by Bonnie Dee
Midas hadn’t wanted to be there. They’d made him go and he’d been surly and resentful, an emotion hardly challenged by his father’s insane ramblings. He hadn’t listened at the time and he certainly hadn’t thought about it since, but what if his father had known something?
“Wallace,” he said slowly, “you served my father, didn’t you?”
“I had that honor.”
“Did he ever talk to you about some affair with a demon princess?”
“Certainly not,” said Wallace, clearly affronted by such impropriety. Then, after an instant’s hesitation, he added, “Though there was an affair, before his marriage. The older courtiers talked about it when I was young. Some mysterious woman who gave birth at the palace and then vanished with her child. Or was sent away. Opinions varied as to what happened to her, but neither mother nor son was seen here again.”
“Son…” Midas repeated. Yes, the old man had mentioned a son. Midas’s own half-brother, who would be king of the underworld one day… Insane words of a dying man, barely remembered after ten years?
Excitement began to replace his helpless anger. He was on to something, he was sure of it!
“How did he meet this mystery woman?”
Wallace shrugged. “Alone. He used to go walking alone at night. He was strong-willed in his youth and no one had been able to prevent him or accompany him.” He gave a quick, apologetic smile. “Apparently the servants swore she was a fairy princess. The court tended to the belief that she was a low-born strumpet. Certainly, there was never any talk of marriage, and the child was never acknowledged. Perhaps it wasn’t even the king’s.”
“Must have been,” said Midas. “Why else would he have let it be born here? Wallace, go and track down some of those old servants. Find out if anyone knows any more. Perhaps somebody saw her go. Perhaps somebody knows the way to the magical realm, and then we’ll get the queen back.”
“And the princess,” Wallace reminded him. Midas dismissed that with a wave of his hand. He had no objection to the baby coming back, but it was his gold-spinning wife he needed.
As Wallace left to do his bidding, Midas sank onto his day-bed and lay with one arm flung across his eyes, as if shutting out his everyday world would more easily bring back that barely-regarded night so long ago, the night the old man finally died and made him king. What had he said about the child?
Silly old twittering fool, his breath stinking, his crusty beard trailing across his arm as he blabbered on… “He’ll be a king one day, too, you know…a mirror of you… A king of the demons…if he’s ever strong enough to wrest control from the warring factions who live there.”
Yes, he was sure those were the words, or something like. And then…hadn’t he gone on to insist that Midas might one day need this demon king’s help? If Midas wasn’t mistaken, he’d laughed out loud at this and tried to pull away, having grown bored even pretending to listen. The old fool’s words were penetrating anyway, and Midas’s dreams of possessing power and riches greater than any monarch’s in history were being annoyingly interrupted.
But he had cause to be grateful for the penetrating nature of those words now, because Midas was sure he did need them. If he really existed, he needed that demon brother’s help now, only how in hell did he find him?
“Just say his name,” the old king had whispered, clinging like a leach and dragging Midas down to his papery lips that felt dead already. “Say his name and he’s got to come, His name is…”
What was the name the old man had whispered into his offended ear?
Damnation, he couldn’t remember. Not even a letter. Midas doubted he’d even heard it. He’d been too busy wishing the old codger would just hurry up and die. How could he have known the ramblings were real, that there really was a magical realm, or that he would one day need to command the help of this demon brother?
Midas sat up and swore fluently. If only he’d paid attention to the name.
If only his stupid cow of a wife hadn’t seen fit to abandon him for the child. If only she hadn’t been damn foolish enough to make deals with demons in the first place, which is what their conversation seemed to imply to him. If only she hadn’t been so scared or secretive or whatever that she’d kept the information to herself and imagined she’d actually come up with the fellow’s real name.
What was that name his father had spoken?
One thing it wasn’t was Rumpel-bloody-stiltskin.
Chapter Ten
“Do you love your husband?” Ragnorak asked. He hadn’t meant to, not directly, but it slipped out when he’d closed his bedchamber door and realized she was trembling. She wasn’t as hard as he’d been imagining, and yet neither did he wish to imagine her as devoted to the topside king. What would that make him?
She shook her head, moving away from him. “No. Nor does he love me.”
“And yet, you are desperate to go back to him.”
She smiled, a slightly twisted little smile, but at least it was genuine. “No, not to him. To fresh air and sunlight. And freedom. I won’t go back to the king.”
That did surprise him. “He’s your husband.” Had he really said that? He sounded like a prude, which was ridiculous after the deal he’d just made with her.
“Not for much longer. I’ll divorce him.”
Ragnorak blinked. “Will he let you?”
“He will when I tell him the gold was a lie. He’s seen you now. He’ll believe me. He might even have worked it out already that I didn’t do the spinning.”
“So what will you do?” he asked, fascinated in spite of himself.
“I’ll take Brea—you might have noticed he isn’t exactly an adoring father—and live in a cottage where the wrens nest on my roof and crap on my porch. And this time I’ll love it because I have Brea and I know the alternatives.”
“You have it all thought out. Next you’ll realize I’ve done you a favor.”
Her eyes flickered up to him, surprised and frightened. Something like laughter caught in her throat. “Not that,” she said fervently.
She looked away at once, but he closed the distance between them and reached for her. Though she flinched, he didn’t draw back, but simply took her chin in his fingers and turned up her face to his. He read a desperate courage in her eyes, a determination barely clambering its way over her fear.
This isn’t how it should be…
Sparring, negotiating with her had been fun. Watching the color ebb and flow in her beautiful, golden face had been alluring as she’d made her outrageous deal. Inspiring some kind of fear had seemed a reasonable return for his months of secret heartache, and yet now that she stood before him, doing her best to hide it, he didn’t like that fear. He wanted to dominate her. He wanted to win her. But despite all his planning and everything he’d done, he didn’t care who won this ridiculous contest, as long as he had the time to touch her heart first.
Holding his gaze, she caught her lip between her teeth, as if to cover its trembling.
That first kiss in Midas’s dungeons had been true. If material greed had contaminated her—and actually, he doubted it at all now—the damage was not deep. And in any case, he found it didn’t matter. The ache had begun again the moment he’d looked at her in Midas’s hall. And in his own, he’d been forced to admit it to himself. Although the sexual tug was strong, it was something deeper which drew him to her.
He didn’t want her to feel like an adulteress while she seduced him. He didn’t want her to be afraid of him. It made him feel like a rapist, whoever was in control of the night’s events.
“We seal our deal with a kiss,” he said softly, and took it before she could object. But he made it gentle, tender, soothing her agitated mouth without too much invasion. Her lips were nectar, sweet and soft, just as he remembered them. He sensed her surprise and left it there, before temptation to deepen the kiss overwhelmed him. “And now our two hours begins.”
He moved away from her casually, saw her blink and begin to tak
e in the appearance of his room—the desk at which he often worked during the night or in the early hour of morning, piled high with papers in neat piles. The soft rug under her feet, the fine paintings on his wall of many of the beauty spots of Elohim—the Purple Caverns, the Stream of Light, the Fire Pool.
He sank down on his large bed with its pure white silk coverings and sprawled there, watching her with his head propped up on one hand, and waited for her to approach him.
She did, slowly. A pulse beat in her throat. Uncertainty, even fear, remained, but he dared to hope there was a little excitement in there too. The carefully filtered light coming from either side of the room caught the gold of her gown, dazzling him with visions of golden thread and a pliant, willing body trembling with passion in his arms.
But she would not be so easy to resist if he let his memories go there. Thrusting them aside, he watched her climb on to the bed and gaze for a long moment at his crotch.
Partly, it might have been a fear of beginning. Partly, he suspected she could see right away what her gaze did to him. Already perky just from being with her, his cock began to grow and harden in earnest. Well, that was all right. No one said he couldn’t be aroused. It was going to be a sweet two hours of torture.
Without so much as glancing at his face, she reached for his buttons and began to undo them, one by one.
He said, “By the laws of Elohim, if either party in a marriage announces their divorce three times before a witness, their marriage is dissolved.”
Pausing on the last button, she took a moment before she glanced up at him. “Then I divorce Midas.” She slipped her hand inside his trousers, and her fingers brushed against his still covered but highly sensitive cock. “I divorce Midas.” Deftly, her fingers pushed aside his undergarment, and he found himself holding his breath. “I divorce Midas.”
Her palm wrapped around his cock and he almost groaned with the ache of pleasure. He’d longed for her touch for so long, he feared he’d lose the bet right then. She leaned forward slightly, granting him a glimpse of her beautiful heavy breasts within the golden gown, as she freed his cock.
“Then you’re a free woman,” he managed. “So do your best to make me come.”
She stroked him and he knew immediately he’d made a big mistake by demanding they begin the contest tonight. He was already wound tight, desperate for her. The smart thing would have been to wait several days and make sure he’d relieved the worst of his desire by his own hand before he allowed hers on him. Not to mention, if he intended to win Gwyneth’s affection, he should at the very least have given her a night of rest and time to acclimate to the abrupt change in her life. So foolish of him to rush right into the touching and kissing that would surely undo him. But from the moment her offer had left her lips, his blood had rushed straight to his cock and that appendage had spoken for him. Now he must control the damn thing before it cheated him out of his hard-won future.
The simple sight of her hand encircling his pale shaft sent a jolt of lust through him, never mind how good it felt. He concentrated on breathing, in and out slowly to decrease the rapid thrumming of blood through his veins. He would concentrate on Gwyneth, the shape of her face, the texture of her hair, the changeable nature of her eyes, to distract him from his body’s reaction to her.
Her eyes were as blue as the lapis lazuli pools in the amethyst-studded Purple Caverns. The vibrant blue stones were what gave the clear pools of water their astonishing color. Ice cold water—a good thing to think of right now because Gwyneth’s hand was moving up and down his cock in a tentative glide. He shifted restlessly, trying not to enjoy it too much, which was, of course, impossible.
He studied the slight frown of concentration between her brows. She acted uncertain. With a stab of jealousy, he wondered about her experience with her husband, a man she didn’t seem to care much for. Well, they’d managed to produce a child, so they’d clearly had sex on occasion. A bolt of white hot iron shot through him at the mental picture. He didn’t like the idea of his golden girl with anyone other than him. For the past year and a half the knowledge that she was with Midas had burned beneath his skin. But now she was his, and would remain his if he had to cut his cock off to avoid coming—although that would rather defeat the purpose of having her.
He smiled at the thought.
Gwyneth glanced at him and her frown deepened. “Am I amusing you?”
“It was nothing, merely a passing thought. Pray continue.”
Was she pouting? Her lower lip jutted slightly and he longed to bite it. So, he’d hurt her feelings a little, maybe caused her to doubt her ability to arouse him. That was good. Keeping her off balance and unsure of herself was exactly what he needed to do. If she realized she held him in the palm of her hand, he’d never make it through this evening.
“You’re doing fine,” he assured her in a casual, nearly bored tone that betrayed none of his inner excitement. “Really.”
Her hand stopped moving on his cock, then let him go as she sat back. The same hand moved restlessly against her chest, plucking at the ribbons lacing her bodice. “Perhaps you would like other stimulation first.”
She rose from the bed and began to undress.
Ragnorak swallowed and his jaw clenched. This was going to be so much harder than he’d thought. He risked losing everything, both her and his heir, for the sake of what? A few nights of pleasure that would actually be torture since he couldn’t come. What a ridiculous, stupid bet to make! He could have earned Gwyneth’s trust and maybe her affection given time, sweet-talked and seduced her until she was glad he’d brought her to his underground kingdom. Now he was trapped in a situation that guaranteed he’d lose her even if he won, for if she stayed here he’d promised never to touch her again.
He wanted to close his eyes, refuse to watch her slow stripping, but could not force himself to look away as she unveiled her body in tiny increments. The sloping curve of her shoulders. Her arms bared. The dress falling to the ground in a drift of gold. White ribbons of her corset parting. The full swell of her breasts revealed. A delicate tracing of blue veins marbling the creamy skin. Her nipples, dark and distended.
Her breasts looked different than the last time he’d seen her naked, and he suddenly realized why. She was nursing the child. The realization struck him like a slap to the face, breaking through the haze of lust. She was a mother with an infant. She was nurturing a life which he’d threatened to take away from her. How could she ever feel anything but horror and revulsion for him?
But his lapse in lust proved brief as she pulled her petticoat down to reveal the cradle of her hips and the tuft of tawny hair that marked her sex. His arousal was full blown once more, his erection lifting of its own accord at the sight of her plump, pink pussy lips below the tangle of curls. If his cock had a voice, it would be screaming, “Want. In. Now.”
Down, boy. He glanced at the hourglass by his bedside, which he’d placed there at Gwyneth’s command since he possessed no clock. Time was measured differently down here with no sun or moon to mark the days. Its passage was based on an inner sense of the earth’s natural cycles, a sort of deep pulsing within the field of gravity that the Elohim felt in their very bones. Ragnorak didn’t really need to look at the grains of falling sand to know there was still an hour and a half to go in this torturous contest of wills.
Gwyneth followed his glance to the hourglass but took her time as she sauntered slowly back to the bed. If he’d made her doubt her technique or her ability to please him, she didn’t show that misgiving as she sat on the edge of the bed beside him. She bent to the task of pulling off his boots. He helped himself out of his trousers, and then she unbuttoned his shirt.
Ragnorak leaned forward, allowing her to pull it off his arms before reclining against the pillows once more. Unfortunately, her chest was level with his eyes and the sight of her turgid nipples and swollen breasts made him swallow hard.
She must have noticed his convulsive swallow because she leane
d forward so her breasts were a breath away from his face. “Taste,” she commanded in a low, throaty whisper.
His mouth opened obediently as she guided her ripe breast to his lips. He closed his lips around the distended nipple and drew on it hard. Warm softness filled his mouth and then sweetness burst on his tongue. He swallowed. Milk. Holy gods, he was drinking from her! It wasn’t what he’d intended or expected. But the knowledge that he was taking in her life-giving fluid was shockingly erotic. He sucked harder.
Sliding one hand around her waist, he held her while his other hand cupped her heavy breast, feeling its weight and texture and the moisture that dripped from her nipple.
Ragnorak stopped sucking, pulled away from her with a catch of his breath and looked up into her face. “You’re… Do you need to feed the child now? I didn’t think to ask you before we started.”
She gazed into his eyes. Hers were now a dark indigo, the pupils dilated and her expression hungry. He was comforted that she was aroused too.
“Brea should be all right for a while longer. I fed her just before dinner.”
Brea, his heir. He’d hardly given any thought to the baby as a tiny being with a life of her own. All of his focus had been on winning the child and her mother. He hadn’t considered the baby’s needs, leaving the acquisition of supplies for the nursery to Agnet. Now, for the first time, he truly understood the magnitude of adopting the child as his. She was real. She was alive and totally dependent on others to care for her. He’d scarcely looked at her yet, but he would remedy that beginning tomorrow.
Glancing at Gwyneth’s other tit, he unconsciously licked his lips. “But you’re… leaking. Doesn’t that mean something?”
“It happens sometimes when I’m excited, not just when Brea needs feeding.” She smiled. “I’m a fountain right now.”
He inclined his head, accepting her explanation and the admission that she was excited, then he took her other breast into his mouth. As he suckled the warmth and sweetness, he toyed with her free nipple and stroked his other hand over the curve of her ass, feeling her silken flesh.
