And then the flame was gone and the Beast fell to his knees. “Milord?”
He moaned. I rushed to him, but hesitated, reluctant to touch him. His skin looked so . . . pink. But as I examined him, I realized there were no burns marring it.
“Beast?” I whispered.
He lifted his naked face and looked at me from eyes that shone with joy. “My name is Ardolf Greycastle,” he said.
The fur had blunted the sharp, clean lines of his features, blurring his male beauty. I stared at him in wonder.
Then Ardolf stood up in a rush of hard muscle and human flesh, and I saw him for the first time truly naked. The sight made my mouth go dry. He looked a little shorter without the mane that had bulked around his head, but my head still came no higher than his breastbone. He was every inch the knight, powerful with thick muscle bred by swinging a sword and riding a warhorse.
His laugh was deep music as he snatched me against his chest. He felt so hard without that cushion of fur around him. “That’s twice I owe you, girl. Once for my life, again for breaking the spell.”
The spell was broken? I brushed a cautious hand along his ribs, feeling bone and muscle and velvet skin. It was true. He was a man again. “Are you going to set me free?”
His eyes were just as green as I remembered, though they no longer glowed. “Not likely, slave. In fact, you have some atoning to do.” His attempt at a growl was spoiled by his grin.
“Atoning?” I squeaked as he picked me up and carried me toward his throne.
“Aye. You dared put a leash, by God, on your master.” He dropped into his chair. “And you wanted to see that witch take a crop to me. If anyone gets punished around here, girl, it’s going to be you.”
I sighed in pleasure, then lost my contentment in a screech as his broad, furless hand descended on my rump in a stinging slap. Minutes later, I was bucking and cursing, heartily regretting my submission, as he continued to spank me with wicked, lustful enjoyment.
At last, when my bottom was blazing, he stayed his hand, rose from his place, and went down on his back on the stone, lifting me up over him. With barely a pause, he brought me down on his eager cock and sheathed it with a twist of his hips. I braced my hands on his chest and glared at him as he began to thrust with smooth strength.
But he felt so good in me. Each long dig of his organ in my wet cunt ignited my lust, until soon I was meeting his thrusts, forgetting my fiery rump in the pleasure of it.
In seconds, my pique was replaced by desire, and I twisted and shivered around his burrowing shaft as he pinched my nipples mercilessly. I climaxed with a scream. His own cry echoed it, sounding almost as loud as his old roar.
We collapsed together in the afterglow, damp and contented.
“You realize, don’t you,” he said at last, “that you’re going to marry me.”
“As milord wishes,” I sighed.
And we lived happily ever after—with frequent visits to the dungeon.
A QUESTION OF PLEASURE
Rose Carson slipped back around the corner of the high stone wall as Major Alan McReynolds opened the wooden gate. Heart in her throat, she waited. A moment later, McReynolds strode past, tall and handsome in his Union uniform, dark head held high. With a lover’s keen awareness, she knew he felt troubled. Something in the line of his broad, muscled shoulders spoke of disquiet.
He’d be even more disturbed if he knew the woman he loved was a Rebel spy sent to play on his well-known taste for beautiful women. That she’d inadvertently fallen in love with him would be no comfort at all.
Well, Rose thought, setting her mouth in a tight line, this was the last time. Once she got her hands on that list, she’d be free of her obligation to the Confederacy, content in the knowledge that she’d done her duty. Alan would never have to know what she’d done. But if he ever found out . . .
Well. That didn’t bear thinking about.
Enough time had passed to allow Alan to turn the corner on his way to army headquarters a few blocks away in the heart of Washington. Quickly, Rose moved out from around the corner of the garden wall and along the walk toward the gate. Without hesitating, she pushed it open.
For a moment, she allowed herself to scan her lover’s property. There was the apple tree they’d exchanged fevered kisses beneath, and there, the thorny, bloodred beauty of the rose bushes whose scent had perfumed so many passionate encounters.
And the house. The elegant two-story brick town house had been the backdrop of some of the happiest moments of her life. How many times had she lain in the canopied bed upstairs, writhing under Alan’s skillful touch as his mouth sipped and nibbled? How many nights had she curled against his big body as he slept, her eyes burning with love and guilt?
But no matter what they’d done, no matter how Rose felt about it, she had duties she couldn’t ignore. Steeling herself against the bite of her conscience, she walked up the stairs to knock on the finely carved door. Taking a deep breath, Rose folded her hands against her dove-gray skirts and waited for one of Alan’s servants to admit her.
There was no answer.
Rose frowned. She’d concocted an explanation for needing to visit Alan’s library, something about a forgotten book he’d told her to recover for him, but it looked as though the trip was for nothing. Impatiently, she tried the door. To her surprise, it swung open.
She rocked back on her heels and considered the house’s dim interior. This was a stroke of luck.
Quickly she slipped inside, heading for the narrow stairway at the head of the hall. Gathering her skirts in one slim hand, she ascended.
Alan’s library lay off to the right of the stairs, a dark, masculine room lined with heavy mahogany bookcases and row upon row of books. Rose, however, only had eyes for the massive desk. Just last night, she’d caught a glimpse of a list of names on the desktop—and several of those names belonged to men she knew to be Confederate spies. If she could just get a look at that list, find out who was in danger of detection and arrest . . . She rustled behind the desk and began opening drawers.
Ah, there it was. In the top drawer, of all places. She frowned. Bad hiding place for such an obviously important piece of intelligence.
“I’m disappointed in you, Rose. I thought you’d be harder to trap.”
Rose’s heart leaped into her throat and she jerked her head up.
Alan stood in the doorway, his handsome face hard, a fine muscle ticking in his rigid jaw. He held a pistol pointed right at her head. She froze as he slowly advanced into the room, the weapon unwavering. Rose had the feeling that if she so much as blinked, he’d shoot her.
“I’ve suspected you for some time,” he said, his tone almost casual. “You were just a little bit too fascinated by things you should have no interest in. But still, I couldn’t quite bring myself to believe you could hide a viper’s treachery behind such a sweet face.”
Her knees threatened to buckle under her. She caught herself against the desktop. “Alan, you don’t understand . . .”
“Oh, I understand too well.” His dark eyes were bitter. “I understand you’re a spy and a traitor. I understand you used my passion for you to play me for a fool.”
Instinctively, she held up a terrified hand to ward him off. He grabbed her wrist and snatched her against him, close enough to see the cold intention on his face. “And I understand,” he purred, “that you’re going to tell me the name of the spy master you report to, and every bit of intelligence you’ve ever collected.”
Rose’s spine stiffened in outrage. “I’m not going to tell you any such thing!”
“Sweet, by the time I’m through with you, you’ll be begging to reveal every secret you ever knew.”
She lifted her chin, outraged that he thought her so lacking in spirit as to believe such a ridiculous threat. “You’re bluffing.”
“I assure you, I am totally serious. There are any number of techniques I can use . . .”
Enraged, she barked out a laugh. “What so
rt of fool do you take me for? The Union army doesn’t torture female prisoners!”
His smile was ugly. “No. The army doesn’t.” His grip tightened on her wrist until she gasped. “But I’m not the army.”
• • •
Ruthlessly, Alan dragged Rose to the bedroom, the gun in his free hand. With a powerful wrench of his shoulder, he propelled her into the room. She whirled around and stared at him wildly, her skirts swinging around her like a bell.
Deliberately, Alan walked to the armchair he’d brought in and sat down in it, keeping the gun trained on her the whole time. Fear and defiance blazed in her wide brown eyes and he felt a twinge of pity for her. Just a twinge, though, easily fought down. She’d betrayed him. Besides, this wouldn’t take long.
“Strip,” he growled.
She pulled herself to her full height. “I will not!”
“You were eager enough last night.”
“You were acting like a gentleman last night.”
“While you were busy whoring yourself for your Rebel masters. Strip.”
Damn her. But he knew that the prospect of being naked in front of him—at least under these circumstances—would make her surrender. She’d start talking soon enough, then, and there would be no need for the other preparations he’d made.
She tilted her chin and glowered at him. “I shall not!”
He cocked the gun. “Strip or talk.”
“Shoot me, then. I’ll not do either.”
His mouth pulled into a grim smile as he took the pistol off cock.
“Well. You seemed to have called my bluff.” Alan put the gun aside.
And pounced. Rose kicked and fought, but her struggles did her no good against his determined hands. He dragged her to the bed and roped her hands to the overhead supports of the canopy with the cords he’d tied there earlier. Then he drew a penknife from his pocket and went to work, cutting the buttons off her gown, slicing through the laces of her corset, dragging relentlessly at the fabric until it gave, until she wore nothing but her stockings and tiny black slippers.
By the time he was done, they were both panting, she glaring at him in rage, he frustrated and furious.
Now, dammit. Now she would talk.
“All right,” he said.
“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” she spat.
True. But on the other hand, he thought, as awareness of the situation burst upon him, she hadn’t been tied before. Her white, pretty breasts hadn’t trembled with every breath, her brown eyes brilliant with wrath, her slim torso twisting as she fought the cords that held her. She hadn’t looked so . . . tempting.
“Don’t you realize the position you’re in?” Alan growled, fighting his own heady reaction to her. “Nobody knows you’re here. I’ve dismissed the servants. I can do any damn thing I want to you. The only thing that can stop me is you. Telling me everything. The name of your spymaster, what you told him, everything. Now.”
Her lovely dark eyes narrowed and she bit off every word. “Do . . . your . . . worst.”
Looking at her naked vulnerability, Alan wondered if she’d be so quick to dare him if she knew how much he wanted to do his worst—or just how bad his worst could be.
Rose tugged on the cords that bound her wrists to the canopy supports and stared in uneasy fascination at Alan. He glared back, his features sharp with a strange combination of predatory hunger and baffled rage. She could feel his eyes on her bare breasts, almost like a physical touch. Despite the situation, despite the anger between them, a slow coil of hunger curled in her belly.
He took a step closer to her and his lids lowered. “Are you sure you want to issue rash challenges to me? Particularly considering your present . . . situation.”
She lifted her chin. “You won’t hurt me, Alan. No matter how much you might want to.”
Anger flared in his eyes before he concealed it. “A dangerous delusion. I assure you, I will hurt you. And enjoy it, particularly after the way you betrayed me.” He paused, then said almost casually, “I think you deserve anything I care to do to you.”
He was not going to terrorize her, damn him. “What will you do, then?”
Alan’s jaw tightened, and she saw that her challenge angered him.
“That’s a very good question, actually. I’ve given it a lot of thought.” He walked over to the nightstand beside the bed, opened a drawer, and pulled out a long white candle. “I’m hesitant to damage that pretty white skin permanently, particularly since I intend to make use of it. But I think I’ve hit on a compromise.”
Reaching into a pocket, he drew out a wax packet of sulfur matches. As she watched nervously, he lifted his boot and struck the match on the sole in a swift, violent gesture. A flame flared to life, and he applied it to the candle.
Eyeing the burning taper, Rose felt a twinge of fear. It was daylight and quite bright in the room. What did he mean to do with that?
He turned to her, a demon’s smile curving his sensuous mouth, and moved closer until the candle shed a yellow radiance over her pale skin. “Such lovely breasts, so round and smooth and tempting.” He reached out with his free hand and caught one of them, a rough thumb brushing over the nipple until it tightened, grew plump and hard as heat flooded her. Leaning closer, he bent and flicked his tongue over the pert tip. She jumped at the sharp stab of pleasure.
Delicately, he took her beaded flesh completely into his mouth, suckling until her breathing roughened and her strength and anger drained into a dangerous sensuality.
Rose had never felt more naked in her life, more vulnerable and hungry than she felt now, bound and helpless for him. And he’d never looked so big, so deliciously male. An erotic barbarian determined to make a conquest of her tight and creamy flesh.
He slid his arm around her back and forced her to arch over it, pressing her breast hard against his mouth.
“Alannnnn,” she moaned.
He raised his head and smiled at her—just as he tilted the candle over her other breast. A molten drop fell, splashed onto her nipple. She arched with a gasp at the fiery pain. Instinctively she tried to jerk back, but the powerful arm around her waist wouldn’t let her escape.
“Stop!”
He merely smiled and began to nibble and lick her left nipple again—even as the hand that held the candle dripped wax on her right.
Alan listened to her gasps and whimpers, felt the way she arched and struggled in the tight grip of his arm. His cock was hard as a sword against his belly, and he badly wanted to plunge it into her.
Swallowing, he took a deep breath and tried to master himself. He hadn’t expected that it would go this far, hadn’t expected to actually have to drip the wax on her hard little nipples.
And he certainly hadn’t expected to enjoy it. In fact, when he’d come up with this particular interrogation method, he’d almost discarded it for fear that he wouldn’t be able to do such a thing to her. He’d had no idea of the temptation he’d find in her pretty breast brushing his face, her lithe body surging against his, her moaning whimpers. He couldn’t have anticipated the look on her face, the desire, the flashes of pain, the secret, appalled pleasure.
Against all expectation, she found his torment of her as arousing as he did.
He was losing control of this. He was supposed to be interrogating her, gathering information vital to the safety of the Union. But God, she tempted him . . .
Alan gasped, feeling his heart thundering in his chest. He wanted to plunge into her, feel her wet heat closing over him . . . And she was wet, he realized. He could smell the musk of her arousal.
With a groan, he jerked away, gripping the candle hard in his fist. “What’s the name of your spymaster, Rose?”
She hung there, blinking at him as if stunned by the past heated minutes. Slowly, she licked her lips, her small pink tongue flicking out to trace the rosy fullness of her mouth. He almost attacked her again. “Alan, I . . .”
He crouched, tensing against the urgency o
f his lust. “Tell me and I can take you. Let me end this.”
Rose whimpered. “No, please, don’t make me . . .”
“Yes!” he roared.
Her eyes were brown and deep. “I can’t.” He snarled.
As Rose watched with a combination of fear and desire, Alan lifted the candle and blew it out in a single violent gesture, then threw it to the floor. The slim length of wax thunked against the carpet and rolled.
He began to unbutton his uniform shirt, his fingers so impatient that one of the buttons popped off to sail across the room. He didn’t seem to notice. In a moment, his shirt fell open to reveal the tight, hard musculature of his chest.
His hand dropped to the fly of his trousers and worked the buttons with a series of rough jerks. Freed, his organ immediately sprang out to jut at her. Deliciously thick and hard, angled slightly upward with the violence of his lust, it was a silent testament to his intentions.
Remembering how it felt thrusting into her, Rose closed her eyes and moaned.
“Rose.”
She opened her eyes and looked at him. He’d stepped closer, so close his cock almost touched her. She felt a violent need to caress it, and clenched her bound hands. “Alan, let me go. I want to . . .”
“Tell me what I want to know.”
Rose gritted her teeth in frustration. “I can’t, damn you! I’ve got a duty to . . .”
“So have I,” he growled. He caught his big phallus in one hand. “Do you have any idea what I could do to you? What I want to do?” Almost unconsciously, his hand began to move, stroking the thick shaft. “You look so lusciously helpless, hanging there like that. I want to throw you down and fuck you.”
She started; he’d never used that word to her before. Mesmerized, she stared at his slowly moving fist. His own eyes were fixed on her breasts, on the nipple that still wore a coat of wax. “I didn’t expect to like this,” he growled. “I didn’t think I’d love listening to you gasp and whimper when that wax hit your pretty little nipple.” His hand began to move faster and his face tightened.
Wicked Games Page 27