by Lilia Ford
Damian released her hair and brought his hand around to fondle her breasts, which sent bursts of sensation through her. She instinctively shifted her hips, rubbing against the leather of the saddle, feeling a desperate need for something—anything—that would give relief.
“My wanton little bride,” Damian murmured as he made open kisses against her neck.
“Damian, don’t say that!” she cried out, appalled that he would think such a thing of her.
“I do say it, little one. I consider it only fair that my bride be tormented by desire, since I am about to die of it. Soon you will be tied to my bed, Genevieve, and when I am finished with you, you will scream shamelessly for me to give you your release.”
Genevieve’s eyes glazed, and she couldn’t help squirming again.
“Oh no you don’t,” he said and lifted her up by the waist. “Put your leg over again.”
Genevieve mewed unhappily but obeyed. He turned her so that she faced away again, her legs in the proper ladylike position, though there was no sidesaddle.
“Soon, darling, but for now you will have to wait.”
Damian held her securely around the waist with one arm, while the other gently massaged her arms and wrists. In the meantime, he nudged the horse into a full gallop though the road was utterly dark.
Genevieve instinctively protested, lest Damian get them both killed before he could satisfy this desperate hunger, but he whispered, “Hush, little one. This is Nightshade, Declan’s horse, bred in Faerie. He needs no bridle, and day or night, he is incapable of making a misstep.”
The rest of the ride passed quickly as the horse effortlessly climbed the steep road to the Blacks’ mountain fortress. The smooth motion should have put her to sleep, but the light brush of Damian’s hands over her breasts, stomach, thighs kept her desires stoked too high to even contemplate sleep.
Finally, the horse clattered into a dark stable yard. Damian was off in a second, hoisting her over his shoulder just as Derek had, only somehow Damian’s hand found its way under her skirt to grip the bare skin above her garters.
He let out a sharp whistle, presumably for a stable hand, since he made no move to tend to Nightshade. Instead, he walked swiftly towards a dark building, which was much larger than her parents’ cottage, but wasn’t nearly as imposing as the fortress she’d seen from the valley.
“Welcome, my love, to our new home,” he said with pretend pomp as he unlocked the door.
Genevieve couldn’t refrain from an audible snort that she would enter her married home slung over the shoulder of the provoking male who called himself her husband.
Damian snorted in turn. “Perhaps if my bride is extremely well-behaved and obedient, she may be permitted to see beyond our bedroom within the next four days.”
“Damian! You don’t mean that.”
“Don’t I? We have been granted a mere four days for a honeymoon, darling. I warned you there were areas where I claim the right to make all decisions and won’t tolerate challenges to my authority, and tonight you will learn what some of them are.”
He carried her through a dark room, unlocked a second door, through more rooms, then up a flight of stairs, and down a long corridor. True to his word, she could see nothing of the house, though she sensed the coolness of the stone walls.
Finally, he went through a doorway. Unlike the rest of the house, this room had at least the flickering light of a low fire. Damian slung her off his shoulder, landing her face down on the edge of a bed, her legs hanging down to the floor.
“Do not move,” he ordered.
Her skirt was caught about her waist, so she wriggled trying to get it to fall down, which led to a sharp slap on her buttocks.
“What did I say, Genevieve?” She stilled instantly. “Good girl,” he said, rubbing the spot he’d slapped, and then moved away.
Lights came up as Damian lit several candles, though she could see little except that she was lying on a large bed with elaborately carved posts, thick as tree-trunks, that spired towards the high ceiling.
She was quickly distracted as Damian pulled off her shoes, and then reached up and untied her garters, so deftly she hadn’t time to protest before her stockings were also off. He rolled her over and pulled her to sit on the edge of the bed. Before she could even look at the room, he was before her. He gently cradled her cheeks and kissed her.
“I’d thought to draw us a bath first, but it will have to wait.”
She pulled urgently at the bonds that held her wrists, wanting to touch him. Damian’s eyes blazed until his gaze positively smoldered.
“Damian,” she begged breathlessly, “let me go.”
He shook his head. “Not tonight, darling—don’t ask again.” He grasped her chin firmly to reinforce his point.
His words caused another burst of intense pleasure to shiver through her. He turned her to the side and began unbuttoning the back of her dress. She remained passive as he pulled her to stand so he could reach beneath her skirt and unbutton her petticoat. He pulled it to her feet, followed by her drawers. Finally he moved behind her and untied her wrists. Keeping hold of them, he brought her arms to the front, examining her wrists carefully.
Seeming satisfied, he kneaded them gently and then in the flash of an eye, ripped down her dress, leaving her in her shift and nothing else.
She instinctively tried to cover herself with her arms, but he caught her wrists again and loosely tied them together in front of her. He led her to a small door. “Two minutes to take care of your needs, Genevieve. Don’t make me come get you.”
He gave her buttocks a knowing rub as a warning and pushed her through the door into an enormous bathing chamber.
In addition to a massive marble bathtub, the room had a fully plumbed water closet enclosed in a wooden cabinet. She had just enough time to use the necessary and wash her hands and face at the sink when Damian opened the door and led her out again.
He stood her before the bedpost and lifted her bound hands well above her head. When he let go, they were attached to a ring high on the post. Before she could protest, he pressed his body against her back, kissing the side of her neck, his hands everywhere, caressing her breasts through the shift, up and down her bare arms, and then slipping under the bottom of the shift to glide up her sides. At the same time he pushed his leg between hers, nudging until she moved her legs apart. Something hard pressed against her hips, which she realized was his member.
Genevieve was desperate by now and groaned loudly as she writhed against him. He kissed the top of her head. “There’s my wanton girl. My turn. I won’t be long.”
She let out a scream of outrage as he ducked into the bathing chamber himself. She tore furiously at the bonds, wishing at that moment she could get her hands on his throat!
Her anger faded when he came out: he’d taken off his shirt, and there was nothing to hide the signs of his arousal pressing against his trousers. Genevieve drew in a shaky breath. Damian stood for a long moment watching her. Her already broiling desires burned even hotter; strange mewing sounds came from her.
Damian walked closer until he was right in front. He stroked her cheek gently with the back of his hand and then reached beneath the shift and brought his hands up her sides until he could rub her breasts with his thumbs. He pinched and fingered one breast, while he pulled her closer with his other hand. This time, his hardness was in front and rested against the vee of her legs.
She strained against the bonds, insane lust making her desperate to fondle him. Wanton indeed—she couldn’t recognize herself. Damian kissed her deeply and then slowly lowered to the floor, giving her soft kisses all down her front.
Once he was on his knees, he nuzzled her… private place, which woke her from her daze. “Damian! What are you doing?” she cried.
He gave her an unmistakable look. “Grip the post and do not move, Genevieve, or I will take you over my knee.”
To her surprise, Genevieve felt an overpowering instinct to obey him
. She gripped the post as tightly as she could while Damian lifted her left leg and pulled it over his shoulder.
His head disappeared beneath the shift, and then Genevieve screamed as loud as she ever had in her life.
He gave her no time to prepare: Damian put his mouth to her sex, his tongue sweeping through her folds, over and over, before plunging inside her. Finally, after he’d tasted what seemed like every part of her, he latched onto her bud, sucking and laving with his tongue. With her hands bound, her legs pinned, she could offer no resistance, find no escape from the overpowering sensations blasting through her.
Seconds, minutes, she had no sense of what was happening except that she was hurtling towards some unknown point. Her desire was at such a pitch that she felt like she’d die if he stopped, even though she was terrified that her body had flown utterly out of her control.
Damian was relentless, his tongue pushing her until finally she reached a point where she knew retreat was no longer possible. He gripped her hips tightly as her body shuddered violently again and again while she screamed his name.
Afterwards she wasn’t sure how she ended up on the bed, sobbing against Damian’s chest while he stroked her hair and whispered gentle reassurances. After a few minutes, she calmed somewhat and looked at him, tentatively stroking his face with her bound hands.
He helped her sit up and held a glass to her lips. She drank deeply realizing how thirsty she was. Damian’s expression was hard to read in the flickering candlelight. “Darling, I’m afraid this part will be more difficult for you—do you know what I’m speaking of?” he said gently.
She nodded, gnawing her lip nervously. “The priestess explained what would happen.”
Though she’d apparently left much out of her brief, decidedly unsensual description of the sex act.
“If you wish, you may wear your shift just for tonight, but I’m going to bind your hands to the bed. Do you wish to keep the shift?”
She nodded slowly. Damian kissed her forehead and then untied the sash that had bound her hands together, again rubbing her wrists thoroughly. He gently lowered her down onto the pillows. Her hands suddenly free, she touched his face.
He smiled but said firmly, “Raise your arms above your head, darling.”
She closed her eyes and forced herself to lift her arms, though suddenly they felt impossibly heavy. They finally landed by her ears.
“Further Genevieve. Spread them apart as wide as you can—no more dawdling.”
She shuddered at that iron tone but did as he ordered. She couldn’t stop tears from welling as he attached leather bands to her wrists and pulled her arms taut above her head. One of his legs was draped over hers, and she found even more than before that she couldn’t move at all.
He kissed the tears tenderly and stood to unbutton his trousers. She closed her eyes knowing she shouldn’t look, but a second later unladylike curiosity won out, and she raised her head to see.
But it was too late. Damian was on top of her, pinning her with his weight. He roughly caressed her breasts as he took deep kisses from her mouth. He tasted different, which she realized with a jolt of lust was from her. Damian moved down, and suddenly he had one of her breasts in his mouth. He licked and sucked on one and then moved to the other.
“Spread your legs, darling. It’s time. I can’t wait any longer.”
She shuddered and moved them apart a tiny bit. It was all he needed. Damian shifted until he was positioned between her thighs. He reached down, and she felt something moving along her swollen, drenched folds.
She closed her eyes tightly as he fitted himself right at her entrance.
“Now, love,” he said, and he thrust in fully. She cried out, shaking from the sharp, tearing pain. “The worst is over,” he said gently, kissing her. “I’ll hold as long as I can so you can become accustomed to me, but it won’t be long, I’m afraid.”
He lay still, his face taut with the strain. After a few minutes, the burning pain faded, and she became aware of the unfamiliar, hot fullness. But his stillness felt wrong somehow. To her embarrassment, her muscles squeezed involuntarily around him.
“Darling,” he groaned out, “if you do that I won’t….”
She made an apologetic squeak, her face burning with mortification, but she couldn’t seem to stop her hips from pushing up against his weight.
“Darling, I can’t…” he said huskily and started to pulse. He managed to keep the movements slow at first, but they were too careful. Genevieve couldn’t bear it and struggled madly against the bonds, trying to move her hips. Damian moved then for real, rising up on his arms and thrusting powerfully inside her. To her astonishment, pleasure began to build again until she was moaning loudly.
“I think my bride is ready for another orgasm.”
“No, Damian!” she cried, not knowing what she was saying. “Please.”
His smile was almost cruel as he shifted his movements, twisting his hips just a tiny bit. The effect was instantaneous: she shattered into pieces, her entire body wrenching helplessly. His thrusts became urgent as he drove into her with all his force and finally let out a brutal yell. She could feel the spreading warmth as he released inside her.
His body relaxed, though he used his forearms to keep from putting his full weight on her. He stayed like that, softening within her, until he slipped out. He reached over her head then and clicked something. Suddenly she could move her arms freely, though she quickly realized that the cuffs on her wrists were still fastened to light chains attached to the headboard. Damian lay on his side next to her and rubbed her arms, soothing away the tingling. Then he pulled her into the crook of his arm and just held her. Within moments she was asleep.
Chapter Twelve
Damian waited until Genevieve was in a deep sleep before he rose from the bed. There was little he could do before she woke and could bathe, but he could at least wet a cloth and do his best to clean the effects of their lovemaking so that she might sleep more comfortably. She hardly stirred as he gently washed her thighs, down her calves, and finally along her sex. He was sorely tempted to toss away the cloth and continue with his mouth, but he knew she must be utterly exhausted.
Meanwhile, the grey glow from the windows warned him it was almost dawn. He quickly slipped on a pair of linen trousers, but didn’t bother with anything else as the night was mild. Though he would be away from the room for only a few minutes, he took a lingering look at Genevieve. The sight of her sleeping sweetly while bound to his bed filled him with unutterable contentment—as well as gifting him with yet another painful erection, which he tried fruitlessly to tame. Until she’d had time to rest and recover, he would find no relief. But he needed to attend to his errand.
He made his way through the hallway, down the stairs to the dining room, where he unlocked a hidden door that led to the kitchen and finally outside. The stable yard was empty, but Damian spotted Declan seated on a bench at the edge of the cherry orchard. His sire had said he would retrieve Nightshade at dawn and guessed correctly that Damian would want to speak to him—Declan was the only person other than Genevieve that Damian could even stomach speaking to today.
Thankfully, the servants had been sent away, and Derek and Donal were covering for him at the demon gate for the next few days. Food would be delivered from the castle kitchens to their door, but otherwise they would have the house to themselves.
“I can tell just by looking that your first night together went well,” Declan said when Damian walked up to him.
Damian thought that a criminal understatement. “It was beyond my wildest dreams.”
“I rejoice for you. Titania’s gift of the heartwood has once again proved its worth to our family.”
“Sire…” Damian said tentatively.
“You understand now why I wished to be present when you opened the box.”
Damian sighed and sat down next to Declan. “How did you know?”
“The shawl: the girl who wove it possesses great po
wer to torment herself.”
“I would be grateful for your advice,” Damian said, his face burning. It humiliated him to admit it, but tonight had been perfect, Genevieve’s passion so ardent, her trust so instinctive. He couldn’t bear that any misstep of his should spoil things.
Declan nodded but did not show any triumph at having been proved right. “This evening we both discovered the risks of showing her any marked displeasure. I’d just looked within her box, yet even I was caught off guard at how rapidly her mind leapt from the mere threat of my anger to the complete loss of your affections.”
Damian nodded, hating that they’d unknowingly caused Genevieve to fear for his love. “But the box…” Damian said finally. He was still a bit staggered by what they’d found. Thank Titania Declan had insisted Genevieve not be allowed to look inside. In many ways she was so innocent, and yet the contents of her box were not. What would it have done to her if Damian had thrown it open before her with no preparation?
“I’m glad you do not underestimate the challenges you face. She will require careful handling. I advise you to focus on play, so that she may discover the sensual pleasures that accompany this part of her nature. Give her small reminders of your mastery—always with a playful, affectionate tone. You need her to feel secure enough to disobey or tease you.”
“You think I should avoid any discipline?” Damian asked.
“Does that disappoint you?”
Declan’s look was so penetrating, Damian realized his sire already knew the answer before he himself did. “No,” he said, understanding the truth as he spoke. He needed Genevieve to submit to him, and his desire to bind her amounted almost to an obsession, but he felt no satisfaction at the idea of giving her pain. He recalled now that Declan had once admitted that he felt a strong need to punish. “I would not deny her needs, but I get no pleasure from that. But the box…” he said again. Its contents indicated that this was no small part of her nature. “You really think bedroom play will be enough for her?”