Wicked Pleasures

by Rhonda Lee Carver

  “It was a tragic story.”

  “I’m confused, Roark.” He turned and looked at her. Glad that she was finally realizing the seriousness of their situation. “What does a story of lost love, wolves, death, have to do with me? Where do I belong in this?”

  “Like I said, in time you’ll understand.” He hoped.

  Her groan echoed off the walls. He watched her push back the covers and once her feet hit the floor, she dropped her gaze to her nightgown. She brought her chin up and shot invisible daggers at him. “I hope it was Miss Deveraux who kindly helped me into this gown.”

  He was on the fence. Should he tell her what she wanted to hear? Or, lie? “I’ve seen a woman’s naked body before.” He went an entirely different direction.

  “How absurd. You’re saying that once you’ve seen one woman’s body you’ve seen them all.”

  “That’s not the case?” He could only imagine where this was leading.

  “I guess coming from an ogre like you, I couldn’t expect anything more. For your information, I believe that when a man falls in love with a woman, he finds her body special. Therefore, not all are the same.”

  He processed her words and scratched his head at the foolishness. “You spoke that bullshit as if you really believe it.”

  “You said yourself you fell in love with this Jillian and she left you, which is probably why you’re so bitter. Now, where are my clothes?”

  “I think they are…, but wait, you believe I’m bitter?”

  She frowned. “Absolutely.”

  “Have you looked in the mirror recently?”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “In all honesty, you don’t think you’re bitter too?”

  “Hardly. I just like to be alone. What’s wrong with that?”

  “You stay alone so you don’t have to socialize with people, therefore preventing creating a bond. I’d say that’s bitter.”

  “Well, thank you Dr. Phil for your analysis but I don’t care what you think. Clothes?”

  “But the green slime did make you feel better, didn’t it? I guess I’m good for something. It’ll give you the calories you need.”

  She placed her fists on hips. “Really? Are you going to complain about my weight again?”

  He shrugged. “I wasn’t saying anything about your weight. I was only suggesting that since you’ve been asleep for two days your body needs the nutrition.”

  She waved him off like he was an irksome fly. “I’m going to my bedroom and getting clothes.” She stomped toward the door. Before her hand was on the knob, he was beside her. “Here, allow me.” He opened it for her.

  Without a look his way, she brushed past him and started down the hall. He smiled. She twirled and stared him down. “Do you think it’s possible that just once I can go somewhere without you following?”

  He sighed. He hated babysitting, especially someone who he couldn’t trust not to stick a foot into his balls if given a chance. However, because she was a feisty nymph, he had to keep a close eye on her. Danger lurked outside the walls of his home, and she wasn’t prepared for those perils. “Absolutely not,” he said, ready for an argument, but Miss Deveraux approached him.

  “Mr. Roark. You have a phone call.”

  “Who is it?” he asked.

  “It’s Mr. Shelby, sir. He says it’s urgent.”

  “Thank you. I’ll take the call in the den.” Waiting on Miss Deveraux to disappear down the stairs, he said to Bronte, “Is it possible you can be a good girl long enough for me to take this call?”

  “Where am I going to go in this locked-down fortress?”

  There were plenty of places she could wander to, but she didn’t need to know—not yet. However, she couldn’t go anywhere without him knowing, or getting there first. “Alright then. Get dressed and come downstairs, please.”

  “Wow, the man does have manners.”

  Roark shook his head as she vanished into the bedroom. He laughed. He’d even surprised himself by using please. Was he getting soft? Oh hell no. That couldn’t be possible. He was a leader, and his strength kept him on top.

  With one last glance at the closed bedroom door where Bronte had gone, he turned and started down the stairs. The woman would be the death of him—literally.

  ****

  Bronte closed the door and leaned against the solid wood. Her brain wasn’t as fuzzy and she was absorbing the facts. Pushing her fingers through her hair, she realized the wound on her hand no longer hurt. The cut, the stitches, everything was gone. She couldn’t even see a scar from the deep gash. Was it magic?

  She didn’t believe in magic. She trusted in facts. Yet, she believed Roark.

  There were things she needed to know, and within the story there were clues. She took a notepad and pen from the drawer and began jotting her thoughts down. If she could figure out the missing hints, maybe she could—

  What? Solve the mystery? Why did it matter what was hidden in Azelda’s message? Or what Roark was keeping secret? What she should focus on was getting the hell out of the dungeon.

  Why did getting away from Roark not seem as important?

  She sat down on the chair. Her emotions were different, but couldn’t understand why. As she looked out of the window and across the yard to the edge of the woods, she had an overwhelming urge to cry. Why did she feel a connection with Roark? She wanted so badly to dislike him, but she didn’t. As hard as she tried to use anger for protection against her feelings, the sad fact remained, she couldn’t loathe him.

  On the paper, she wrote Wolves and humans.

  Could there be such a thing as packs of wolves? Humans during the day and creatures at night. A cold chill swept over her, not from fear. Roark was a wolf, or a human, a mix… She didn’t know how that worked.

  Then she wrote, a one-hundred year old curse. The lovely young woman she’d seen in her dream wanted revenge on the wolves. Bronte could understand such deep resentment. After her mother had passed away, she’d found herself full of anger. She hadn’t cared about anything, not even her father. She blamed him for disappearing when Bronte’s mother, his wife, needed him the most. Her relationship with her father had never been close.

  The witch’s words lingered. Anger comes with a price.

  Bronte rubbed her eyes as frustration coursed through her. What was the curse that changed lives? And how did it involve her? Roark wouldn’t have brought her here and taken her to the witch’s shack for no reason. Why couldn’t he tell her? He’d said that he didn’t know everything…He even blamed her for the curse…

  Roark was right, the brain would only absorb as much information as it could handle. She was stuck inside a realm of lunacy.

  In the distance thunder rolled. The sky was turning dark and the clouds moved fast. A storm was coming, and not just in the sky.

  Getting up, she dropped the notepad and pen on the chair and went into the bathroom. Rummaging through the basket of toiletries, she found shampoo, conditioner, soap and a soft sponge. She guessed it was time to clean up. Another option was to stay dirty and repel Roark. As much as that idea entertained her, cleanliness trumped revenge.

  While the water ran in the bathtub, she stripped from her gown and panties. A wandering thought made her heart skip a beat. Roark had undressed her from her riding clothes. His touch lingered on her skin and she should be disgusted, but she felt anything but revulsion. Giving him the benefit of doubt irked her, but she believed, instinct maybe, that he’d not taken advantage. Anyway, if she’d slept that long in her tight breeches and stuffy shirt, she’d have awoke with more problems than a headache.

  Sliding into the water, she sighed as tension melted from her tight muscles. Tranquility allowed her mind to drift to places she shouldn’t go but every woman needed a fantasy.

  One memory clung to her nerve endings like molasses… Roark had brought her to completion with his fingers. Hands down, that moment, along with his kiss, had bee
n the most powerful, extraordinary time she’d ever experienced. Her toes still tingled. She was no expert, but she’d been kissed a few times and nothing could compare.

  Gage had been the only man she’d been with for years. He wasn’t a bad kisser, but he’d never made inner thighs quiver and pulsate. The relationship between her and Gage was different in the intimacy department, but they were good together. He’d never been rude, short-tempered, or egotistical like Roark. It’s possible she was missing something though because Fallon had never liked Gage and she trusted Fallon’s instincts.

  Why had Roark’s kiss and touch left her wanting more? And how could she get so much enjoyment in simply looking at him? The man did have a spectacular physique. Any woman, or man, would appreciate his body.

  She had to stop!

  Flicking thoughts of Roark outside of her mind, she refused him occupancy another second. She should be thinking of Gage, and the dilemma she was in when it came to their association.

  Strangely, she didn’t miss Gage. She hadn’t thought of him more than twice since she’d been here. If she truly loved him, wouldn’t she want to see him? She didn’t. In fact, she was starting to realize she never wanted to see him again.

  Relaxing her head, she closed her eyes and cleared her mind. No harm could come of enjoying her time alone…

  “You’re beautiful.”

  Hearing her name, she opened her eyes and jerked, splashing water all over the floor. Roark stood above the bathtub, his heated gaze was like an electrical charge. “Roark!” She sat up further and covered her breasts. “What are you doing in here?’

  “I heard you call for me,” he said as one corner of his mouth lifted.

  Every nerve in her body awakened as he continued to watch her with man-hungry eyes. “I didn’t. You need to go!”

  “Is that what you really want, Bronte? For me to leave?” he asked.

  She wanted to lie, but when she opened her mouth the truth spilled out. “No, I don’t.”

  “Okay.” He lowered to his knees and bent over the side of the tub, their faces were close and she got a scent of musk and mint. Her heartbeat went into a frenzy and she thought it would burst inside her chest. Her breaths became raspy as the core of her body blazed alive. “I want to touch you, sweetheart. I want to put my mouth all over you, to sample your love. I remember your taste—sweet and addictive.”

  Inhibition dwindled and she moved her arms to her sides. His gaze smoothed over her breasts and her nipples tingled, aching for his lips. He rewarded her by dropping his head and rolling his tongue along the areola and flicking the tip. She moaned as her insides trembled. Water spattered as he dipped his hand between her thighs to the part of her that screamed for attention. His large hand pressed her nether lips, spreading her legs, as he slipped one finger inside her. She laid back and closed her eyes, falling into the sensational madness. She quaked when he found her G-spot, overcome with prickles of hunger. He continued to pump her knuckle deep and rub her clit in circular motions, blanketing her with delicious sensations.

  Rolling her hips against his palm, she felt herself drawing nearer to her peak. She’d never wanted anyone like she did him. “I need you.” The words tumbled from her lips.

  “Are you sure, sweetheart?” he asked.

  “Yes, Roark! I want to feel you inside of me.” Opening her eyes, her breath caught. His eyes appeared yellow. She blinked, but they remained intense. He removed his finger, brought both of his arms underneath her and lifted her from the water. Standing up from the floor, he held her against his broad chest. She could feel the thumping of his heart against her arm.

  He carried her into the bedroom and lowered her onto the middle of the bed. Naked and wet, she shivered, but not for long. As their gazes connected, her body grew warm. Where he’d held her his clothes were damp and his erect nipples were visible under his thin shirt. He lifted the material from his torso and over his head. The man was beautiful. From smooth, broad chest, six-pack abs to tapered waist, he was masculinity in its truest form. There was no holding back from touching him any longer.

  Climbing to her knees and hands, she crawled over to him, and with shaking fingers, she helped in undoing and unzipping his jeans. She tugged the waist down his hips and pushed them to his knees. His large, thick cock stood erect. A pearl of pre-cum glistened on his tip, inviting her to taste his virility. Wrapping her fingers around his silken girth, she brought her lips to him and licked the moisture. A groan escaped from deep in his throat and his muscles tightened. Sliding her mouth around him, she suckled and smoothed her tongue over his iron muscle as his fingers entwined in her hair, as if he held on for dear life. She took as much of him in her mouth as she could, feeling him in her throat. Gently, she slid her teeth along his skin as she moved her lips.

  “Damn!” He grabbed her shoulders and tossed her back onto the bed. “You naughty nymph. I could fuck you until daybreak, but tonight, my love, I’m going to make love to you.”

  Bronte stretched her arms high above her head, thrusting her breasts forward and opened her legs in a wide V. “Take me. I’ve waited too long for this. I won’t wait another second to have you!”

  “I’m here to please you. That’s what I live for.” He moved onto the bed and hovered above her. Emotion overcame her, almost bringing her to tears. “Don’t cry, my love. We were made for this—you and I, created to love one another. Once we come together, no man or death can tear us apart. Bronte, you are the wife of my heart—always!”

  She lifted her arms around his neck and tugged him closer. “And you, Roark, are the husband of my heart. I belong with you.” He guided his cock between her thighs and she felt him against her. With great compassion and caring, he gently pressed himself inside of her, allowing her muscles to accommodate his size. When he filled her, she gyrated her hips, wanting him to bury himself deeper.

  “Slow, baby. I don’t want to hurt you, and dear sweet mother earth, I don’t know if I can control myself. Your tight pussy will be my undoing.”

  Clinging to his broad shoulders, digging her nails into his back, she swathed her legs around his waist as he impelled her. The world around them disappeared as they became one. Nothing mattered…not their separate lives, not the curse, not the future…only satisfaction spinning around them.

  With each thrust, his muscles tightened. Sweat beaded between their bodies and they flowed together. His fingers bit into her thighs as he rode her.

  “Roark! Roark!” His name fell from her tongue.

  ****

  Roark opened the door to Bronte’s bedroom and listened. Nothing.

  He made his way in, glancing around the space. She wasn’t there. “Damn!” he cursed. If she’d attempted to get away again he had no choice but to lock her bedroom door.

  Marching inside the bathroom, he stopped dead in his tracks. There she was, relaxing in the tub. He swiftly turned. “I didn’t know you were in here.” He half expected a bar of soap to come careering by his head. When she didn’t respond, he knew something was up. He spun back around and saw that her eyes were closed and her mouth was slightly open. She was sleeping. He debated whether to wake her, but when her hand dropped to the apex of her inner thighs and she touched herself, he knew the answer. He didn’t need the torture, and his hard cock was painful against his zipper. “Bronte?”

  She moaned, her tongue came out and moistened her bottom lip, and he almost lost his sanity. Damn! A beautiful, naked woman touching her pussy in the bathtub would be enough to make any man cry for release. He growled and her eyes fluttered open, followed by a squeal as she covered her breasts with her arms.

  A mark on one breast caught his attention. He moved closer and a pain ripped through his chest. A birthmark—in the shape of a bird.

  “You ogre!” The sudden shout came, followed by a shampoo bottle being hurtled at him.

  “Damn, woman. I’m lucky that you’re a bad shot!”

  “Who do you think you are? Get the hell out of here!” />
  “I wasn’t staring at your breasts…,” he attempted to explain.

  “Get out or else!” Her lips puckered.

  “Are you angrier because I’m here or because you had a dream about me touching you?” Her eyes widened and her cheeks reddened. “Yes, sweetheart, if you haven’t realized it yet, I can see your thoughts.”

  “How? It’s unfair. Stop!” Her chin trembled and his heart sank. Would she cry?

  “It’s not my fault that you can’t keep me out. I can’t control what I see anymore than you can control what you’re thinking.” He realized he was yelling and he lowered his voice. “When there is a true connection, it can only continue to grow stronger. Don’t you think I’d like to rid myself of this…this misery?” A tear dropped to her cheek, followed by a whole stream. Fuck! He rubbed his temples with the pads of his fingers as his headache intensified. Talking to her was like speaking to someone who had amnesia, but worse. “Get out of the tub before you drown!” He turned and stomped back out of the bathroom. He made it to the hallway before he started breathing normally again.

  Every nerve in his body was on alert. His head was pounding as blood rushed through him in a burning force. He saw the mark. She had the exact same one as Jillian. To have the identical blemish at exactly the same spot as Jillian had knocked his brain for a loop. His eyes blurred with moisture as his heart twisted.

  He’d always known that Jillian survived through Bronte.

  And yet, Bronte and Jillian were different.

  The longer he was close to Bronte, the more his wall crumbled and reality became clearer. If he didn’t change the curse soon, not only would his clan be demolished, but Bronte would be in danger also. He knew an enemy waited, but his betrayer’s identity remained a mystery.

  He’d protect her with all that he had. He refused to allow the demons of his past to befall his love again. This time he had to make things right before it was too late.