid himself of his lust for her, even after all that they'd done together that day.

  Now, for the first time in his life, he longed to spend all night with a woman. Just sleeping with her in his arms. To wake her in the morning with a kiss. To watch her bathe while he sprawled lazily on her bed. Even to comb her hair for her.

  She must be a witch. What other explanation for it could there be?

  "No, I can't stay," he agreed with her. "I am expected at my father's manor this evening. The wives have prepared a supper."

  He felt her stiffen in his arms, as if she might escape them and push him away, so he tightened his grip, his muscles tensing around her as she lay curled beside him.

  "You would not want me here all night, in any case," he muttered. "Would you?"

  She was silent, her breath gently blowing into the dip where his broad neck met his shoulder. Did she feign slee
p now to prevent the need for an answer? He scowled up at the pitted rafters. Distant sounds for some time now had warned that her manor was coming back to life after the heat of the afternoon. He would soon have to replace his old man disguise and leave again.

  But everything felt unresolved. He'd expected to be tired of her by now. To have had his fill and satisfied his curiosity. It was all most inconvenient.

  She said, "I daresay your wives will be pleased to see you."

  "They usually are. Was Calledaux not so with you?"

  For a moment she lay still, breathing gently, considering her reply carefully it seemed. "Robert married me because he was told to do so, for the land. My father's land. To him I was merely a part of property. I daresay he was pleased to see me in the same way that he was glad to look out and see all that he owned." She paused, sighed. "You, being a man and free of bonds, will not know what it is like, of course, to be chattel."

  "But you did not see him as your master."

  "Of course," she protested thinly. "He was my husband."

  "But you, Hellion, ruled the roost. I saw you."

  Aha! He had her there, for she could not pretend she was her husband's mindless slave. Sal had seen her at work about the place, taking charge, in control. The manor survived because of her determination, her blood and sweat, and the devotion of her people beside whom she worked. Sal had seen how she nursed Robert Calledaux through his many illness, never complaining, even when she must have been exhausted from working in the fields alongside her people. Whenever Sal saw her she was covered in mud, or hay dust and sweat. If her husband ever noticed he did nothing to ease her burden. Although, perhaps she did not want her burden eased. Perhaps she welcomed the work.

  He understood that, for he too liked to keep busy, liked the sense of achievement and satisfaction that came from a job well done. Constant activity kept the demons at bay.

  Finally she confessed, "I had to take the reins sometimes. When there were problems Robert could seldom see solutions, but it was not his fault. He had been raised by a father who cured and solved all for him. It left poor Robert with no ability to manage in hard times."