Chapter Twenty-One
Friedrich let her soak in the hot bath for nearly an hour in the bathing chamber connected to his bedroom. While he wondered if this were the right course of action, to mark her under forced circumstances, the feral beast that was his desire for Brennalyn paced and snarled in his cage. Craving took on new meaning when he thought of her—a gut-punching, brain-hazing, soul-stealing enigma that burrowed inside his chest and wouldn’t go away. Not until he’d taken her. And not even then.
Unable to resist any longer, he padded across his bedchamber in bare feet, wearing only his trousers. When he reached for the knob, the door clicked open. Donning her chemise and the silky pearl wrap he’d given her—for that was all he’d placed in the room for her to put on—she looked up from dark lashes, clumped together from the steamy bath. No sign of tears, but definite signs of trepidation. And for good cause.
Her gaze roved across his broad chest, down his abdomen and lower, obviously noting the extent of his arousal despite the darkness of the room. The halcyon glow from the fireplace and the candelabra on the side of his bed were behind him, casting him in a dark silhouette. Whatever she could see in the shadowy corner where they stood, she liked. Her pupils dilated and her pulse leapt into a gallop as her gaze made a steady perusal.
Pleased at her admiration, he took her hand and guided her to the foot of his bed. Without a word, he untied the sash of her robe and slipped it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. She stood in nothing but her insubstantial chemise, trembling.
“Are you frightened?” he asked.
Those dark, soulful eyes stared up at him. “A little,” she admitted.
His heart clenched. So honest. So vulnerable. He caressed his palms up and down her bare arms, warming the silky surface. Dipping his head low, he whispered against her lips, “Don’t be.” After a thorough kiss where he coaxed her lips wide and stroked his tongue over hers till she whimpered, he pulled back. “Turn around.”
She obeyed, facing his enormous bed draped in silvery, sheer curtains and covered in a midnight-blue velvet counterpane.
She gripped the thick bedpost, and the sight of her delicate, pale fingers wrapping the hard wood made him groan as he pulled the ribbons of her chemise at the shoulders and watched it sail to the floor, baring the lovely curve of her spine and perfect ass, her black wavy tresses brushing her hip and the two dimples at the small of her back. He’d fantasized about this for so long, he wanted to soak in every inch of her before he covered her body with his own.
He crouched behind her. “Lift your leg.”
She did, allowing him to pull away the chemise at her ankles. “Now the other.” He tossed it somewhere into the shadows but remained behind her on his knees, his hands caressing her ankles and up her calves in no hurry at all.
She looked down over her shoulder, her grip tightening on the bedpost. He grazed the tips feather-light up her calves to the back of her knees. She quivered, a soft gasp escaping. His gaze lifted to her own as he opened his mouth and pressed a suckling kiss to the back of one milky thigh. She bit her bottom lip, partially suppressing a needy moan.
“You are going to be my woman, Brennalyn Snow. After tonight.”
He waited for her to protest, to refuse his claim on her, to say that she belonged to no man like she had multiple times before. But she didn’t. And that had sealed her fate. As well as his own. He was shaking with hot lust and the need to fill her body, but he remained on his knees, in supplication, worshipping her beauty from below.
“Let go of the bedpost,” he commanded, his voice thick, fangs protruding.
Hesitantly, she did. With gentle hands, he gripped her hips and turned her then nudged her to the center of the bed.
“Lean backward and put your palms on the bed.” Moving much slower, she still obeyed.
He sculpted his hands along her sides, dipping at her tiny waist and up to the ridges of her ribcage, ghosting past the swell of her breasts then back down, letting his hands and eyes feast on the exquisite loveliness of this woman. Her black, wavy hair fell over her breasts, a stark contrast to her moon-pale skin. He slid his hands over silky flesh, her full hips and thighs. She let out a choked sound, breath becoming ragged.
He kissed the front of one thigh, trailing slow, open-mouthed nips higher. Her legs trembled.
She pushed up off the bed. “Friedrich,” she protested on a whisper.
He gripped her hips tighter. “Hands on the bed, kitten.”
He nicked her skin with a fang high on one thigh, piercing just enough to give her a thread of his elixir. She jumped. He licked the tiny blood drop, healing the scratch instantly. She leaned backward with a sigh and flattened her palms on the bed as he’d told her. Every time she obeyed him—his wild, fierce tigress—she burrowed deeper inside of him. So strange. He thought her obedience would give him more control over her and these emotions she stirred. And yet, it had the opposite effect. It was as if she’d coiled a rope around his ribs and each sweet acquiescence of hers cinched the rope tighter, binding him closer. He wished he could just toss her on the bed, fuck her hard, then let her go like he did all the others. But he understood before he ever entered her body, right down to whatever the essence was that made up his soul, that once inside her, he’d be lost forever. And he didn’t fucking care. Nothing could stop him now. And knowing this would be a marking—a long ride of erotic pleasure where she must bend to him in every way and he to her—made his cock thicken and harden even more.
The scent of her arousal blazed into his lungs, making him flex every muscle of his body with restraint. He slid his hands up to the apex of her legs and opened her cleft with his thumbs. He set to work on her sweet center. She flinched at his intimate kiss, her breath catching on each exhalation. He swept his tongue in long strokes before honing in on her engorged nub, closing his lips and sucking with gentle tugs. She clenched a fist in his hair and rocked her pelvis forward, giving him better access to the sensitive bud. He needed her body languid and loose. For she was small, and he was a big man.
“Friedrich…please.”
She squeezed her grip in his hair tighter, stinging his scalp. He chuckled but didn’t let up. He kept his mouth where it was, sliding a long finger inside her and pumping in gentle strokes.
“You’re going to kill me with that mouth of yours,” she said on a breathy gasp.
Then her sex clenched hard at once, pulsing with a swift climax. She was so tight. His cock throbbed. He could take no more. Pulling his finger out and laving in one more hard lick that made her whimper, he stood, catching her by her soft thighs and spreading them wide.
Gripping her hips, he pulled her bottom to the edge of the bed. She stretched her arms out and clenched her fists into the velvet as he slid his cock up and down her slick folds, readying himself. Planting his other hand above her shoulder, he leaned over her. Instantly, her hands went to his chest, sliding delicate fingers over the grooves of his abdomen and up over his pectorals. She skimmed her palms over his hardened nipples and he hissed. She grinned, then did it again.
“How does a duke become so muscular?”
He slowed his movements below, having become entranced by her soft exploration of the planes of his chest and abdomen.
“I’m not so muscular,” he bit out between heavy breaths.
“You’re built like a blacksmith or something.”
“Have you been eyeing the blacksmith, Miss Snow?”
“No, Your Grace.” Her fingers trailed lower toward his hips. “I only have eyes for you.” Her gaze dropped and her mouth opened wide in surprise.
“You’re—” she started and stopped on a labored breath.
Keeping his feet firmly planted on the carpeted floor, he nudged the head of his cock at her entrance and squeezed her fleshy hips, loving her soft curves.
“Don’t worry, kitten.” Leaning over her and bracing his weight on one arm, he nudged in an inch, her tight heat taking him in. “I’ll fit.”
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“I’m not so sure,” she rasped.
He pushed in a few more inches, then she stopped talking altogether. The lines of her body arrested his ascent, stealing his breath—the lovely arch of her neck, her rosebud lips glistening and parted, her arms spread outward, fists clenching, her full breasts and dusky pink nipples peaked, the downward slant of her abdomen, her milky legs bent and spread wide. He could hardly fathom the beauty of her in full rapture, until he had her at this moment, open all the way for him and so unbelievably beautiful.
“For heaven’s sake, Friedrich.” She gripped his shoulders and dug in her nails. “Move.” He surged forward on a long glide till his pelvis hit her inner thighs, her body sealing around him like the tightest glove. Restraining a moment longer so that she stretched for him, sweat lining his brow, he slid his thumb into her thatch of hair, finding her swollen nub.
“Oh, my.” She smiled again, vixen-like.
He bit back a curse and lowered himself till his chest met her breasts. “My sentiments exactly, darling.”
Sliding his lips against hers, he pumped back in, loving the whimper he pulled from her throat.
“Less talking, more moving,” she demanded.
“You were the one who—”
She cupped his face and kissed him deeply, flicking her tongue sweetly, one of her heels sliding up the back of his thigh.
He rolled his spine and gave his tigress what she wanted, tunneling in and out of her sweet body like they were made for each other, finding the slick, sliding rhythm that was all their own. She panted out little cries even as she rocked up to meet his powerful thrusts. Her beautiful breasts jolted with each deep plunge. Then she wrapped her legs around his lower back, locking her ankles. Her shy gaze shifted, boring into his like she owned him. Because she fucking did.
“Fuck,” he muttered. With an urgent need, he scooped his arms behind her back and swept her torso up against his. His thighs braced against the bed, but he held her weight easily. Lifting her upright in his arms, she took possession of their tempo and ground in a circle. Cupping the cheeks of her beautiful ass, he showed her what it meant to be a vampire’s lover. To be his lover. Her full breasts pressed against the wall of his hard chest, her taut nipples sliding against him as he stood there and fucked her senseless using every muscle in his body.
She tossed her head back and laughed, setting her nails below his shoulder blades and clawing upward. He groaned and pumped harder, filling her with his scalding heat. She clenched a fist in his hair again, pulling his face to her arched neck. He needed no further instructions.
With a lick of her salty-sweet skin, he plunged his fangs deep, drinking in the ambrosia that was Brennalyn. Dark and sweet, his night-flower’s taste saturated his senses.
“Friedrich!” she screamed his name as she came, her sex pulsing in wild vibrations, milking him hard.
He groaned, sucking her blood deep, drinking his fill and pumping even harder till his cock thickened to bursting. She cried out again, her orgasm rolling into another as his own came crashing inside her.
He dropped his head back, feeling a trickle of blood escape his lips and slide down his chin, unable to do anything but strain and keep his cock buried so deep he never wanted to let her go.
“Oh my God,” she whispered into his ear, her head falling to his shoulder.
Keeping a tight grip on her, unwilling to separate from her body, he crawled on his knees onto the bed and up to the pillows, falling down with her then rolling to his back with her on top of him. Both of them panting, she went to ease off of him.
“No.” He caught her at the hips. “Not yet.”
She propped up with one hand on the mattress. “You’re truly strong.”
He grinned. “You noticed?”
That got him a full laugh. His chest swelled at the lovely sound. “You’re truly beautiful.”
Her smile dimmed. She shrugged a pearly white shoulder. “I’m a little plump.”
He frowned. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” His hands roamed over the round globes of her bottom and squeezed lightly before trailing up the indention at her lower back and along the curve of her spine. “I adore your body.”
She opened her mouth to say something, perhaps protest, her dainty fingers circling a pattern on his chest. She could lull him into a trance with those tiny fingers, but he needed her to understand something loud and clear. He rolled her over, pulling his cock from inside her. She gasped as he hovered above, planting a heavy thigh between her legs, his arms straight so he could see more of her.
“You’re the most beautiful fucking woman I’ve ever seen.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’ve probably seen dozens, maybe hundreds of women naked. I can hardly believe you’re telling me the truth.”
“I may be a pompous bastard and an arrogant prick on occasion, but I am not a liar.”
“Friedrich,” she said sweetly. “I agreed to come to your bed. You don’t have to flatter me anymore. I’m short and plump and well aware of it.”
He slid down till she could feel he was ready for her again. “You’re petite. And perfect.”
“Oh,” was all she could say when he pushed inside her slick heat again. “I didn’t know that—”
“Yes. I know you didn’t know. Because you’ve not yet been with a real man. Now you’re with me. And I’m going to lavish so much pleasure on this beautiful body, till you feel like the goddess you are.”
He pumped slowly now, giving her a nice long glide of his thick cock with a hard grind when his pelvis met hers. She tangled her fingers into his hair, her eyes sliding to half-mast.
“You want to know something I’ve been fantasizing about for quite some time?” he whispered against her lips, sucking her bottom lip and dragging his teeth too softly to break the skin.
“What?” she asked, planting her feet on the backs of his strong thighs and rocking her hips up to meet him.
“I want to lick every luscious inch of you. And I won’t be satisfied until all I can smell or taste is your musk and honey.”
She breathed a nervous laugh against his lips, unable to meet his gaze. “You say the naughtiest things for a duke.”
He arched a brow. “How many dukes have you known?”
She glanced up as if trying to remember. “None but you.”
He grinned, rolling his spine in a languid tempo. “Then perhaps all dukes say naughty things.”
“No.” Her tone had fallen, somber and sincere. Her dark eyes—deep brown-black pools of loveliness—could’ve pulled him into hell and he would’ve gone gladly. She whispered haltingly, as if she wasn’t sure she should say her next words too loud. For they were the kind of words that could soften hardened hearts. “There is no one like you.”
He closed his eyes and nuzzled into her raven hair, driving deeper inside of her until he was lost in sensation alone, floating somewhere he’d never been and from a place he never wanted to return. He thrust and ground while she pushed up and forward, finding their perfect rhythm, a harmony like no other. He fell deeper under her spell, all the while, whispering her name and feeling the invisible rope around his ribs squeezing him tighter till there was no need for air that he didn’t share with Brennalyn.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Brenna stared at the man stretched out beside her who happened to not be looking into her eyes but everywhere else. He reached for the plate next to her on the counterpane yet again.
After their first two couplings, he’d let her sleep for a short time. She’d awoken to being carried into the bath chamber and set into a second warm bath. This time, he’d taken care to wash her body himself—gently and thoroughly. He left for a while and returned to assist her back into her robe and into his bed. He’d brought back a glass of water and a plate of cold beef, soft bread, and sweetened winter berries of deepest red and purple.
And he’d insisted on feeding her. Rather than fight the obstinate man, she let him do so, for he seemed to be enjoyi
ng it entirely too much. When he popped yet another berry into her mouth, she savored the cool sweetness before chewing and swallowing. He seemed fascinated by the movement of her lips, jaw, and throat.
“Where in the world does Olog get these berries? Even winter berries can’t grow when the snows are this deep.”
“He has a small garden in a hothouse next to the southern stables.”
“Another secret of Winter Hill.”
Dark emotions swirled in the blue depths of his gaze. She must’ve touched a sensitive chord with the mention of secrets. Their intimacy in the soft candlelight made her brave.
“Will you tell me about your mother?”
He reached for the glass of wine on the nightstand behind him and handed it to her. “Drink.”
She did, then handed it back. Waiting. Hoping he would open up to her.
“She was a kind, compassionate mother to me when I was young.” She noted the distinction when he was young, but didn’t say a word to interrupt. He used the bottom of the wine stem to edge the flap of her silk robe open, then set the round bottom on the flat plane of her stomach. The cool glass felt intimately wonderful on her bare skin. “When I was ten, my father didn’t like me spending so much time with her.”
Brenna frowned. “What do you mean? How can you spend too much time with her? She was your mother.”
He met her gaze with a sardonic tilt of his mouth. “At that age, he meant for me to learn the skills of a man. To become a man. He felt her love was making me soft. So I was removed from my bedchamber in Pearl Tower near hers, to the farthest side of the castle. My days were filled with fencing, fighting, and learning the art and politics of the royal realm. And in my free time, I could read but never practice my art.” He glided the edge of the glass’s bottom up the center groove between her ribs and breasts, further opening the flaps of the robe. She sucked in and held a breath. “Drawing and art was a hobby for boys. Not for men, you see.”
The White Lily (Vampire Blood series) Page 19