What She Craves

by Lacy Danes

  Muscles shook as she slid her hips up and down him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth, begging him to do the same with his cock.

  His blood pounded through him, pulsating his body as he drifted in light-headed arousal. Each tug, rub, and caress of her body spent more of his essence onto her skin. The wetness between her thighs increased, and she moaned into their kiss.

  Blister it; he needed to feel the balmy heat on his cock. His knees gained purchase, and he edged back, allowing his phallus to slide between her legs as his fingers found her nipples.

  Good God, he needed to be in her. He struggled, shifting his hips back and forth to find her opening with the head of his cock. Scalding wetness slid along his prick and he stilled. He had found his home.

  She nipped on his tongue and a contraction of her womb pulled at the head of his cock. His eyes rolled behind his lids in sweet oblivion. He pushed in. The flesh, moist and warm, gave way to sheath him.

  He clenched his teeth, trying to slow his rising seed.

  Her hips jerked up, and pain ripped up his back as her nails dug deep. He pulled back to the tip—forget slow; he needed her—and lunged into her slick welcoming cunt, sliding their bodies across the sheets.

  She arched her hips to him. The molten pull of her cunny clasped his hardness, milking the essence from him. He bucked into her, encasing himself again and again, desperate for her to join him when he came.

  The muscles of his stomach tingled. His sack pulled closer to his body. Her oiled flesh slid, pulling him to the brink. He slowed his stroke, probing deeper, harder, pressing to the entrance of her womb.

  “AAAHHHHH,” he cried out, the first of the relieving bursts of seed erupting from his body and coating her womb. His shout echoed as spurt upon spurt flooded her, slickening her sheath, his cock, and oozing out onto his sack.

  His muscles shook, uncontrolled, and she thrashed beneath him. Grabbing him hard with her legs, her fingers scraped frantically up his back.

  “Rupert!” she screamed. Her body arching in waves as her velvet warmth clasped him again and again. Her spend depleted her, and she stilled beneath him, nipping at his shoulder.

  “The devil, lovely.” He stared down into her blue eyes, flushed face, and wild raspberry mane, then placed a kiss on the tip of her nose. Squeezing his eyes shut, he buried his face in her hair at the crook of her neck and inhaled her scent. “I won’t let you leave my life now that I have you.”

  Cora stretched. A smile repeatedly tugged at her lips. Rupert Roland possessed a kindness and generosity as a lover. Her lover.

  They had fallen asleep, entwined on his big bed, him still inside her, and slept that way for hours. She wasn’t sure when he slid from her body, but she awoke at one point her back to his stomach and a possessive male thigh about her hip. The most glorious feeling. She hoped to never lose the emotion again or him. Her eyes fluttered open.

  “Hold still.”

  Her gaze shot to the direction of Rupert’s voice. He sat in a chair by the side of the bed, sketchbook in one hand as the other one worked the paper with coal.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Drawing you.”

  Her eyes widened. He could draw.

  “Hold still a moment.” He reached out and tugged the sheet down a little to expose a bit of her scar.

  “Cora.” His fingers touched the hollow below her throat and slid down between her breasts, to her belly. “You stir me like no woman ever has.”

  She bit her lip. She would not leave him, and he needed to know.

  “Yes, Rupert.”

  “I’m no longer your ape?” A smile tugged his lips. His hair stood all a mess. His harsh angled chin unshaven, but oh the spark in those green, green eyes. Her stomach flip-flopped.

  “You’re everything.”

  His eyes widened, pinning her to the bed with just his stare.

  “Am I?” His voice deepened.

  Oh indeed, and more. Her tongue slid out and traced her lips, remembering the feel of his firm kiss. “I will stay with you, Rupert.”

  He dropped his sketchbook, stood, and stared down at her from the edge of the bed. His eyes held a million questions.

  “Cora?” He leaned in and kissed her possessively on the lips. Her heart soared, and pinpricks raced her skin.

  She wanted to stay with him no matter what. They would work though all of the questions, the uncertainty.

  “My ape.” She trailed her hand into the hair of his chest and down the line to his massive prick. He had filled her so thoroughly last night. The flesh between her thighs gushed with fluid she still felt. He was a potent man.

  His hand trailed to her breast and pinched her nipple. “Yes, Cora. You will stay here?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “I am yours, Rupert.” She pushed up onto her hands and knees to show him he could have her any way he pleased, and this was how he wanted her last night.

  She turned her bum to the edge of the mattress. His steamy hands rubbed the fleshy spheres, bringing them to dew. “Enter me, Rupert. Do with me what you wish.”

  He growled like a cat and dug his fingers into her hip. Her ruler of the jungle. She parted her knees farther for him as touches slid down her crack and two fingers entered her pussy. Arching her spine, she pushed her bottom up to him.

  “You’re still soaked with my seed.” His fingers slid in and out, circling her clitoris after each stroke. Her muscles tightened and clenched, a slow heat building in her veins.

  He pulled her back so her knees balanced on the brink of the bed. One of his hands pressed the small of her back and the other guided the head of his prick to her folds. Just parting her labia, he stopped and rubbed his hands over her bum.

  “Cora. The tip of my cock is so red, so swollen as the apex parts the pink flesh of you. Can you feel your skin stretching, Cora? It is the most magnificent sight.”

  “Yes, oh yes.” He was the widest ever to enter her.

  He slid in a bit farther, stretching the tender flesh that greedily grasped for all of him. A groan shook her body.

  “You’re so slick. I’m going to keep you so filled with my seed.” He plunged all the way in, in one fluid movement and sucked in through clenched teeth.

  The head of his prick pressed to her womb. He pushed harder, grinding his hips to her bum. Slight delicious pain sparked her womb, and she cried out.

  He slid back, pulling his prick to the tip of her again. “I’m so slick, so wet from you. Fuck…” His muscles shook and he slid back in hard, then gripped her hips and pounded in and out.

  The forceful motions shook her body; her breasts jiggled, dangling from her in rigid painful peaks. She leaned down onto her elbows and buried her face into the cover of the bed to stifle her cries. Each press of his erection into her heated flesh spread waves of delight up her body. Tingling pleasure tightened the muscles of her stomach and legs, building the bliss.

  She stared down between her legs and watched the motions of his thighs hitting hers, of his sack caressing her swollen clit each time he sunk in. She groaned as pressure pushed into the tight ring of her bum.

  Bit by bit, Rupert pushed a finger into her. The sensation so delightful her teeth clenched tight. She screamed, trying to prolong the time before the waves caressed her body. She failed. The blissful contractions erupted, lashing her with heat. Her pussy spasmed round his prick. Her bum locked about his finger as blinding white light flashed. She screamed again as his pace increased and fisted her hands in the blanket to steady herself.

  Abruptly he slowed, pulling the head to the edge of her folds as his prick pulsed. A burst of seed sprayed her lips and entrance, then ran down to coat her clit and dripped to the bedcovers below. He groaned and sunk all the way in, pressing his erection to her womb. Pulse after pulse beat the walls of her cunny as he once again filled her to gushing, tightening her muscles anew. A potent man. She squirmed as his finger touched her clit, and another flash of blissful contractions caressed her.

  A stea
my palm pressed to her lower back, and he pulled from her flesh, collapsing on the bed beside her.

  “Cora.”

  She turned her head to face him. “Rupert.”

  They stared into each other’s eyes. Their lips curved up and they broke into a fit of laughter. “Do you think we will ever leave this room?” Cora smirked.

  “Not if I can help it.” He pressed himself, already hard again, to her thigh.

  Night of the Taking

  1

  1802, England’s northern border.

  The hills of the Black Cullen on the Isle of Skyas.

  Stepping through the butcher’s door, Jessica gagged as the smell of rotting meat and blood surrounded her. How vile! Her stomach clenched, revolting against the strange aroma.

  The young man behind the counter hustled over. The smile, too big for his thin face, reached to the depth of his brown eyes. “Good day, miss. What ye be having?”

  She looked down at the list in her hand. Oh goodness, did she really have to get these disgusting things for Cook’s stew?

  “Do you have pig’s knuckles?” Her nose wrinkled.

  “Sure do, miss. How many ye be wanting?”

  “Ten, if you will.”

  He nodded his head and disappeared into the back of the shop. Make haste, dear butcher. She inhaled and her stomach rolled. Turning around, she hurried to the open door, gasping for the fresh air coming from the lane. The breeze tickled her nose. “Ahchoo!” Blinking, she inhaled again and her stomach stopped its revolt. The shopkeeper across the way closed his door and locked it. Humph. It was too early to close for the day.

  “Is there something happening in the village this night?” she called to the back of the store.

  “It’s the Full Moon Festival of Catus, miss.”

  “Ah.” Her lips curved up for the first time this week. A country festival would get her out of her aunt and uncle’s clutches for a few hours.

  “Here’s ye knuckles, miss.”

  “Thank you.” She wrapped her fingers about the string-bound cloth, and her hand grazed his blood-stained flesh. Her skin crawled and she tried not to shudder, for she did not want to offend him. “W-what is the festival celebrating?”

  “The night of the taking.” A sparkle lit his eyes and he winked.

  Taking…“Taking of what?”

  “The innocents, miss.”

  How strange. Her uncle jested about werewolves and black magic the entire trip to his cottage. Now the locals were talking of abductions and celebrating it.

  Her brows drew together and she shook her head. It sounded like foolishness to her, but she would sneak out to the celebration, if for no other reason than to escape the long list of duties her aunt had for her. If she planned to attend, she needed to know more. She eagerly leaned toward the butcher, wanting to learn all she could about this strange gathering.

  “So tell me the lore of this festival.”

  His face turned red, and he lowered his eyes. “’Tis the festival for the menfolk to reminisce about the Catus and pay tribute to ’em. Once the sun falls, the runners come and take the ones they choose.”

  Her lips pursed. “Intriguing. So how do they know someone is innocent?” Jessica’s cheeks grew warm. It’s not like you can tell by looking at someone.

  “By smell, I suppose.” He shrugged.

  Smell? Now she knew this was all for jest; no one could smell one’s innocence, but the festival still sounded fascinating. Nothing could keep her away. “And what do they do with the ones they choose?”

  “Don’t rightly know, miss. I have never been chosen. But the lore says blood will be shed and pleasure like none ye will experience again will be ’ad,” he said with longing in his voice.

  “Well, maybe this year.” She raised her eyebrows at the lad.

  “I certainly hope so. I’m to wed in two mont’s time, and then I won’t be considered.”

  Had he realized what he just admitted to her? She found it hard to believe a man of his age, although young, was still innocent. But who was she to talk? She had reached the spinster age of eight and twenty and still held on to her virtue. And was beginning to doubt her choice. Humph. “What if someone doesn’t want to go when they are chosen?”

  “Don’t rightly know, miss, but I have never seen them force anyone or anyone not want to go.”

  Her eyebrows drew together. They must do something pleasant with them. Why else would someone allow themselves to be abducted without a struggle? She tucked her package into her satchel.

  “Will we see ye at the festival?”

  “Indeed.”

  Turning, she walked from the shop.

  Walking down the dirt-rutted street, she clutched the list in her hand. Her dress clung to her sweat-soaked skin, and she raised her aching arm to wipe her brow. Good gracious, this was a rustic little town. The shops were no more than five paces wide, and they looked like one strong wind could topple the structures down.

  Looking across the lane, a harsh-featured red-haired man led a horse and wagon toward her. His build was that of a laborer, strong arms bunched and flexed under the fabric of his shirt, long lean legs encased in brown trousers. His dirtsmudged white shirt opened at the neck to reveal a sprinkling of what she imagined would be soft hair.

  The shirt of the common man still shocked and stirred her. That glimpse of skin at the top of the chest was so tempting to touch. She bit her lip as he continued up the lane in her direction. Before her father’s death, the only men she knew were those with shirts tied up so stiffly one wondered if they could swallow, let alone breathe.

  Tears stung her eyes. Papa. She looked to the sky. Blast it. It had been nine years since he passed, and if he saw her now, he would turn in his grave. He had never intended her to leech off her relatives for survival, but her stepbrother and his heir had died with him, leaving the entire fortune to pass out of the family line.

  Uncle Herman was nice enough but his wife…ugh. Her aunt had taken one look at her when she arrived this week and set off to give her the most revolting tasks. Like this—the feel of the butcher’s blood-stained flesh as she grasped the pig knuckles assaulted her again. Her body shuddered and she grimaced.

  If she could only find a husband, she could start her own life.

  Maybe…

  She glanced back at the redhead. His blue eyes met hers in regard and he winked. Her breath caught, her cheeks flamed, and she lowered her eyes.

  No! No! Being reserved was not how a plain spinster would find a suitor.

  She forced her eyes back up to see him smiling at her. Steadying herself, she drew in a breath—you can do this—straightened her shoulders, and winked back.

  A deep laugh erupted from him as he turned and continued to lead his wagon past her down the street.

  Goodness, she had actually flirted with him. Her whole body tingled with giddiness. Maybe he was unattached. She closed her eyes and imagined running her hands through his hair, the downy copper curls caressing her fingers, the salty taste of his skin as she kissed his lips and licked his cheeks. Umm, saliva flooded her mouth and she swallowed hard.

  Her fingertips foraging through the curly hair on his chest, as she relished the springy coarseness, his heart would beat strong beneath her hands. She would explore every inch of him. She shivered with longing to feel the warmth of his skin.

  Oh and his hands…He would touch her too. The labor roughened texture of his skin, dragging across her softness. The calluses on his thumbs scratching the sides of her sensitive breasts. Umm…gooseflesh rose on her sun-heated arms.

  Those thick fingers would feel splendid squeezing her legs and tickling her bottom. Her corset dug into her armpits as she struggled to take in air. Her breasts felt squished. How strange that never happened before. She squirmed trying to find a more comfortable position, but the garment restricted her.

  A humid breeze tickled her face and she imagined the tickle against her skin came from his breath as he leaned in to kiss her. />
  Her lips parted on a sigh and in invitation for the sweet harsh kiss she craved. How delightful to experience the touch and passion of another. Yet nothing happened. She bit her lower lip in disappointment and opened her eyes.

  He was gone. What! Blast, where did he go? A frown touched her lips. Well, she couldn’t expect to catch the first man she flirted with, now, could she? Sighing, she turned and continued to her uncle’s with the package of rotting meat tucked within her satchel.

  After finishing her chores and pretending to retire for the night, Jessica slipped out without even the tiniest of difficulty. She now had hours at her disposal. Her heart pounded and her cheeks hurt from the grin fixed to her face. It had been ages since she smiled like this.

  The joyous murmur that filled the air lifted her heart. Someone was humming a familiar tune. “Ta ta tata ta ta tata.” She started to hum along as she strolled through the stalls of the celebration.

  Inhaling deeply, the smell of rich mutton stew and sweet wine filled the air and her stomach growled. Oh my! She placed her hand over her middle to try to curb the grumbling. She should have eaten before leaving for the festival.

  The townsfolk had set up stalls to peddle their wares. The seller to the right of her sold paintings of all sorts of cats. Her eyes dwelled on a drawing of a woman with catlike features; the eyes were drawn as those of a cat and the ears came to a point at the top. Though the artist’s skill was quite amateurish, in an eerie way it looked remarkably real. What an imagination.

  Meandering farther down the street, the next stall peddled magic herbs of bat dung, fairy wing, and cat whiskers. She laughed out loud. What an odd theme of cat worship and magic there was in stall after stall.

  She approached one of the tables and saw that the woman sold necklaces with glass beads that looked like cat eyes. How beautiful. Her gaze settled on one set that possessed the most intriguing shade of green. Running her fingers over the smooth surface, her stomach fluttered in a peculiar way.

  The urge to purchase them, to remind her of this place and this strange festival, overwhelmed her. But she had only one coin and planned to buy something sweet. Her stomach growled as if a reminder. Placing her hand over her rumbling middle, she looked at the beads and bit her lip. The color was so unique. It reminded her of the first fresh leaves of spring, and she knew she would never forget them. But no, they weren’t practical.