He stilled. Patient. Waiting. Honoria tried to form some coherent thought behind the instinctive protest. There was none. Her mind seemed to have turned to mush.
And still he waited. It was that alone that gave her the strength to meet his eyes. He let her have the control in a situation that was clearly his.
“I’m ready,” she whispered.
He picked up a tourniquet and tested the give in the leather. She recognized the style of it from the Institute. “I’ll make it swift.” One hand tugged her left knee up, pressing her stockinged foot into the mattress. The other looped the belt around her thigh.
She hadn’t meant to watch. But somehow she couldn’t tear her eyes off what he was doing. He moved with such efficiency she could almost forget that her skirts were up around her hips, her pale thigh naked to his gaze above the faded ribbons of her garter. Then he tugged the belt tight.
Pain. Constricting. A dull throb in her leg.
“’As to be tight,” he apologized, his voice dropping to a growl.
She cried out softly as he tugged the belt tighter. Her upper thigh felt as though it were throbbing in time to the beat of her heart. She could suddenly hear it, loud and panicked in her ear. Wrapping her hands around the chain of the manacles, she ground her teeth and held on.
After a moment’s wait, she tilted her head to look down. Blade was breathing hard, his jaw tight with strain. As if sensing her gaze, he looked up. Black eyes, the demon’s eyes, met hers. And the world fell away.
She couldn’t breathe again. She could only feel—the burning throb in her leg, the wet heat between her thighs, the aching tightness of her nipples. Danger screamed through her, sending her senses on alert.
Blade’s hands dug into the soft, tender flesh of her thigh. He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. “Don’t move, luv.”
She nodded then let her head slump back onto the pillow.
Shutting her eyes narrowed her world down to the feel of his hands on her thigh. Tugging her garter ribbons undone. Rolling down the top edge of her stocking. Each touch was a blistering scorch of sensation against her throbbing, heated flesh. She bit back a whimper, not quite of pain. An unusual feeling she’d never felt before. His thumb. Testing the artery. Then the sudden loss of touch as he reached for the razor.
She tracked everything with her peripheral senses. The shift of his weight on the bed. The rustle of sheets, an intimate sound. Then the smooth brush of his hand against her thigh.
The pain of the razor was sharp and sudden against the inside of her thigh. Honoria cried out, trying to hold herself still. Heart pounding. A drum in her ears. And then…his mouth. Shockingly wet. A burning, icy heat against her skin. Sucking. An answering tug deep in her womb, as though each mouthful of blood drew with it something of her essence.
He jerked on the belt and let it loose. Her hips arched off the bed at the sudden agony as blood rushed into her starved limb. The piercing ache of his mouth intensified until she could almost bear it no longer.
“Easy.” A breath against her thigh, hoarse with need. An iron hand against the soft flesh of her lower abdomen, forcing her hips down.
She felt his touch keenly, the need burning through her with a fierce fury. She was barely aware of her wrists, tugging unconsciously at the manacles, or the way her skirts bunched around her hips, carelessly forgotten in the heat of the moment. Everything was his mouth on her skin—tugging, suckling, his tongue lapping at her sensitive flesh. Everything was the sudden surge of longing, so hot and wet between her thighs. Slick. An alien sensation so infinitely greedy that it swept her into this fury of need, giving no heed to consequences or rationale.
Need.
Her hips jerked. Blade’s hand flattened on her stomach, forcing her down, but still she writhed. A soft cry tore from her lips as his teeth dug into her. He bit her. A sharp sensation that sent a shiver through her.
“Stay still.” A warning growl.
As soon try to stop the tide. She was so on edge that the merest brush of his lips made her body jerk. Everything seemed too raw, too much. She wanted to tear her clothes from her body, to stop the incessant burning itch of the wool on too-sensitive flesh.
Blade cursed against her skin. Then licked her thigh. The hot swipe of his tongue nearly undid her.
She cried out.
“Honoria.”
Perfectly pronounced. Edged with frustration and something else. Her eyes met his. The raw need she saw shocked her, and an answering echo of it tore through her.
He pressed his hand against her leg, forcing the blood flow to stop. Whipping the belt free, he tossed it aside then pressed a linen pad against her cut and bound it swiftly.
“Where?” he ground out.
She had no need to ask what he was talking about. But not even the raw need flushing through her could force her to give voice to the desire she felt.
Their gazes locked.
Touch me. Please.
“Here?” He pressed his palm directly over the hot flush of her mons.
She should have protested the intimacy. Instead she ground her hips up so that her heated flesh pressed against him.
Harder.
“Like this?” His voice was low and strained as he tugged her skirts up.
Her cotton drawers were drenched. Cool air flushed against her liquid heat as he tugged at the buttons. And then she gasped, sensation streaking through her like stored lightning as his fingers brushed against her naked, throbbing flesh.
“Damn you, Honor.”
Blade’s shirt hung open, his veins and sinews standing out in stark release as he rose over her. His fingers toyed with her, shooting sparks through her womb. Honoria bucked and writhed, feeling the edge of something building within her. A wave. An enormous tidal wave of need, threatening to drown her. She was helpless to resist.
“Please,” she begged. “Faster.”
His fingers stroked over the lush pearl of her clitoris. White-hot sparks shot through her. Her eyes shot open and she found him kneeling over her, his furious gaze locked on her face. The heavy weight of his thigh stretched over hers, and he rested on his shoulder on the bed beside her. His cock ground into her hip.
“Easy,” he groaned. “Let it come easy.”
A fingertip slid inside her. As if asking permission.
Don’t think. She thrust her hips up. Felt him breach her further. A curious stretching. Her inner muscles clenched around his finger as if questioning this intruder.
He rubbed his wet thumb over her clit. Felt her shudder. A grim smile tore at his mouth. “Trust me.”
Another fingertip, brushing at her entrance. Honoria’s hips arched higher.
“Yes?” he asked.
She tossed her head from side to side, her entire being flushed with need. Another whimpering groan.
“Yes?” he demanded, sliding the tips of those two fingers inside her.
“Yes.”
His fingers filled her. Stretching. A throbbing ache. He coated them in her wetness, then dragged them out, tickling the very edges of her entrance before sliding them back to the hilt.
The edge built.
Somehow she turned her face into his shoulder. Shocked herself by sinking her teeth into the heavy muscle that ran from his neck to his shoulder. Blade growled low in his throat, his fingers thrusting faster within her. At another moment she might have cringed to find herself spread like this, her thighs tossed apart in desperate need, her hips moving wantonly. But all she could see was Blade. All she could feel was his touch and the aching build of tension within her.
He wrought delicious torture in her body. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Her eyes shot open, a cry tearing itself from her throat.
“That’s it.” His whisper was dark and triumphant.
She felt his hand cup his cock-stand through his pants, rubbing hard against her thigh. The thought only made her burn hotter. Tighter. The wave loomed over her for one crushing, breathless second.
And then she was screaming, burying her face in his shoulder to hide the sound. Her greedy passage clutched at his fingers, milking them. Sensation suddenly became acute. Too much. Sweet God, it was too much.
“That’s it.” He thrust against her thigh, burying his fingers deep inside her. Something burned—a distant friction—but she didn’t care. It felt too damned good.
Blade cried out, his fingers stilling within her. His breath stirred against her neck and then he bit her, his fingers tearing free of her body to dig into her thigh and drag her close. The sharp pain of his teeth made her eyes spring open.
It was long seconds before he collapsed against her, breathing hard. Her racing heart matched his. In the wake of the aftermath, strange thoughts suddenly started swarming over her. Good God. His fingers. Inside her. Bared to the day, her thighs slick and wet with her own pleasure.
“Don’t think.” The words were a raw sob wrung from his throat. How did he know what was going through her mind?
He tugged her skirts down a bit, fighting with the material, even as he buried his face against her throat. With every second a little of the pleasure faded, her senses coming back to her. What had she done? What had they done?
The violence of the outburst shocked her. I let him touch me. I let him taste me. And sweet lord, I loved every second of it. This was not the dry, dispassionate sex she had read about in books. This was a whirlwind of need and desire that swept away everything in its path.
She could feel her pins tumbling free in her hair. Her stocking loose and discarded around her ankle, much like her morals. The crumpled weight of her skirts, baring her legs to the world.
And Blade, a living, breathing weight. Collapsed against her, even now stirring her body to new wants.
Something burned within her. Some vague sense of dissatisfaction. I want more. A shocking thought. Five minutes it had taken, from respectable ignorance to aching, disheveled wantonness. Blade was far more dangerous than she had ever suspected.
“I think…I think you should let me go.”
He wrenched his head off the pillow. Glowered at her. “Tol’ you not to think.” A flush of color lit his cheeks, and his mouth was swollen.
Don’t look at it. She jerked her face away. The wetness between her thighs was an uncomfortable reminder of what had happened. She could smell her own musk, flavoring the air.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I ne’er meant to do that.”
He was blaming himself. A little part of her might have been tempted to allow it, but she forced it down and turned her head back to look at him.
“I asked you to,” she said.
His eyes widened.
“But it mustn’t happen again.”
They narrowed. “No,” he argued.
“It mustn’t happen,” she insisted firmly. “Or I’ll break our bargain. I can’t…” A shiver went through her. “It’s too much for me.” It made her long for more. Even now her body throbbed restlessly.
How long before she begged him for more? Just the thought of losing herself in that whirlwind of need terrified her. Pleasure so intense she might do anything for it. Throw away all of her morals, beg him to take her. Lose herself in him. Lose her heart. No. It was too dangerous. She had too much to worry about. Charlie, Lena, Vickers’s manhunt. Doctor Madison’s dwindling month of relief before he reported Charlie’s illness to the authorities. It didn’t matter how much she wanted to curl into Blade’s arms and wrap them around her. It was only selfish need. I just want something for myself.
Anger burned suddenly. Damn Lena. Damn Charlie. And most of all, damn her father. Hot on the heels of that emotion came wretched guilt. I don’t mean it. I just want…What?
Blade waited, the silence dangerous.
“I can’t do this. Please untie me,” she said.
“Honor.”
“Please,” she repeated in a small voice. “I have to get home. My brother wasn’t feeling well this morning. Would you fetch my diaries?”
Frustration danced across his face, but he reached for the manacles. A swift turn of the key and she was free, rubbing at her wrists. Sitting up, she tried to push her skirts down to a more modest length, but her head spun.
“Easy.” Blade caught her against his shoulder. “You’d be best off lyin’ still for a moment. That’s why I prefer the bed.”
“You do this with all of your thralls?” She pressed a hand to her temples as her vision blurred. His body was hard and solid against her. Some part of her longed to rest her cheek on his shoulder and curl into him. Let him shoulder her troubles. She quashed the desire ruthlessly.
“Not all of it. I don’t usually confuse sex with blood thirst.”
“How lucky for me.”
“Mind you, most o’ me thralls don’t react the way you do,” he growled, sliding off the bed with devilish grace. He looked as though he’d quite recovered his equilibrium.
“How long must I wait?” she asked. “I need to get home.”
“I’ll fetch your diaries. Then we’ll see ’ow steady you are on your feet. Will’ll walk you ’ome.”
“Will will love that,” she said sarcastically. Then she saw Blade’s face. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”
He shrugged. “’E’s only protectin’ me. It’s the nature o’ the verwulfen to guard their families from threat.”
A curious insight. All of the men, and Esme, of course, were family to him. She felt a jolt of keen longing, swiftly quashed. Blade had his little family and she had hers. In a blinding moment of clarity, she realized that perhaps he would understand what she was trying to do.
And yet…she didn’t have the courage to open her mouth and ask him for help. For what if he didn’t understand? And what if he lost control of his inner demons—the way he had at times—and killed her brother?
“Honor?” He watched the emotion play over her face.
“I’ll wait then. Until Will thinks I can manage,” she said softly. Coward.
Blade stared at her a moment longer, as though waiting for her to say more. Then his gaze shuttered. “Aye. So be it.”
Chapter 17
Blade leaned against the doorjamb. Esme hadn’t heard him. She was folding pastry, sinking her knuckles into the wet dough and humming under her breath.
“Enjoyin’ yourself?”
She started, slapping a pastry-covered hand to her chest. “My goodness, Blade. You could have given me some warning.” As she raked an eye over him, a faint smile touched her lips. “You’ve fed. The question, I suppose, is did you enjoy yourself?”
Far too much. “I ’ad to. She disarmed me with some bloody poison she’s got.”
Esme’s jaw dropped, then snapped shut. “You were careful with her?”
“Careful as kittens.” He dragged a hand over his face, his stubble scratching his palm. It had cost him. He was still hungry, but for flesh now. The sweet taste of her blood had barely sated him. He could still taste it on his lips, and the scent of her arousal clung to him, a torture of its own.
Bloody hell. He knew what a feeding could do to some people. But Honoria had been almost clawing the sheets, her back arched and her hips thrusting. How the hell had he restrained himself?
Because you want her to trust you. He rubbed at his chest with another scowl. It was important to him, important enough to drag himself back from the edge when he knew he could have taken her…And destroyed her trust in him forever.
“You look thoughtful.” Esme started kneading the dough again. “What’s going through your mind, Blade?”
He slung a hip against the bench. Esme was possibly the only person who could ask that question and get an answer. “I nearly took ’er.”
“Aye. But you obviously didn’t. What stopped you?”
“I don’t know. I’m tryin’ to be patient. To win ’er over. Sometimes I doubt if she’ll ever yield.”
Esme scraped the pastry off her hands then wiped them on a cloth. She turned and slipped her arms around
him. “She affects you, doesn’t she?”
He looked into her serene face. “The ’unger’s worse. With ’er. Even though I’ve just drank, it still wants. I’m afraid I’m goin’ to lose control of it.”
“You obviously managed to rein it in.”
“This time.” And his CV levels were only rising.
Esme pressed a kiss against his forehead. “Don’t doubt yourself. You’re a good man, Blade. I know how strong you are. And you’ll have to wait a month before you take from her again. Perhaps in that time she’ll have grown used to you.”
“Maybe.” If he could last the month without demanding more. He’d never before been tempted to break his own rule. “She wants ’er diaries back.”
A guilty flush crept over Esme’s cheeks. “I see. You figured it out.”
“Well, it weren’t Rip or Will readin’ The Tamin’ o’ the Shrew.”
Esme pushed away from him, leaving a heady cloud of her floral scent behind. “They’re coded.”
“You tried to read ’em?”
She reached up to the flour container and tugged it down, then pulled a pair of worn-looking diaries out of it. “I was curious to see if she’d mentioned you at all.”
The leather of the spines was soft and creased when he took them. He scratched a nail over the gold lettering on the larger one. Why were they so important to her? Why risk her life—her freedom—just to fetch them from Vickers’s Institute?
His hands tightened on the leather. Honoria. Cool, rational, guarded. An impenetrable tower he couldn’t storm. At first the challenge had stirred his interest, but lately he’d begun to find it only frustrated him.
He wanted her to trust him. To share her secrets with him. He found himself curious, wanting to know more about who she was beneath the composed facade. Let me in, damn you.
He was lucky she’d believed him when he said he hadn’t taken the diaries. That could have been one step back in the cautious dance they shared.
“Don’t interfere again,” he said, pushing off from the bench. “I mean it. Or I’ll start interferin’.”
Esme’s gaze shot to his. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
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