The Dark Crusader

by Jackie Ivie

  What happens is that bad?

  Maybe the harem instructors had been trying to help with their inept lessons. Cassandra straightened. She hadn’t thought of that. “Go...on,” she managed to reply.

  “Our union is na’ unbreakable.”

  Was he saying he wanted freedom from her? Already?

  “With enough gold and a willing magistrate, any union can be put aside. Divorce is na’ an impossibility.”

  Oh, so now he wanted a divorce?

  Her breaths ramped up. Her heart rate kicked into a faster beat. Her throat felt like she’d swallowed a piece of bread that was now stuck.

  “But ’tis easier still to annul it...if there has been nae consummation.”

  And then he smacked his head again.

  “Would you cease that?”

  Cassandra wasn’t using a shy retired voice. She watched his shoulders lift again with a heavy sigh.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’ll hurt your head.”

  “I’m hard-headed, sweet. Did na’ I specify that when we first met?”

  “No.”

  “Well...consider it added.”

  “You said a lot, Rhoenne. A lot. You’re emotionless. Feared. Reviled. You take. Maim. Kill. Without regret or remorse.”

  “That’s just the things I admit to,” he told her.

  “Well! I thank God in my prayers nightly for it! Especially when I think of those horrible men...on the ship!”

  Her voice broke. Is this what he wanted?

  He swore. “I can na’ even get this right. ’Tis one of the reasons I avoid speech. I am not a man of honor, Cassandra. Our wedding is proof.”

  Oh. So now he was going to tell her he didn’t want or need her?

  After the looks he’d been giving her all eve?

  Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. She was walking toward him with the intention to help him slam his head into the door when he spoke again.

  “I made a vow.”

  She stopped. “Oh. You speak of your betrothal?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “She’s a child. Should she make it to the ceremony, I’d be an auld man. One foot in the grave.”

  That didn’t look likely even if it were to take place a decade from now. The man was a perfect specimen. Virile. Manly. His vest was stretched at the shoulders showing their width. It had been cinched to his midriff showing he hadn’t an ounce to spare there, either. His shirt sleeves clung to his arms in a vain attempt to obscure muscle and strength. The way he’d lifted his shoulders had raised the hem of his attire. He possessed some very nice legs and muscled buttocks, and the gray trousers were giving her a nice view of that, as well.

  “I vowed na’ to take a wife at all.”

  “Rhoenne. If you don’t want or need me, just speak it.”

  The cry he gave was deep and guttural, filling the room with sound. It lifted shivers all along her skin.

  “I am trying to do the honorable thing here, Cassandra. You are safe now. None can slur your name.”

  “You wed me to protect my virtue? Is that what you’re saying?

  He shook his head.

  “Then cease avoiding my question. Tell me you don’t want or need me.”

  He took another heavy sigh. Lowered his forehead to the wood without banging it. And addressed his next comment to his boots.

  “I’ve been stifling want since our horse ride, Cassandra. ’Tis more than want, actually. Much more. As for need? That was my bane on the ship. I can na’ think for wanting you. Can barely function due to need. My entire existence has become a hellish one. I have little left to fight this with.”

  Oh my!

  Cassandra stepped next to him. Put a hand out toward his forearm that was level with her eyes. The same one she’d clung to for their first audience...and she’d felt shy then! It was nothing to how this felt. She had to reach out twice before she dared touch him.

  An instant shudder ran him when he felt it. “You do na’ want to touch me! Did you hear naught of what I’ve just told you?” He gave two huge breaths. Held the last one. Spoke through set lips and clenched teeth. “You may wish to run from me, Cassandra. Now.”

  “But I love you,” she answered. Then she gasped and slapped her free hand to her mouth.

  His arms dropped. His head swiveled. His eyes were opened as wide as his mouth. His look of complete astonishment probably matched the one on her face. Then he gave the biggest smile she’d ever seen, pushed away from the wall, shoved his head back, and roared so loudly several torches sputtered and wavered.

  The next moment she was in caught up against him. Held. His arms enwrapped her, sealing her against his chest. And his lips pummeled hers. Ungently. Fervently. Stealing breath.

  “Oh no! No! I can na’! I will na’! I must go gently here! Calmly! Ah!”

  The words didn’t match how he sucked his way across her chin, licked the skin beneath an ear. Cassandra squealed. Hunched her shoulder in defense. Hard, quick breaths, pushed by passion, rushed across her skin, raising a storm of shivers.

  “Cassandra! You have to stop me. Cassandra! You have to stop me! Cassandra! You have to stop me!”

  Shudders accompanied the words that grew louder and more vibrant with each repetition. She put her lips to his throat in response and sucked on the shaved skin. He gave a yell that vibrated his skin against her tongue.

  “Ah...sweet! You have to stop me! I am na’ gentle! I will be a rutting beast! You have to stop—! Ah!” This cry was deeper. Longer. It pulsated through the chamber, sending primal tones that shot sparks through just about everything.

  “You do na’ understand!”

  He tossed her over a shoulder. Raced for the chamber that held the bed. Brought her down into his arms a moment before launching onto the mattress. They bounced twice. Her hair cascaded about the coverlet beneath them. Her legs split. He filled the space with his lower body while his mouth again seized hers. He wasn’t intent on gentle calmness. He stole her every breath. Replaced it with his, creating a siege of want. Desire.

  And absolute need.

  Cassandra helped. Jostling for position. His lips marauding. Taking. Laving and licking. Hers trembling. Absorbing. Learning. And thrilling.

  Large hands rubbed up and down her sides, moving sections of skirt. Ripping seams. Deep-throated groans blended with her moans. Cassandra wasn’t remotely passive. She grabbed the sides of his vest and hauled the thing apart, pulled at the ties of his shirt. Yanked material up from where it was secured beneath his belt. He lifted to help her. The bed swayed and bounced as he rotated and shimmied, yanking the mass of vest and shirt over his head and then chucking it somewhere outside the bed enclosure.

  She’d seen his upper body that first night. In the tiny tent. She’d peeked at him with awe and admiration. She’d been tipsy with beer, but still recalled every nuance. But now, feeling the goosebumps lift under her fingers as she explored was an entirely new experience. Erotic. Sensual. Intense. He was hot. Hard. Strong. All manner of motion rippled beneath his skin. And then he went taut. Sucked in a quick breath.

  “Oh. Your wound,” she whispered. Her finger pads touched minutely on what had to be Ida’s stitches. “I forgot. I’m...so sor—.”

  She didn’t get the rest of her words out. He slammed his lips onto hers again, his lower body shimmying with jerked motions from between her still-clothed legs while holding his body weight from her with a push-up. She couldn’t think. She could only experience. Her entire sphere was awash with sensation.

  Taste. Touch.

  Sound.

  His kiss stole her voice. His breath meshed with hers. His hands burned everywhere they touched. She didn’t know where her sleeves had gone. Nothing hampered how he moved her up and down, using his hands on her arms and shoulders in a kneading motion while he pushed his hips up against hers. Down again. Back against hers.

  His palms created friction. His loins engendered wonder. His lips slid to her throat, tongued her skin just below he
r ear, tickling with the pressure and then cooling with his breath, while Cassandra gave vent to a cry that keened with emotion.

  Her cry wasn’t remotely soft. Or calm. It didn’t even sound like her.

  “Oh love. Oh, sweet! Oh, love. Oh, sweet! Oh, Cassandra!”

  The front of her kirtle was shoved down, his hand closed about a breast. Smashing. Lifting. Kneading. Fingers touched her nub, and Cassandra launched upward. An intense spear of light flashed through her. She swore she saw it. Cries of pleasure ricocheting about the three-sided enclosure, blending with the growling sounds he was making.

  The exquisite stitchery of her bodice tore.

  He found her other breast.

  Fingers rubbed at her peak with quick strokes, every motion sending electrified shafts rocketing from there. His breath went deeper. More harsh. He pushed himself down, his mouth searching and then latching to a nub, and at the first hint of suckling, Cassandra went absolutely wild. She grabbed his head. Pulled hair from his queue. Alternately bucked and writhed, panted and shook, gasped and cried, until she ran out of breath. Then she started it anew.

  She moved to clench fingers at his shoulders, clawing at the muscle while her legs enwrapped and then gripped his torso. Tears flooded her eyes. Got blinked into trails to her ears. More material tore. He lurched back into view, rocking the mattress with his move. His belly was a wall of moving muscle as he pushed her dress apart, separating her skirt. Tearing the kirtle open. Delving beneath her shift. His fingers were hot. Hard. Intent. He touched a thigh. Slid up her leg.

  And touched her core.

  Cassandra went rigid with surprise and shock, and an instantaneous impression of sensatory pleasure. She pulled in a shaky breath, only to lose it as he slid a finger into her most private depth. Touched her core again. Slid within. And then he did it again. And again. Quicker. Deeper. Over and over.

  And again.

  The hint of ecstasy grew. Slivers of immense pleasure spliced. The sensation growing stronger and larger. And still he touched and rubbed, moistening. Warming. An entire whorl of delight opened right up before her. And then it swallowed her. Cassandra screamed. Soared. She ran out of breath. Sucked in another. And screamed until that one ran out, too.

  “Oh, Cassandra. Oh, love.”

  Hard hands seized her hips. Yanked her to him, matching the spot he’d just brought to such incredible sensitivity, the entire area was afire and pinging with flashes of sensation almost too intent to bear. She felt his rod. Large. Rigid. Hot. Quivering. He slid it along her core, making the world sway with his motion. Up and down. Over and over. The bed rocked with him, the wood creaking and groaning with the same rhythm.

  “Oh...Cassandra? You are a maid? Yes?”

  The words were panted. Harsh. Incredibly deep-toned. She nodded.

  “I am...so sorry! You must...forgive and—! I can na’ wait...another—!”

  He pulled in a breath, dug his fingers into her hips, and rammed into her. His deep groan ruptured space. Time. Sanity.

  Cassandra jerked, absorbing pain that rippled across her belly and shot down both legs. His groan covered over the cry she gave, but not the sobs that followed. He arched upward, gaining leverage, only to shove deeper, and sent even more agony shooting through her lower region.

  “Rho...enne? Rho...enne?”

  The name came out in sections, each syllable filled with pain. And still he pushed into her. Rupturing her most sensitive place. Holding her in an inescapable grip so he could impale her and send torturous twinges. Agonized shoves. He wouldn’t stop. And once he was fully sheathed, it grew worse.

  He wasn’t content with splaying her apart, turning the experience into one of pain and agony? He needed to pound domination into her? Cassandra’s pleas didn’t stop him. Her tears hadn’t any impact. So she tried fighting. She pummeled him. Arched up against him. Fell. Lunged. Twisted. Nothing worked. Everything on him grew even more taut and tensed. And ever more lethal.

  “Put...your legs...about me,” he panted between his shoves into her. “It may...ease pain.”

  She tried, but he wasn’t any help. His body was a force of muscle and will, his face a blend of pain and pleasure. His lips were pursed to send angered, large gusts of breath that rippled over her. The bed frame creaked and rocked. The mattress bounced and shook. The space rotated. Spun. His lunges got faster. Went deeper. All of it meshing into an experience of blood and pain and sweat. The world careened about her in a pulsation of motion and sound. The bed joined in with an accompanying rhythm. And still Rhoenne pumped into her. Each thrust stronger. Faster. And accompanied now with a slight grunt as he continually pummeled her body with his.

  And then something changed.

  The agony she’d undergone warped somehow...became a throb of pain. Then it ebbed into ache. Soreness. Tenderness. And then the oddest sensation slithered across her experience, sending a glimmer of something. Something spectacularly...different. Completely new. Awesome and encompassing.

  It was then she started helping, her movements changed from fighting against to matching with. He may have sensed it, for his thrusts grew even longer. Stronger. The pace got ever faster. Guttural grunting accompanied each one. He thrust into her, held in a fraction of time before pulling out. Thrust in again. Held it longer. Did it again.

  “Cassandra! Sweet!”

  And with the next shove, a riot of sensory delight ensued. It poured through her, gripping her with fulfillment that hovered on the exquisite. She barely felt him push up into a back-cracking arch, his mouth stretched wide to yell the loudest, longest, most heart-pounding and vivid yell she’d ever heard. He stayed in that position for pulse-pounding long moments of time, throbbing in place, his loins continually twinging against hers, while everything else on him was taut and unyielding, as though sculpted from stone.

  And then it was over.

  Rhoenne fell atop her, and rolled to his back, holding her against him, taking her with him. She rose and fell with his every breath. Each inhalation large. Lung-expanding. While the exhalations were slow and lengthy, dropping her several inches. Where they were still adjoined was jumping with little bursts of pleasurable sensation that slowly ebbed...yet still tender with barely-remembered trauma. The rate and depth of his breathing altered. His entire frame followed, changing from a taut pounding wall of strength to a trembling mass of male that sent fresh tears to her eyes. The room settled back to normalcy. The air lost its warm, moist, weighty feel, and turned slightly cool. Ripples of hair that had been stuck to skin slowly drifted off her, down to the covers.

  Cassandra lifted her head, settled her chin on his chest, just below his throat. She slid a hand up his side, ran her finger along the slight scratchy feel of his chin, across the fullness of his lower lip, and then smoothed a lock of black hair from his forehead. He truly was gorgeous. Handsome. Excessively manly.

  And all hers.

  That’s when she knew. Either the sultan was a failure at this act, or the ladies who’d been responsible for instruction at the harem hadn’t any notion of what happened between a man and a woman. For one, they hadn’t mentioned pain. For another, they’d never brought up sensation. They hadn’t told of tenderness that enveloped the most private area, nor had they mentioned anything about the absolute bliss that could be attained.

  She’d guessed they were the leftover concubines of the former emperor; the women who hadn’t chosen sacrifice and burial upon his death. She hadn’t known they were probably old maids. They’d never experienced mating. The passion. Sense of urgency. The violence. She’d been told to lie passively. Accept the sultan’s staff. Put the mind to something pleasant and not on what was done to her.

  What nonsense.

  What had just transpired was so vast, Cassandra was still vibrating to it, reliving the width and scope of pleasure...almost forgetting the pain.

  Rhoenne opened his eyes. Caught her gaze. His eyes were such an unworldly-blue shade! Especially right now, with warmth radiating from them
. Her heart jumped. She gasped. He smiled. And her entire being flooded with a sense of happiness so massive, it brought tears. She sniffed, blinked them back, but more took their place.

  “Oh, Cassandra,” he whispered. “That was—.” He cleared his throat. Dropped his voice an octave. “I hurt you.”

  “I—.” She blushed. Blushed? Still joined with him, skin to skin, and she blushed? She couldn’t seem to find her voice, either.

  “Forgive me. I was na’ gentle.”

  Cassandra dropped her gaze and shook her head.

  “You will na’ forgive me?”

  “It’s not that,” she whispered.

  “’Twas my speed, then? I was...um. A bit rapid. Brutish? You should forgive me for that, as well. I told you I had nothing left to fight this with.” He dropped his head and spoke his next words to the canopy above them. “And here you asked if I wanted and needed you. Ha. I believe I proved both.”

  “Rhoenne?” she said.

  “Aye?”

  “There is nothing to forgive. That was...unlike anything I was taught. I was told to lie passively. How was I to do that?”

  “Oh. You dare try, and we’ll have issues.”

  Cassandra giggled. “I love you. More so than before, I think.”

  His arms tightened around her. His tremor shook her with it. “You should na’ say such.”

  “But it’s true. And...I think you have feelings for me as well.”

  He sighed heavily. It was an interesting prospect from atop his chest. She rose, hovered at that level for a span, then fell back down when he exhaled.

  “I am na’ certain of the emotion, sweet. But if there is such a thing, then I am most likely...heavily invested in it as well.”

  “You love me, too,” she translated.

  “Love is a curse,” he finally answered.

  Cassandra actually managed to answer with a word said in a noncommittal tone. “Curse?”

  “Aye. You should seek some sleep, Wife. You will have need of it.”

  “I will?”

  “Most assuredly.” He lifted his head again, looked at her, and gave her such a heart-melting smile a wash of moisture blurred him for a moment. “I told you. My existence has been a nightmare of hellish denial. The level of my want and need was...” He rolled his eyes before continuing, “Let’s just name it vast.”