His Captive Mortal

by Rose , Renee

  My unmoving heart twists, and I open my arms. “Come here, little fairy.”

  Chapter 12

  Anka

  He left her.

  A panic like none she’d ever experienced filled her chest, threatening to drown her with its very nature.

  No. Not Charles. Charles would never leave her. He loved her. He alone knew and loved the real Anka, flaws and all. He accepted her pride, ambition, moments of insecurity. He’d been her rock.

  But Anais had just reported he’d taken Madame de Olivier as his consort, deliberately aligning with her greatest rival.

  With a sweep of her arm, she cleared everything from her dressing table, bottles of eau de cologne and her articles of toilet flying off in all directions. How could this be? She would kill him. A stake through the heart. No, worse, she would torture him. Confine him with some form of silver to hold him—chains or a cage and keep him in her bedroom, forced to watch her every trique.

  But that thought sickened her. She had cuckolded him, after all.

  Damn him—why did he have to materialize in her room when she had a young man in her bed? An Adonis-beautiful, wealthy young man, no less, who paid her to teach him how to pleasure a woman. She’d expected Charles’ fury. Perhaps part of her had even craved it as proof of his love for her. She had thought she might have to protect the boy from murder, imagined a delicious dramatic scene in which she would use her feminine wiles to distract him. Perhaps she hoped he’d beat her mercilessly with the riding crop.

  But leave her? Non et non!

  Bitter tears burned her eyes. She hated him for this. How would she go on without him? She had no one in the world who cared for her now. No one at all.

  She hurled a silver pitcher at her looking glass, shattering it.

  Damn him.

  She would show him. She would best Madame de Olivier and her traitorous vampire.

  Summoning the full force of her anger and pain, she collected it in her gut, drew it up her center column and down her arms to her hands. Picturing Charles naked with the Olivier bitch, she hurled her curse, striking his cock with a magic more potent than she’d ever wielded, punishing him for all of eternity for scorning her.

  She wrapped her robe around her with a snap.

  “Adieu, Charles. You will never take pleasure with another woman, so long as you live.”

  * * *

  Aurelia

  I sit up in bed, trembling.

  Anka. And the curse.

  Why was I dreaming as if I were Anka? To help heal Charlie?

  I pull the blankets up around me as if they could stave off the chill within. Even as I think it, I know it’s not true. That feeling. That panic Anka experienced over being left by him was way too familiar. It perfectly mirrored my own the night before. I thought my anxiety about his leaving seemed overblown, and now I understand. Something deep inside me knows the truth. Fork. I’ve always known it. I fell in love too quickly. Had trusted too wholly. Had ached more than the situation warranted.

  Charlie didn’t find me by accident. I am Anka. Or I was in a past life.

  I know it on a cellular level.

  The thought terrifies me. How could I have done something so terrible to him? And what would happen when he finds out? He’s just beginning to trust me, to open up and share his vulnerabilities. How could he ever forgive me for what Anka did to him?

  I climb out of bed and walk to the shower on shaking legs. Turning on the water, I stand under it, numb.

  I never gave much consideration to karma. My nana taught me to believe in past lives, and I do but more as a concept that doesn’t really concern me. I know I came into this life with quirks—everyone does. Things that couldn’t be explained by life experience. People have irrational fears of water or choking. A hatred of men or screaming children. A sensation of never having enough time.

  My nana always said people in our lives are the same people from past lives—family members are recycled into different roles. Lovers become parents in the next life, children become sisters or brothers. I don’t know how that works with the immortal, but I know for certain Charlie walked back into my life for a reason. And healing him is the only way to release the karmic damage Anka instigated.

  I sigh and turn off the water. Now that I’ve experienced how Anka threw the curse, can I undo it?

  I lean into the emotions of the dream—fury, jealousy, betrayal, pain. I gather it like a ball around me, hold out my hand and picture Charlie. Then I try to suck the piece of it lodged in him back to me, drawing it like a magnet.

  I gasp when I feel it move, jumping and quivering. Charlie moans from the bedroom.

  Does it hurt him?

  I intensify my effort, sweat beginning to gather on my upper lip, the magnitude of concentration all-consuming. The blockage continues to quiver. Charlie cries out in pain, busting up my concentration. The connection breaks, the cork in Charlie grows still. My head throbs in protest, and I fall back against the bathroom wall, exhausted. I open the door and start to get dressed before I remember Charlie’s edict.

  I look at the clock. Nine thirty. Crap! I forgot to call in sick to work. Snatching up my phone, I wrap the towel around my torso and run out to the living room, dialing my work number on the phone.

  “Hello, Edith?” I try to sound feeble. “Hi, It’s Aurelia. I’m so sorry, I was up puking all night, and I just now woke up. I don’t know if it was food poisoning or the stomach flu, so I think I’d better stay away from the kids today.”

  “Okay,” Edith sighs. “I hope you feel better.”

  “Thanks. And I’m sorry, I should’ve called and left a message last night when I first got sick.”

  “Yes, I would’ve appreciated that. It will be hard to find a sub now.”

  “If I feel better this afternoon, I’ll come in,” I offer, guilt eating at me.

  “No. You’re right. If you have a flu bug, we don’t want all the kids getting sick. Stay home and keep me posted.”

  “Okay, will do. Thanks.”

  I end the call and walk back into the bedroom, worrying the inside of my cheek as I take in my sleeping vampire. He probably won’t wake for hours. So technically, I could get away with putting on some clothes and then taking them off again before he wakes. Plus, he said I had to be naked inside the house, which meant I could get dressed and work in the garden, and if he caught me in the house with clothes later, I could say I’d only just come inside.

  But no, the idea of being sneaky didn’t appeal. And obeying him felt naughty in the best possible sense of the word. I want to play our game… to a point. I leave the towel wrapped around my body, reasoning that it doesn’t qualify as clothing.

  I return to my study of magic, finishing one of the books and starting on another. So far nothing clued me in on how to rid Charlie of the terrible curse.

  “What are you wearing?”

  I look up from my reading to find Charlie leaning in the doorway, looking relaxed. His face still holds the color from feeding the night before, and I realize he didn’t sleep so long, either.

  “Not clothes,” I insist, lifting my arms to show him.

  “Stand up.”

  I stand, holding the towel in place with my arms pressed against my sides.

  “Drop the towel.”

  I hide a smile because I knew the command would come, and a frisson of excitement runs through me. I lift my arms and allow the towel to fall in a heap at my feet.

  Charlie folds his arms across his chest, surveying me with a critical eye. I know by now it’s all an act--his way of playing master. He’s not really the prick he pretends to be.

  He makes a circling motion with his index finger. “Turn around.”

  I slowly rotate, looking over my shoulder as I do. I’m already wet just from his seemingly critical gaze, as if he were measuring my attributes like a piece of meat.

  “You like showing off for me,” he notes, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smirk.

  “Wha
t makes you think that?” My voice isn’t as steady as I attempted to make it.

  He strolls forward, flicking first one nipple, then the other. “You’re pointing at me,” he observes smugly.

  I note the bulge of his cock in his jeans, and a wave of guilt washes over me. How can I look him in the eye when I know I was Anka?

  Charlie grasps my hair and pulls my head back. “You wore clothes today,” he accuses.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Don’t lie to me, I sense your guilt.”

  The hairs stand up on my arms as a pang of even deeper remorse plows through me. “You-you can feel that?”

  “Mmm hmm. I’ve had your blood, little mortal. There’s no hiding secrets from me now.”

  My mind whirls. “You’re right,” I lie. “I’m sorry. I just felt so uncomfortable naked.”

  He cocks his head to the side, studying me, as if he can also sense the lie.

  I force myself to think of something sexy, to distract him with amorous intentions before he ferrets out the truth. “Are you going to punish me?” I use my best innocent school girl voice. I don’t know whether it turns him on, but I get slick between my legs, warming at the thought.

  He must detect the scent of my arousal because he slides a finger there, just brushing my outer lips.

  My entire body jerks in response.

  “Mmm...sensitive.”

  “Charlie…”

  “Yes?”

  I don’t know what I meant by uttering his name with such appeal. I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I want to fix this. I close my eyes. Even pleasure’s too barbed with the pain that he can’t share it.

  Because of me.

  My eyes flick open. “Why are we doing this?” I ask, all traces of playfulness gone from my voice. “I don’t want to see you tortured.”

  His expression stiffens. He covers my breast in a possessive grip. “That’s too bad.” He circles behind me. “Because I love torturing you.”

  I inhale, my nerve-endings enlivening, waiting for his next touch. “I’m yours,” I whisper.

  “Hands clasped on your head,” he orders.

  I interlace my fingers and rest them on my head, lifting and spreading my breasts for his examination. He completes his circle of me and pinches both nipples, twisting them until I mewl from the discomfort. He releases them both abruptly and slaps one of my breasts.

  “Disobedience requires punishment,” he asserts.

  “Yes, master,” I concur, my skin tingling where he slapped, nipples aching from his pinch.

  “Spread your legs,” he commands.

  I widen my stance, increasing my sense of vulnerability with both breasts and now pussy exposed for his torture.

  He slaps my pussy from the front, his hand swinging in a graceful arc to connect with the delicate tissue.

  I jump, stepping my legs together to protect myself.

  He delivers several sharp slaps to my ass. “Naughty girl. I told you to spread your legs.”

  I swallow and open my legs once more.

  “I expect you to stay in position for your punishment. Do not move, or I will make it far worse for you.”

  The sternness makes my belly flip like a pancake, more warmth flooding my core. He holds my gaze as he slaps my pussy again and again.

  I moan. My legs wobble beneath me. The pain incites desire. My pussy wants more, even as I cringe for each new slap.

  “Do you like having your pussy spanked, Aurelia?” he asks in a low, seductive tone.

  I give my head a quick shake.

  “Don’t lie.” He sounds amused. “You’re dripping wet. You want me to spank you until you come, don’t you?”

  I let out a small whimpering sound, not sure whether I mean yes or no by it.

  He walks around behind me. “Bend over.”

  I bend at the waist but find the balance with my hands on my head too difficult, and one knee buckles.

  Charlie catches me around the waist with strong, sure hands. “You may place your hands on your knees,” he says, as if granting me a great boon.

  “Thank you, master.” I try for sarcasm, but falling short. I sound like a true submissive, trembling for my dominant’s touch, whether it be in pain or in pleasure.

  He claps his hand over my pussy from the back, his forearm spanking my anus a split second before his fingers smack down over my clit.

  “Ahh!” I cry out in surprise.

  “Naughty, naughty girl,” he says, spanking my pussy with each word, sending my eyes rolling back in my head as a dizzying wave of lust overcomes me.

  “Remember when I spanked you until you came, Aurelia?”

  I can’t speak at first, his continued assault on both holes fogging my brain with lust. After a moment, I realize he spoke. “Yes, Master,” I whisper.

  “This spanking won’t stop until you orgasm, either. But this time you don’t get to use your own fingers.”

  I give a sob of emotion, my pent-up passion on the brink of release.

  He grips my left hip, spanking with his right, his hand both punishing and pleasuring with each firm whap.

  “Oh...Oh, God!” I cry. “Oh please?”

  He seems to understand because he spanks me even harder, faster until by the fourth stinging slap I crest the peak, my sex gripping and releasing as I nearly fall forward. Charlie catches me, his left arm circling my waist, as he continues to spank through the orgasm.

  * * *

  Charlie

  I hold Aurelia up as her legs buckle, and she pitches into a beautiful climax. If orgasming was an Olympic sport, I’d bet anything on Aurelia taking the gold. Truly, to be able to give herself over to such powerful pleasure is a special talent—no, an art.

  When it passes, I stop spanking and admire her lovely form draped limply over my arm. Her hair falls like a shimmering curtain around her face, her fingertips stretching for the floor, but not quite reaching.

  I lift her upright and gently turn her to face me, pulling her close.

  She loops her arms around my waist, pressing her cheek against my chest, her entire body trembling.

  I kiss the top of her head. “Sweet little mortal,” I murmur endearingly. I love you. I don’t allow myself to say the words aloud, but they’re true. How had she so thoroughly captured my heart in such a short amount of time?

  I sense waves of bliss roll off her and realize with surprise that her pleasure’s enough. I don’t need my own release. Even if she never manages to lift the curse, I could be content with this. Not even the ache in my balls sours the moment. In fact, I accept the throb, almost relishing it, perhaps the way my sweet mortal likes her spankings.

  I lift her face from my shirt and kiss her deeply, trying to express the emotion I feel for her.

  She stands on her tiptoes and wraps her arms around my neck, kissing me back.

  “Go put on something pretty, I’m taking you to dinner,” I say when we break apart. I have the urge to spoil her a little, or show off, like some crazy caveman who just dragged a woman home and wants to show he’s a good provider.

  Her eyes light up. “Really? That sounds great. I’ll be right back.” She heads for the bedroom.

  A few minutes later she pokes her head back out. “Would you say you’re more of a skirt man, being from the nineteenth century?”

  I grin, the idea of her dressing to please me turns my chest warm. “Well, if you went by that, it would be full skirts to the floor, so no. I prefer to see your curves.” I make an hourglass shape with my hands.

  She laughs. “Got it.” She disappears again.

  “Aurelia?” I call out.

  “Yes, master?” she sings sweetly.

  “I’m going home to change. I don’t want you flipping out about me disappearing or anything.”

  She emerges and throws a flip flop at me.

  I laugh. As much as I adore her submission, I like her feisty, too. Dematerializing home, I shower and change then return to Aurelia’s living room.

&n
bsp; When she comes out of her bedroom thirty-five minutes later, I catch my breath. She put on the bustier I bought her over a sheer long-sleeved shirt that hugs her body. A pair of skinny jeans shows off her shapely legs and tight little ass, and high-heeled sandals dress it up. Even with the sexy bustier, she makes the outfit look classy, so I could take her to the finest restaurant in the world without her feeling uncomfortable.

  She took special pains with her makeup, mascara making her eyes appear bigger and a dusting of rouge accenting her cheekbones. She curled her hair and pinned most of it up on the back of her head, mimicking the Georgian styles of my day.

  I almost turn and run. Trace away just to gather myself. She was right about that—I do disappear when my emotions rise. So wise for her years. I find my voice, forcing myself to speak when her smile fades, and she begins to look uncertain.

  “I-I can change if you want. I wasn’t sure where we were going.”

  I collect myself. “You look incredible.” I hold out my hands.

  She walks forward, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor, and I take her fingers and kiss her cheek, not wanting to smear her fresh lipstick. She wore some kind of perfume, but not the synthetic, chemical smell of most scents, not the kind that gives me a headache. Something sweet and earthy. Perfect for my nature-loving fairy.

  “You are the light that shines.”

  She giggles nervously, fingering the corset. “Is it okay?”

  I close my hand over her fidgeting one. “Yes, love,” I murmur in her ear. “It’s perfect. It pleases me that you wore it.”

  A smile lights her face, and it hits me again that my pleasure was her goal. My still heart swells, almost paining me with the emotion.

  I step close and slide my hands over the small of her back, pressing her close.

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise,” I say with a smile. I trace, taking her with me.

  The wind tugs at my shirt as we materialize. We’re on a lit walkway on the side of a rugged cliff. Far below our feet, the ocean froths against the rocks.

  Aurelia gasps. “Where is this?”