The Golden Key Legacy

by AJ Nuest

  Silence stretched between them, weighted with meaning…and though her smile was as enigmatic as the Mona Lisa, the sharp glitter of desire in her eyes clanged like a five alarm fire in his head.

  She loved him.

  She needed him.

  Just as fucking much as he needed her.

  One stride forward, and he caught her as she jumped into his arms, her lips seeking his, loose hair creased in his fingers like bolts of silk. He got lost in the cool supple curves of her mouth, flicked his tongue in time with hers and dove in for more.

  Her warm moan vibrated his lips. Seizing her ribcage, he hitched her onto his waist and lurched for the wall. He needed her closer. To have every dip and curve naked for his greedy hands.

  The edge of the desk bumped his thighs. Trinkets rattled and clinked along the surface. He propped her sweet ass on top and buried his face in the unspoiled slope of her neck. Shit, ten seconds alone with her and he was hard, hot and craving her with an urgency that obliterated any concerns for where they were or what tomorrow might bring.

  “I yearn for you, my love.” She gasped, shivering as he nipped little love bites down the side of her throat. He wound his hands up the sides of his dress shirt, the baggy fit roomy on her tight little body, and cradled her breasts between his forefingers and thumbs. “That you would have such faith in me has left me completely undone.”

  A sweep of his thumbs over her stiff nipples, and she tossed her head back. A repeating swirl over those pointed tips and a shudder wrenched her shoulders. Yes… He wanted her trembling, wet and warm around him. Until he’d rocked her to the brink of orgasm and she’d forgotten everything but him.

  Lifting his elbows, he urged the shirt higher until she tugged the unbuttoned collar over her head. His mouth watered at her flawless skin—the faint blue vein pulsing in her neck, the angles of her shoulders as she worked her arms from the sleeves and chucked the shirt aside.

  He lowered his head and sucked the first ripe berry into his mouth. Her hand clamped the back of his neck and he chuckled as her nails scraped, her fingers fisting his hair. Fuck, the way she gave in to him was better than any adrenaline rush, more mind-blowing than any success he’d ever achieved. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you face off against Leo alone.”

  “And yet not one amongst all the kingdom has ever shown such confidence in my abilities.” She twisted the tight fit his of dego-t near his stomach and jerked the bottom edge from his jeans. Her nimble fingers slipped the buttons on his fly, and she eased him into her hand.

  Jesus! Her breast left his mouth with an audible pop as he hunched forward, bracing his palm on the wall over her shoulder. The firm band of her fingers stroked down to the base of his cock. The blood roared in his ears, throbbing in time with the heavy pulse in his balls. She kept the pressure tight back up to the head, wiggling her ass back across the desk toward the wall, and with her next downward stroke, she leaned forward and flicked her tongue across the slit.

  More… Christ, he wanted more. To hold on and never let go until nothing and no one would ever come between them.

  “I once overheard my handmaidens discussing in great detail, the proper way to express gratitude for a man’s generous deeds is to bestow upon him the kiss of coaxing.” The soles of her feet braced the backs of his calves as she lowered her lips to his throbbing dick.

  Shit, he was never going to last. How many times had he lain alone in bed, imagining this very scene? A bead of sweat trickled down his back. She’d reached inside his head and plucked out his greatest sexual fantasy.

  “After discovering my presence, they instructed me in the delicate nature of such things, though, as of yet, I am unschooled in practice.” Tingles shot down his shaft, tightening his groin as she rubbed the head along her lips in a slow circle. Smooth…smooth and slippery. “You must convey your thoughts if my performance does not merit your satisfaction.”

  His heel repeatedly hit the floor as her tongue wet the fleshy rim in that same painstaking pace. “Princess,” he croaked. “I’m pretty sure there isn’t much you could do wrong at this point.”

  Her lips parted, and he braced for the warm cavern of her mouth as she took him inside. So soft…so wet and soft, her tongue cradled him as she slid down. He fisted his fingers, hitting the side of his thigh to keep from driving all the way in to the base. The leisurely rhythm she set nearly killed him and, at the same time, he wanted to enjoy every second. Make it last. Slide in and out until he’d hit the edge of control.

  A hiss dried his teeth as she withdrew, her curled fingers following her lips to the pulsing rim. A quick kiss to the tip and she eased him in a second time, pushing him a step closer with the tension in her legs. He closed his eyes and sank deep, squeezed his lids tight while she cupped and fondled his balls. Her throat constricted as she swallowed, and her warm hum shot up his cock and straight into the nerves at the base of his spine. His hips jerked, and he pumped twice, trapping a moan in his chest. If he ever ran into those handmaidens, he would happily hand over the keys to his bike.

  Another sucking pull as she withdrew, the firm squeeze of her fingers and he arched his back as she took him in again, all the way down until he bumped the wall of her throat. An undulating roll of her tongue and the force of his orgasm threatened to flood her mouth.

  A spurt shot and he grabbed the back of her head. “Don’t move.” The urge to come was so strong, he silently counted to ten, imagined adjusting the carburetor on his bike, anything to beat back the firestorm raging through his system.

  As good as this was, nothing compared to the two of them climaxing together. The way she quivered around him while calling his name was better than any solitary fulfillment. He’d done that enough on his own, and satisfying her newfound sexual awareness was important. If he had anything to say about it, she’d never leave his side unless all her cravings had been met.

  Every cell in his body rioted has he pulled out. A small whimper left her throat, and he gritted his teeth against her assumption she’d done something wrong.

  “No.” He wrenched her head back and kissed his salty taste from her lips, dipped his tongue inside and washed it from her mouth. “I want us to come together.” Smoothing a hand up her stomach, he palmed the weight of her breast, plucked and tweaked the nipple. “You’ll never disappoint me, Faedrah. Do you understand?” Her skin cooled his lips as he dotted kisses over her forehead, her eyelids, cheeks and the center of her beautiful stubborn chin. “Not ever.”

  Lashes fluttering, she breathed his name.

  Something inside him fractured.

  He lifted her off the desk, turned and tossed her to the center of the bed. The mattress bounced as he jumped on top of her and, working together, they stripped off the rest of their clothes. Rolling onto his side, he scooped her against his body, their limbs a tangle of arms and legs. The scent of her arousal flower-bombed his nose and his mouth dried in anticipation. There was no better aphrodisiac than discovering she was just as turned on as he was. Then again, why wouldn’t she be? They were in tune in a way that defied explanation.

  Still, after this afternoon’s marathon tri fecta, coming at her like a bull in heat might do more harm than good. He tongued the little dip at the base of her throat, skimmed an opened-mouth kiss up to her chin and nibbled the corners of her mouth. “Are you sore?”

  She narrowed her eyes, lips pursed. “I would say pleasantly so.”

  Adrenaline spiked in his gut. Shit, her words were like an erotic assault on his senses. He rolled on top of her, nesting his cock in her tight damp curls. Her thighs parted and she ground against him as he nuzzled her ear. “You want it fast or slow?”

  “Both.”

  God dammit! His cock flexed, the skin straining over the challenge of bringing her to orgasm twice. She shuddered and writhed, dragging her sex along the side of his shaft. A loud buzzing droned in his ears. The pressure built. Shit, she was going to make him come before he was ready. “Good, because fast is wha
t you’re gonna get.”

  He eased the head inside and the tight band inside her massaged him like a fist as her hips rose, bringing them together all the way to the base. A groan eked from his throat. He pressed a hard thumb to her clit and tingles detonated down his spine as her internal walls clamped down tight.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him to her lips, riding the length of him, thrashing and shivering. His control snapped and he let it fly, driving into her, meeting her stroke for stroke. His orgasm hit like a freight train and his back arched as he erupted inside her, every muscle tense, a roar caught behind his clenched teeth.

  Breaths coming in short bursts, he collapsed on top of her and drank in the top of her shoulder, rolling his hips and chuckling into her hair while she squirmed and panted in his ear.

  Based on the way she continued wriggling, she was still as hungry as he was, still ready for more, and now that they’d gotten fast out of the way, he planned to show her just how fucking awesome slow could be.

  * * *

  Firelight winked off the ceremonial blade, and terror iced the blood in Faedrah’s veins. She struggled against the gripping hands of Gaelleod’s henchman, a growl rasping her throat as his thick digits plied her upper arms.

  From across the underground level of his father’s dimly lit chambers, Rhys locked his gaze with hers, his scowl a combination of regret and blistering rage. The span of his bare chest corded and tensed. The muscles of his arms strained as he swayed to and fro, wrists shackled and chained by overhead restraints. “Let her go and I’ll do anything you say.”

  Gaelleod’s quiet laugh raised the hair on her nape, oozing down her spine like an oily serpent. “Take heart, my son. The princess shall be released from our bargain long before you join her in paradise.”

  His empty eyes darted toward her and the whisper of his black robes caressed the floor as he drew near. Her pulse leapt. A shudder stole through her body as his fetid breath lingered before her lips. She stifled a gag, twisting her head for a lungful of air. He lifted the golden key from between her breasts and wrenched her against his body by the neck. “Just as soon as her duty is fulfilled in providing my heir.”

  No! Tears flooded her eyes. A wail of despair lodged in her throat.

  A bellow ricocheted against the stone walls and Rhys thrashed, seeking purchase on the toes of his boots. “Don’t touch her, you fucking asshole!” His biceps bulged as he hefted himself off the floor, his face a terrifying red. “Do you hear me! I will kill you if you hurt one hair on her head!”

  The sinuous tendons of Gaelleod’s throat worked as he tossed his head back, the dual quality of his protracted laugh needling her eardrums like the call of a Dregg. “And yet, that is the most glorious part.” He pivoted toward her love and raised the curved edge of the razor-sharp blade. “This body you wear shall impregnate her for me.”

  A sob broke from Faedrah’s throat. Glee danced in Gaelleod’s obsidian eyes as he lifted his weapon high. The dour tones of a malicious incantation tumbled from his lips and the dagger glowed. Faedrah thrashed against the grip of her oppressor. His hands slipped, but the slack in his hold came too late. Air sliced as the knife plunged toward Rhys’ chest, and she screamed…

  “Stop! Faedrah, it’s me!”

  She flailed against the thick muscle pressing down upon her body, her legs tangled in the voluminous layers of her skirt.

  “You were dreaming, dammit! It’s me!”

  A sharp crack echoed in the room, and her palm stung from the force of her slap.

  “Shit!” The weight disappeared and she sprang from the bed, scanning the room for any tool she could use as a weapon.

  The door burst open and her uncles raced into the room.

  Faedrah frowned, tipping her head at their unlikely appearance. Her gaze shifted to Rhys, sitting wide-eyed on the side of the sleeping pallet, not a stitch of clothing masking his frame and his cheek ablaze with evidence of her abuse. She clamped a hand over her mouth, closing her eyes, but nothing could contain the sob of relief which broke through her fingers.

  A dream. She shook her head. It had just been a horrifying dream.

  Oliver strode forward as if to gather her in his arms and then pulled up short, taking the measure of her nakedness from head to foot. “Sweetie, are you okay?” He spun to face the door. “From the way you screamed, I thought someone had died.”

  Yet therein lay the crux of her anguish. Someone had died. Her very heart. Her reason for being.

  “I’m all right, Uncle.” She lowered her hand, meeting Rhys’ troubled frown from across the room. And yet, why now? Why was she made to suffer Gaelleod’s visitation here, in the safe haven of her uncles’ home, while slumbering peacefully in the presence of her heart’s desire?

  A dangerous glint sparked in Rhys’ eyes, and he curled a finger, beckoning her near. She stumbled forward, crawled into his lap and snuck her arms about his waist, burying her face in his chest. Her fear dimmed as he slung the blankets across her back and cocooned her snugly within his warmth. His strength seeped into her skin, and she released a sigh of gratitude he’d read in her gaze the exact remedy she’d craved.

  Him. To bask in the rhythm of his heart beating in tempo with hers. To have him hold her close and banish all the dark evil from her mind.

  “It was just a dream, baby. A bad dream.” Rhys’ murmur in her ear was a comfort beyond his ken. For this moment, he was safe, alive and rocking her in his arms. She snuggled closer, breathing in the sultry scent of his skin. “It’s over. I got you.”

  His voice rumbled against her cheek. The stubble of his beard combed through her hair as he turned with her on his lap. “She’s okay. I’ll watch her. You guys head back to bed.”

  A moment later, the door clicked into the latch and Rhys laid them back abed, the wall of his chest nestling her from nape to hip, the soft press of his lips tending her ear. “Get some sleep, Princess. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Yet she would find no more respite this night. What portend her nightmare contained, she did not know, nor did she care. The sharp tang of grief was still too bitter upon her tongue. The horrifying visuals too vibrant to dissect their meaning.

  Only one thing, above all, was certain. Rhys’ life was in danger, and she must do her utmost to ensure he never gained the attention of his father’s cruelty again.

  For her purpose had become clear.

  Once their meeting with the witch Violet had concluded, she must break her promise to remain at her lover’s side, and set off to face Gaelleod, alone.

  Chapter 6

  Oliver rapped his knuckles upon the wooden door of the witch’s quaint two-story abode and Faedrah darted a nervous smile over her shoulder. Her heart lurched at the detached unrest staring back at her through Rhys’ gaze. She bit her lip to stem a rueful sigh and dropped her focus to her feet.

  ʼTwas the same since Helios’ bright rays had broken through the curtains of her uncles’ guest chambers and her beloved had stirred at her side. Wrapping her in his arms, Rhys had urged her close, welcoming the golden sunrise with a gentle kiss. Yet her hope of succumbing to the blissful tide of his lovemaking had vanished the moment he inquired after the details of her dream.

  An uncontrollable trembling had consumed her form at the cruel remembrance of her one true love dying on the point of Gaelleod’s glowing blade. Her throat had closed as the dark lord’s horrific promise whispered she’d one day sire his heir. Reliving her nighttime terrors had been no less frightening than when they’d initially invaded her slumber. Gaelleod’s stench was still just as strong, her desperation as tragically rich, and the disquiet hardening Rhys’ eyes over her condition merely served to heighten her worries.

  How was she to look upon the man she loved and describe to him the appalling circumstances of her visions? What words could she use to detail his murder by his father’s own villainous hand? Rhys had stood by her side when no one else would. He’d believed in her with a conviction bey
ond any she’d ever known. The thought of bestowing him such torment in return for all he’d gifted her had cast her into misery and, unable to answer his queries, she’d left the bed to dress

  Throughout the breaking of their fast, their preparations to meet Violet and the trip to her home, he had remained silent, ever avoiding her gaze. Yet Faedrah refused to allow his anger to sway her decision. Until the witch had foretold their future, she would do all she could to protect him. Their future had not yet been cast, and perchance such facts would be revealed to either disprove or alter her worst fears.

  The door swung open and she frowned at the sprite-like woman who grinned at their entourage from the opposite side of the stoop. Goddesses wept, Violet was more pixie than witch.

  An airy floral-print dress hung nearly to her ankles, belted at the waist and accented by a series of musical bangles stacked along each slender wrist. The purple spikes tipping her short white hair defined her penchant for mischievous pranks and spells. Black boots laced up her calves, though the thick heel added little to her diminutive height. Indeed, if her ears had been pointed and tufted with hair, Faedrah would not have been the least bit surprised.

  “Ollie!” The witch tossed one arm around the neck of Wizard Oliver, wrapping the other about the shoulders of Sir Jon. “And Jon! I’m so glad you’re here. God, it’s been forever.”

  Amusement tickled Faedrah’s belly as the three of them shared a lopsided embrace, yet her smile slowly faded as a man thrice Violet’s size tromped his massive bulk into the frame of the doorway behind her.

  Mountainous shoulders squared off either side of his wiry gray beard. His black leather waistcoat, the skull and crossbones scarf tied low on his brow bespoke the pirates that oft lie in wait off the Austiere shoreline in search of her merchant ships. Myriad silver rings adorned his sausage-sized fingers, his legs braced wide and thick as the trunk of a tree. The colorful runes encasing his forearms were much the same as those etched into the skin above Rhys’ wrists.