“Unlawfully,” I said, lifting my chin.
The Beast shrugged. “Cedric is now the Earl of Darkcliffe. He can do what he wishes with you.”
I swallowed. “It is not his right to sell me like some bondslave.”
“Right is what you take,” he told me. “And I have claimed the right to you.” He lifted one of those human-looking hands from the reins and stretched his fingers wide. Inch-long claws extended from his fingertips.
So it was that I found myself scrubbing floors.
Now I dragged the scrub brush grimly over the worn stone. My chains still tormented me, but not as much as my bitter thoughts. By now Cedric had followed through with his plan to tell all and sundry that highwaymen had killed me. Thanks to his high rank, none would dare question him, not even my father, mere baron that he was.
I had no choice but to obey the Beast as I would a husband, or feel his fist. Or claws.
“Brianne,” he said from his corner, and I started. His eyes shone green fire at me. “Come here.”
My heart sank. I knew he wanted more from me now than playing the menial.
Wishing I dared stall, I stood and walked toward him, chains jangling softly. Folding my manacled wrists in front of me, I stood before him and waited, head bowed in galling submission.
“Down. On the floor,” he ordered. “On your back.”
Gnawing my lip, I lay down and looked up at him as he sat there in his massive carved chair. His booted feet were inches from my bare toes.
“Now rest your heels on the arms of my chair,” the Beast said, his voice a deep, thrumming purr.
I obeyed. And swallowed, realizing that this pose spread my thighs, exposing me completely to those green eyes.
“Very nice,” he said, leaning forward in the chair. “I like the way that red hair of yours pools around your face. And your nipples . . .”
He licked his lips, looking uncomfortably like a tiger anticipating a meal. Green eyes stared directly into mine, the irises vertical slits. “Caress yourself for me.”
“What?” I squeaked.
“Your nipples,” he growled, impatient. “Roll them between your fingers.”
I thought about refusing, but a scratching sound caught my attention. He was extending and retracting his claws like a cat kneading a cushion. The tips raked the wood of the chair arm with a chilling scritch scritch scritch.
Biting my lip, I lifted both hands, listening to the chains clank, and caught my pointed nipples between my fingers. I could feel myself going bright red with mortification as I began to roll them.
“Stretch them upward,” he ordered.
I pulled at the soft, pink flesh and tried not to groan at the curls of warm sensation that rolled through me.
“That’s right,” he said. Something hard and thick grew behind the tight fabric of his fawn britches. “Grab those pretty breasts. Lift them to me.”
I obeyed, my fingers sinking into my own soft skin. “They’re quite big. I wonder . . . Can you lick them?”
“I . . . don’t know.” I’d certainly never tried.
“Find out.”
Reluctantly, I bent my head down, tightening my grip until the nipple pouted into range of my tongue. I licked. And squirmed as I caught my nipple in a glancing swipe.
“Oh, yes.” The Beast’s eyes were glowing like twin candle flames. “I thought you could. Now masturbate for me.”
Heat flooded my face. But there was something about that hot green gaze that ripped away my will to resist. I reached down. My fingers threaded through cherry curls, slid between my lips.
And found, to my shame, that I was very wet. My fingers glided to my clit to begin a practiced circling.
The Beast’s hand went to the buttons of his britches. I froze.
“Continue,” he rumbled, even as he freed his huge, dark erection. Like his lips, his shaft was so black it was almost blue. And it was near as thick as my wrist.
Staring helplessly at milord’s massive cock, I rubbed my clit, feeling something wet trickle furtively between my lips.
His hand, claws retracted, began to stroke up and down that menacing rod.
I gasped, unable to control my breathing, as one hand strummed my clit and the other rolled my nipple. Milord watched, his big hand working his shaft. His eyes glowed hotter, male and predatory. A sense of rigid restraint vibrated around him, as if he barely kept himself from falling on me like a starving lion.
I slid two fingers into my cunt. My hips rolled upward, but I managed to still them. I had to obey his orders, but I didn’t have to be so obvious in my lust.
“Tomorrow, I think,” the Beast said, “I’ll show you the dungeon Edrea designed for our pleasure. I’d love to see you stretched out in chains there, writhing as I paint those big breasts with candle wax. I can’t wait to watch that noblewoman’s arrogance turn to helpless submission.”
Eyes narrowed to slits, a lazy rumble in his throat, Beast stroked himself. I watched his hand move and wondered whether it was natural to have a cock of such size. The earl had not had half milord’s length, even in his rare moments of rigidity.
My shame faded as my heat rose, and I couldn’t seem to stop myself from burying my fingers deeply into my wetness, each gliding entry painting fire throughout my mound. My thighs twitched and I shut my eyes, gritting my teeth as I sought the climax that danced somewhere just beyond the next stroke of my fingers.
“Open your eyes!” Beast growled, and I snapped them wide.
He was on his feet now, astride me, looking down from his great height as he pumped his shaft. My own hand picked up its pace and I whimpered, twisting between his shiny black boots.
“That’s it,” he purred, “I want you to come. Come watching me. Come thinking about what I’m going to do to you. How I’m going to take you. Soon.”
I groaned in mingled shame and helpless excitement, thrusting my hips upward at him.
And then, suddenly, the heat in my pearl exploded, thrumming through me in hard ripples that made me scream out with the raw, stark pleasure of it. Distantly, I could hear Beast’s purring rumble, building in intensity toward a low roar.
Something wet splashed onto my upturned face, hot and white.
Gasping, I looked up at him, towering above me, and licked his come from my lips.
• • •
I stood close to the fire, savoring its warmth while I tried not to stare at my master. He sat at an elaborately carved dining table, eating with neat, precise movements of his knife. My stomach rumbled. I’d had no food since before my kidnapping the previous night, and I was more than ready to eat.
Milord put down his knife and leaned back, eyes going to me. “Come here,” he said, and I stiffened at a wave of heat. I remembered all too well what had followed those words this afternoon.
But I also knew better than to refuse, so I padded across the stone floor toward him, feeling my silk skirts sliding around my legs as I walked. Milord Beast had allowed me to dress after our last heated encounter, though the gown was a thin white silk that barely veiled the pink of my nipples.
He spread his knees apart and pointed to the floor between them. “Kneel.”
I bit my lip as my heartbeat accelerated. Obediently, I crouched between his boots, feeling the warmth from his muscular thighs bathe me.
Milord watched me as he reached out a long arm to the table in front of him. Then he held it out to me, holding a bit of savory meat like a man feeding a hound.
“Open for me,” he said.
I parted my lips. His fingers, covered in satiny fur, slid into my mouth, touched my tongue, teased it with the bite. Greatly tempted, I managed not to lick them as they withdrew. I chewed the morsel, hot juices flooding down my throat.
Milord Beast looked down at me. His eyes glowed green with masculine pleasure at my submission as he fed me a piece of crusty bread dripping with butter. When a drop slid down one of his long fingers, I automatically licked it away. And shivered at the hot
male taste of him.
My eyes darted to his. He smiled slowly, showing white teeth. I stared up at him helplessly. My nipples drew tight and a delicious memory teased its way through my mind; milord’s come splashing on my lips.
Next he presented me with a goblet of wine, upending it as I drank thirstily, feeling the tart burn slide down my throat.
So he fed me, and I ate from his hands, until he pushed back the plate and goblet with sudden impatience. “Time for dessert.” His hands caught in the fabric of my gown.
Claws extended, he shredded it with one easy pull, leaving me naked. Before I could protest, his big hands closed over my waist, and I found myself on my back on the table.
“Milord!” I squeaked as his ruthless strength made short work of the last clinging tatters of my gown.
He ignored my objection, stepping back from the table to stare. His lips parted in a widening smile, and for the first time I noticed his fangs. They were as white and sharp as a wolf’s. My heart leaped in fear, yet perversely, I could feel cream trickling between my thighs.
The Beast walked around the table and I watched as he circled, eyes fixed on me.
His gaze flicked to a small earthen jar. He reached over and picked it up, then dipped a spoon in it. When he held the silver utensil up to the light, a sluggish golden stream fell back into the jar.
Leaning over me again, he held the spoon above my breasts. As I watched, a stream of honey poured down to roll over my nipples and pearl on the full curves of my flesh.
Slowly, slowly, milord dribbled a stream of honey across my breasts, down the curve of my ribs, lingered to make a pool in my navel before painting my lower abdomen with shimmering gold. Then, finally, he poured the honey directly into the soft fur covering my mound.
At last he stood back and gave me that wicked, fanged grin again. “I have a sweet tooth.”
I tensed as milord bent over me, nervously aware of those fangs. A long red tongue flicked between his lips and swiped across my nipple, which instantly began to strain upward in yearning. Delicately he rewarded it, closing his mouth over the pink bud and sucking it with such delicious skill, I whimpered.
Finally he released the nubbin, only to begin slowly licking the honey still clinging to my breasts, lapping them with long strokes, pausing here and there to suck or nibble gently. I tensed each time, but those fangs never did more than press softly against my skin.
When he started working his way down the length of my torso, the ticklish sensation made me writhe. He paused to tongue the honey from my navel, sucked deeply at it, then continued down my abdomen.
A different tension invaded me. I’d heard whispers from other noblewomen, tales of wickedly skilled lovers, but the earl had hardly been of that stripe.
So when Beast moved between my legs at last and lowered his head, I shivered in equal parts of embarrassment and curiosity. His first long lick made me jump as he tasted my curls, then tugged them gently between his lips. At length he deepened the movement, tongue swirling around my pearl, flicking at my lips.
Never had I felt such a rush of pleasure. Yet the sensation only intensified when he burrowed his seeking tongue even deeper into my sex, stabbing hard into my core. I gasped.
He lifted his head. “You’re wet,” he purred. “Evidently you enjoy the attentions of a monster more than you’d like to admit.”
I writhed and moaned at his words. It was true, all true, and my shame scalded me. But then his tongue was at work again, licking my pearl, sucking it, and the pleasure drove every other thought from my head.
I looked down. He stared back at me from between my thighs. My sex hid half his face, but his eyes burned with triumph and hunger. Helpless, I threw back my head and cried out as lust blasted through me.
With a low, impatient growl of need, Milord Beast stood in a rush and began to unbutton his britches. At last his male organ had escaped to jut out at me. I swallowed, feeling my eyes widen as he bent closer to me, aiming himself.
In the back of my mind, I felt a flicker of disappointment; I’d been so close to climax, and now I knew he’d be through with me in a thrust or two.
But then he began to push into my body, his size stretching me in a way I’d never known. Even when I thought he’d reached his limit, he kept coming, and I whimpered in surprise.
“So big,” I moaned, “so hot.”
He grinned. “So tight.”
Finally he stopped, all the way in me at last. I licked my lips, staring at him as he stood between my thighs. He caught my calves and lifted them to rest on his shoulders, and then he began to thrust. I twisted.
I was no virgin, of course, but the earl had been nothing like this. Such size . . . It was almost painful, being filled so deeply. I wished he would give me his mouth again.
But then, as I lay there, feeling the slow, careful stoking of his great rod, a strange pleasure stole over me until my hips rocked. He’d already gone on much longer than my husband ever had, and the pleasure to be found in his thrusts was a delightful surprise. My breathing roughened and I gasped as he circled his hips.
As if I’d given him a signal, he picked up his pace until he was lunging hard against me, grinding his hips into the cradle of mine, tormenting my pearl into a blaze. He leaned closer as he rode me until his face was inches from my breasts. Hungrily he licked at me, eyes locked on mine. Unable to stop myself, I threaded my hands into his mane, twisting them as his relentless thrusts seared through me.
“Give to me,” he rumbled. “Come. Come with a beast’s prick pounding in your cunt. Now.”
And he rammed as deeply as he could go.
I screamed as the waves of my orgasm pulsed through me. He roared.
• • •
Putting my back into it, I hauled the bucket out of the well. The castle yard was abnormally quiet around me—but then, the entire castle was abnormally quiet for a structure of such size. The only servants in residence were a forbidding cook and a couple of timid maids, plus a very brawny footman who gave me looks I didn’t care for.
Bucket in hand, I straightened to look out the portcullis. Be- yond it I could see the long, rocky slope the castle sat upon, rolling down to the shadowed tree line of the forest. Suddenly I yearned for the still darkness out there with an intensity that made me grit my teeth.
But I knew better. There’d be no freedom for me. I’d take my bucket inside the castle and later I’d present myself to milord in his bedchamber where, once again, he’d shoot me to the heights of pleasure and the depths of shame. With my willing—nay, eager—participation.
I was no better than a slut.
I thought of the shame my father would feel if he knew, thought of the stain I brought to our family with my wantonness. I’d been raised better. Yet, when the Beast touched me, I forgot family and pride and God in the headlong rush to pleasure.
I grew aware that I still stared longingly at the forest. In that moment, a bitter need surged within me to rush out into the trees, to run from my own hunger and milord’s too-skillful hands.
If I stayed here, I’d become his slave in spirit as well as fact.
I started running for the portcullis before I even knew what I was about, my slippers quick on the stones, the homespun skirts of my working clothes fluttering about me.
I knew I risked his rage, but I had no choice. I could not remain to become a whore to a beast, no matter now deliciously seductive.
• • •
Huddled against the rough bark of the tree at my back, I peered out into the darkness and suspected I’d made a huge mistake.
In my haste and impulsiveness, I’d neglected to bring food or money for the journey, and my thin slippers were hardly the shoes to wear on a hike. But it was too late to turn back now.
I sighed and tried not to think about what milord was likely doing at this moment. He probably knew I was gone, just as I knew he would not be pleased.
Crunch.
I lifted my head. Something moved
through the brush. Something large. I fixed my eyes on the shaft of moonlight cutting through the trees and stared, my heart pounding. It was Milord Beast; I knew it. And he would be so angry with me.
Why did I find that thought intriguing?
A shadowed man-shape stepped out of the brush, moved forward into the light. Small, piggy eyes stared at me out of a whiskered face, and a grin gaped, revealing rotten teeth. “Well, lads,” he said, “what ’ave we ’ere?”
As I stared at him in growing terror, three others stepped out of the darkness. All were dressed in mismatched rags, and all were dirty, with something vile in the eyes. It occurred to me that Cedric’s story about my being killed by highwaymen might turn out to be more prophecy than lie.
I scarcely had time to scream before they were upon me. My world became a muddle of horror; hard hands, breath stinking of ale and onions, rough fingers digging painfully into my breasts, my thighs, my wrists.
Shoved flat on the ground, black shadows over me, hurting me, a hand clamped over my mouth to stifle my hysterical screams. Cold air on my lower body, my skirt around my waist, a hardness poking me between my thighs. I tried to scream but couldn’t, couldn’t even breathe . . .
And then suddenly there were screams, hoarse with terror, cut off sharply. Screams not my own.
The shadows around me surged and rolled. Yet I was left huddled alone in the chill leaves, forgotten and quivering as the air filled with a horrible snarling.
Wolves, I thought. I knew I should run, but in my terror, I couldn’t move.
Finally I managed to drag myself to my feet. My attackers had vanished. I whimpered in relief and gagged at the thick, fetid stink in the air. I wondered what on earth it was—until I saw the black human shapes on the ground.
The brassy smell choking me was blood.
One of the shadows stirred and rose to glide toward me. I took a hasty step back, a scream clawing for my throat.
Milord Beast stepped into the moonlight.
A wave of relief broke over me and I felt a helpless grin spread across my face. I took a half step toward him, holding out my arms in welcome. “Milord!”
Wicked Games Page 23
