He glanced down at his arm where she gripped him. She kneaded her fingers along his muscles, digging in with her short fingernails. He swallowed, feeling her soft breasts press into him from beneath the wet gown. Her nipples were hard and it drove him mad. They called to him. Making a fist, he fought the urge to grab her chest. Her heart raced and his leapt to join the rhythm. She trembled and, all of a sudden, he realized her face was an unnatural pale blue behind the strands of her hair.
Leading her through an entry into the inner bailey yard, Ilar moved straight to the front door of the castle. Rhiannon didn’t make a sound. She didn’t have to. The people of Lycaon Castle sensed her immediately. The men’s thoughts shot with a passionate uproar and the unmated women surged with jealous hatred. Seeing that a brawl was about to start, Ilar turned and swiftly lifted the woman into his protective embrace.
Rhiannon was surprised when the man picked her up, but she didn’t protest as she burrowed resignedly into his chest. She was too tired and too sore to complain. Her flesh eagerly soaked in the warmth from his body, racking with shivers once more as she tried to steal his immense heat.
His muscles moved against her, almost hypnotic as she curled into him. Her fingers wound into his hair, resting near the beat of his heart. She burrowed into his chest. There was something both safe and dangerous in his hold. He smelled fresh, like the stream, like nature. She closed her eyes.
Ilar hastened his steps, rushing her inside the protection of the castle. Her breath fanned over him, sending little trails of longing throughout his tightening form. He passed the main hall where more turned to give the woman curious stares.
Taking the side steps two at a time, he brought her to his personal tower. He would rather put her below in the prisons, far away from him, but he couldn’t risk trapping her with an unmated guard and he wouldn’t have the other prisoners uprising to get to her.
Usually none would dare to cross his threshold without his summons. But, being as there was black magic afoot, he couldn’t afford to take chances. Until he had an opportunity to figure out what was going on, he’d have to keep her safely locked away. Even now, the men in the hall were riled and on the brink of combat for their right to claim the human. If he wasn’t careful, the whole Lycan Guard would kill each other off.
Her body flopped in his arms, as he took her through the halls covered with tapestries. The faces of his people stared back at him, human and wolf. Their stitched deeds were a constant reminder of his duty, his heritage, his honor. He steeled himself as he carried her to his own bedchamber. There was no time to prepare a guest chamber and there wasn’t one already made up. He rarely received guests in his tower--aside from Malak, his lifelong friend, who never complained about the lack of refined comforts his guest chambers had to offer. There was a bed and fireplace, which suited Malak just fine.
Besides, Ilar wanted to keep this woman close. He told himself it was to protect her. But, as he pulled her body into his chest and she didn’t protest his hold, he wasn’t so sure. His body lurched with intentions. His heart raced, pouring passion into his blood, forcing it into every limb, most notably the limb between his thighs.
Closing the bedchamber door with his foot, Ilar lowered the woman to her feet. She hadn’t spoken through the journey upstairs and, come to think of it, she hadn’t moved. Frowning, he tilted his head to study her face. Her eyes were closed. Listening to her heartbeat, he heard its faint and even rhythm in his ears. Her breath rasped slightly in her chest, shallow and panting.
Ilar laid her on his bed, scowling as he looked her over. Her features were pale, her lips tinged with blue. She didn’t move.
“Mor-tal,” he demanded harshly, to see if she would stir.
A low fire burned in the fireplace and he crossed over to throw more logs on the flames until it roared to life. Without thought, he stripped the linen from his waist. Then, going to her, completely naked, he began peeling and ripping the wet layers of her clothing with a supernatural speed. He tried to ignore the pleasing flesh he revealed. But, his eyes took their own greedy pleasure as his hands dutifully worked. Her small breasts were freed first, the perfect size to fit into his opened mouth. The nipples were hard, just begging to be suckled and licked. Her waist was narrow, spanning the width of his spread hand. A thatch of dark blonde curls guarded her opening from him. His body jerked, wanting to conquer.
Once he had her naked, he crawled next to her on the large mattress and cradled her pale body in his arms. Pulling her tight, he settled her back to his front, liking the feel of her. She shivered violently against his hold, but didn’t fight him as he warmed her.
Ilar frowned. He’d forgotten that about mortals. They weren’t built to withstand the weather like the lycans. Whereas he thought nothing of bathing in the freezing stream, human bodies were frail to such things as extreme cold. He wondered absently why she hadn’t complained. If she had said she was growing ill, he would have helped her. At least, he liked to think he would have.
Ilar cradled her to his naked chest, letting her head rest on a bent arm. Absently, he rubbed his hand along her arms, wrapping his thigh over her slender legs. He was all too aware of the feel of her soft skin beneath his. Her butt was flush to his erection, which found itself pressed tight against two cheeks. Growling, he again cursed the fact he had no lover to slake his desires with.
He would have to get this spell broken soon if he was to have a moment’s peace. The keep was in a state of unrest by just her brief presence. His men were poised to battle. The women were poised to murder. Even now he heard their discontent knocking at his brain. Not for a second did he believe their attraction to this human female was anything but an enchantment.
He continued to stroke her arms, running his hands up and down. By small degrees she heated to him. Her shivering stopped to all but a few, small, occasional shudders. Her hips stirred, bumping along his thick arousal--an arousal that had been there since catching her at the stream. His touch turned from medicinal to exploring, as he slipped beneath her arm to her hip. He pulled his hand over her, moving to cup a breast in his palm. His hips jerked, forcing his shaft to rub along her backside. It would be so easy to angle her body, to draw her leg back over his, to sheathe himself inside her wetness. With little movements, he could take her just like this, thrusting in from behind.
Ilar grew bolder, moving to massage her other breast. A soft moan, so light and feminine, left her lips, encouraging him. Ilar tensed. His eyes flashed with a dark, possessive excitement. She moaned again, this time louder as her naked back wiggled into his hard heat.
Maybe he’d flip her on her stomach, lifting her hips up so he could really ride her. Yes, he liked that idea better. Ilar licked his lips. In that position, he’d really be able to plunge his shaft deep within her.
Her head tilted back on her shoulders, moving so he saw her closed eyes and dirty face. He was too aroused to care that she needed a bath. The way she moved, wiggling her butt along his shaft, could only mean she wanted him too. He smelled her longing, her woman’s fragrance. Her lips parted in breath, as if she beckoned him with a kiss.
The spell over her spread into Ilar’s body, potent and hot as it flamed in his blood. He was all too aware of the feel of her. Her legs moved restlessly beneath his thigh. Ilar swallowed, breathing heavily. She was so small, delicate. It would be so easy to turn her and part her thighs to him. Her soft skin caressed him like silk. She moaned again and he couldn’t deny her parted lips.
Ilar didn’t think as he lowered his mouth to touch hers. His kiss was soft, testing her, slowly discovering her. He moved her over onto her back, no longer intent on giving warmth as he sought to stir her body to his. He groaned in delight. Her flesh was so frail, so malleable against his harder length. He didn’t remember humans being so supple and fragile. Her blood was there, beneath the surface, like tiny rivers dancing beneath the flesh. It had been a long time since he’d felt such softness, or such longing. Most lycan women were as hard a
s the men, toned from their time spent in wolfen form. But, this woman was soft, like a fairy or elf, and as delicately featured as a wood nymph only twice as beautiful.
“So warm,” Rhiannon mumbled sleepily, her mind dazed to everything but the comfort of the bed beneath her and the hard warmth at her side. She felt as if she could sleep for an eternity. Rhiannon gasped for breath as a wet probing thrust between her lips, but she didn’t move to wake up. She welcomed the inviting warmth inside her mouth, liking the protective embrace of whoever held her. She ached, her breasts tormenting her with pleasure and need as someone pressed against them. The touch was firm yet gentle, so unyielding yet tender. A moan sounded in her head, but she couldn’t whisper it past her lips. Whoever was there still kissed her, deepening, exploring, cutting off her weak voice.
Ilar groaned, becoming emboldened. Tempted to investigate their differences further, he glided his hand over her smooth hip, lifting a leg to the side. He drew his mouth away and looked down over her flat stomach to her slit. He smelled the start of her desire. It called his lips down to the apex of her thighs. He detected the glistening invitation of moisture as it gathered in readiness for him along her folds.
As he reminded himself that this female was a human, he hesitated only slightly. He couldn’t stop. Human or not, she felt too good. It had been too long since he’d satisfied his baser needs and they now called to him in protest of that neglect.
Drawing a finger over her hip, he followed the natural crease in her leg, down to her most sensitive of flesh. She shuddered as he neared her wet center. His eyes rolled back, having seen too much as he watched his hand explore. As he found the small thatch of her hair with his fingers, he groaned and again kissed her.
She mumbled something into his lips, but the blood roaring through his tight body kept him oblivious to her words. Ilar traced her mouth with his tongue, hungry for more, even as he drew out his own discovery. Soon his finger mimicked the movements of his tongue, parting her silken lips, testing their moist response as he circled over her opening. She was wet, ready, hot. His thumb circled over her clit, causing a weak sound to escape her.
Ilar grew bolder, rolling so he came above her. His mouth trailed over her dirty skin, not noticing the mud as he brushed kisses along her throat, her jutting collarbone. His legs intertwined with hers and he molded his body against her length. His knees instinctively parted her thighs, pushing her open until she awaited him, widespread. He pressed his throbbing shaft into her hip, rubbing naturally back and forth along her slick folds, preparing to enter.
Ilar let his chest rub over her small breasts, keeping the tips budded with the heat from his skin. His elbow braced his weight as he explored the sweeping curve of her hip. She whimpered softly in what his mind could only take as approval and encouragement.
Lightly, he cupped a breast in his palm, kneading the weight as he held it for his lips. The globe was so soft, delicate. It drove him mad. He licked a nipple, groaning with passion at the feel of it against his tongue. It puckered for him, reaching for more.
Ilar became more insistent. His nostrils flared and he didn’t think to slow. His hips rose as he slipped himself along her wet slit, rubbing his hot erection against her clit, pushing along her opening. All he felt was his passion, his hunger, his desperate need to possess her as his. He coated his hard shaft with her cream in self-torment, preparing to thrust mindlessly into her depths. Surely a woman who made such whimpering noises knew what she asked for.
Rhiannon’s eyes popped open in confusion as she felt a hot, wet stroke along her chest. The same madness was between her thighs. For a moment, she couldn’t think. It was strange, but felt so good. She wanted more. Wildly, her eyes darted around in her head, wondering what could be wreaking such havoc on her body. With a jolt of surprise, she felt the brush of hair tickling her sides. Looking down her body, she saw a dark head affixed to her naked breast. Desire was instantly replaced by shock, as she jolted to full awareness.
“Ahhh!” Rhiannon cried. She kicked her legs, trying to close her knees, as she fought the large body atop hers. At her movement, the hardness between her thighs pressed in. The pleasure she felt at the intimate contact scared her more than the shock of it.
Ilar felt her buck against him. The action caused her opening to dip onto his swollen arousal, swallowing the smooth head of his shaft into her wondrously tight depths. Just that small taste of her wet passage felt better than he’d imagined it would. He groaned in delight and didn’t immediately clue in that she fought to get him off. But, then, he heard her cry out.
“Help!” Rhiannon hollered, her voice hoarse. She struck him desperately with her fists, hitting his head, his back, anything she could reach. The feeling stirring inside her did strange things to her head. Her body wanted more, even as her mind fought the pleasure.
Rhiannon moaned and screamed. Whatever it was that burned and pressed into her opening became bolder. The heat probed her, moving deeper. She pulled her hips back, terrified, as she was sure she was to be impaled by the thick weapon, possibly killed. And yet, the feelings it caused felt like sweet, torturous death and an insane part of her cried to let her body die. Fear was easier to accept at the moment and she embraced it, yelling, “Get off me, you... wyrm! Help! Someone please, help me!”
Ilar pulled back, retreating off of her completely. He was confused, bewildered, in pain. His chest heaved with unspent desire, as his shaft throbbed in protest. He’d been so close to slipping fully inside her tight body. Even now the cream from her body dried on him, proof that she’d been ready, willing. Hadn’t she?
No woman had ever denied him entrance. No woman had ever stopped him. In fact, it was usually he who turned the females away. He blinked, trying to work his way from the fog in his brain. Her wide blue eyes stared at him in accusation. Even angry and flushed, she looked beautiful. He wanted her, needed her. But, Ilar had never taken an unwilling woman to his bed, had never had an unwilling woman in his bed. That he’d been about to do that very thing amazed him.
Rhiannon scurried back on the mattress, folding her naked body into a protective ball. Her body was hot, too hot, nearly dizzy. Her thighs throbbed and ached, remembering the strange fullness of him next to them, wanting it back so badly that her stomach twitched.
“What did you do to me!” she demanded, hoarse, scared. Her gaze journeyed over his naked form. He didn’t even try to hide himself from her. He was a large man to be sure, if the haloing of light from the fireplace gave any indication. His body was shadowed, but she could make out the vague protrusion of his shaft pointing in her general direction, as if it called forward the attack. Though it was a weapon, she’d been a fool to think it a blade he wore beneath his linen.
Closing her eyes to him, Rhiannon pulled her body tighter. It churned uncontrollably, alive with heated sensations. Her stomach lurched.
“I kept you alive,” Ilar said, enraged by her rejection of him. The human words came back to him with greater and greater ease until his stunted effect on them was almost gone. His mind cleared by small degrees. He realized that, as he touched her, she hadn’t been touching him back, at least not in full passion. She’d been lying unconscious, only moaning lightly. His anger turned in on himself. His words not as strong as before, he said, “I was warming you. The water from the stream…”
“I don’t need you to warm me,” she denied, shaken. As she sensed the danger to be somewhat past, she relaxed her death grip on her body. An eye opened to look at him. Seeing he was still unclad, it quickly closed. “The fire will do just fine.”
At that he grunted. Rhiannon blinked to hear him move and looked fully at him. Crossing over to a trunk, he pulled it open and grabbed a tunic. His naked butt flexed without an ounce of fat. A slight dimple was carved into the side of the firm cheek. His flesh was bronzed all over, kissed by sunlight. The man was wickedly alluring to her senses. When he leaned over, her body jerked in sudden enjoyment at the sight. She wanted to touch him, draw him a
gainst her body. Her slit throbbed to have him back, touching and probing with his heat.
Rhiannon saw two soft globes dipping beneath his larger weapon. Her mouth went dry. She wasn’t a fool. She knew men were shaped differently, had heard talk of it. But never had she thought she’d be so intrigued to see it. Shamed, she looked away, knowing she shouldn’t be staring.
Rhiannon, becoming all too aware of her vulnerable state, pulled a thick wool coverlet over her body to hide it from view. She was just glad this powerful man had called off his attack. She was positive he’d been about to injure her with what he was about. Her lower body trembled. She was still able to feel the stretching violation. Oddly, she still wasn’t as repulsed by it as she should have been--even with her sanity returning.
“Where are my clothes?” she inquired weakly, breathless, near fainting.
Ilar draped a red tunic around his body with a practiced swing of the arms. Within seconds, he had a circular brooch secured at the shoulder. The clothing didn’t help. It hid his backside, but she could still see his strong side, his muscular arms, broad shoulders. Nodding toward the floor, he drew her attention to the muddied, wet gown.
“I will find you something more appropriate,” he said. Eyeing her dirty frame, he frowned and wrinkled his nose in what looked like disgust. “I will also find you a bath.”
Rhiannon nodded, too grateful for his hospitality to berate him further. Biting the inside of her lip, she asked, “Where are we?”
“You are in the realm of all things magical, human.” Ilar scowled as he realized she really hadn’t known. Silently, he cursed, By all that is sacred! This is a wicked mess!
Her confusion would make his job a great deal harder. Ilar had a feeling the quicker he could solve this mystery, the better it would be for his kind. He had every intention of finding whoever brought her through the portals and forcing them to take the wench back.
Naughty Cupid Trilogy Page 4