Agony/Ecstasy: Original Stories of Agonizing Pleasure/Exquisite Pain

by Litte, Jane

  As Myriam watched him rise, the long tail of ebon hair scraping over his broad, bare shoulders and back, she did not know whether it was fear or desire that trembled under her skin. For a moment he just stood and looked at her, acknowledging her shaking with a small sigh and the hesitancy of a difficult decision. A glance away, a look back, straight into her face, his gaze so piercing she stopped shaking as if on command. Witchcraft. He must be a powerful magician among these people.

  And yet, when he moved again and brought himself down next to her, almost touching her leg with his own thigh, he seemed very much a man. A tall, muscled, almost graceful man, smelling of peat and smoke and sweat, and the peppery combination shocked her nose, which did not, strangely, object to the combination. It had been so very long since she had been interested in the smell of a man, so long since her body acknowledged its own desire for those sensations. Fear must have heightened her senses; that was the only explanation. That, and the witchcraft, of course. Still, when he was sliding down next to her, she wanted so badly to reach up to his solemn face, to find out if his lips were as soft as her bewitched body knew they would be.

  Which is when she remembered her bound hands. A hysterical bubble of sound pushed past the terror clogging her throat as she raised her bloody, chafed wrists, first up to her face, so she could witness her own self-treachery, and then over her head like a club, awareness of what was about to happen pushing her desires in an entirely different direction.

  HIRO felt badly about her skin, hated the look of her bloody wrists and the hopefully temporary need to keep her bound, but she had no idea why she was here—that the clan had brought her to him to replace his wife, lost in last winter’s raid. Until she trusted that they were not going to hurt her, that, in fact, she would live a much better, freer life among his people, that she would be the strong, beautiful mother of his children, he had no easy way of making her understand and accept that . . . yet.

  But if he did not act now, she was going to try something desperate, and then he would likely end up hurting her even more in trying to retrieve her and hold her safe from things far more dangerous than she could presently imagine. She had no idea how dangerous her little settlement had become, how his enemies were only a day behind his hunting party. Should they have taken her and her people, she would be nothing more than a war prize, a pawn played between greedy nations. If he could not persuade her of that with words, he would find another way to subdue her. He knew several places on the body that would induce her to sleep if touched just the right way. He didn’t want to harm her any more than she had already been hurt, but there was such a tension in his body, an aggressive need to do something to stop her from looking at him with so much confused fear and desire, he did not know how long he could hold himself back if she tried to fight him.

  MYRIAM recognized the look in his eyes and knew she should fight to the death before this man, this savage, had even one moment of dominion over her body. What kind of man could inflict himself like that on a woman, could feed off her vulnerability and fear, and make her an empty vessel for his unholy lust? Now it was clear why he had been so patient with her over the past few days, why even the women refused to subdue her beyond binding her and keeping her restricted to one of the strangely long houses in the camp. She should have known their current isolation was calculated so that this man could have his way with her. How dare they try to wear her down with such false kindness. No, no, no, this was not going to happen to her, even if she did not survive the escape.

  When she saw his hand reach out toward her leg, she understood that she had only a second to make up her mind about where to strike. She may not have shoes, but she still had feet, and there were plenty of soft places on a man’s body where she could make him hurt long enough to scramble out of range.

  Hiro knew, the moment his cock began pulsing in awareness of her proximity, that she was going to try something foolish, and that he could not let her succeed. But he was still a second too late when her foot shot out from under her skirt, straight into his groin. Boom! The pulsing quickened to a warning beat, the pain shooting into his back and legs, the automatic curl of his body the only thing that kept her from being able to pull away from him. Instead he ungracefully fell on top of her, her bound arms swinging in front of her and her hair whipping around her face while she thrashed.

  Down, down, down he pushed her into the pallet, using the weight of his body and the heaviness of the pain she laid on him to hold her down, if not still, at least subdued by his almost dead weight.

  Even as Hiro lay heaving on top of her, Myriam knew she had lost her chance. The shock of his body all along hers seized up every muscle, but she could neither stretch out nor curl up to get relief. Her breath came in shallow, panting bursts, her breasts crushed against his naked chest, the stiff whalebone of her stays offering no protection from the heat of his body, let alone whatever retribution he intended. So when he brought his hand up to her cheek, she anticipated the blow by closing her eyes and imagining her skin an iron mask.

  At first there was nothing, and Myriam squeezed her eyes more tightly closed, hoping it was all a bad dream. Maybe she had been drugged by the gamey stew they gave her for supper. That might account for the horrible thoughts she had been having earlier about her captor’s body. Then came the lightest touch on her face, and the shock of his fingers gently grazing her cheek was far worse than any blow. The soft gentleness of his touch shot an excruciating pain into her chest and shaking through her whole body. Oh, God, it was real, after all.

  Across her startled mouth his fingertips moved, charting the distance with such care she could only hiccup on the taste and the smell of him. Hiro knew he had shocked her, and he moved quickly in that second before she could strike again to keep her distracted and hopefully draw her attention to other needs her body had.

  MYRIAM could not prevent the tears from coming, nor could she stop them, as her bound hands were trapped on her belly, which was shuddering uncontrollably against her captor’s bare abdomen. They forced her to open her eyes, which made everything more frustratingly real. She could feel her body surrendering, and she had no idea how to fight it. The mix of fear and desire in her body set her teeth to chattering, the snap, snap, snapping of her jaw only a mild annoyance compared to the torture of this man’s soft attentions to her face.

  His eyes were not so dark as she first thought, although the desire that flared through those umber irises was surely the devil’s fire. For the first time in five days she was grateful she could not move her arms, because she knew they would betray her without qualm, so overwhelming was the need to feel the soft tickle of his dark lashes against her searching fingers. His lips were moist too, and surprisingly pink, matching the color that gathered across his arched cheekbones. Oh, God, what was happening to her—what was this terrible game he was playing with her?

  Before she could close her eyes against her body’s obvious desire, Hiro slowly crossed the seam of her lips with the tip of his own tongue, the rough surface catching on her dry mouth until he could slip underneath to the wetter, slicker inside of her upper lip.

  Every thought Hiro could muster was focused on her delicious, terrified mouth, and as he pressed into the rest of her body he knew, somewhere behind all the lust and urgency, that he was hurting her, her smaller body and uncomfortably bound arms given no quarter beneath his torso and legs. He could feel his cock grinding into her belly as he opened her mouth with his, felt her squirming as much as she could, but he would not question himself now, knowing he could not go back without becoming her forever enemy. The only thing he would allow himself to be conscious of was the way her skin was heating beneath his hand and the reluctant curiosity of her own lips and tongue.

  She wasn’t reciprocating, exactly, but she wasn’t resisting, either. A shy response, uncertain and afraid, and the power he felt as he worked to calm her threatened his self-control. A part of him, and he knew exactly which one, wanted to push up her skir
t, push past the second skirt she wore underneath that one, and thrust into her before she could refuse him. It had been so long since he felt this close to a woman, so long since the softness of a woman’s body tempted him this way, he could barely even understand what was happening with them.

  As the tears began to twist down Myriam’s cheeks, she didn’t know if they were hers or his. Had her arms been free she knew she would have slapped him and pushed him off her, kicking whatever she could reach before she fled. Whatever lay outside this strange place, it had to be better than what this man was doing to her, the cruel seduction of his mouth on her neck, her collarbones, even the shell of her ear. It had been so long since anyone paid attention to her body like this, and even as her mind shouted No, No, No, No, No. The agony of this pleasure he was forcing on her kept her mouth shut against the sound of her own voice. Please, she silently begged, just get it over with and let me go. Slap me, push me, force me—anything but this. Anything but this.

  Hiro murmured to her in a language she could not understand, words that sounded like the rush of water on his tongue, words that had no meaning beyond the terrifying knowledge that she was lost to this heartless man who would take her away from her home, keep her bound and imprisoned for days, and then force himself on her so gently, so carefully. For the first time, as she looked up into his face, she saw everything she knew but had not recognized: the depth of his dusky eyes, the dominant hook of his nose, the lush, sensitive lips, the perfectly congruent planes of his face. Her eyes burned with the beauty of his face, and as his burnished hand brushed across her now exposed chest, she was startled into speech. “Your name . . . What is your name?”

  Instead of answering—what made her think he could ever understand her—he kissed around her breasts, drawing down her shift and stays, pushing away the sleeves and their ties, inhaling deeply the musk of her body, breathing out lightly on the pink tips, watching them plump for his mouth, feeling them stiffen under the light attentions of his tongue. He heard her say something, but what he could not think, answering instead with more pressure on her nipples, a slight pinch with his lips and a drag of his teeth across the sensitive skin there. That he could see her skin pale and then redden under his possessive fingertips made him squeeze harder, and when she cried out breathlessly, he did not look to see if it was in pleasure or pain, just dug his fingers in again, needing to keep her from thinking she should—or could—stop this.

  Myriam had no idea how to stop anything. Already she was throbbing deep inside, the pain in her arms and now in her breasts, the only thing keeping her from fainting dead away. Every prick, every sharp scratch across her skin reminded her she was awake and alive, and even as she hated feeling this, she could not wait for the next touch, could not think beyond the myriad sensations pummeling her body and her mind. When she felt him lift his body away, she actually spasmed like a drowning person trying to breathe, terrified he was going to end the torment. Her relief at his hands on her skirt, pushing it and her petticoats up toward her hips, had her throwing her head back with a groan.

  Thank the spirits, Hiro thought, that she wasn’t going to refuse him this. Already he was so hard he ached, and as he pushed her skirts up to get to her softest flesh, he promised himself that next time he would take his time and savor more of her body. But once he put his hands on her thighs, her muscles contracted and her legs jumped, revealing her to his gaze. Her dark hair and golden skin captivated him here, as well, and as he reached out to touch her, ever so lightly, she jumped again, throwing her head back and pushing out her chest.

  His mouth watered at the sight of her breasts thrusting high, but his cock knew its purpose better than the rest of him, and it wanted immediate entrance to her softest, tightest, wettest place. His blood beat in time to her desire: I want, I want, I want. His fingers trembled as he drew them down each side of her pink lips, and he watched her open to him, plumping with her own moisture, inviting him in. Not yet, his mind whispered, not ready, it said, but his cock convinced him it was time and as what was left of his mind emptied, he bent between her knees and filled her in one thrust: I want, I want, I want.

  Everything had been so astonishing, and when he forged into her, she felt his thrust everywhere. Her thighs contracted around her hips, and the sharp pain reminded her of what she was doing . . . and of what she was letting him do. That it felt so good only confused her, and as her body turned in to his over and over and over, as she felt her mind trying to make sense of the pleasure, her panic grew. Before he could draw out just a little, she brought her bound hands up to pound against his chest and pushed her hips up to unseat him. Instead, she met him on the down thrust and their pelvic bones met in that perfect way, burning through any final resistance her body might have offered. Still, as the unearthly thrill unraveled inside her, she could hear herself crying and pleading with him to stop. But he was beyond seeing or hearing anything except the throbbing rush of his own release, blistering hot and perfect.

  NOT witchcraft after all, just brute force. And she could not even turn away to hide the shame of her own powerlessness. It was bad enough that he had forced himself on her like that, but so much worse that she had wanted exactly that. Only once it happened it was too much, too overwhelming, too soon. Oh, God, why was this happening to her? Whatever test this was she had utterly failed, so perhaps this was her punishment for being so wicked. Is that why the pleasure was so intense? She was still throbbing in the most intimate way, her skin tingling at the surface, her mind circling around the same confused sense of shame and disappointment. She felt utterly defeated.

  HIRO knew that something had gone terribly wrong, but his body was reluctant to surrender the bone-deep pleasures her body had just given him. If she was only fighting him now, thrashing her arms and legs and pushing him away with the same force she had before. If he was being honest with himself, the chances were good that he still would not let her leave, but anything would be better than the choked sobbing he heard beneath him. Her face was turned away from his, and even after what had just happened between them—because of that, perhaps—he felt shy of intruding on her despair. But still it bothered him that she sounded so diminished, that perhaps he had just taken all her strength and determination instead of filling her with his. At what point had things changed? He still did not understand exactly what happened, but he knew that she was hurting and that somehow he had caused it.

  MYRIAM finally just let herself drift. Her mind was still cloudy, her body was still twitching with its own wakening awareness, and she felt, rather than heard, a rhythmic chanting above her. She had no idea how many minutes had passed before she opened her eyes to find his serious face so close to hers, his lips reciting the strangest sounds, a soothing, melodic repetition, accompanied by the lightest touch to her forehead, cheeks, nose, lips, and chin. With what seemed like reverence he kept up his chanting and touching, lulling her into the depths of his intent gaze, feeling the weight of his words even though she could not understand them. Perhaps it was another kind of spell, but for the first time in five days, she did not care what happened to her, did not even try to resist the mesmerizing litany that stole through her tired, sated body like a prayer.

  In his own language Hiro told her over and over again how beautiful she was, how essential: resplendent like the red-leafed maple, full of strength and courage like the bear, sweet like the stalks of tender young corn, beautiful and mysterious like the night sky. He knew she could not understand the words, but he hoped to revive her with the sounds of his language, which were so much more pleasing than the harsh syllables of her own. And indeed, as he spoke to her, sang to her, really, she seemed to come back to herself, staring up at him with a new attentiveness, which he breathed into himself through the scent of her desire, which began again to stir between them.

  Even more slowly this time, he moved toward her mouth, singing his song of praise, sharing its secrets with her, lips to lips, tongue to tongue. Gradually she opened to him, fir
st on a small sigh, and then with a bit more interest, her eyes not leaving his while her small tongue searched the secrets of his mouth. But he continued to sing to her, if not with his mouth, with the rest of his body. Hands moving reverently over her shoulders and between her breasts, soothing and reassuring, drawing languid patterns on her warm skin. Her own arms were still bound, and he ached to release them, but he was afraid that if he drew attention to her current state it would recall her to resistance and this moment would be lost forever. But the new eagerness of her mouth and her legs, both unabashedly reaching for him, told him all he needed to know about her willingness and desire. While her feet rasped up the sides of his legs, the tickle against his hair and skin there almost unbearably pleasurable, her mouth grasped his with increasing urgency, the wetness of their kisses noisy against the background of the steady fire and their beating hearts.

  And then, in a moment he knew would decide everything, he rolled over onto his back, drawing her with him, and sitting up with her before her confusion broke the spell of their coupling. With experience he hoped she didn’t stop to question, he kept up the frantic kisses and arranged her legs and bottom, her skirts around and across them, his leggings giving her a small respite from the shock of his own bare lap. That she seemed to know what to do shouldn’t have surprised him, but he hid it anyway by dropping his head back and letting her take him over.

  And take him over she did. Myriam no longer cared if she was bewitched or damned or anything else she would have to pay for later. Right now she had no idea how she had managed without a man’s intimate touch for so long, but she was angry and desirous to take from this man what she had previously denied herself. Fumbling a bit with her voluminous skirts and bound hands, she reached underneath and took hold of the most intimate part of the stranger beneath her, wondering at how easy it was to touch him, how hungry she suddenly felt for the power he was offering her.