Regency Rogues Omnibus

by Shirl Anders

  “Ye will bloody well fuck it all over, Kit. Stop it now!” Brynmore yanked on her leash and hooked his boot around her ankle, tumbling her back against him, when she nearly broke away. “I’ll take ye down,” he threatened.

  “Just try!” she cried, with her crazed anger suddenly turning her attack onto him. She balled her fingers into a fist and punched him in the gut. Ouch. But she let no sound of pain charge forth in her furious panting. Suddenly, Brynmore’s boot collided against both her ankles, collapsing their hold as they lifted and she began to tumble.

  Brynmore went down to one knee with Kit’s spine falling over his thigh. Bloody hell, the woman was a banshee when murderously riled and he’d been right about the ability of her fitness. For a woman she was strong and very agile. He just managed to waylay a nasty jab Kit sprung with her elbow aimed at his groin.

  “Stop it! Other people’s lives are hanging in danger with this that you know nothing about,” Brynmore hissed, as he shook her. “What we do here, does not only affect you!”

  “Grr rr ahh,” Kit groaned in shuddering frustration, her wild gaze darting over his face.

  Brynmore saw he’d caught a small portion of her attention. Finally! Yet he understood that he would lose it as quickly if he did not pounce on the small opening in Kit’s sudden vengeance-driven rage. Beyond putting the entire mission in jeopardy, he did not blame her for wanting to kill Hellion outright. He was from the clan and the clan lived and breathed the power of protecting its people and striking vengeance on any that would harm those within the unbreakable fold of its society. He knew what fury was raging in Kit’s heart, emotions that also gained momentum riding on the heights of the lust they’d been taunting. Provoked sexual tension of excruciating heights and any emotion so peaked, bastardized it, and could spike other calamitous emotions, such as righteous justice. An eye for an eye.

  He understood, but it was also bloody idiocy. He did not need this now! Right in the midst of possibly the first contact with the devil Hellion. However, he’d learned long ago, in the spying game, how to turn disadvantages into advantages and how to do it in the fluidity of the moment. One had to work with what they had and do it swiftly. Drummond would say there were no obstacles that a quick mind could not turn to effectiveness.

  Hence, his first thought was to use Kit’s rage, turning it some. Yes. They looked more realistic in outward appearance with it. Disadvantage turned into a boon. The only thing he’d planned was some type of wild feral scene between them, hoping to catch Hellion’s interest. Interest bred familiarity and that helped oil the way to contact. He could not show interest in Hellion first, he needed Hellion to believe it was himself who initiated it.

  “Use it.” Brynmore commanded, once more harshly, right before his mouth fell over Kit’s gasping lips. The first contact of their mouths colliding sent Kit into a renewed struggle. He sucked the furious air out of her mouth and in return she bit his bottom lip making him jerk his head back. She tried to tug free of his hand clamped to her upper arm, followed by his forearm across her belly, holding her body curled back over his thigh.

  “I hate you! Let me go!” she cried.

  Brynmore felt as if he had been punched in the gut again, only this time by a brawny man. The word, “hate,” shredded him internally as he forcefully controlled his reactions. “Hate me then!” he snapped, grabbing the back of Kit’s hair and tugging. “Attack me! Put it all on me, Kit. Do you hear me?”

  The sound Kit made was a cry of the challenge being met but also acute frustration or need. He could not tell which as his mouth dropped over hers again with ravaging intent. He dare not put his tongue into her mouth for fear she would bite it off, but she jabbed her own tongue into his mouth as their lips fought. Somewhere, in the riotous hot smearing of lips, Kit did turn her venom onto him. Their battle waged as he was left to claim and tame the firebrand she’d become.

  Every glimpse Kit got of Hellion, perching like an imperious malignancy, spurred her anger and she turned it toward Brynmore, because he was immediate and he incited her to do it. It did not help that she knew she was confused; feeling unhinged and out of control. That just made her angrier and determined to be strong and not show any weakness. So she fought, but somehow the victory became sexual fulfillment. A war, fought with wild carnal challenges, becoming a primitive mating thrall.

  Long since, she’d lost the impression of being in a crowd. That faded completely and her entire focus centered on the rugged man trying to tame her. She finally managed to do a maneuver that wrestled and rolled her spine off Brynmore’s thigh. She turned, trying to land on her hands and knees, intending to leap upward, the moment she could find leverage to do so. However, Brynmore held her nape and he used it to renew his hold on her other arm, now facing him, to tug her upright to her feet, but she leaped toward him nevertheless.

  Blimey, Kit was magnificent, Brynmore thought, even as he prayed that she would not bite his nipple, as she latched her lips to it, while her hands tunneled into his hair, tugging. He assumed his nipple was the most vulnerable place she could reach, as he hissed through the sharp pleasure-pain produced by her nipping teeth. He felt the slightest bit of relief that she showed by not drawing blood or biting the damn nubbin off. It seemed despite her demeanor that she did not have it in her heart to maim or try to kill him. Her attitude implied that, as she crawled over him and he kept just enough sense, between his pounding prick and Kit’s onslaught, to turn them closer into Hellion’s line of sight.

  Once he knew they were in a fair position for Hellion not to miss them if he chose to look, he forgot about Hellion. He dismissed the worry over whether Hellion would look, or be intrigued enough and be moved to speak to them. Any of it. He let it loose, as he turned his full attention to his woman and the wild scene they were creating. Bloody hell, he turned his attention to his prick finally. So hard, so stiff, so tight it hurt.

  He found bits of relief grinding it roughly into Kit’s mound, just above the diamond. His prick was so woody it was climbing upward toward his belly with rigid demand, pressing against the ruby caught on the top side. That prodding in the root of his groin brought with it pounding new pleasure points as he grabbed Kit’s bare ass beneath the scant edge of her loincloth. He lifted, helping the ruby’s grinding motion as Kit tugged his hair, hands on both sides of his head, moving it from one side to the other, while she sucked and bit on different planes of his neck. The points of her nipples prodded his chest, as one of her legs curled up over his hip. His body, with deep movements of its own, followed the pagan beats of the music, bobbing, swaying, and humping.

  Kit could feel the diamond, sliding around the lips of her sex, slick with her aroused juices. She whimpered at the tempo of lust-hungry pangs building in her slit, while her sweat-slick body slid like the diamond over Brynmore’s muscular tough body. The music, the heat, and the pungent smoke seemed to pummel through her and palpitate into her vagina. Irresistibly, one of her hands leaped downward, searching for the cure to her overwhelming need. Her hand found the head and the top half of Brynmore’s male shaft at the same moment his fingers stretched forward from cupping her buttocks to prod her aching sheath.

  “Ah!” Her moan was wild as she clawed up Brynmore’s swaying body an inch more, while her hand, shoved into his britches, closed tightly over the head of his thick organ. His teeth nipped her ear, while her body shuddered, as she bounced on the rapturous prods of his fingers. His fingers stretched to mate her and they reached half their length with each new plunging into her vagina, propelling her ardor to one clear demand within her mind.

  Kit suddenly lifted, pulled and dropped her body away from Brynmore’s. She did not let go of him, however, as her hands darted to the waistband of his britches, while their bodies combined in twirling circles. She tore at the buttons, renting them and trying to tug the flap open as Brynmore pushed forward propelling her backward. She was unaware that he moved them, while her concentration centered on his thick male shaft that her hand ha
d reached inward and gripped through the flap on his britches. Sudden awareness jolted through her panting senses, when the back of her knees hit something solid, but soft. Immediately, she felt the sensation of falling and her hand tightened on his engorged male rod, while her other hand clutched and clawed at his arm.

  Brynmore caught her fall, even as he propelled it, with a strong arm around her back, and then she was laid across one of the overlarge velvet-tufted ottomans placed around the outer edges of the inner circle of the chamber. The jolt of falling sharpened her mind to abruptly realize where she was and what she was doing. An onslaught of embarrassment, horror, trepidation, shame, with a host of other feelings meshed and started to charge through her mind and body.

  But then Brynmore’s strong unyielding body was saturating her with male heat and his mouth fell over her lips. The torrid sexual demand of his mouth annihilated all thought but one and her hand pumped urgently on his hot and unbending organ, so stiff it pitched its own motions within her hand. They swayed and undulated feverishly. Brynmore lifted and lowered his body with urgent fucking movements, while she followed with arduous twisting motions of her own. They were lost in panting fire, clawing and clutching at each other’s slick flesh as he growled his lust-filled demand at her and she hissed her hunger back at him.

  They were primitives, lost and consumed in a creation beyond their control.

  They ripped Brynmore’s cloak aside and tore her loincloth off, then a scream of repletion crashed from her throat as his male shaft impaled her. Her body arched like a bow as the jewels clacked together and Brynmore’s male rod sparked fire and rapture inside her. Her arms fell straight above her head as he pounded and her spine bowed, arched higher with her body twisting and panting. Her mind screamed, ‘yes, more, harder,’ over and over again as she was consumed with sensations writhing swiftly to imminent climax. Her cries spoke loudly of it as her body rocked and flopped to Brynmore’s wild thrusting.

  “Cut me!” Brynmore growled fiercely, trying to gain Kit’s attention over the hammering of their bodies. He could barely think of anything, but fucking his woman like the barbarian he really was and spewing his seed deep into her cunt. Yet some instinct lived in him, honed through many spying episodes and allowed him that one spark of control to remember the importance of blood at the climax of their plan.

  “Take my blood. Take my blood now!” With each hissed word Brynmore expelled, he thrust into Kit’s cunt. His dagger was free and he grasped the back of Kit’s neck, tugging as his hips drilled. Through his sweat-soaked gaze he could not be sure Kit had followed his command as he expelled sharply, one last time. “Take my blood, bitch!”

  He nicked Kit’s collarbone, close to the side curve of her slender neck. His gaze was a hand span above it, as his mouth dove for the small welling of blood. He growled as if he were a feral beast feasting on bloody meat, while Kit howled unearthly sounds of climax and ferocity. Brynmore felt the nick then, higher on the side of his neck as the slight pain bit, then Kit’s sucking mouth followed. His ejaculation exploded, shocking him at the last second by its surprise delivery at that moment. He knew he had been close, but. “Ah!”

  Beyond control, Kit’s lips smeared in Brynmore’s blood as the most intense climax claimed her soul and vaulted through her body. The bursting shocks of rapture continued, sparking brilliant flashes behind her closed eyes, her head fell back over the edge of whatever she lay upon. She could feel Brynmore’s thick organ releasing its lust deep inside her, the sensation making her writhe and moan even more producing another climax. It seemed that every sensation she was experiencing drew her into heights beyond normal human bounds, reaching for yet another climax. She was raw.

  If it was the drugging smoke, she did not know, but she wanted to believe it was the natural combustion of her and Brynmore together. That one small lucid thought after what seemed like hours of sexual senselessness brought Kit’s eyes open. Natural occurrence might have fluttered her eyelids shut again with the still rippling aftershocks of her climaxes had her sight not caught on something. The one thing that stopped them.

  Pink eyes!

  Hellion’s pink eyes glared at her as if daggers within his sight could pierce her skin. The shock felt as though her heartbeat stopped, then thudded to life again. Even with her head fallen back and her eyes upside down, she could never mistake, who it was glowering at her. She was arched over a railing, abutted to a small table that partly braced her spine, with her head fallen back over the edge. How had she gotten here? She had no idea how she’d ended nearly tossed into Hellion’s lap as he reclined on large pillows in a more private alcove of the club.

  “Bravo!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Brynmore’s head jerked upward from where he knelt on a thick railing with his hands braced on a small table beyond. Just a small knock of his hands and arms that braced him and he would fall atop Kit, whose legs curled over his upper back. Brynmore had never heard that voice before, nonetheless, with only one single word, “bravo,” he would recognize it anywhere. Hellion!

  Bloody bejesus, they were nearly on top of Hellion, and at the last moment Brynmore remembered to sneer, showing his teeth and the blood on his mouth. He nodded once in superior arrogance with his flaccid prick slipping from Kit’s cunty. At the same moment he tugged his hand, bracing the back of her neck, while moving backward off the rail and pulling her with him. His gaze swept Hellion’s group. There was Dame Baset, a brown-hooded figure whose face he could not see, Hellion’s servile man, but no sign of Cernno or Baco about. He gave Dame Baset a half-lidded sardonic glare, then sharply turned his head away from the group settling Kit onto her feet as he pulled his cloak off and wrapped it around her.

  “Is that blood sex?”

  Brynmore recognized Dame Baset’s accented voice behind him. He turned with Kit’s cheek laid to his bare chest as his arm curled over her shoulders. “One of its many forms,” he said, embedding low intensity into his voice.

  “Bring them closer.” It was Hellion’s voice behind where Dame Baset blocked the view of him. Brynmore took a calculated risk and he curled one side of his upper lip, starting to turn away in dismissal.

  “No wait!” Dame Baset said, with her hand grasping his forearm. “This will interest you,” Dame Baset’s last words rose with intensity above the thrumming music and vocal menagerie of sexual sounds bloating the belly of the club.

  Kit made herself hold onto some of the numbness she felt after discharging overloads of emotions. She was going to need to use deadened feelings to approach the company of Hellion, she thought. Grasping a glass of champagne from a passing servant’s tray, she gulped the liquid down with a following effort not to choke on the bubbles. Brynmore said nothing, only squeezing his wide hand over her shoulder as she hurriedly set the empty glass on the railing and turned to follow his guiding arm. So fortified, she walked into Hellion’s immediate presence. Perhaps it was the exhausting of intense emotions that cleared the way for more reasonable and intelligent thinking, or maybe it was Brynmore’s reminder that other people were risking their lives and depending on her. Whatever it was, more reasoned determination returned and she vowed silently that she would do this with as much skill as she could manage. She would outwit the devil. She had it in herself to do so and Clay’s life held, like a bright beacon in her soul, lighting her way toward that goal.

  The first thing she noticed about Hellion, when she set her loathing aside, was his presence. It exuded omnipotence. She realized right away that he expected reverence as his natural due, even from people he’d not met. It was insanity in the light of his pink eyes that contorted this and she was certain that some people saw his dementia as incited prophecy from an oracle of greater things than they could imagine. That was why she followed her first, crazy ... but she knew correct instinct, and she broke from Brynmore to sink to her knees, bowing before Hellion.

  It was what the crazy man expected. She knew it in her heart and a moment later when his hand
lifted toward her with a royal gesture of kissing it, her instincts were confirmed. Furthermore, she knew Brynmore would not grovel and that might irate Hellion, so someone had to work around it in this game they played. She never let herself think how disgusting it was to kiss the hand of a murderer.

  “Pet, come here,” Brynmore commanded.

  Kit rose to her feet and dutifully slid with undulations to Brynmore, who she found sprawled on pillows across from Hellion. That put her between Hellion and Brynmore around the half circle of pillows. Dame Baset reclined on the other side of Hellion and a mysteriously robed and hooded figure sat on the other end, facing the opposite direction as if not interested or included in the group. The nude male servant was gone.

  “Do you feel the power of the presence you are in, as your pet, does?” Hellion questioned in a low voice of languid, but somehow sinuous pace.

  Bloody hell. With the increased noise in the club, the only way Brynmore could catch Hellion’s suddenly lowered tone was by reading his lips. The only problem with that was he thought his mind was playing tricks, incredulous that Hellion had said what he did. So therefore, doubting if he had caught it right, Brynmore slanted a glance at Hellion, then away. He shrugged. “That would depend, lord, on who ye are suggesting is powerful.”

  Hellion’s thin lips flattened as his skeletal face seemed to draw inward. Brynmore noticed that Hellion’s glance returned to the ruby. It was now outside his pants and Brynmore touched it with two fingers, stroking it lightly as if he did it absently, perhaps to bring it erect. Then inspiration hit him. “I do have one so powerful that I gladly bow to,” he added.

  Hellion sat forward, it was a stationary leap actually, like the attack of a white bat. Brynmore held back his flinch, with only his eyes blinking, as Kit gasped, wordlessly.