No Choice But Surrender

by Meagan Mckinney

  "Are you listening to me?" Avenel demanded, pulling her attention back to him.

  "I am." She swallowed hard, not knowing how to handle the situation. Only weeks ago she would have gleefully taken the key and the money and not given him a second glance. But now she felt as if her whole world were coming to an end. The burning anger she'd felt when she had entered the room now turned into cold desolation, and there seemed to be nowhere to turn. "You want me to leave."

  "I want you to leave." He refused to meet her searching eyes, but his words were more than clear. "You must leave."

  "That night . . . at the cottage—" she began stupidly.

  "Forget that night! Forget that place!" he interrupted her. "We're back at the Park now, and we must live by Osterley's rules and Osterley's past. There is no choice."

  "I see," she said, her voice wavering. Numbly, she stood up to go but then realized that the key had fallen to the carpet near where he sat. She knelt down to pick it up, and her hand trembled as she reached out for it.

  "Tell me one thing, Brienne, before you go." His fingers caught her delicate wrist as she reached for the key.

  "Yes?" She looked at him, her face pale and drawn.

  He took a long time before he finally asked, "After I'd been shot, why did you not leave me altogether when I told you to go?"

  "You . . . you were hurt."

  He shook his head. "Is that the only reason?" He searched her violet eyes; his own narrowed. "I think not."

  When the words came to her, they were not the words she wanted to say. "You already know why," she whispered, look­ing away from the dark triumph shining in his eyes.

  Avenel lowered his gaze to where his fingers were clamped around her tiny wrist. The tone of his voice held many contra­dictory emotions. He was commanding her, she knew, yet for the first time, there was a slight hint of uncertainty in his or­der. "Tell me to let you go, Brienne. Say the words. Say them now. Then you'll be free. If not . . ."

  Hesitating for one fatal second, she knew she could not bring herself to go until, bending near to him, she placed a long, sweet kiss on his distrusting lips. It was a kiss for remem­brance, one to last her the rest of her life. When it was over, she would have to comply with what she knew was a rational decision. It was best she get away from this crazed personal war he and her father were fighting. It was best she leave this man who openly declared himself her enemy.

  Before her gentle kiss ended, she had unconsciously dropped the brass key once more. Yet she heard its thud on the carpet more clearly than she would have cannonfire. Her mind shrieked a warning, but her heart refused to heed it. She felt Avenel's hand release her wrist, and then, in the brief interlude when their only contact was between their lips, she had her last opportunity to go. . She stayed.

  Allowing Avenel to pull her into his arms at that moment was like allowing a lion to eat her alive. Gone was the gentle, chaste kiss, and in its place was a raw, starved devouring that left her senses skittering on the brink of ecstasy. His lips moved roughly and claimed every part of her mouth as his; his tongue licked like flames over her own. Enveloping her in his strong arms, he pulled her so close, his robe opened. Only when the soft hyacinth brocade of her dress met his hard, naked flesh did he tear his lips from hers. Although the kiss had ended, she could tell from the look in his eyes that they had just begun.

  "You should have forced me from you. You should have fought to get away. If you had an ounce of self-preservation, you would have done this, my love," he gasped desperately. "It took me seven days and nights to allow you to go."

  "I wanted . . ." she whispered, suddenly desiring him with every inch of her body and soul.

  "You know if you stay here tonight, you will never be rid of me or Osterley. My mark will be permanent—I'll have it no other way." He took her face into his large, powerful hands, searching for her answer. And she gave it immediately, not with words but with her lips, which moved of their own voli­tion over his.

  Deep inside him she heard a groan, and soon she felt her laces being severed one by one with the sharp edge of the fruit knife. His hands forced the dress apart, and it fell in satin folds around them as they both half-sat and half-lay on the floor. With one uncontrolled movement, he shoved aside her slashed shift and claimed both her breasts with his hands. His beard-roughened jaw left a trail of blush-colored marks along her shoulders and chest until his roaming mouth nipped at each crest of her bosom. The inside of her belly burned as his teeth grazed her sensitive skin. Mindlessly she ached for more; recklessly he gave it. ~

  His hands moved down the creamy smoothness of her thighs and roughly pulled at her silk hose. With two sudden rips, her stockings and her green slippers lay in a fluffy pile at her side. As if drowning in the whirlpool of his frenzied de­mands, Brienne could only look on with eyes sultry and dark as he released his arms from the robe. Once free of his cloth­ing, he abruptly pulled her into his arms, and then, as if forc­ing the animal in him to perform a more civilized ritual, he carried her into the state bedchamber and flung her onto his ornately domed bed.

  Something related to fear made Brienne pull the torn edges of her shift together as she tried to get to her knees. Her whole body trembled with fearsome, unexplored desires, yet looking up from the bed as Avenel stood over her, she won­dered if she would be trampled by her own inexperience. How would she keep up with this man tonight? Had she been foolish to think she would fare well against his raging pas­sions? Almost dazedly, she watched as he folded his arms across his chest. She was allowed a tantalizing glimpse of his maleness as he stood with his powerful thighs leaning against the mattress, and her thoughts turned to those few times she'd overheard talk of what went on between a man and a woman. "The first taking is painful. . . . It must be suffered through. . . . The lucky ones don't bleed much. . . . But you must submit, submit, submit!"

  Nervously she backed toward the headboard. Perhaps she should have gone. Perhaps she had made a mistake. But even now, as Avenel towered over her, naked and magnificent in the dark, ember-lit bedchamber, she knew she had made the right choice. Her gaze wandered over him, and she saw how terrifyingly beautiful he was. His body exuded masculine dominance with every flex of the most minute of his muscles. She was crazed, she concluded wildly—she had to be. For how could she want so badly something that seemed destined only to hurt her?

  As she battled her doubts, Brienne saw that Avenel had paused; the firelight revealed a tormented expression on his face. His eyes raked up and down her body until they settled on her face. He seemed to be searching for something, and his unnatural stillness unnerved her.

  "What is it, Avenel?" Brienne whispered to him from the dark recesses of the bed. Had she gone this far, only to feel the sting of his rejection? Clutching at her bosom, she won­dered self-consciously if he were seeing her now not as a vul­nerable woman ready for love but as her father's daughter. As she prayed that whatever traits she'd inherited from Oliver Morrow wouldn't show, she lifted her eyes, only to find Avenel pensively staring at the burgundy spill of her hair.

  "It's beautiful," he murmured almost to himself. His hand reached out and grasped several locks. "You're beautiful."

  With that, the spell of indecision that had come upon him was broken. With new resolve, he pulled her to the edge of the mattress. His face became taut and unreadable, and Brienne felt a new tremor of fear and excitement. Avenel was ready. To get what he desired now, he looked as if he would embrace the devil.

  "Untie this," he said, nodding at the ribbon that held to­gether the remaining shreds of her sleeveless shift.

  Showing her trepidation, her hands trembled as she raised them. She clutched at the single tie that so tenuously held the tattered garment to her; it took her a long time to finally pull the silken ribbon between her breasts. But before she had even released it, Avenel was tearing the filmy shift over her head, letting her dark red curls fall around her with the mo­tion. He stared at her in the firelight as she knelt on the hu
ge bedstead. Again her hands instinctively went to her lush breasts to hide them from his view, but he would have none of it.

  "Don't," he said, pushing her arms to her side. Gently he entwined his fingers in her hair, and he bent to kiss her.

  "Avenel, wait—" Her words were lost as his lips took pos­session of hers. His arms dropped to her supple waist, and before she could catch her runaway senses, his kiss grew more demanding. He seemed to want more from her than she knew how to give. Breathlessly, she tried to ignore his persuasions, for she was reluctant to taste him. But when his hand slid to grasp her bottom, she found herself growing more brazen. The wildfire he was creating in the nether regions of her belly made her act without thinking. Every time he moved his hand, the flames licked higher and higher. Finally, when she could stand it no longer, a soft moan escaped her, and she did as he desired. Her tongue slid timidly into his mouth, and with that she became all too aware of what he thought of her lovemaking. They were so close, she could feel every muscle tense along his front. Avenel stiffened, and Brienne soon discovered that the deeper and longer she kissed him, the greater his response grew. Although she was shaken by the force of his reaction, she at least knew he was pleased.

  "Avenel, we're going so quickly," she gasped when he tore his mouth from hers. His scent, rich and masculine, one that no amount of soap could wash away, lingered on her skin, and his mouth burned along her neck. Drowning in its heady influ­ence, she fell silent before he roughly laid her back on the bed. She felt his weight upon the mattress, and soon he was next to her, cupping her breasts and making her own hand move down his broad, muscular back. Anxiety and delight made her vision dim. His hand was warm and gentle on her flesh, but she felt flashes of fear whenever she looked at him. He seemed possessed by his desire for her. Because she couldn't understand his urgency, she was frightened by it.

  In an effort to slow him down, she placed her hands against his chest. With his body pressed against hers, she could feel how the hair of his chest made a fine stream down his rock- hard belly and finally thickened once again below his navel, where he was pressing urgently against the softness of her stomach. Her palms grew damp, and she wondered madly how she presumed to control a man like Avenel Slane when she couldn't control her own body, which was arching against his like a moth to a flame.

  She tried for the last time to regain her self-control before Avenel's hand forced her to abandon the effort. He began by stroking the curve of her waist, then swept his palms over her hips, and finally explored the intimate sweet flesh of her inner thigh. His teeth nipped at her shoulder and moved down to her breasts.

  "I want you, Brienne, do you know that? I want you like no other woman I've ever known. But are you my curse or my charm?" He groaned and didn't wait for her to answer. Ex­pressing his desire perfectly, he took each of her breasts and brushed their creamy roundness with his fingers until each rose-colored nipple blushed and strained for more of his touch. Fire raged within her then as his mouth possessed them, and she felt as if she were being swept away in the rampage of Avenel's desire. Panting and utterly helpless, she felt his tongue trail down the gentle curve of her breast, and with that he edged between her thighs. When his hands wove them­selves into the unbound glory of her hair, she knew it was time for his fiery need to be satisfied.

  Yet his desire was too demanding and too ferocious. Seeds of panic lodged in Brienne's breast when his strong body came to rest between her legs. Choking on her words, she made one last attempt to explain her own needs to him: "Avenel, you know I'm not wise in the ways of love."

  He paused, just as she'd hoped he would, but only to whisper very firmly in her ear, "I know that, my love. A wise woman would have left."

  He kissed her then and moved farther between her thighs. Yet with his every movement, Brienne felt her panic grow. "Avenel, wait . . ." she cried softly, but he seemed not to hear. Instead he roughly took her hands and held them over her head. Stunned and disoriented, Brienne wondered if he even realized who she was at that moment. His movements had become so calculated and practiced, it seemed almost as if he were making love to another woman, a woman with experi­ence that she had yet to gain. He was breathing hard, and she knew he was anxious to enter her. His body had gone rigid, and his heart was pounding heavily in his chest. Although she believed it was Impossible to stop him, she knew she had to make him realize what he was doing to her.

  Releasing a sob as he moved nearer, she suddenly clamped her legs together and felt hot, burning tears glide down her cheeks. Horrified at what she'd done, and then more so when she saw the shocked look upon Avenel's face, she turned her head away to hide her hurt and her fear.

  "Brienne, Brienne," Avenel gasped above her. He hadn't released her, but his hold loosened. Over her head, his hands clasped with her own, and he asked very slowly, "Brienne, what is it?"

  "I don't want you to hurt me," she cried against the pillow.

  "I've frightened you." His voice was harsh but understand­ing. He seemed to be fighting off some terrible pain, and it took him several moments before he spoke again. When he finally did, she noticed that his breathing had slowed down and his body seemed more relaxed. Kissing her forehead, he still refused to let her go, but he soothed her by saying, "Re­member that tonight is a first time for us both, my love. You've never had a man and alas, I've never had a virgin."

  Even though she still felt frightened, with Avenel lying on top of her, her tears began to dry. "I do want to be close to you, Avenel," she whispered.

  With that he seemed to laugh and groan in one breath. Stroking her hair, it appeared that for the first time in his life he was at a loss for words.

  "Teach me how to do that, Avenel. I know you can." Brienne stared up into his handsome face. "Teach me how to love a man. Teach me how to love you." She dropped her eyes. She was baring her soul to him. She could only hope that Avenel would understand what she was saying so artlessly.

  "No," he answered so swiftly that she thought her heart would break.

  A silent cry sounded in her head. A tear slid down her cheek. He doesn't understand. He doesn't—

  "My love," his voice broke into her thoughts. Her eyes lifted to his, and she took a deep breath, readying herself for his rejection. But it never came. Instead he kissed her eyelids and said, "I would have it the other way around. Tonight you must be the teacher. Tonight you must show me what to do, how to love a virgin."

  "I don't know how to teach you anything, Avenel. I don't know—"

  "Well, does one please a virgin by kissing her here?" Slowly he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. Their hands clasped more tightly; feeling his new tenderness, Brienne found herself relaxing.

  "Or does one kiss her here?" He moved lower, reaching the fragrant hollows of her throat. He took his time kissing her there and appeared to savor the way her pulse quickened with his touch. He lingered for a long time before he made his way lower.

  "Or here?" he finally asked as his mouth reached her breast. But this time she was ready for him. This time, she was the one drinking in sensations. Her fingers combed through the thick­ness of his hair, and she melted beneath his practiced lips.

  A long time passed before he raised his head, yet his magic was working. She moaned shamelessly, "Avenel, give me what I'm missing." Her loins this time didn't rage with fire but smoldered in a slow, urgent burn. But he was not through. He was not ready to satisfy her yet.

  He turned her on her stomach and cupped her smooth, rounded bottom. Her spine took the heat of his lips, and he kissed her in places she'd never been kissed before.

  "Is this what a virgin seeks?" he teased her, his voice husky and promising.

  "Avenel . . ." She moaned the rest of her answer when his tongue wound lazily down the small of her back. Before she could articulate another word, he pulled her on top of him, kissing her breasts, her shoulders, her waist. He paused only once to brush the burgundy strands from her eyes and whisper urgently, "When I look at you like this,
do you know how I feel?"

  She shook her head and delighted in the gleam of his eyes.

  "I feel greedy. So overwhelmingly greedy that I would rather die than see you in another man's bed." With that he gave her a long, slow kiss that took her breath away and made her weak.

  When he laid her back on the bed and again moved over her, she found no more fear in her breast. When he whispered possessively into her ear, "My beautiful, sweet woman. My beautiful, sweet Brienne," she knew then without a doubt that it was the most natural thing in the world for them to form a union. And finally, when she felt the searing tear of her maid­enhood as it was lost forever to his lovemaking, she took him willingly, ready to pay the price in exchange for the pleasure he'd given her.

  But unknown to her there was more. She moaned and felt a sparkling tremor move down her thighs as her hips and Avenel's moved in rhythm. With Avenel's every thrust, Brienne felt her body loosen, and she took more of him into her arms and into her body. Soon a delicious tightening be­tween her thighs began, and she looked up at him, touching the handsome planes of his face. Although she was almost blinded by the feelings he aroused in her, she could see how he watched her. His eyes, usually icy blue, had become smoky and passionate. With every movement, the expression in them grew hotter and more possessive, until Brienne finally could stand it no more.

  Shuddering, she felt her entire body writhe beneath his movements, at once trying to get away from his excruciating, tantalizing rhythm and at the same time move toward it, des­perate for more. When her release came, she whispered al­most inaudibly, "I love you, Avenel." But she didn't know if he heard her, for as she said the words, he closed his eyes and unleashed himself, giving out a low powerful growl from seek­ing and receiving his pleasure to the fullest.