Withdrawing himself, he pushed her back, lowering his mouth to the soft patch of hair between her legs. "I have heard that the women of the Wolf will sing for the right man. Sing for me, Wolf-woman. I want to hear you howl."
Releasing her hands, he lifted her hips, tilting her pelvis as he slid his tongue over the folds of her flesh. She was different, but not so different. The source of her pleasure still formed a hard bud of desire. He circled the tiny head of her clitoris with the tip of his tongue, pleased when she bucked beneath his touch. He licked and kissed and sucked until her hands fisted in his hair, pulling, demanding.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he noticed that his hair was trimmed shorter and neater, and his beard cropped. His arm, too, that had burned with an inner fire for weeks now, supported his full weight as he hovered over her, driving his tongue into sensitive flesh that convulsed around him again and again. Other, more subtle changes had taken place as well. He felt no pain when he drew in his breath.
He would ponder these things later. For now, there was the Wolf-woman, her body responding to his touch without reserve. His own need built within him until the tension was more than he could stand. Lifting his head, he kissed his way up her body until he found that small strip of soft leather. The imprint of her nipples stood out against the hide. When he nipped at her through the restraint she moaned out a cry of desire.
Her hands released him long enough to fight with the knot in the lacings between her breasts. She growled and bit at him like the wolf he had named her, desperate in her need for his touch. Bare breasts spilled out before him, demanding his attention. The blue runes that marked her face trailed down over her breasts, leading like a path to deep coral nipples that waited before him, fully erect. Blackened steel rings adorned each nipple, piercing the flesh. He ran his tongue around the circumference of the closest one, tugging gently, pleased when she moaned again, pressing herself harder against him.
There was a power in this, in being able to answer her need. Yet her body was addictive, an intoxicant, eroding his restraint with each whimpered response. The tip of his throbbing cock brushed against her scorching heat, bringing another cry of tortured desire to her lips. He sat up, pushing her slightly away from him. With one hand he spread her labial folds apart, the other hand moving the head of his cock slowly against her clitoris–circling, teasing, maddening her with desire.
"I…want…ye!" she gasped. "Now!"
"And have you always had whatever you wanted, M'Lady?"
"Aye!"
"Very well." He dropped forward, supporting his weight on his hands, brushing against her welcoming body with the head of his cock. He allowed but an inch to slip inside her. No more. "Here I am," he murmured. "Come and get me."
She took him at his word. Strong legs wrapped around his, pulling her desperate body hard against him as she impaled herself on his awaiting cock. He felt his control snapping as she arched up to meet him, each thrust a testimonial to her amazing physique. Breasts bobbed before his eyes. He snagged one, sucking hard, scraping the sensitive nipple with the edges of his teeth.
"Is this what you want?"
"Aye…" she managed as she surged against him.
"Then give me what I want. Sing for me, Wolf-woman. I want to hear you howl."
He slammed into her hard, sinking the length of his shaft in until his balls smacked against her with the sound of wet flesh colliding. He pulled back out swiftly, then entered again, thrusting hard now, demanding his price.
Taut muscles clamped down on his cock, shuddering in pleasure, yet demanding still more. All control gone, he slammed into her mercilessly, time after time, driving her body forward until the wall stopped their advance across the floor. He felt his own climax building, coming on him with a force like nothing he'd ever felt before. She cried out again, a strangled noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper.
That would have to do. With a final thrust he burst into her, spilling his seed.
Her body answered his, shuddering deeply, milking him of all he had to give. She arched hard under him, her breath a whine that rose to a long, high-pitched note, the call of the mating wolf.
As the light in the room faded into a blackness that swirled within his head, he heard another voice answering hers. And with the surprise of a spirit detached from his body he realized the voice was his own.
* * * * *
Cassadara sat up slowly, trying to clear her head. The night was far advanced. The room was dark. She must have fallen asleep, though she felt more like she had passed out. She groped blindly about her for something familiar. What she found was a body. A still warm body.
What she didn't find was her weapon. She tried the process again, increasing the diameter of her groping, but still moving as soundlessly as possible. Nothing but the body within reach. Fine. She would have to search the body. She needed…
The body was naked. Naked and alive and very definitely male. Arms befuddled with sleep reached out to her, sliding around her as if their owner thought they had the right to do so. Her hands traced up those arms, searching for some remembrance of where she was and who she was with. Her fingertips read a scar, running from his left elbow to his shoulder. The pieces began to come together. Dark hair. A close-cropped beard. A broad expanse of hard, muscled chest.
Human. She had mated with a Human male. Healed him and mated with him. A Human male who was hers, bought and paid for. A male who had done incredible things to her body. A male who held her possessively even now. Even knowing the consequences, she had allowed this.
There would be a price to pay.
One large hand stroked her hair. The move was oddly comforting. She snuggled closer against his chest, thinking that whatever the cost, he had been well worth the price. Their limbs intertwined, and she drifted contentedly back to sleep.
* * * * *
"Woman, you have bewitched me."
His voice, low and deep, did not sound angry. Cassadara stretched slowly against him, enjoying the coolness of the early morning contrasted against the heat of his body. "Good."
"Good? This is all you can say?"
Cassadara shifted until she could see his beautiful green eyes smiling down at her. "Good. What is mine should be bewitched."
He didn't argue, but curled his head down instead to press his lips over hers. She found the sensation oddly sensual. She would have protested when he nipped gently at her lower lip, but as she opened her mouth he slid his tongue in between her lips. His movements reminded her of what else he could do with that tongue. She nipped at its tip as he lifted his face away from her.
He ran a hand over his face. "What have you done to me?"
"The Dwarven woman at the barbers helped me to bathe ye. She also trimmed thy beard. The tailor and the cobbler both measured ye also. Presumably ye will not leave here naked."
Warm green eyes searched hers. "That is not what I meant and you know it. The fever is gone. My arm is healed. My body…my body desires you more than I have ever known I could desire any woman."
Her body seemed to have developed a mind of its own. She was already wet and hot with the need for him. The sensation was strange, but mysteriously pleasing. She nibbled lightly on his nipple. "And thy mind?"
His hand rested on her breast, rubbing the tip of her nipple between his thumb and forefinger until she thought she might go mad with desire. "My mind is filled with nothing but you."
Cassadara sighed. "Then perhaps like all men thy body rules thy mind."
"And perhaps you have bewitched me."
"Perhaps," Cassadara agreed as she snuggled back against him. "Mâk?"
"Mia~Ell?"
"How came ye to speak my language?"
A chuckle sounded deep in his throat, like the growl of a wolf. "I speak ten languages, M'Lady." He answered in Ogre, a sound so guttural that it might well have been the bark of an animal.
"What others?" she inquired in the language of the high elves.
"Elvin, Orcish,
Gnomish, and Troll."
The feel of his hands on her body made intelligent conversation nearly impossible. She already knew he spoke her language and his own as well as Dwarven and Common Tongue. She counted them twice to make sure. "That is only but nine."
"Both ancient and modern Elvin, Mia~Ell."
She would not be impressed. Others besides the sons of elite houses were educated in languages. "Ye art the son of a merchant, perhaps?"
"My father has been known to trade a bit from time to time."
His teeth closed over her earlobe, nipping at the clan symbol dangling from her ear. He slid his hand along her legs from behind, down over the outside then up along the inner curve of her thigh. She raised her heel to trace backwards along his leg as his hand slid into the opening she'd left available to him. One finger circled her clitoris, already engorged and sensitive to his touch. Another slipped inside her, then two.
She knew what he felt. She was already so wet at the thought of him that her juices flooded his hand. A fire consumed her from within. His fingers thrust into her while his thumb continued to tease the head of her clitoris, circling without touching, driving her mad with the wanting of him.
He had her breast in his mouth, tugging gently on the nipple ring, and she could feel his hot, thick cock throbbing against her hips. So close, so close to where she wanted him. She spread herself wider, beckoning him to enter. The tip of his cock grazed along her inner thigh and up, promising the contact she so desperately needed.
She sought to turn in his arms, to grant him access, but he held her where she was. His fingers, wet with her own moisture, moved to spread her gently, teasing, wetting, stretching her.
Still, she was surprised when he slowly pushed into her from behind, thrusting deeper until she held all of him inside. He paused there without moving, allowing her time to adapt to this new sensation. When she thought she would die if he didn't do something, his fingers began to stimulate her again, teasing her clitoris until she wanted to scream. She rocked against his hand, withdrawing some of his length from her, then moaning aloud as he thrust back in.
The dance took on a rhythm, filling her with an aching need as she shuddered against him. The first climax took her by surprise, ripped through her with a force she had never expected, while another crested right on its waning edge, and then another and another.
Still, he showed no signs of tiring. She clawed at him, desperate to reach any part she might touch or kiss or bite. Her cries of pleasure became animalistic, first little whimpers and then finally, as he moved faster within her, thrusting deeper, her voice broke to a crescendo, the mating call of the Wolf.
As his voice joined hers, his pace furious, she felt him break, shattering inside of her as his seed mixed with her wetness. Her body shook in one last convulsive dance before the blackness overcame her.
* * * * *
"Mia~Ell?"
Sleep still held her in its welcoming arms. "Mmm."
"The day is far advanced. Still the Dwarven woman has not knocked on your door."
Indeed, the sun was at a most annoying angle. She thought to ask which day it was, then decided she did not want to know. Still, she had no desire to rise. It had been so long since she'd actually slept. "Send the servants to fetch her."
Humor tinged his voice, so that his words stroked her like a soft hand. "I am your only servant at present, M'Lady, and I should prefer not to wander the town in your undergarments."
He had not the proper attitude for a servant, in any case. "Fear ye not my wrath for disobeying me?"
The humor in his voice turned to outright laughter. "No, M'Lady. I fear you not."
She turned her head away from the window with its annoying light. "Then come ye back to bed."
A warm, naked body slid onto the pallet beside her. "As you wish, M'Lady."
His arms encircled her as if to do so were his right. And if his familiarity stole a piece of her soul she made no protest. She rolled in his arms to face him, her hands returning his caresses. "I meant to sleep, foolish one. Do ye never sleep?"
He inclined his head to nuzzle her ear. "I am bewitched, remember? I am destined to do nothing but lie abed with you."
She let her eyes drift closed, enjoying the feel of his lips on her skin. "Then we must away to somewhere with a more comfortable bed."
"My father's house has many comfortable beds. We could try them all until you pronounce a favorite."
"That sounds most enjoyable." Except that…
Cassadara opened her eyes, searching the face before her. "Thy father be no simple merchant."
Deep green eyes settled their full attention on her, mesmerizing her. "No, Mistress," he said softly, "he is not."
A man who spoke ten languages and was raised in a house with many beds might well treat her as an equal. "Ye were raised in a house of privilege."
He smiled at her, humor still in the forefront, as if such information made no difference. "I was."
She sighed. "Thy father must mourn thy loss."
"As your mother would."
Uncomfortable feelings of responsibility settled firmly in place. Mother would see in this an opportunity to place one of the houses in her debt. Mother would see alliances and settlements. All Cassadara could see was the loss she would feel when he left her. "I must return ye to him I fear. For I would not have thy father's grief on my hands."
He shrugged slightly, as if his birth made no difference. "Nor would I your Mother's. I pledged you my bond."
"Ye pledged me the bond of a slave. The son of a noble house has responsibilities that outweigh any such bond."
He brushed his lips over the spot where her pulse beat in her throat. "I am still your slave."
The gentle caress of his lips stirred a heat in her that made thinking nearly impossible. "Thy bond to me is fulfilled."
His kisses made their way down over her chest, circling ever closer to her aching nipples. "And what of you? Have you had your fill of me?"
"What I want is of no consequence," she assured him, though her body betrayed her hunger. "We have responsibilities…"
"I am pledged to see this mission through with you," he insisted.
No matter the politics of the situation, she had no desire to dissuade him from remaining at her side. "What know ye of my mission?"
His kisses nuzzled her breastbone. "'Tis said you go to negotiate a truce with the House of Yarishet. A dangerous business at best."
"Aye. I canna argue with thy logic."
"'Tis a fool's errand," he growled. "What would posses House Lochinvar to send one of her prized possessions, a treasured daughter, across leagues of dangerous territory in the midst of a war to negotiate a treaty that will mean nothing four seasons from now?"
"Yarishet requested a daughter," she explained. "House Lochinvar has daughters to spare. I am expendable. My mission is expendable. My death would gain a grievance against House Yarishet. I am but a pawn in a war fought by political advisors who know not the taste of the mud of a battlefield."
"You are more than a pawn to me, M'Lady. And you do not taste of mud."
How could she talk politics while his lips did such incredible things to her breasts? She allowed herself the pleasure of a night without politics, without allies or enemies, as she slid her hands along his body. She wanted to tell him how good she felt just lying there in his arms, letting go of all thought outside the room and their mating, but she kept such thoughts to herself. Instead she nipped his shoulder, teasing him with the caress of her tongue when he yelped a protest. She wriggled beneath him, nudging him towards the mating she desired.
Without further preliminaries he thrust his hard, hot penis into her.
She was ready for him. She knew she had always been ready for him. Her body leapt at his touch, slamming hard against him. Her wet sheath tightened over him almost instantly, aching for climax. He thrust into her harder, deeper, filling her to capacity. She clenched around him, striving to hold him there, but
he withdrew, only to slam into her again and again.
"By the gods," she breathed out.
She could feel the weight of his balls slapping against her, hot and heavy, ready to explode. She bit his shoulder, hard, leaving a trace of blood behind, which she licked away. Helpless to control herself, she contracted around him, feeling the waves of pleasure spread through her body again and again.
Her climaxes only spurred him to drive into her harder. Her hips bucked to meet him thrust for thrust, pushing the pace to their limits. She felt his breath against her like a blast of heat, scorching her breasts with an aching need to be touched.
"Sing for me," he gritted out as his teeth closed over her aching nipple. He took the black metal ring in his mouth, twisting gently with his tongue.
She had no choice.
The cry spilled from her as his seed burst within her yet again, the final climax washing over her like the burst of a summer lightning storm. To her satisfaction, she felt him answer her call as he broke, a look almost like pain washing over his face.
As she drifted off to sleep, wrapped in his arms, Cassadara reflected that the Dwarf had not lied. She had gotten her money's worth.
Chapter Three
The sun was sneaking into the eastern sky like a thief trying not to be noticed. Cassadara opened her eyes slowly, cursing the curtainless window. She rolled until the sun could not find her, allowing her eyes to adjust. Pushing herself up on her knees, she surveyed the small room.
A table and bench lined the wall opposite the window. A door, closed and bolted, interrupted the wall in front of her. She lay on a small straw-stuffed pallet that provided no insulation from the cold floor. Her tartan had been draped across her like a blanket. Still, she was cold.
The space beside where she had lain was cold.
She was alone.
She climbed to her feet. Perhaps his leaving was for the best. Her spell would have worn off by now. She need not see the remnants of lust in his eyes and wonder at the fire that no longer burned for her there.
Way of The WOlf: The Northlanders Book I Page 3