by Bonnie Dee
She moved toward the bed, leaned over him and licked lightly over his right nipple. His senses were so heightened, he gasped as if she’d burned him with a brand. Gwyneth lightly nipped the taut bud, and his back arched off the bed. His reaction to her touch worked magic in her own body. Her nipples tingled, and her milk threatened to let down even though she’d so recently nursed Brea. And the fire between her legs…she didn’t even want to think about. Best to concentrate on the task at hand.
After she’d kissed and licked one nipple, she moved to the other side. He would be expecting the same treatment, little licks and nibbles, and so she gave him something totally different. She pinched his nipple hard, twisted it almost viciously. He hissed and bucked beneath her punishing fingers. She let go, replacing fingers with mouth and soothing him with soft licks.
Meanwhile, she scraped her fingernails down his stomach, clawing lightly all the way from chest to groin. The base of her palm bumped against his cock. She scratched the length of his shaft, and this time it was his hips rising off the bed, as far as they could with his legs bound.
Gwyneth retreated, leaving him to dwell on the sensation. She stood and moved to the foot of the bed, watching him as his chest moved up and down from his rapid breathing and his fingers curled and uncurled. His cock was quivering, and she wondered if he might come without her even stimulating it directly.
She brushed her fingertips from the soles of his feet to his toes. He jerked, pulling against his bonds. The homemade ropes stretched, but were braided tightly enough that they didn’t give. Gwyneth climbed on the bed between his spread legs and lowered her head. She swept her hair up the length of one of his legs, allowing the ends to tickle his flesh from ankle to thigh. Poor Svartan groaned.
She draped her hair over his cock, feathering his erection with swishes of the silky strands. And she did the same to his balls, teasing them with gentle playfulness. But pleasure was best balanced by a little pain, so she soon abandoned her friendly torture to try something a little rougher.
Again Gwyneth rose from the bed. She moved toward the top and leaned over to kiss Svartan’s mouth. His head rose from the pillow as he sought a deeper kiss, his tongue searching between her lips to find hers. She pulled away, leaving him reaching in vain and she went to the fire pit where hot coals burned red.
Candles were in short supply down here since the lighting was mostly from the strange crystals or oil lanterns, but Gwyneth had asked Agnet to get her a few, claiming the candle glow made her feel more at home. She drew the four-inch stub of a taper from her pocket, quickly stripped off her gown, then lit the candle from the coals on the hearth.
She watched the pretty yellow flame dance then grow steady. Wax melted, beading and rolling down toward her fingers. When the wax touched them, it barely stung. Gwyneth had secretly played with wax in her chamber, so she knew it would be just painful enough but not excruciating for Svartan.
Returning to the bed, she passed the candle over his chest close enough that he could feel the heat, but without spilling any wax on him…yet. His nostrils flared as he inhaled the waxy scent of the candle and understood what she was about to do.
“Just don’t singe the hair off my balls, please,” he murmured with a little smile.
“I wouldn’t dream of harming you more than you would enjoy.” She tipped the candle just a bit, and a thin drizzle of wax splashed onto his chest just above his left nipple.
Svartan gritted his teeth and frowned—or at least she thought he did. It was hard to tell, as that part of his face was hidden by the scarf. He set his jaw tight, steeling himself for her next assault.
Gwyneth watched the wax harden to a paler red. It made pretty patterns on his white skin. She drizzled a line below his breast bone down toward his belly, and it flowed toward either side of his body before hardening. Svartan let out a low groan that time.
She moved lower. Would wax on his penis be too much? Was the flesh too sensitive? The purpose of this experiment was his arousal. She didn’t want to hurt him to the point where she couldn’t fuck him after a bit.
“Tell me if this stings too much,” she whispered, and then she tipped the candle again letting only a single fat drop land on his shaft. But it slid all the way down to the base, leaving a sizzling trail.
Svartan cursed in his native tongue. At least she assumed he was cursing, but as rough as the language sounded he could have been praising her technique and begging for more. Gwyneth decided to err on the side of caution and abandoned the genital area. She moved farther down and splashed a little wax on his thighs, earning another exciting twist and curse from him. But the fast burning candle was already growing too short, too close to her hand so she ended the game by blowing it out.
“Poor thing. Does it hurt much?” she asked as she vigilantly peeled every bit of wax from his body and examined the pinkened skin underneath.
“No,” he said through gritted teeth. “Not too much.”
“Well, let’s see if I can soothe your pain a little.” Returning to her discarded gown, she took the last of her props from the pocket—a small vial of sweet-smelling ointment, also provided by Agnet.
She uncapped and tipped the bottle, pouring a palm full, then she settled on the bed beside Svartan and began to massage his shoulders and chest. She was careful as she moved over the minor burns on his chest and stomach, her stroke soothing and gentle. When she reached his cock, she grasped it and kissed the soft head while sliding her hand down his shaft. She teased her tongue over the tip of his cock and then swallowed him deep, sucking hard until he was thrusting against the back of her throat.
Gwyneth released him and began to massage his cock with the exotically scented oil. His penis was beautiful, glistening with oil and flushed dark from the blood coursing through it. She rubbed up and down with long pulls, and very soon Svartan was cursing some more. His jaw was so tight she feared his bone might pop through the drawn skin.
He gripped her homemade ropes with his fingers and his arm muscles were rigid. His toes curled, too, and the bands of muscle in his legs were like iron.
He can’t withstand this. I’m going to win! Gwyneth’s heart rose like a bird flying up from earth to sky. Yet in the same instant a dark, heavy feeling wrenched her heart. She wanted her daughter’s freedom and her own, but she would actually miss this horrifying monster who held her captive, this demon who played games with peoples’ lives. How was that possible?
She slammed her mind shut on such ponderings. This was no time to consider anything but achieving her goal—his orgasm. She’d taken Svartan far enough with her hand; now it was time to straddle this horse and ride him across the finish line.
Gwyneth released his slick cock, and the man grunted in disappointment. She crawled over him, guided his tip to her aching, wet pussy and slipped him inside. Sitting upright, she very slowly settled down on top of him, engulfing him in her hot depths. She braced her hands against his slick chest as she lifted her body almost all the way off his rigid cock, then pushed down onto it again.
Rising and falling on him, she drew him ever closer to the edge. She clenched her muscles tight around him, holding him in the hard grasp of her body, and thought she could feel the very texture of his cock with her inner muscles. She pressed down hard, enveloping him to the very base of his shaft. It felt so good to have him inside her, filling her completely.
Gwyneth leaned forward, changing the angle of her thrusts. Her breasts dipped to brush against his face and he sought a nipple blindly, drawing it into his mouth. He suckled her as he fucked her—or was she fucking him, since she was the one on top and in control?—his mouth drawing on her with hard tugs that sent a sweet ache down to her pussy.
If it was possible, her body clutched him even harder as if she would fuse herself to him and become one. The excited fluttering in her belly, which had been increasing from the moment she entered the room, strengthened and grew. It was as if many individual birds were gathering together into one enor
mous flock. And then all of a sudden they exploded upward in a mighty surge that carried her with them.
Gwyneth flew. She cried out and threw her head back, arching her neck. Her breast pulled free of his mouth. Her body beat against his with the force of a storm lashing against a rock. Was he impervious to her fierce rain? How could he not join her in ecstasy? She opened her eyes and looked down at him. Oh, but he was close, so close, she could tell.
His eyes were squeezed tight shut and his body was rigid as if she was punishing him rather than bringing him pleasure. Just a little longer. A little longer. She moved her slippery pussy up and down. She was so very wet from coming, her juices covered him.
It’s like spinning, she thought. A steady hand makes smooth, even thread. She pumped him as she would propel the treadle on a wheel, and she leaned close and added soft words as if singing a spinning tune.
“Come now. Let go. It’s what you want, what you need. Don’t fight it any longer. Give in to what you need. Come. Come. Come.”
He made a strangled sound in his throat and hurled more of those harsh-sounding foreign words at her. And suddenly she wanted him to come with every fiber of her being, not just because of the bet, although the knowledge of it was never out of her mind, but because she wanted to see his face when he was transported with rapture.
“Come, sweetheart, come. Please come for me.” She repeated the soothing litany and sped the pace of her thrusts.
And then, just as she was certain she had him, just as she could swear she felt his cock swelling inside her, ready to release, Svartan yelled, “Enough! Your time is up.”
Gwyneth was so intent and focused on their bodies moving in unison that she blinked in surprise at the abrupt interruption. Her gaze snapped to the hourglass on the nightstand, which she’d insisted on turning the moment after they’d entered the room.
Sure enough, he was right. The top glass was empty and the bottom one full of white grains of sand. Despair rushed through her. How could she have miscalculated so badly? If she’d only spent a little less time on the wax or the massage, she would have had time to bring him to a conclusion. He’d nearly been there. One or two more twists of her hips even now and he’d…
She couldn’t resist doing it even as she thought it.
“I said, enough. Your allotted time is over. If I come now, it does not change our bargain. You still lose.” His voice was as harsh as his angular face, without a trace in it of the man she’d thought she was beginning to know.
Gwyneth rose up, disengaging from his cock. The thick, heavy thing flopped against his belly like a club. It was red and purple and shining wet. Come oozed from the tip, leaving a little white puddle on his stomach.
She vaulted off the bed and hurriedly picked up her dress from the floor.
“Untie me,” he demanded gruffly.
Ignoring him, she dressed and jammed her feet into her slippers then she headed for the door.
“I said, untie me!” he roared.
“I’m sorry, that’s not part of the bargain. My two hours are up.” She smiled in bitter satisfaction as the door closed behind her.
Chapter Fifteen
Damn the bloody bargain! What had he been thinking of to make such a senseless deal, one that ensured he lost no matter which way it went? He had gravely miscalculated his ability to charm Gwyneth into falling in love with him—a stupid, stupid plan. Her only thought was of escape, and her only feeling toward him, disgust. Even as she rode him to her climax, she’d been imagining leaving him.
She would never love him, no matter how much he loved her. He would always be an obstacle to her and her daughter’s freedom. These thoughts had broken over him in a depressing wave as he’d freed himself from the braided restraints and had torn the blindfold from his eyes.
He could see that now, and it made it impossible for him to face her again. Several days had passed following their second session, and Ragnorak hadn’t been able to bring himself to visit Gwyneth or Brea. He had no idea what they were up to in the house or grounds while he went about his usual daily business. It gave him a taste of how it would be to return to his solitary life. Extremely unpleasant.
In the past, Karnak had frequently suggested this widow or that as a possible wife, strongly hinting it was time to find someone with a child to be his queen. Ragnorak had been willing to meet the many women Karnak and his wife had put forth, but had not found one who appealed to him. Any match he made would be a marriage of convenience, and he simply hadn’t been ready for that yet. He’d put off the decision by claiming, quite honestly, too much work to accomplish. He’d devoted himself to the building efforts and the government and had tabled the discussion of wives and heirs…until he had quite accidentally met Gwyneth.
The beautiful, golden-haired woman had turned his world upside down and changed his life. Now she was about to leave him alone again and he would never, ever be able to get over her.
One more time together. One final lovemaking—if one could call it that when one half of the couple engaged in the act felt no love at all—then he would lose her and lose darling Brea, who was becoming increasingly precious to him. There was nothing he could do about it. Even if he could hold out and refuse to come, Ragnorak realized now that he could not imprison these two bright spirits in the underworld forever.
He had to let them go.
But maybe he could make one last push to convince Gwyneth to care for him and learn to love this world as much as her own. He had to at least try.
And to have any chance of success, he needed to see her. Thrusting aside the papers he couldn’t concentrate on anyhow, he leapt to his feet. It was time to end this stupid game full of half-truths and hidden agendas. He needed to be honest with her, tell her everything that was in his heart and ask her forgiveness as well as her understanding. Perhaps then she’d at least see him as a man with feelings, a flawed man, maybe, but perhaps not totally unworthy of her respect. Love could grow from there…couldn’t it?
Filled with a sense of urgency after a week of avoiding the issue, he strode toward the door, wrenching it open so quickly that the fists about to rap on its other side pounded his chest instead. Gwyneth’s impatient little fists.
His heart missed a beat. She’s come to me, he thought in awe. But his triumph only lasted an instant, for the beautiful face turned up to his was ravaged by distress. She wore only her nightgown, which she had clearly either forgotten about or didn’t care about in her rush to get to him. Her fingers twisted in his coat, grasping the fabric as if it was her lifeline.
“Please, Svartan! I beg you! I’ll do anything if you’ll just cure her!”
“Cure who?” Bewildered, shocked by her anguish, he covered her hands with his to calm her, gently detaching them from their vice-like grip on his coat.
“Brea!” she cried, as if he should have known.
Something heavy seemed to fall into the pit of his stomach. This time it was his hands that gripped convulsively. “Brea? What’s wrong with her?”
“I don’t know!” Gwyneth said in despair. She tugged his hand, urging him along the uneven passage in the direction of her own quarters. As they hurried together, she added intensely, “I’ve never seen her like this, so ill and distressed. You have to cure her.”
“I do?” Startlement as well as fear made his voice harsh, and she clearly took it for stubbornness.
“I know you care for her,” she whispered. Tears flowed unchecked down her face. He doubted she even noticed, which made his fear for the baby all the greater. “Please don’t take your anger at me out on her…”
“I would never do that.”
Something in those words seemed to get through to her. For the first time she glanced at him with more hope than despair. “Then you will help her?”
Ragnorak ran his free hand through his hair. “If I can…”
By then they were at her bedchamber door, and she bolted inside, still tugging him by the hand. Agnet rose from her seat by the cr
adle and stood quietly to one side while Gwyneth rushed to the cradle.
Fearing what he would see, Ragnorak followed her.
The baby wasn’t crying. But her perfect little face had two bright red spots on each cheek. She was twisting with discomfort, as if trying to throw off her covers, tossing her head from side to side. Her breathing sounded erratic and stentorian.
Gwyneth reached down to the child’s forehead. “Feel her,” she commanded. “She’s burning with fever.”
Brea’s skin was undoubtedly hot and dry, dangerously so. Her little face puckered. She tried to cry, then had to pause to breathe instead. Ragnorak felt his chest tighten.
“You will save her?” Gwyneth demanded.
Ragnorak looked up at her, frowning. “What makes you think I can?”
The eyes he’d seen clouded and hot with passion hid nothing now. She had neither the will nor the ability to try. He saw a twinge of fear and anger, a disbelief that he would really refuse her request.
She said matter-of-factly, “You’re the most powerful being I’ve ever met or heard of. You can turn straw into gold, travel instantly between realms through layers of impenetrable rock. Surely you can make one sick baby well?”
“Gwyneth,” he began helplessly. It seemed impossible to explain that the powers he’d always taken for granted did not make him an omnipotent being, some kind of god. He began to see himself through her eyes and, for probably the first time in his life, was afraid of not living up to someone’s expectations. He drew a deep breath. “Those kinds of powers are inherent in my royal blood. It is a strength, not a magic. We have an affinity with the elements. I can manipulate them to make straw gold, to compress the air to travel, and change the rocks and earth to let us through. That, I don’t even need to think about. But I’ve never healed a sick child in my life. Here, we do not get ill.”
She frowned in disbelief, glancing at Agnet for confirmation. “What, never?”
He shook his head, his gaze drifting back to Brea.