Rituals of Passion (Brides of Caralon, Book One)

by Alexander, Lacey

  Her chest heaved slightly beneath him and when he set the apple aside and eased his hand up under her skirt, he sank his fingers into an equally moist pussy.

  “Enough eating,” he said low and feral in her ear. “Now it’s time for fucking.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “No,” she said, but her breathing was ragged, the protest weak.

  He lowered a kiss onto her neck and felt the shiver race through her.

  “Oh, I hate it when you…”

  “When I what?”

  “When you make me…”

  “Yes?” he purred in her ear, delivering another kiss just below.

  Her head dropped backward as a hiss of pleasure or frustration—he couldn’t tell which—left her. “Nothing,” she bit out, sounding spent and desperate. “Nothing.”

  “You hate it when I make you want me,” he said, finishing the sentence for her, then raining still more kisses across her neck, then lower, on her breasts, all the while stroking her wet cunt beneath her skirt.

  Beginning to moan and sigh with each stroke of his hand, she arched her breasts toward his mouth and, now that her arms were free, wrapped them around his neck and pulled him down to her chest. “Oh Ares,” she whispered as his kisses edged lower, lower, against the edge of her vest, and eased down inside.

  Ares, how he hungered for her. Who needed food when he had this lovely girl to feast on? He longed to feel her hard nipple against his tongue, her warm, tight cunt around his cock. He tightened his grip on her, pressed closer against her hip, sank his mouth deeper, deeper, into her lush softness.

  He loved the sound of her labored breathing above him, the feel of her hands in his hair, pulling him against her chest. “You drive me wild, wife,” he murmured against her tender flesh.

  She responded with a moan.

  Lifting his hands up to her chest, he fought with the hooks on her vest, finally popping the first, then the second—enough to allow him to reach inside and lift her breasts, at the same time pushing the fur aside to free them. Then he pulled back to look. Ares, they were beautiful, so soft and round, their taut pink tips beckoning. “Lovely,” he murmured.

  “Kiss them,” she pleaded.

  He considered making her beg more, like last night, but he didn’t have the patience. Without further delay, he sank his mouth onto one pink crest, delighting in the feel of her hard nipple against his tongue, sucking gently, just enough to make her cry out.

  Soon she was sobbing and moaning as he switched his ministrations from one lovely breast to the other. With one hand, he stroked his thumb over her free nipple, with the other he rubbed between her legs, now parted across his lap.

  “Oh,” she sighed, “fuck me.”

  The request shot through him like fire, stiffening a cock that was already at full length and feeling just as tortured as it had last night, even without days and days of arousal behind it. “Say that again,” he whispered against her breast.

  “Fuck me, Dane. Please fuck me.”

  The desperation of her plea hit home, satisfying him in a whole new way, giving him a certain ammunition. He pulled back slowly and met her eyes, wild with lust. He spoke with all the calmness he could muster. “Release my shaft and I shall give you what you want, my bride.”

  She bit her lip, then dropped her gaze to the pole-like protrusion straining the leather tie that crisscrossed it.

  After only a second’s hesitation, during which her heavy breath was the only sound in the room, she reached for the thin cord. “I can’t quite…” she trailed off, frustrated, as her angle didn’t allow easy access.

  “Get up,” he told her, and when she did, he stretched out in the chair, making sure she could easily free his rod, and making sure he could watch.

  Standing between his spread thighs, her skirt riding high on her hips, her breasts bared and surrounded by fur, she looked no less than delectable. “Untie my pants,” he instructed when she hesitated.

  She bent over, reaching down, her pert breasts hovering above him. He lifted his hands to her shoulders and gently nudged her, urging her to her knees.

  She knelt, untying the cord, then worked to loosen the lacings over his cock. He held his breath, waiting, watching, until finally she was able to spread his pants, his anxious shaft bursting free before her eyes.

  She flinched at the sight, then her eyes went lusty and hot, seemingly glued to his rod. It made him even harder, so hard he feared he might burst.

  But then he regained his control and whispered down to her, “Pet it.”

  He’d never seen his dear little wife look so torn between nervousness and desire, but was pleased all hints of denial had long since fled the scene.

  He raised his ass from the chair just slightly, also lifting his cock gently closer to the lovely young woman kneeling between his thighs. “Pet it, my bride,” he said again, soft and low, although he was really thinking, Suck it. I want your mouth on me so badly I can taste it.

  Biting her lip with uncertainty, she lifted her palm to gently stroke the length of his cock. “So smooth,” she murmured, clearly stunned. “Like stone sheathed in silk.”

  He didn’t answer, just attempted to control his breathing as she slid her hand up and down his length.

  “Hold onto it,” he said.

  She shifted her eyes briefly to his, then followed the command, seeming to have forgotten all about protesting or denying him. Closing her small fist around the large shaft, she sharply drew in her breath. “So very big,” she whispered. She lifted the rod away from his stomach, holding it up, examining it. “How does it fit in me?”

  He offered a small smile. “You were made for it, bride. Made to open to me.”

  She gave a slight nod, continuing her study, her eyes filled with awe.

  “Kiss it,” he whispered—and when her soft lips met the front of his cock, it nearly made him come. “Ares,” he breathed. “So good, my little wife. So very good. Now, again,” he said.

  She obeyed, gently bestowing a tender kiss on his cock, then another, and another—sweet, soft and gentle—until she was licking the dot of moisture from the tiny opening. “Ares, yes,” he groaned, letting his head drop back in passion, his eyes falling shut.

  But he didn’t want to miss a thing, so he looked back down at her, watched her soft, slow licks around the head, a tiny kiss to the tip—then she ran the end of his cock across the closed seam of her lips, as if teasing him, as if making him beg for entry into her precious mouth.

  Please. So badly he wanted to say it, to beg her.

  But no, he couldn’t. Much as he disliked playing a game with their sex, she had started the battle for power, and he couldn’t succumb, couldn’t let her realize how much control she possessed over him at this moment.

  So instead he only watched her, begging inside. Suck me, Maven. Please, please suck my cock.

  Her eyes narrowed with lust when they met his. Either she’s going to deny me right now, make me suffer like I’ve never suffered before, or she’s going to…

  Sweet heaven. She lowered her mouth gently over the head of his shaft, making him moan. What sweet delight, watching his beautiful young wife take him between her lips. “So good, my bride, so good,” he murmured, urging her on. “Yes, yes. That’s right. See how much you can take.” He let out a small, unexpected laugh. “I know it’s much wider than the banana, but yes, wife, yes…take as much as your lovely mouth can handle.”

  Only a few inches, but that was okay. It was her first time, after all, and even just having that much of his cock in her mouth was the most heavenly thing he’d ever felt. Better than Calla and her admirable sucking skills. Better even than the twins, who sometimes gave him the pleasure of two mouths at once. Better than any other woman—ever. And she’d taken him willingly—he hadn’t even had to ask. It was as if this was the wedding gift she’d neglected to give him last night, now being delivered by the moist cave of her mouth, closing around him.

  He lifted slightly, ju
st enough to hint at movement—and as he’d hoped, she took the cue and began to move her lips up and down on his dampened rod. Only after she found her rhythm did he begin to thrust, and then only lightly, letting her continue setting the pace. “Yes,” he whispered. “Just like that. Suck me just like that.”

  He leaned back and relaxed, thoroughly enjoying the feel of her and the sight of her, as well.

  “So good, my sweet little bride. You suck me so very good.”

  His purrs of encouragement seemed to prod her on, for she managed to take him a bit deeper as she moved her sweet mouth up and down, and he let his thrusts increase in accordance. He loved how hard she worked on him, her eyes shut now, clearly absorbed in her task.

  “Yes, yes,” he kept murmuring, amazed at how long she continued delivering her hot delights. Even having known she was a lusty little thing, she was amazing him now with her complete eagerness.

  It was some pleasurable minutes later that she finally pulled back, easing his shaft out from between her lips, which now looked slightly swollen from the sensual ministrations.

  “Fuck me now?” she asked in a tiny whisper that, when he least expected it, somehow tore at his heart.

  “Oh yes, my lovely wife,” he said with great fervor, pushing to his feet, “I will definitely fuck you now.” With that, he picked her up, sitting her on the table and pushing her skirt up in one brisk, smooth motion.

  He wasted not another second before sinking his hungry cock into her sweet wetness. “Ah, yes,” he breathed. He had the strangest thought—that it felt like coming home. But he didn’t examine it—he only focused on the moment, the hot, delightful moment, and he enjoyed her with a new depth he’d not yet experienced with her. Seemed every time he was inside her, it somehow felt more powerful than the last.

  Curling his hands around her ass, he pulled her tight to him, sinking deeper into her snug passage. She moaned and he let out a low growl. She twined her hands around his back, hugging him just as warmly to her, her breasts pressing soft against his hard muscles. “Your pussy’s so tight,” he whispered.

  To his surprise, she actually let out a giggle. “What else would you expect? Yours is the only shaft to ever be inside it. Other than the toys during the Rituals of Passion.”

  The reminder sent a fresh blast of warmth down through him. “Thank Ares,” he breathed. “I never want you to be with anyone else.”

  An odd thing to say perhaps, given that he’d taken her as his wife yesterday, which in itself implied her fidelity. But on the other hand, since she claimed to hate him, maybe it was not so absurd to let her know his thoughts, feelings—to let her know the sex they shared mattered to him.

  “Never,” he said, thrusting into her. “Never.”

  She sobbed at each drive of his cock.

  “Never,” he repeated, saying it again and again, making sure she heard, understood, felt the word.

  “You’re mine, Maven,” he said, pumping his throbbing shaft deeper and deeper into her sweet cunt. “Mine alone, forever.”

  Maven could scarcely believe her reaction to him. It was horrifying—and wonderfully overpowering. At this unfathomable moment, she wanted to belong to him, wanted to pledge her whole life—her whole existence—to Dane. “Yes,” she heard herself whisper. “Yes, I’m yours.”

  He hugged her tighter to him and pummeled her harder with his tremendous cock, filling her so well she marveled that her pussy could contain him. Food fell to the floor as the table jolted. The goblet tipped over, water splashing to the floor as well.

  And then came a familiar sensation—her clit seemed to perk to life, seemed to drive her to meet his thrusts, and soon she was arching her back, rubbing against him, slowing their rhythm to something more sensual than lusty.

  He followed her lead, murmuring, “Yes, my bride, come for me. I want to make you come.”

  Clearly, he could see the new, orgasmic passion rising in her, taking over her entire being as she threw her whole body into the task now—she leaned back, bracing her arms on the table, thrusting her breasts forward, lifting her cunt to him in a sensuous dance her body had taught her all too well over the last couple of days.

  He seized her breasts with his large hands, kneading her like dough, then twirling her nipples between his fingertips before raking his thumbs across them. She continued lifting to meet him, perhaps more aware of her body than ever in her life. She watched her pussy connect with him, then pull back before once again swallowing the cock that had felt so surprisingly good in her mouth.

  “That’s right, my hot little bride,” he purred, their eyes locked. Then he spoke slowly, his voice as wispy as smoke, his words matching her thrusts. “Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.”

  Only then did it occur to her that she was fucking him as much as he was fucking her. Somehow the knowledge added still more verve to her arousal and she fucked him harder, harder, harder—until her world shattered as the most powerful climax she’d experienced yet roared through her.

  “Yes! Yes!” she cried, pushing her body against his, soaking up the hot, racing pulses of pleasure, each one tearing through her like a lightning bolt.

  The sensations had not yet waned when Dane released her breasts, returning his hands to her ass, pulling her back tight and strong against him. “Ares, I’m coming!” he yelled, deep and commanding, and Maven could have sworn she almost felt his orgasm, too, flooding her body with warmth and pleasure immeasurable.

  Like the last time they’d had sex, they slumped against one another in mutual exhaustion. How strange, she thought, to hold this man—her husband—against her, even as her world, her reality, her problems, came rushing back.

  She thought he must have sensed it. He leaned his forehead against hers and spoke softly. “Are you going to tell me you hate me again, wife?” There was no rancor or taunting in his voice, only a bit of sorrow.

  “No,” she whispered, but then she pulled away from him, closing her legs and drawing her vest back over her breasts, staring sullenly at the floor.

  “Then…what’s wrong?”

  She lifted her eyes only briefly, felt too much in his gaze, then looked away. “I wish I hated you.”

  “But you don’t?” he asked softly, clearly trying to understand.

  She reached to fasten her vest, then pulled her skirt down over her thighs. She still couldn’t look at him, so instead rose from the table and started picking up the apple and other food that had fallen to the stone below. “I couldn’t willingly fuck a man I truly hated, I don’t think,” she said, confused by her own emotions and so wearied by them that she saw no point in anything but honesty. “And my body overpowers my mind when I’m with you. But I don’t like you or the things you stand for. I don’t want to be your wife. And I wish I were at home with my family and that none of this had ever happened.”

  “I see,” he said, his voice quiet, sad.

  Maven continued to busy herself, tidying the jostled food, rising to set the overturned goblet upright—anything to keep her from looking into his hot, beautiful eyes and to help her blot out the sorrow in his voice just now. She felt broken inside—torn between him and what she knew in her soul was right. She couldn’t accept being his possession—she just couldn’t. Because if she didn’t respect herself, who would?

  When she finally gathered the courage to look up at him again, her heart beating rapidly against her chest as she wondered what would come next in this passionate war, she found he’d left the room.

  * * * * *

  Darkness had fallen when Maven wended her way through the garden. The fact that she couldn’t see the flowers seemed to intensify their lush, summer-sweet perfume. She thought of Kells and the woman she’d watched fucking him through her window amid all these blooms and greenery. If the two married, would he think he owned her? And would she agree?

  The whole notion still made her feel ill, and strolling through the garden beneath a blanket of stars would do nothing to solve her problems, wish it though
she might. Although much of her ire in the beginning had been caused by the knowledge that she was a stepping stone for Dane to gain rule over Caralon, she now almost thought that if only he didn’t persist in trying to control her so much, if only he didn’t insist on this hideous notion of owning her, that she could perhaps get past her other objections to the marriage. The primary reason he’d married her—the connection to her father and his power—might not seem so horrible if she thought he respected her.

  Sighing, she sat down on a bench and soaked up the silence. She’d never been so confused.

  She didn’t want to go back into the fortress tonight. Because she knew all too well what would happen. Dane would seek her out. And no matter how she tried, she would be unable to resist him, unable not to crave his lovely cock. Oh how quickly and unexpectedly fucking him had taken hold of her. To think, back during her Orientation, she’d been unable to imagine desiring the big brute. Now it was just the opposite.

  “This is how our marriage is going to be? We fuck madly, then you grow angry or sad at your desire for me every time? This is how you choose for us to live?”

  His voice had come out of nowhere, close to her ear. She flinched in surprise, then looked up as he moved from behind the bench to sit next to her.

  “I’ve had no choice in any of this,” she pointed out.

  “Fair enough,” he admitted, sounding frank and sad. “But would it be so hard to let yourself be happy? When we’re together, having sex, you’re the wife I’ve dreamed of my whole life, Maven. Enthusiastic, passionate, adventurous. If you would give me the chance, I’d make you happy, in bed and out. Why not try to let that happen?”

  She sighed, doubly sad now because Dane suddenly sounded so honest, so earnest—hardly like the Dane the Dreadful she’d once feared, and even much different than the gruff man who’d fucked her senseless just a little while ago. Unfortunately, though, that changed nothing. “I’ve explained this to you before. I can’t be happy with a man who thinks he owns me.”