by Terri Pray
CHAPTER SEVEN
Davien stood before the flickering fireplace, his back to the door, as Michael urged her back into the room. Without a word, she eased to her hands and knees, before crawling toward the center of the room. He didn't have to tell her what to do for her to know what he expected. Her full breasts tugged toward the floor, nipples hard, skin taut, her ass swaying with a soft sensuality as she crawled closer to him.
“She served you well?” Davien asked without turning to look at them. “Or do you have some complaint in her work?”
She didn't move, her head held high, gaze raised as she watched Davien. His muscles tightened across the back of his shoulders, tense. Did he wait to hear bad news, a report that would anger him?
“She did well enough, milord.”
“Only well enough? She fought you, disobeyed?”
“Neither, milord. Truth be known, she did very well,” Michael admitted. “She squirmed beneath me, and satisfied me.”
“Good, I will not have to punish her then.” Davien finally turned around, casting a cold hard look over Celeste. “I believe you can go now, Michael. The work for the hunt will begin soon enough. We have a few days to be ready for it.”
“Will the new one be running in the hunt?”
“No, I think not. She won't be ready for such an event and the temptation to run would be great for her.” Davien nodded toward the door. “Alex will be doing the run, if the weather holds off. A turn for the worse could well put the hunt on hold. Time will tell when and if she will ever be able to be trusted in a hunt. However, I can say I am pleased with how she has presented herself to me.”
Michael smiled, shoulders pulling back as he looked down on Celeste. She knew what he thought, could read it even without looking back at the overly proud young man. He thought he was the reason she had crawled into Davien's room, that his mastery of her had been so complete she had no choice but to be a whimpering little beast on her hands and knees.
How little he knew or understood.
“Thank you, milord, for the use of the woman. I hope you will permit me such a luxury again some time?”
Davien gestured toward the door, refusing to commit to his query either way, his interest focused on the kneeling Celeste. He didn't speak for some five minutes, after the door had been closed on the stable hand.
“He seemed content.”
She offered a low whimper, nodding slightly. Even though she longed to tell him what an ass the man had been, she kept silent.
“But something tells me the same could not be applied to you.”
A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, her gaze meeting his, fingers clawing momentarily at the stone beneath her. She whimpered, thighs pressed tight together, the need still un-sated, something she now knew he could see only too well as it played across her body.
“Ah, he did a quick taking, then thought himself the stud?” Humor flashed in his normally cold eyes.
She nodded. Soft strands of hair spilled over her face, catching on her eyelashes.
“Well now, that does leave an interesting situation for you, doesn't it?” Davien spoke softly, taking a step toward her, the heels of his boots tapping on the thick, cold stone. “Should I leave you to wallow in the desire I awoke and he left to simmer further in you, or perhaps offer you a way to sate that need?”
Bastard. He had to know how her body ached to find release. She'd have crawled to the feet of King George himself if it would have given her some respite. No, she wouldn't give into it. She wasn't ready to sacrifice that measure of pride just yet.
Yet? Did it mean a part of her had realized she would have to sooner or later?
Damn him. Damn them all for pushing her into this.
“Well, little slave, are you ready to beg to serve me?”
She growled, shaking her head quickly, the soft tendrils lashing her shoulders with the swift denial.
“Your body says otherwise. I can smell you from here. Do you really think it is wise to lie to me, when I have begun to learn your every twist of hip? I didn't have to watch you to know you crawled in here like a little beast seeking a mate. I could hear it, the difference in how you moved was obvious.”
That damn smug smile. Was there anything he missed? Gods, she would have loved to have smacked him, or sunk her teeth into that cock of his.
“You need release, or your body does. Your mind still fights it. That I will accept for now, but you will beg for my touch if you want to sleep at all tonight. If you don't then I'll have to leave you aroused for a few more days.” His fingers tapped on his belt. “You know I can I can tease you for days to come, find my own release and still have you aching for yours.”
Cold sweat beaded across her back at his words. That's exactly what he would do— she knew that much about him. With a whimper she closed her eyes, full lashes brushing over the upper curves of her cheeks, her bottom lip catching between her teeth. She wanted him, needed him and hated that need with ever fiber of her being.
“My boots, crawl to them.” He pointed to the high black leather boots he wore. “Now.”
Crawl to his boots? She wanted to say no, to refuse him, but he had other ideas as did her body. With a soft whimper she began to crawl toward him, shaking hard as she did so. Her hair slipped further across her eyes, half blocking her vision. His boots, her gaze focused on them, taking in every detail of their appearance. Fine stitches, traces of mud, the leather worn but taken care of, polished on a daily basis, signs that a cobbler had repaired them recently. He was a man who didn't toss boots aside if they were comfortable, but had them tended instead.
Focus on something else, not him, not what was going to happen. Her thighs clenched tight, she could still feel the reminder of Michael's use. She looked down at his boots, her hands settling on either side of them. She trembled violently, her breath catching in the back of her throat. He could smell her, or so he had said, not a lie, if the slick feeling across the lips of her sex was anything to go by.
“Lick them,” he murmured.
She glanced up, no longer than a moment before lowering her head to his boots. Lick his boots? She was no better than a dog at his feet, ordered to lick over the leather, kissing them, worshiping them. Her throat dried out, threatening to close, thighs tight, her cunt rippling as her lips touched the leather.
With a soft murmur her lips parted, the tip of her tongue tracing over the polished toe. Her body shuddered, wet heat rising from her core, her lips swelling as she licked slowly across the toe of his boot. Sick. How could she be reacting to this?
“Clean them, fully. Lick the dirt from my boots. Swallow it. If I see you spit it out, you'll spend four days in Michael's care.”
Cold words, yet they worked. She whimpered, the sound vibrating against his boots, lips trembling. She glanced upward, pressing her lips tight closed, fingers clawing into the edge of the stones. Fight it, deny him. Her mind screamed she'd been pushed too low already. She tasted the dirt on her tongue, grit catching on the inside of her lips. Her tongue swept over the toes of his boots, polishing them, cleaning the soft grit like specks from them.
Wicked, evil, he was pushing her too far, yet still she did it, swallowing the dirt without a sound, her stomach roiling in protest.
“Good, very good. Now kiss your way up them, toward my knees. You may kneel when you reach that point.” A low growl, a hissed word, she could hear the deepening of his voice. He watched, every move, the way her lips played over his boots, intense as she kissed a slow path toward his knee. It was all about the power, and her obedience to his commands. “You will wear my collar, as of tonight. Once you have pleased me and earned your pleasure, I will collar you as mine.”
Her stomach flipped. His? A collar? What did it mean? She already belonged to him, so why did the knowledge she would wear something marking her for all to see as his property mean so much to her?
With a low murmur she placed a gentle kiss against his knee, straightening up on her own
knees, thighs parting wide, her ass resting on her heels the same way he had told her to kneel earlier.
“Good, you remembered. You actually have managed to impress me, my slut. Not an easy task.” She whimpered, lowering her gaze to his boots, the same boots that now shone from her spit. “You smell aroused, more so than before. Interesting. I think this affected you far more than you believed it would.”
The knowledge angered her. He was right. A soft tingle moved over her body, through her stomach and thighs. Her breasts felt heavy, nipples crinkled as though his lips had locked around them, suckling. Her fingers curled on her thighs, nails threatening to scrape into the skin. Gods, she wanted him.
“Crawl to the bed slut. I have something in mind for you tonight. Not just a simple use though.” His cold smile only urged her on. “Crawl to it and climb on to it. Kneel in the center of the bed, facing the foot.”
Without a sound of protest she lowered back down to her hands and knees, then hurried across the room, glancing back toward him. Hope touched her gaze. Did he know? Of course he did.
Wanton, changed. She no longer thought she had to kill him, to escape— not all the time, at least. Right now she needed him. There would be time later to break free, but for now, she needed the release he offered her.
Celeste scrambled up onto the bed, thighs parting wide as she settled in the middle of the bed. Her stomach clenched, the need to be with him, under his touch. Her body felt alive, more so than it had ever been before. She could still smell Michael on her skin, a hated touch.
“You don't want me, but you need me. You hate me, yet crave me. The need in you won't ease, but will grow with each passing day until you can't eat, breathe or sleep without feeling me in your life.” He walked slowly to the end of the bed, making no move to touch her. “I can see it growing in you now. You hate me so much, if I gave you a knife and bared my throat to you, you'd cut it. Yet now you kneel there, hoping I'll take pity on you.”
Soft bedding, candlelight, the fire in the hearth. Silk, satin, velvet, a lover's room.
“Well, my pet, do you want my touch?” He reached out, cupping her cheek, brushing his thumb along the line of her jaw. “Do you need it, crave it? Or shall I leave you to suffer?”
She tried not to react, to hide the need, but her body had other plans. With a soft moan she pressed into his hand, turning her lips to brush over his palm.
“Ah, yes you need it. Don't you?”
Celeste nodded gently, nibbling a slow kiss to his hand, seeking out his fingers, capturing his thumb between her lips. What was she doing? With a groan, she suckled his thumb into her mouth, wrapping her tongue about it tightly.
“No teeth slut,” he warned her. “Bite, and I will gag you for a week, after I knock your teeth out.”
If he had permitted her to speak she could have pleaded with him. to take her there and then on the bed, but that choice had been denied her. Fingers slapped against her left breast, pain shooting through her nipple.
“You like it, a part of you likes the pain.” Those same fingers closed about her nipple, twisting it tightly. “Your thighs tighten, your pussy clenches with each beat of your heart, but we're only at the very beginning of your training, my pet.” His breathing grew ragged, her tongue wrapping and unwrapping about his thumb as she peered up at him. “Talented tongue holds such promise. You'll earn the right to feel my cock slide between those lush lips before much longer.”
No.
She wanted, and hated it.
“My slut, my whore, my slave.” He growled, easing his thumb from between her lips, one hand tight on her full breast, twisting it, until she screamed, arching on the bed, her eyes wide from the pain and fear. “You're mine to do with as I wish.”
His free hand closed on her throat, tight, but not enough to cut her breathing. It was a warning of the power he had over her. Life and death. She knew and understood it, though he had been right. Given a dagger and his throat, she'd have struck, cut it without thinking twice before trying to find a way free.
It would be a long time before he granted her the chance of that.
“Pain fires something else within you.” He murmured, letting go of her body. She couldn't be sure where he had picked up the thin cord, but it dangled from his hands. “Now you will know bondage and control, along with the pain I will introduce you to.”
The cord wrapped about her chest, tied beneath her breasts with a small knot. One hand grabbed her left breast, circling the captured flesh with the quick loop. Before she realized what he was doing, the cord had circled her other breast, and was tied off with a small knot. He added more cord, tight loops. Her breasts ballooned under the pressure of the cord. It wasn't enough he owned her, or had beaten her, now he would bind her?
“Feel the pressure my pet? Of course you do. It will grow into something you have never known before.” He smiled, running his fingers over her bound breasts, tweaking both nipples, already grown stiff from the blood forced into them.
Davien stepped back, long enough to pick up the crop from the side of the bed— the same crop he had beaten her with that first night. Before she had a chance to plead, or whimper it struck. The flap of leather swatting down over her left nipple, pain blossomed through her body until she shuddered, crying out her protest.
“More my pet?”
She tried to shake her head, deny him, but there wasn't time. A second blow, then a third left her nipples aching from the strikes of leather against taut flesh. Her nails scraped into her body, aching. Salt heavy tears spilled over porcelain cheeks, dropping to the silk and satin coverings.
“War threatens, beyond my lands, across the sea. We have barely recovered from the troubles in the Americas, and now the French begin their games again. Unrest continues to disrupt the lives of those who have better things to be doing than provide men from their lands.” He growled, striking harder against her breasts. “Lean back, grab your ankles and do not move until I give you permission to do so.”
Celeste bit back a sob, obeying quickly, slender fingers curling about her ankles, thighs parting wider with the grip. Bound breasts lifted upward, offered to him and the blows he wished to rain down on her exposed flesh.
She flinched, seeing the crop strike downward, her eyes closing, shutting out the oncoming pain. This time it landed not on her breasts, or tight buds, but between her stretched thighs, cracking down without mercy on her mound.
Celeste screamed, arching toward the crop, her fingers tight on her ankles, ass lifting from her heels despite the position she had been locked into.
“Such a beautiful sound you offer me.”
Offer? It had been forced into life, with neither choice nor care.
“You have more to give me, I know. I can hear those screams in each breath your lips permit life to. The drive, fire, you're a project in the making my pet. My pain slut.” Leather cut through the air, striking hard down against her mound, snapping back upward to catch one nipple, slashing to the left, catching the other. Tri points of pain lanced through her body.
His eyes burned with an unholy passion, his cock pressing against his pants, a harsh outline, calling to her. Her thighs were soaked with her passion, straining to close about his hips. Her body was held in his mental bondage almost as tight as the cord now wrapped about her breasts.
“Mine,” he growled, tossing the crop to one side. “Mine and I will have you now.”
She didn't fight him, not even when he reached for her, his hands grasping her breasts, a twist to her nipples, the low gasp of pain. She couldn't fight him, her body needed him.
“Break position.” He snapped, forcing her back onto the bed, one hand moving to his belt, stripping the pants from his body, boots kicked off even as he climbed onto the bed, controlling her by the cruel double grip. What choice did she have but to submit to his needs, the drive that burned in his eyes, the power that emanated from his being?
Her hips arched toward him, fingers releasing their grip on her ankle
s to grasp at his arms instead. She craved him, needed to feel him slide into her being, take her, claim her in a way Michael had lacked.
“Needy little slut.” Almost a laugh, something that should have mocked her, sent her flying from his arms, and still she pressed against him.
His cock pressed between her lips, sliding along her wet and heated flesh, teasing her senses and need alike. Gods, he was right, she needed him, craved the feeling of him driving into her core. Her nails dug into his arms, ankles locking about his hips, heels pressing into his taut ass.
“Ah, impatient as well.” He held back, the tip of his cock teasing at her entrance. “I set the pace, not you my pet. Never you. Remember that.”
She arched upward, pressing a kiss against his shoulder, whimpering, pleading in hope he would take pity on her, on the creature she had become, thanks to his touches. She'd been so very innocent of the effects a man's touch could have on her, now she craved him— and hated him.
Dreams of her masked highwayman faded, though the kiss he had given her...
Davien thrust into her sex, rolling his hips, filling her.
Her nails broke into his skin, a sob of desire and pain, his body pressing down on her bound breasts. He growled, hands grasping her wrists, yanking them above her head to pin in one hand. Helpless, bound, impaled, her hips arched up to meet his every thrust, tears burning in her eyes. She belonged to him.
Every inch of her being felt his touch, tingled, ached, burned for him. His breath caressed her body, teeth scraping her neck in the moment before they bit into her exposed throat. A scream filled the room, one she barely knew had come from her. A fire claiming her core, her body, rolled upward to him, slick walls rippling, closing on his erection as he drove into her sex again and again. Living, breathing sex.
