Prisoner of My Desire

by Johanna Lindsey

  ?Treat this as any other chore, my sweet one. I would have other advice for you,

  easier to stomach, were he not a stranger and to remain a stranger. But remember

  that is all he is, that you will never have to see him again once the babe is

  well planted, so he does not merit your embarrassment.?

  But he had it, Rowena thought as she returned to the small room across the way,

  and the heat did not leave her cheeks again. His eyes were on her the second she

  opened the door, and he watched her approach the bed. Mere interest was all he

  showed this time, and she revealed nothing of her own turbulent thoughts.

  A chore, like any other? Very well, she told herself. Just get it done.

  She dropped her gaze to the bed, loath to watch him while she explained the

  horrid facts to him.

  ?I must have a child, and it must be conceived immediately. You were chosen to

  aid me because your hair and eyes are the same as my husband?s, for the child

  needs have the look of him. So we must copulate this night, and the next, and

  the next, until your seed bears fruit. I like this no better than you, but I

  have no choiceand neither do you.?

  His chains rattled, but she would not look toward those expressive eyes of his.

  Briskly, she took hold of the thick sheet covering him and I !

  flipped it to the end of the bed, where it slithered to the floor. She did not

  watch it fall. With a will of their own, her eyes were drawn to his manroot, and

  widened to their full roundness. There, truly, was the monstrous weapon she had

  heard tales of. It lay soft and still in a bed of golden curls.

  A growl came out of his throat, making her start, her eyes flying up to his face.

  Expressive eyes he had, so expressive, and now they promised grim retribution if

  she did not desist. She took a step back, suddenly afraid. So much fury in an

  expression.

  She had not bargained on this. Most men would not mind what she had to do. They

  spread their bastards far and wide, so what was one more to them? Nay, that was

  the attitude of nobles, not serfs. But male serfs took their pleasure where they

  could, tooonly they rarely knew if a babe was theirs or not, for the maids they

  cavorted with were not constantand they tended to marry if they were caught.

  Did he think he would have to marry her? Or did he object to the way they would

  have to copulate, with her on the top, with her in control? Mildred had called

  it unnatural, so mayhap he thought so, too. Well, she could not help that. She

  could not help any of this.

  ?I am sorry you object, but that changes naught,? she said now, her tone tinged

  with bitterness.

  ?I still must do it. But I will be quick so you are not disturbed for long.?

  His eyes flared at her, as if she had said something incredibly stupid. She

  wished she could not read his thoughts so well. She wished he would make this

  easier for her, but why should he? He must feel as misused as she did. Well, she

  refused to look at him anymore. And she would get this done and over with.

  So decided, she climbed up on the edge of the bed, but it suddenly shook so

  forcefully, she tumbled backward to land on the floor. She stared up at the

  ceiling, fighting for the breath that had been knocked out of her, wondering

  what had happened. But then she heard the chains settling down to silence and

  knewand got mad.

  Damn you! she wanted to rail at him, but all she did was get back on her feet

  and glare down at him.

  ?I will copulate with you. Do you understand? I have to!?

  She got back on the bed, ready for his violent thrashing this time, but less

  prepared to actually watch it. He was violent, and the power behind his bucking

  and twisting and writhing was terrifying to behold. His body strained beyond

  limits, seemed to grow in size. The entire bed bounced and moved across the

  floor. She lost her balance again, started to topple, but bent toward him just

  in time, so that she was thrown across his loins instead of to the floor.

  He stilled instantly. She worried then that she might have hurt him, and lifted

  herself up to look under her. But his manroot still looked the same, so she

  could not tell if her belly had harmed it or not. But from that position she saw

  the blood coating his ankles. She glanced at his hands, and there, too, blood

  smeared over his wrists.

  She hissed through her teeth at this evidence of his violence.

  ?You stupid man. Why cause yourself pain over something you cannot prevent??

  He answered with another growl. But while he was still motionless, she swiftly

  threw her leg over his hips to straddle them and gave him a triumphant look. If

  he was going to buck now, it would be all to the good. But he did not. He just

  watched her with murder in his bright silver eyes.

  Warrick had never been so furious in his life. She meant to steal a child from

  him, his child! If she succeeded he would kill her. Nay, that would be too quick.

  He would make her suffer the agonies of hell. But she could not succeed. What

  she intended enraged him, but it also left him cold, and the stupid wench did

  not even realize that, if that look of utter triumph she had given him was to be

  credited.

  He watched her lift her shift just enough to bare her warmth and settle it

  against his loins. Perversely, it enraged him even more that she did not intend

  to remove her clothes. She could steal his child, but she would not show him her

  nakedness to do it. Well and good, she would learn soon enough that she was

  doomed to fail. To that end, he closed his eyes against the look of her, which

  was too lovely by half.

  He fed on his anger. He seethed with it, his only desire to get his hands on her

  so he could beat her senseless. That she would dare do this to him! He recalled

  the words he had thought a jest, that she needed no help to rape him. For that

  alone he despised her. For that alone he could kill her, but she meant to steal

  from him as well, flesh of his flesh. The mere intent sealed her fate.

  But she was a stupid wench to think it was even possible to rape a man. Had she

  kept her mouth shut and merely offered herself to him, she could have had what

  she sought. His flesh would have responded instantly to the invitation, as it

  had nearly done at the mere sight of her. But now he did not even have to fight

  to remain unmoved beneath her, for his killing rage continued to leave him soft

  and uninterested in her warm flesh.

  She did not just sit there atop him and expect miracles. He could feel her

  fingers handling him, yet in a way that he had never been caressed by a female

  before. But when he became aware that she was trying to stuff his soft flesh

  inside her, his eyes opened incredulously. He saw that hers were closed now. She

  was biting her lower lip, and concentrating so deeply on what she was about, her

  features were scrunched together. He flinched when one of her nails poked him,

  but he realized she was not even aware she had done it.

  He wondered how long she would continue to attempt the impossible. Not long. She

  finally released a sob of frustration, and without meeting his eyes again, she

  gave up her seat and nearly ran from the room in defeat.

 
Warrick felt such fierce satisfaction, he wanted to shout with it. To have

  thwarted her so easily, with no effort on his part. He had won. She had failed.

  But she returned.

  He had not thought she would. And her face was now flame bright, but also filled

  with sueta look of determination, he felt his first stirring; of wariness, and

  rightly so. She slowly shrugged off her bedrobe and let it drop to the floor.

  When she reached for the hem of her shift, he closed his eyes tight.

  Her voice came softly to him.

  ?You can fight me, sirrah, but I have it on good authority ?twill do you no good.?

  He would not have answered that even if he could, but he would like to cut the

  throat of whoever had just given her the courage to try again. He strained to

  hear if she approached. Her small hand lighting on his chest told him she had.

  ?You must have realized I am a virgin.?

  He did not know it, but the word had the desired effect on him, even though he

  did not believe it. But so, too, did her hand, tracing a slow path down his

  chest to his belly. He expected his rage to distract him, but her voice

  continued to distract him instead.

  ?In my ignorance, I did not even know you were not ready for methat you needed

  encouragement of a certain kind. I did not even know that this soft flesh of

  yours would change and grow to a hardness like the rest of you.?

  She touched him, there, as she said it.

  ?I find it hard to believe, for ?tis already large, yet did Mildred assure me ?tis

  so. I am eager to see this strange happening for myself.?

  Did she know that what she was saying was as stimulating as her touch? Damn her

  and her advisor to perdition! Sweat broke out on his brow. He would not succumb

  to this seduction.

  ?I am to kiss you andand lick you, everywhere, even as a last resortthere.

  Mildred said you would have to be dead do you not respond if I kiss you there.?

  He was already responding. His mind screamed his rage, but his flesh was a

  betrayer of the worst sort, with a mind of its own, tantalized by her promise.

  He strained at his bonds. He went wild, trying to dislodge her hand. But she

  stood beside the bed, undisturbed by his thrashing, and her fingers closed

  around him, holding on tight. He stilled when he realized all he did was aid her.

  ?I would not have believed it did I not see it,? she gasped.

  There was awe in her voice. And she was petting him now, giving that worthless

  piece of flesh praise for obeying her instead of him. She did not even know he

  had not reached his full size, that he still fought with every particle of his

  being.

  ?I suppose now I need not kiss you.?

  Was that disappointment in her voice? Oh, God, he could not stand much more.

  What he had thought impossible was not. She could have what she wanted did she

  continue and he had no hope that she would not continue.

  When she climbed onto the bed, he thrashed again, but she grabbed hold of his

  hips and hung on. And he could feel her nakedness now as she hugged him, her

  breasts pressing against his skin, nearly at his groin. This, too, merely aided

  her, forcing more blood to rush to that traitor, so he stilled again, hoping he

  was not hard enough to penetrate her, praying she was a virgir so she would not

  know the difference and woulc still fail.

  She crawled up him, still holding on tighth in case he tried to throw her off

  again. Warric groaned at this further stimulation. And thei she was seated, and

  he was hard enough tha she only had to nudge him in the right direc tion.

  Heat. Scalding heat and moisture. Why coul she not be dry? Why could she not? ?

  Her whimper went through him like a lanct, even as he felt the cause of it. She

  was still trying to seat herself fully, but her maidenhead would not give, and

  she was progressing too slowly to do aught but cause herself pain. He felt a

  savage pleasure in that. So she was a virgin, and her own pain would defeat her

  where he could not.

  To move now would truly aid her, so he remained deathly still. Yet she was so

  small and exquisitely tight, the urge was there, nigh overwhelming, to thrust

  deep into her. He killed it swiftly. He could not control that traitor, but he

  still controlled the rest of his body.

  He heard another whimper, louder, and he opened his eyes to feed on her pain.

  Tears streaked her smooth cheeks. Her sapphire eyes, glassy with wetness,

  reflected that pain. But he had forgotten her nakedness.

  She was a small woman, but she was generously formed, her breasts bountiful, her

  waist tiny. The spread of her hips over him, her splendid breasts bouncing with

  her soft panting, the feel of hot wetness squeezing only half of him the sight

  of that part of him inside her? It was his undoing. He did not thrust. He did

  not have to. The blood rushed to swell him to his full, throbbing length, which

  pushed right through her maidenhead without either of them moving to help it.

  She cried out as it happened, and her weight carried her down to sheathe him

  fully in her depths. Warrick ground his teeth against the gag in his mouth. His

  muscles strained, but he remained still otherwise. He fought now for impotence.

  He fought to ignore the powerful urges of his body. It was torture. He had never

  resisted anything so hard, never wanted anything so much that was so opposed to

  his will.

  She moved on him, hesitantly at first, clumsily. She was still hurting, still

  crying, but still determined. Her breath, which was coming so hard, fanned his

  belly along with her hair, providing another caress, another torture. And he

  knew exactly when he lost the fight. He tried one last time to throw her off,

  welcoming the pain in his ankles and wrists, but she knew, knew, and she held

  fast to him. And then he no longer cared, was mindless in the throes of primal

  instinct, which took over compktety to dram his seed with explosive,

  unbelievable relief. Damn her, damn her!

  Chapter 9

  I am glad ?twas you.

  Warrick would never forget those words, nor would he forgive them. He recalled

  them again and again in those next days while he lay chained to that bed.

  She had collapsed onto his chest when it was over, her tears wetting his skin.

  She had found no pleasure in their coupling, but she had gotten what she wanted.

  And before she left him, she had touched his cheek and whispered ?I am glad ?twas

  you,? and his hate had increased tenfold.

  Her servant had come after that, to tend his wounds. The older woman had clucked

  her tongue over what he had done to himself, but she had also found the blood

  encrusted lump on his head and cleaned that, too. He had let her. Devastated by

  his failure, he no longer cared just then what was done to him. Nor had it

  bothered him when the man came in still later to stare at the blood and seed

  still wet on his loins with an odd mixture of satisfaction and fury.

  ?She tells me you fought her. That is good, or I think I would kill you now for

  what you had of her.?

  The man had turned about and left after that, nor had Warrick seen him again.

  But those few words had given him a wealth of information. He knew now that he

  was not meant to leave here alive
. They wanted no ransom from him. They wanted

  only the babe he might already have planted in the wench?s belly. He also knew

  the man was jealous of him, that he would take pleasure in killing Warrick when

  his usefulness was at an end.

  Still he did not care, not that next day, not about anything. He did not even

  feel the humiliation of having Mildred feed him, bathe him, and assist him to

  relieve himself right there in the bed. He did not even try to speak to her when

  his gag was removed for the feeding. His apathy was almost completeuntil the

  wench came back.

  Only then did he know it must be night again, for there were no windows in that

  small room to tell him of the passing hours. And only then did he come alive

  again, his fury driving him nigh mad. His thrashing loosed his bandages,

  embedding the iron manacles deeper into his still raw flesh.

  But she was patient that second night. She did not try to touch him until he had

  worn himself out. And she avoided getting on the bed until he was nearly full

  ready for her.

  Three times she visited him that second night, throughout the night, and three

  times the next, waking him if she needed to. Each time, perforce, took longer,

  with his body already sated, yet that did not stop her. She had him at her

  complete mercy. She examined him fully in the guise of caressing and stimulating

  him to readiness, everywhere, but mostly between his legs.

  She was fascinated by his manroot, brought her face and breath close to it, yet