by Jaide Fox
She felt immediately betrayed. She began bucking again, clenching and unclenching her hands with the desire dig into his flesh. “You bastard!”
He said nothing as he removed her second garter and locked her kicking leg into place. He sat up on his knees, between her spread legs, studying her a long moment as she shot daggers at him. As if coming to a decision, he leaned forward, grasped the neckline of her bodice, and ripped her gown and shift until her breasts erupted from the torn fabric.
Cerise gasped in outrage, struggling until she became aware that his eyes had transfixed to the swaying shake of her breasts as she moved. He looked on her with such dark hunger in his eyes. She shuddered, her body convulsing with a piercing ripple of desperation. His mouth tightened in a grim line and he continued his path of destruction until her gown and shift lay in two halves, one on each side of her body.
He stood up and walked around the bed, studying her naked curves. From her line of sight, it was horrific. Her skin was pale save for the blushing rose of her nipples, standing at attention, and the thatch of auburn hair at the apex of her thighs. Mortification swept in a heated wave down her flesh, leaving her pink with embarrassment. There was nothing she could do to stop him from looking his fill of her.
Watching her blush, his face expressionless, he reached into a pocket of his coat and withdrew a handkerchief from its depths, slowly folding it into a triangle. She knew what he was going to do. She tried to twist her face away from him, but there was only so much she could do to escape the inevitable. He tied the kerchief around her eyes.
She felt the rustle of air as he straightened and moved away. His boots sounded hollow on the wooden floor. She followed the sound of his steps to the foot of the bed. Did he truly stand there as she guessed? Watching her? Studying her exposed lips and breasts?
A soft sound, barely perceptible reached her ears. She realized it was the sound of cloth falling to the floor. The bed dipped near her feet. Her muscles jerked in response. Her breath quickened. Her skin tingled with heightened awareness of his approach. Dear god, what had he planned? She shivered, imaging him naked, imaging what that beast betwixt his legs must look like. Would he use it on her—would he hurt her with it?
Insufferably, heat suffused her limbs and the shadowy cleft between her thighs. Moisture dampened her folds, cooling in the air they were exposed to.
His hands closed around her ankles, and her skin jumped. Gooseflesh rose on her skin as he skimmed his palms up her smooth musculature, his thumbs drawing along the inside of her legs.
His thumbs skated the crease of her thighs, so close to her weeping folds, her sex clenched in anticipation. He passed them, and she barely restrained a whimper as he moved up her hips across her belly.
She felt the abrasion of his breeches between her thighs as he settled closer, lifting her up until her buttocks rested on his splayed thighs. His fingers traveled up her ribs, skimming the sensitive curve beneath each breast. Her nipples drew up into hardened beads.
He rounded each curve with his thumbs, the pads callused, abrasive in a way that was purely male. That feathery touch was too much. She felt his weight sink into her chest, hold still her lungs. She couldn’t get enough air for the expectant hush holding her in thrall.
His lips were suddenly there, increasing the unbearable ache, plucking one nipple like a succulent berry. Fire curled in her breast. She arched her back, straining against her restraints. His mouth covered her distended nipple and sucked, hard. His fingers worked her other breast in a slow, firm massage until it was swollen and heavy with the need to feel his mouth upon it.
Cerise shuddered when he attended to her other breast the same as he had the first—with molten fire that licked at her every nerve. She didn’t know how much more she could take, and his punishment had only begun….
She bit her bottom lip as his mouth trailed down her ribs, nipping her flesh with teeth, lathing with tongue. His wet kisses dried on the path behind him, cool in the air, shivering on her skin.
She thought she would die of anticipation by the time he swept past her navel and lower stomach, descending to the hair that covered her sex.
His fingers played in it, tickling down to her swollen lips. They twitched with the teasing sensation. She felt his breath, hot and heavy against her apex. And then his tongue swiped a path up her creamy slit.
Cerise gasped at the pure, shocking contact. She jolted as he pushed through her folds and found her clit. Her hips jerked up as heated ecstasy spread from the stab of his flicking tongue against the bud. She moaned, straining to get closer. Her core clenched with arousal, cramping her womb with a great longing for something more.
Sensing her body’s demand, he plunged one long, tapered finger into her vagina. Cerise screamed, jerking her hips in an effort to tilt them to the pleasure. She was unaware of the desperate pleas erupting from her throat.
He growled against her, the baritone rumbling inside her with trembling sensation. Burning, searing waves of lust rose to a crescendo as he lapped her, stroked that finger inside the rippling core of her.
He withdrew suddenly, leaving her achingly on the edge of something, something she wanted so badly, she screamed with frustration.
He bit the inside of one thigh. Her vaginal muscles clenched with agony. Her clit throbbed with neglect. She wanted to kill him, realizing now the extent of his punishment—the buildup of sexual desire and the pain of denial.
“You bastard,” she ground out, shaking with fury and receding pleasure.
He nipped her thigh sharply in response, sliding back until his hands wrapped tight on the rounded curves of her buttocks. He titled her to him and buried his mouth in her mound. He squeezed her cheeks, bringing her close, closer, so that his tongue thrust deep inside her vagina.
He curled inside her, his nose rubbing her clit until she thought he would smother. She didn’t care. All that mattered was the pleasure, building inside her again with each liquid, fluttering curl. He ate greedily until the walls of her sex shook with ragged tremors. Then he withdrew once more, plying the inside of her thighs with his teeth and tongue.
He nipped her hips, allowing her desire to subside. Perspiration dotted her skin, between her breasts, soaked her hair. He slid his body up hers, the silk of his shirt agony on her sensitized skin. He tortured her nipples once more, pulling them with his lips, suckling them. She begged him to stop. She begged him to continue. She fought her bindings, unsure if she were free if she’d kill him or cling to him.
As her shaking calmed, he dipped down and began again, stopping each time she neared that place she so desperately needed to go. She was mindless with need. Her belly cramped with pain. Her skin hurt under the slightest touch.
He released her, and she felt that he sat on his knees, looking down on her. She was almost thankful he didn’t touch her, unsure which was the greater torment—the constant arousal or the loss of it before release.
She heard a rustle and then he leaned forward. A hot, hard object nuzzled her aching cleft, sweeping through her slick, agitated folds. She shook her head, unable to find her voice. She trembled, her vagina seizing in mindless response. This, this would ease the suffering.
She felt his shudder rip through her thighs. He groaned, and the sliding became a push. It stopped, nestled in the entrance of her vagina, so close to where she needed it.
“Stop this torment,” she begged, her pride finally giving way to blistering need. She squirmed as much as she could, trying to get away, trying to get closer.
“I cannot. Not until you tell me what I want to hear.” He pushed again, retreated, and slipped along her folds. The rigid length of him tortured her clit. She felt bruised, battered, her flesh so sensitized, her nerves felt damaged. The brush of his thighs spread tingles through her system. The slide of his cock debilitated her.
“What? What do you want?” she begged, digging her nails into her palms, fighting the growing need like impending doom.
“You know,�
�� he ground out, coming down on top of her, squashing her breasts, teasing her nipples. He ground his engorged length against her clit.
She cried out from the bruising pressure. She knew what he wanted now. She would give it to him, if only to halt the pain.
“I looked at it,” she gasped, her belly spasming painfully. “I … I didn’t read it. I looked. I lied. Please, please stop this. I can take no more without going mad,” she said, shattered, rambling mindlessly in agony.
A shudder rippled through his body. His muscles went rigid. A soulful groan poured from deep inside him. He tore himself from her, coming off the bed. His breath was harsh, cutting down her own heaving cries.
“You drive me to the brink,” he whispered hoarsely, and then she heard the door slam shut.
Cerise screamed in rage and frustration, her energy renewing in a burst that had her fighting her bonds until she collapsed in exhaustion.
Chapter Six
Cerise didn’t know how long she laid there, her body tingling, convulsing as if she were dying with some strange malady that had taken root.
She had no way of seeing to know how late the hour grew. No chance to free herself and no means of venting her anger other than screaming herself hoarse and cursing his name. It may have been hours, minutes—she didn’t know. She knew only that she continued to pulse with impending desire up to the moment he returned.
She was not aware of his presence until the blindfold was removed. She blinked blearily up at him. His dark eyes met hers. His expression was indescribably gentle, remorseful. His hair was ruffled, as if he’d been gripping his temples in frustration. She’d never seen him without being groomed to perfection. It made him look more human to see his brow creased with lines of concern.
He bent close, as if to press a kiss on her lips, but she turned her face away before she could find out if that was his intent. Instead, he moved to her wrists to work the knots loose. When he untied her, her arms and legs dropped weakly to the bed. She had not the energy to even roll to her side and cover herself from his sight.
He scooped her tenderly into his arms, slipping her torn garments off her back. She tried to fight him off, but she was too weak and too tired to do more than push at his chest feebly. She’d been sapped of all strength, her pride struggling to mend its shattered pieces.
She knew she deserved some punishment for invading his privacy, but it didn’t change the fact that she was furious at him for leaving her wanting and subjecting her to sensual torture in the first place. She thought she would rather prefer a beating than to face that ever again. His arrogance in assuming he had that right was insufferable.
He turned with her in his arms, and she saw he’d brought in a bath. Steam curled from the hot water, smelling invitingly like crushed rose hips. She hadn’t heard anything and knew he must have used his power to hide his movements, as he had in the forest.
He bent, dipping her feet into the water, guiding her in until the water slid sensual fingers along the tips of her breasts. Cerise bit her lip, twinges of pain sluicing through her nerves. It felt wondrously relaxing on her sore muscles, almost too good. She was still too sensitive from his actions to enjoy it as she should.
Daegon wet a cloth and rubbed a sweet smelling soap against the linen, working up a lather. He settled himself on a short stool behind her, unspeaking, his movements exacting and quiet. He pushed his sleeves up, bringing his bare arms around her as he rubbed the cloth over her breasts. She’d been so aroused before, having his arms around her plunged her straight into erotic desperation. When his slippery fingers and the cloth slid over her slick nipples, she thought she would die.
Cerise bit back a moan, overcome by a whirlwind of sensation. “Please don’t. It … hurts,” she said, breathless with the stormy eroticism zipping through her bloodstream like lightning.
He kissed the side of her neck, sliding his hands beneath the water. “I want to make it better,” he murmured hotly, his breath singeing her delicate skin, evoking a primitive response in her. “Don’t you want me to make it better?”
“I don’t … know,” she said, her voice breaking as his fingers found the aching bud nestled between her swollen, nether lips. The first touch of his finger on her near bruised flesh released a violent spasm in her womb. A torrent of fire rippled through her.
Cerise cried out as his fingers curled against her, rubbing a tight circle that had her rigid, gripping the sides of the tub to keep from drowning. She sloshed the water as her hips came off the tub and wrenched up to meet him. He pressed harder, biting her neck as his fingers rasped her clit. He sucked her flesh to near pain, teeth scoring the tender chords of her neck
Her skin tingled, demanding his touch. Blood throbbed with achy intensity in that hardened nub. Her nerve endings screamed with shocking pleasure as the agony tore through her muscles.
She cried out, tears streaking her face. Bone and flesh melded, dissolved, shrinking down to one finite point, where his fingers strummed an ageless tune. Shudders ripped through her body as her orgasm rippled out, slowly easing only when he released her.
She collapsed, physically and emotionally. Heated waves lapped at her nipples, making her tremble. Her vaginal muscles quivered with shaky release.
Daegon tugged her earlobe, pressing a kiss to her ear. “Better?”
She fought to find her voice. Her throat was dry, scratchy from her cries. “I … I’m not sure,” she managed.
“I will leave you then. I’ve laid out new gowns for you. When you are ready, come to the foyer.”
She nodded, lost in her thoughts. She was so achy and empty, she thought nothing could fill her. The pleasure she found at his touch couldn’t overcome the fear and anger he’d sprung in her. She didn’t know what to think now. She was thankful for surcease but still angry over what he’d done. He appeared remorseful, however. Dare she trust it? She did not.
And didn’t he deserve some form of punishment for keeping her here against her will? It wasn’t right, but she had no idea of what she could do. Vengeance was not her way, and even thinking of trying to gain some hold over him made her feel weepy with exhaustion.
Cerise cleaned herself off as best she could, washing the sweat and dirt from her hair. When she was done, she lay for a while, soaking the heat into her muscles, relaxing. Ever since setting out to save her sister, Bianca, from the demon knight who held her captive, she had had no opportunity for calm, no rest. She had been in constant turmoil since Daegon found her, and she was thankful for the brief reprieve.
She couldn’t imagine what he wanted with her downstairs. She only hoped he would not seek to punish her again. She knew now what faced liars in his household, and she could not go through that again without breaking into madness.
When the water had cooled beyond the point of soothing, Cerise got out and dried herself with the abundance of towels he’d left on the washstand. She wished there was a fire place inside, or at least a brazier near to dry her hair by. Despite the coming winter, the room was surprisingly insulated against drafts. She hadn’t felt truly uncomfortable since she’d been there, unlike her own home, which required fires in nearly every room to make it bearable.
She determined it must be magic that kept the castle fit, as it were, for it made sense, though she’d seen little enough of Daegon’s demonstration of power. Cerise rubbed her hair as dry as she could then wrapped a length of linen around her head to sap the remaining water from her hair.
She saw Daegon had brought her more fine gowns and undergarments. The stockings, this time, were so finely spun, they were nearly transparent and felt exquisitely soft to the touch. She rolled them up her legs, holding them in place with garters crafted of delicate lace that resembled flowering vines. The shift was paper thin, but strong, slinky as it glided over her curves like loving hands. Looking at herself in the mirror, she saw she looked like a bride prepared for her wedding night, sensual, innocent, with dusky rose blooming at her apex and nipples. What would he think
to see her this way? Would it drive him crazed with lust? Would his eyes darken as he crossed the room and ripped the fragile fabric from her shoulders?
She seemed all too capable of bringing his repressed violence to the fore. Insanely, it excited her to know he was barely in control of his emotions, that her presence upset him. She knew it was a death wish, to feel that way, and still, she couldn’t help her perversity in wanting to provoke him. Perhaps she had a streak of vengeance burning her soul after all.
She turned back to the chair, examining what else he’d brought for her. He’d selected three choices of gown: a sapphire blue velvet trimmed with white lace; a rich lilac frosted with glittering beads that made it appear almost silver; and a green the shade of a moss laden lagoon, trimmed with gold that shimmered in the flickering candlelight like it was molten. He seemed to know her mind intimately, know the hues she loved best, the textures that beckoned her fingers to touch them.
She took the green and stepped into it, pulling it up over her shoulders. The neckline plunged deeply, perfectly matched to the shift beneath it, exposing the deep valley of her breasts. With a corset, she would have literally spilled out from the bodice.