by Lilia Ford
Genevieve would never understand why she obeyed. She had no sense that her mind had agreed to this outrage, but her body was acting outside her conscious control. Derek pulled the cot away from the wall and then nodded for her to put herself over the edge. Tears were streaming down her face as she heaved herself on.
Her instinct was to curl up on the bed, but Derek gently corrected her. “Too far. Slide down so your buttocks are right at the edge. The cot is low enough for your knees to rest on the floor.”
Her face was broiling, but she obeyed, pushing herself down with her arms until her knees reached the floor where he’d placed a thick cushion.
“Genevieve, you won’t be able to hold still—I’m going to tie you down so you can’t move at all. Do you understand?”
She was past wondering why she would obey him, but her body relaxed as he pulled both of her arms over her head and attached something to the wrist cuffs that held them taut. Next he pulled her dress up above her waist and tucked it in. That aroused a weak protest, but he soothed her and gently commanded her to lie still. A thick leather strap went around her waist, binding her tightly to the cot. Her upper body was completely immobilized, and she could see little of what he was doing.
He moved behind her then, causing her to cry out in fear, but he rubbed her back gently. “I still have to bind your legs. I will tell you before I start.”
He buckled what felt like more cuffs around each of her thighs and a moment later pulled the right one very tightly against the leg of the cot, followed by the left one. Derek let out an audible growl as he finished. She was aware that she was indecently splayed before him, but the rational existence where she worried about such things had become hazy and distant.
“Genevieve, it’s obvious my earlier spankings were not enough for you. This time I’m going to give you a real punishment, using the paddle. As it is your first time, I will not make you count. If at any time you absolutely can’t bear it, say the word ‘parole,’ and I will stop completely. Do you understand?”
She couldn’t answer.
“Genevieve,” he said in his iron tone. “What word must you say to make me stop?”
“Parole,” she murmured, though she had no understanding of how she’d answered.
A smooth wooden object brushed over her rear, the sensation pleasant, soothing. Then it moved away again. She couldn’t help tensing. There was an explosive crack, which she vaguely recognized was the sound of him hitting her body.
“One,” he said.
It took her a moment to take in the pain—it was much worse than the night before. So very much worse! She’d no idea physical pain like that existed.
He hit again. “Two.”
It was even harder! How was that possible?
“Three.” Only three!
Finally her mind caught up enough to produce a guttural scream.
“If you need me to stop, you know what you must say,” Derek said, his voice eerily calm.
“Four… five… six… seven,” followed rapidly.
With each blow, she determined to say the word, but what came out was only a long howl.
“Thirteen… fourteen… fifteen….”
Finally, she heard him say, “That is twenty.”
It was over—thank Titania. She couldn’t possibly bear any more.
But then he said, “Do you wish me to stop?”
To her utter horror, her head shook madly, and she croaked out, “No!”
Her speech had failed her when she needed to say the word “parole,” but not to tell him to continue! It was no longer in doubt: she really was possessed by a demon!
“Twenty more,” Derek rasped. “You need only say the word and I will stop.”
Twenty more. The idea was staggering, impossible. She could not possibly endure it, but as he kept hitting, she felt herself sinking deeper and deeper away from the part of herself that was capable of telling him to stop.
The pain had transformed itself into a blossoming, fragrant vine that slipped through her body, filling every part of her with its heady incense. There was nowhere it couldn’t go: its roots clawed their way through the packed soil that had long buried those hidden spots of anguish and guilt deep within her. The two pains, one familiar and stagnant, the other new and volatile, meshed and melted together, growing into something fresh and fascinating and vital.
She realized her hands and legs were unbound—he’d stopped. There was nothing but his hand rubbing the back of her neck almost… affectionately and the harsh sound of his breathing.
Then Derek let out a loud curse, and a bunch of things happened. He pushed her onto the cot on her side and then piled blankets onto her until she was weighted down. Not satisfied, he yanked her dress off and pulled her against his bare chest, rubbing her arms, blowing under the blankets. His skin was so hot it burned hers. He must have a fever. It was only then that she realized her teeth were chattering.
“Damn it, Genevieve! Why didn’t you stop me?”
The question struck her as silly: he was the one who’d pounded the power of lucid thought from her.
“Do you still want the promise?” She’d meant to sound arch, but her words slurred so much she sounded drunk. “Fine,” she giggled. “I promise—I won’t ever leave without permission. Is that what you want?” When he said nothing, she whispered, “Derek?”
Still nothing.
Right now the pain was muffled and distant, but in a very short time, it would utterly take over. What was she to do with it? Was he really going to leave her alone with it?
Suddenly her beautiful blossoming vine was seized by a toxic, stinking blight of fear.
“Derek,” she screamed again. “You really do hate me, don’t you?”
He clutched her tightly. “Genevieve, angel, hush. Never say that.”
“You do,” she rasped, her mouth dry. “I thought you wanted it. Gods! I never meant to make you so angry!”
“Genevieve, stop!” He shook her. “I—I could never hate you. You are so beautiful to me—so precious. I have never desired any woman like I desire you. You provoke me to madness! Don’t cry, angel.”
He began kissing her eyes, her forehead, her neck. When his lips touched hers, she instinctively opened her mouth and reached for him with her tongue. She could feel the shudder ripple through his body. He gripped her harder and plunged his tongue in.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt so the blistering heat of his chest burned against her breasts, causing her to arch back. His rigid arousal throbbed against her, maddening her with lust. The pleasure was too intense. It muffled the pain for now, and she instinctively grabbed at it, pushing her hips against his desperately.
“Angel…. If you do that…. Gods, Genevieve, forgive me.”
Suddenly Derek shifted her body down and lifted her right leg, resting it on his hip. A moment later he slid inside her.
“Stay with me, angel, let me help you,” he said, and then he began thrusting.
It took mere seconds for her to climax violently. But instead of peaking and waning, the orgasm didn’t fade. It made a mocking little dip and immediately began to build again.
It was too much. “Not again, Derek, I can’t,” she pleaded.
“You took the pain, you will take this,” he growled.
“No, I can’t, please,” she wailed, trying to push away from him.
“You can.”
He gripped her hair and yanked her head back, kissing her throat, all the time pumping urgently into her. Though she fought it, the tension was building inexorably, and to her addled mind, her unwillingness only added to the intensity.
“Now angel, come again for me,” he ordered savagely.
The second climax struck sharp and invasive—glittering shards of pleasurable pain like broken glass. Derek kept pace with her, driving into her convulsively, until he let out one short grunt that managed to hold a lifetime’s worth of desire in it.
The tears came the moment he stopped moving. First a
s a gentle rain, but quickly building to a storm of hoarse, wracking shudders. Derek gripped her, kissing her, murmuring words that soothed but conveyed no meaning to her at all. The door that held back the pain was suddenly ripped from its hinges, and the teasing trickle exploded into a raging river.
For the moment it drove everything else before it, but she was forgetting something crucial and when she remembered it, this river of pain would be nothing to the ocean that would drown her.
Chapter Twenty-two
Genevieve sank afterwards into a strange oblivion where the pain left everything, even itself, vague and indistinct. Her only anchor to solid reality was Derek. If he’d left her alone, she might have floated off into some inaccessible place of pure anguish, but he never left her, never moved except for the gentle rhythm of his breathing, the caress of his hand on her head, with occasional gentle kisses on her forehead. Her brain latched on to his scent of bracing cedar mixed with a hint of homely nutmeg—how fitting that Derek would smell like winter.
She felt nothing but affection for him, except at one point when he tried to get her to drink something cold. Any motion was painful and she slapped feebly at him.
Seconds, minutes, hours—she’d no clue how much time passed until something interrupted them, which she vaguely recognized was catastrophic.
A cheerful voice from up in the darkness called down, “You two killed each other yet?” It was Donal. “If you haven’t then it’s safe to come up. Damian obliterated the Reavers! I knew he was good, but this was bloody genius. They won’t bounce back from this any time soon. Derek, if you had seen him, I swear….”
Genevieve couldn’t listen to anything more about Damian’s victory. It was all she could do to keep from shattering. She remained passive as Derek carefully sat her up, pulled her dress over her head, and put her stockings and boots on. His face was grim, even more than usual, but he was infinitely gentle as he helped her stand and guided her over to the ladder. Walking was difficult, but somehow she managed to lift one leg up to the first rung and then push to bring her second leg up.
After that, the pain caught up with her again, and it was excruciating. She began shaking and sweating, worried she might be sick. She couldn’t imagine how she could possibly climb another rung.
Derek nuzzled her back gently. “Let me help you, angel—stay still.”
He lifted her by the underarms, raising her two more rungs, and then climbed up behind her. Lifting her without the floor to give him leverage proved far trickier. He wrapped his left arm around her waist and pulled himself up another rung. But unlike her underarms, the pressure on her waist pulled directly at the welts, and she cried out. Derek quickly pushed her up four more rungs, realizing there was no way to do this without causing her agony.
When they were close to the top, he called up, “You must pull her up—she’s hurt.”
Arms reached for her, easily lifting her out into blinding sunshine. Genevieve could do nothing but stand there, clutching her sides, trying to will herself to think clearly again. Suddenly someone was moving rapidly, threateningly towards her, and she instinctively shrank. Damian was before her, gripping her chin hard. She closed her eyes, trying to push away the piece of information that had gotten lost in the pain. He gripped her shoulder to turn her and then yanked up the back of her dress.
And then he let out a roar of rage and launched himself at Derek.
Genevieve had once seen two mastiffs attack each other. The dogs had fought so savagely, the helpless humans watching could do nothing to stop the battle until one was dead, the other mortally wounded.
Derek and Damian’s fight was every bit as ferocious. Damian looked insane with rage, while Derek appeared almost feral. Though they fought without weapons, their clash was so fast and violent, it was more than her brain could handle. She fell to her knees and let out a keening wail, tearing her hair. Breathing became difficult.
Before she fell over, strong arms gripped her—Donal again!
He nuzzled her cheek. “Genevieve, stay with me, sweetheart. Please, it’s not your fault. Declan is here, he’ll sort this out.”
Declan!
She let out a piercing shriek. He would kill her; he should kill her. She’d destroyed his family. Stars seemed to cascade over her vision, and everything went dim.
Some time later, consciousness returned. Genevieve was leaning against Donal, who was holding something to her lips. She drank down a sweet liquid that tasted of herbs and sunshine. She knew instinctively that it was no human drink.
A strange muffled calm flowed over her—as if she were hidden in the innermost part of a large stone house while a terrific storm raged outside. They were speaking around her.
Declan said, “Show me,” and then her dress flashed up and down. Just the air brushing against her backside made her wince in agony. Declan said, “I take it you have nothing to treat that?”
Derek answered, “No sire.”
“Unbelievable! Sire!” It was Damian. She’d never heard him like that—his voice was shaking with fury.
“Walk to the edge of the trees now!” snapped Declan. “Both of you!”
Declan turned back to her and gave her a kind smile. “Genevieve, listen to me, little one,” he said softly. “No one is angry at you. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
She felt laughter bubbling up inside of her. Nothing wrong except cheating on her husband with his own brother less than a week after her marriage. Could there be a greater monster?
“Talk to her, Donal. Don’t stop. Get her to finish the draft and see if you can get her promise to do nothing rash.”
Donal kissed her forehead. “You mad girl. I swear on Titania’s name that we will get this sorted.”
The tears started flowing then. Genevieve wanted desperately to cling to his kindness, but there was no part of her that felt she deserved it.
Donal held the cup to her lips again. “Time to drink, little sister. That’s right, all of it.”
When she’d finished, he kissed her nose. He was smiling. He had a glorious smile.
“I’m sure you don’t want to hear this right now, Genevieve, but after spending my life going without dessert, being cursed as the devil’s own get, and being thrashed daily by my brothers or Declan, I am overjoyed that at last there is someone else in the family who causes trouble. Damian is far too responsible, and Derek… well… thanks to the oversized stick up his rear end, he never broke a single rule during his entire childhood.
“I never imagined one little sister could wreak such havoc—truly you are a miracle! Though I must say, you are still but an imp in training as it were. Fortunately, I am currently at liberty and would be happy to act as tutor. If we joined forces, I have no doubt within a fortnight we could get up enough mayhem to drive everyone in the house stark raving mad.”
Genevieve let out a weak giggle. He was truly mad.
“But in return for my help, I must have a promise from you.” His tone had gentled. “Genevieve, swear to me you won’t try to hurt yourself over this. Please, sweetheart.”
Beneath his smile, she could see his concern.
“Please,” he whispered, clutching her to him.
Somehow she couldn’t refuse him.
“I swear,” she said sleepily, feeling the draft take over.
Declan watched as Donal miraculously managed to coax a promise from his new daughter and felt a tiny wisp of hope in what was otherwise a complete disaster. He hated that she felt such fear of him. Though Declan would never touch her, had never touched any woman since his beloved wife’s death centuries ago, he understood it.
This strange, extraordinary girl was like a divining rod when it came to the men of his family. Some part of her instinctively sensed the needs that drove them, needs that found an all-too-fertile ground within her. He would never lay a finger on her, but she saw him as head of the family, and that dark corner of her soul that believed she deserved the harshest imaginable punishments fixed on him.
He whistled for Nightshade. Donal stood with Genevieve in his arms. He passed her to Declan and then mounted the horse.
Damn Derek for a fool. He couldn’t even seat Genevieve on the horse without putting her in danger of ripping open the welts and risking a serious infection. Instead he gently laid her over the front of the saddle on her stomach.
He gripped Donal’s arm. “I know she gave her promise, but do not leave her for any reason—not for so much as a second.”
Declan watched as the import of his words sank in.
“I would go so far as to advise you to keep her in your arms. Follow your instincts, anything she needs to find comfort in this, you will give to her. Until your brothers resolve this quarrel, she must be able to rely on you. You can save this, Donal.”
He’d never seen this youngest, happiest of his sons appear so sober. Donal nodded and nudged Nightshade into motion.
That settled, Declan could turn his full anger on the two sons who deserved it. Both had been chastened enough by Genevieve’s misery to end their brawl, but Damian seethed with rage.
“Why have you sent her away?” he demanded. “I should be with her!”
“You will not go near her until you have mastered your anger. Whatever Derek’s sins, it was your rage at him that pushed her over the edge!” Declan turned to Derek. “How far did it go?” For the first time in his life, this most rigidly honor-bound of his sons couldn’t face him. “Was there intercourse?” he demanded. Derek nodded.
Damian attacked again and Derek, never one to tamely take a blow, struck back just as savagely.
“Enough!” Declan roared. Thankfully, his word was still enough to separate them. “Whatever anger, guilt, injury either of you thinks you feel is nothing, nothing to what Genevieve will experience. The moment she awakens she will begin lashing herself, taking on all of the blame for this fiasco. Is that your will, Damian? Because if you cannot forgive Derek, she will never forgive herself. She would not be the first bride to break under the needs of the men of my family.” Both sons were properly sobered by this. “Derek, you owe an explanation for this.”