The heat built between them, consuming, demanding. More. More. She strained to hold him while he pulled away now, only to drive himself home with the full force of his lust. Each thrust ripped at raw nerves, pushing her farther, drawing her in further, demanding more. More. She rode up his length, impaling herself again and again, feeling the lasso holding him back, her pleasure building in intense waves. She broke around him, drenching him with her shattering release, and yet it was not a release, but only a demand for more.
He fulfilled that demand, his breathing once again ragged and shallow, his face once again strained with the effort as he slammed his hips up against hers like pistons working the big steam shovel below in the mines. She sobbed into his hair, holding him tightly against her breast, riding him harder, wanting, needing, taking all he could give. Again she shattered around him, clenching so hard she feared she would hurt him, but he gave her only a moment's rest before he buried himself into her once again.
His hands worked her breasts now too, stretching and teasing and milking her swollen nipples until she screamed for release. "Now!" she ordered.
His hips arched off the furs, driving into her with the sound of wet flesh smacking together as she fell back to straddle him crabwise, her head resting back against his knees. His hands splayed over her pelvis, his thumbs riding beside her clit with every stroke. Stars that she'd only dreamed about shimmered in a sky she'd never seen. The beat of his pulse hammered in rhythm to her own against her ribs. She screamed mindlessly as she snapped, crushing, pulling, milking him for all he had.
His control broke as she tugged at the lasso, and he pumped into her in a final agonizing frenzy, his climax coming almost in slow motion as the cock ring sustained his pleasure, his semen pumping hot and gushing as he filled her again and again, washing away her innocence with her fears.
When she could move again, she unwound her limbs to lay curled against his chest, her arms clasping him to her, his molten-metal cock slowly cooling within her. She chuckled softly against his chest as the capacity for thought returned.
"What are you thinking, Braunnan?" His voice came as an amused whisper against her ear, which he gently nipped.
"I made so much noise, I probably woke my shift-mates."
His fingers stroked absently along her arm, an oddly comforting gesture that made her snuggle more closely against him. "I think they will forgive you, considering the other torments you have lifted from them."
Braunnan adjusted herself more comfortably across his chest, shoving the chain out of her way. "We have to get rid of this next shift." Her voice sounded like little more than a mumble, even to her own ears.
"Yes, M'Lady. Sleep now. I will watch over you."
She wanted to argue, but sleep pulled at her like a warm, welcoming hand. "Gregory."
"M'Lady?"
"My mate must have a name. I was always partial to the tale of St. Gregory."
He laughed against her neck. "I'm not much of a Saint."
"And I'm not much of a dragon. But you have slain me with your sword nonetheless."
"And they call me crazy," he teased as he kissed her forehead.
Braunnan wasn't sure how long she'd slept this time. Long enough to feel the ache of the work cycle fade away. Long enough to feel an ache of another kind set in. The shift was still darkened, not yet signaling the end of this sleep cycle.
How many times had she woken up thus, waiting, listening, watching for a sun that would never rise, a wind that would never blow, birds that would never sing?
Not here. Not for her.
She rearranged herself in the bed, pulling the furs up over her chilled, naked—
Strong arms closed possessively around her, pulling her back against a warm, hard chest.
Panic nearly overwhelmed her. She had to fight the urge to break free. She was not alone. There was a man here, with her, in her bed. A man who cuddled her now like a lover.
Who was he? What had she done?
She remembered no revelry last shift. No ale madly sloshed until the floor and the ceiling were as one. No fool of a man making eyes at her until she succumbed to loneliness and allowed herself to be pawed by some sloe-eyed cub who could not see beyond the stone horizon.
She stifled a sob as she forced herself to turn in his arms. Might as well get this over with. Might as well find out just how much damage had been done. Nothing like waking up with a man you didn't remember to get the shift off to a great start.
Her breath caught in her throat. Even in the dark of pre-shift change she could tell she faced a gorgeous stranger. Tall and trim, pale skin accented with dark, fire-red hair that led in a point like an arrow to a now flaccid penis nestled safely in a mound of springy curls, sleeping as quietly as its owner.
It was hard to resist the urge to touch. Warmth flowed through her, chasing away the chill of the sleep cycle. Her fingers moved restlessly to push the heavy furs aside. Because she was warm, of course. Not because she wanted to see even more of that magnificent body.
She drifted back, testing her memory to find its weakness. Last work-shift had been ordinary enough. Up at lights-on. Dressed and ready to work by the end of first light ritual. Grab her equipment, slog to the mines in the south wing, rounding up a few stragglers along the way. Flirt with a few tired potential donors from second shift as they passed on up the shaft on their way home.
Nothing out of the ordinary. No bright pockets of hidden gems in the deep vein they'd been working for weeks now. No broken tools or injured miners to care for. Home, and a quick dinner of bread and mushrooms, then time to try to catch up on lost slee—
Sleep. She had tried to go to sleep. But the madman had prodded her beyond her endurance and she'd—
By the gods. What had she done? Braunnan felt a sudden chill settle over her. She hadn't really brought the madman back to her bed. Surely she hadn't really made all that noise. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks.
"You can always claim I forced you." The man beside her sat up abruptly, pulling away from her as he yanked one of her furs across his waist. He reached to gather the length of chain strewn across the bedding. "Tell your crew you screamed, but no one came to help you."
She'd screamed all right. She licked her lips as details came pouring back into her memory. "I could," she agreed, remembering. "But why would I want to?"
He didn't raise his head. He wouldn't. He was too ready to expect the worst from her. Not just her. From everyone.
They would have to get past that, somehow, if she was to keep him. And she found that the more she remembered, the more she wanted to keep him. "I don't remember needing any help."
"Better than trying to explain mating with a madman to your crew."
Braunnan tried not to laugh, knowing he would not understand. "Who I invite to my bed is my business, is it not?"
He was still staring at the wall, his knees drawn up against his chest now, his posture as rigid and defensive as if he expected her to anchor the end of the chain and call for the guards. Perhaps that was just what he expected. His voice dripped with bitterness. "I don't recall being invited. Picked up and thrown over your shoulder. Threatened even. But not invited."
She fought the urge to slap him. "I'm sorry. I'm not at my best when I get woken up. Perhaps you should go to the guards. Tell them I raped you. Maybe they'll give me your old cell."
He looked up, large green eyes hurt and confused. "That's not what I meant. You didn't rape me, and you know it."
"What do you mean, then?" she snapped. "Speak your mind."
"Do you think I don't know how you feel? You wake up with a madman in your bed. What will you tell your friends, your shift-mates? Some things you can explain away, but not me. Everyone in your section will know you've mated with me. Well, I'm sorry, but that's not my fault. You knew what I was when you brought me here. Now I'm an embarrassment to you. Fine. Dump me somewhere. Make me someone else's problem. I'm easy enough to get rid of."
She'd hurt his feeli
ngs? But how? No matter what she'd thought, she surely hadn't said anything that should have upset him. She hadn't said anything. What she'd thought was another matter. Unless…"Can you read minds?" she questioned. "If you can you don't do it very well. You don't know what I feel. What I felt. Not if that's what you're thinking."
"No. I cannot read minds. Just feeling what other people feel is bad enough. If I knew what they thought I would really go crazy."
"You feel other people's emotions? You're an Empath? I've heard legends of such talents among our people long ago, but they're just legends. How can such a thing be possible? Magic doesn't work down here."
He pulled his knees up even tighter and he started to rock, his head bent nearly to his knees, his confusion and agitation growing by the moment. "I'm not. I don't know. I don't know what I am or how anything works. I can't tell you anything. Just leave me alone."
This was getting her nowhere. Whatever he was, strong emotions—first her confusion and embarrassment, now her anger—seemed to shatter him like pieces of broken pottery. If she could bring her emotions under control, perhaps she could stabilize him as well.
Braunnan concentrated on logical, emotionless thinking.
He had some sort of a gift, but whatever form the gift took, he was unpracticed, unskilled. Perhaps he had not yet had time to learn to master the gift. He would not have had a mentor. None who had grown up below knew aught of magic. There would have been no one to teach him, no one to help him understand.
She glanced up to see what effect she was having now. The rocking gradually ceased as she calmed her thoughts, but he still looked hurt and miserable. She needed to hold him, to comfort him, but he wouldn't let her that close again until she regained his trust. "I know what you felt from me hurt you, but you misread me. You misunderstood what I felt."
"I don't think so," he challenged. "What was there to misunderstand? You were embarrassed."
"Of course I was embarrassed. Have you never woken up feeling disoriented? There was a man in my bed and I couldn't remember his name or how he got there. That's not the sort of thing I usually do."
He stared back at the floor again. "I still don't know his name. My name."
Braunnan followed her instincts and reached out to lay a hand over his where he clasped his knees against his chest. "I want to help you, to heal you, but I do not know how. Yet somehow I know your mind will heal itself, given time. You're not really mad. Your mind has simply had more to cope with than you could reason your way through all at once. In time you will learn to master your gift, as your mind heals."
He shook his head emphatically. "No. This is not a gift. To know what those around you feel is the worst of all curses. Would a gift rip me apart and drive me insane?"
"People fear what they do not know. You must not be afraid of your gift. You have had no one to teach you. Some things you cannot learn alone."
His fear was easy to read, although he kept his eyes averted. "I have always been alone."
"As have I. But we're not alone now, are we?" Wariness warred with hope in his eyes as he finally looked up. She had yet to gain his trust.
"I trust you," he argued almost immediately. "If you wanted to kill me you could easily have done so while I slept."
"Do you trust me enough to believe I can be angry without being angry with you? Do you trust me enough to know that if I'm in pain you may not be at fault? How can you? Those are trusts I will have to earn."
He blinked slowly, his eyes still wary, though he had made no move to escape her touch. "I do not understand."
"If you stand in the middle of the assembly hall with many people talking, the conversations you overhear are not always meant for your ears. So it is with emotions. I can feel embarrassed or hurt or angry for any number of reasons. You must learn to filter the conversations your gift brings to you. When you see a couple across the room screaming at each other, the situation tells you they are angry, but not at you. Yet when the conversation is closer, beside you, it may not be so easy to tell what emotions belong to whom and where they are directed. With time and practice those distinctions should become easier, less overwhelming."
Stormy green eyes gazed into hers, awash with conflicting emotions. "You are wrong."
"Often," she agreed with a smile.
"You said you didn't know how to heal me. When you touch me, you rebuild me. No one has ever cared enough about me to want to heal me before. I am lost, adrift, and you anchor me. Right now all that I am is what I see in your eyes, what I feel in your heart. Right now I don't have to wonder who I am."
Braunnan leaned forward to press her lips against his temple, her hand still pressed over his. "You are my chosen mate," she reminded him. "Let that be enough for now. The rest will take care of itself in its own time. For now, come back to bed with me. I want you, my mate."
She watched him force his stiff shoulders to loosen, relaxing muscle by muscle as he lay back. The fur fell away as he rolled to his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look up at her. "Why would you want me here, Braunnan? You know what they say about me. My own people say I'm crazy. I'm not even sure they're wrong. I don't know anymore."
"I know what they say. I know what I've seen." Braunnan rested her hand on his chest, playing lightly with the fine curls that surrounded his nipples, watching them pucker with desire, almost as if against his will. "I know what I feel. I'm tired of being alone. I'm not a steam shovel, built solely to dig in the mines. I have needs and desires that stretch beyond the bounds of mining for ore and crystals. Yet I have never mated before. I never found the right man. I don't know how or why, but I believe we were meant to be together, here, now, in this place and time."
His breathing was already unsteady, but still he didn't reach for her. He stared up at her instead, questions still troubling him. "You have a whole crew to choose from, probably two dozen young men available any sleep-shift who would give their souls to lie with you, should you but invite them."
"I want you." She pressed her hand flat over his nipple. "Only you. You asked me to mate with you. Have you changed your mind, or will you stay?"
His eyes closed as his chest muscles fluttered beneath her hand. "I will stay as long as you'll have me."
"Touch me," she whispered.
Chapter Four
"Touch me," the Daemoness commanded, her voice low and sensuous. Her claws raked over his chest, almost hard enough to draw blood. His cock throbbed, ready to explode. One wrong move and she would kill him. One right move and she would destroy him in another way.
Did she know, did she have any idea what she was doing to him? He could not resist her. Didn't even want to try. He was a fool, but he was her fool. If she killed him, it was no more than he deserved. He pulled her into his arms, rolling to pin her beneath him, not to control, but simply to touch.
Her glowing green eyes slid shut under heavily lashed lids as he traced the outline of her jaw with his fingertips, careful not to get too close to those fangs…
Trust me, she said. How could he trust anyone? If he told her what he had seen, if he tried to tell her about the other world, she would know that the guards were not wrong to have locked him away. Yet how could he trust a woman who did not share his dreams?
His throbbing cock didn't care what she believed. Her low moan of pleasure as he tasted her breasts, suckling first the right, pulling gently on the small metal ring that pierced her nipple, twisting until she writhed beneath him, was as heady an aphrodisiac as any the alchemist might ever produce. Yet she would rip out his heart if he wasn't careful. Those claws would fasten on him and…
They fisted in his hair, now, pulling his mouth tighter against her breast. He trailed his hand down over her belly, slowly, letting her know where it was going, but moving none too fast, teasing, making her wait, making her writhe against him so that his body shook with desire.
Yet if he was to tame the Daemoness he had to win her completely, he had to break her, had to have her begging. Hi
s hand drifted lower, brushing over the thick pelt of lush, dense curls, threading his fingers through her fur, exploring, pleased when she rocked hard against his hand, twisting, moaning.
He had no trouble defining her emotions this time. Lust poured off of her in waves, meeting his own, equally demanding. Beneath the lust there was passion, a desire for something more than the touch of the moment, a longing to hold, to possess, to own. Those emotions frightened him, but not enough to deter his fingers from their mission. He slipped first one, then two through the curls that pressed against him to find the moist heat they concealed, spreading her lower lips wide as he slowly licked his way down her belly.
He moved down her body with as much patience as he could muster, determined to break the Daemoness, to possess her, to capture her soul. She propped herself up on her elbows to watch him as he lowered his head to take the first taste of her.
"Sweet," he whispered against her hot, delicate skin. He ran the tip of his tongue over her clit experimentally. She bucked against him as if she'd been shot through with a lightning bolt. He spread her wider, tracing her opening, judging from her sharp intake of breath that she was more than ready.
So tight. He pushed into her slowly, sliding his tongue along folds his cock longed to explore, pulling away only to circle her clit, pushing, tasting, thrusting into her until she clutched at his hair, her voice an incoherent plea for more.
He gave her more. He sucked at her juices as she cried out, arching helplessly against his mouth as he lapped at her clit, pausing only to draw in a deep breath, laden with the heavy smell of her musk. Her muscles closed hard over his tongue as he slid it back within her, lapping at her convulsing walls as she cried out again in pleasure.
A Prisoner's Desire Page 4
