Lindsey, Johanna - Prisoner Of My Desire

by Prisoner Of My Desire (lit)

  threw her leg over his hips to straddle them and gave him a triumphant look. If

  he was going to buck now, it would be all to the good. But he did not. He just

  watched her with murder in his bright silver eyes.

  Warrick had never been so furious in his life. She meant to steal a child from

  him, his child! If she succeeded he would kill her. Nay, that would be too quick.

  He would make her suffer the agonies of hell. But she could not succeed. What

  she intended enraged him, but it also left him cold, and the stupid wench did

  not even realize that, if that look of utter triumph she had given him was to be

  credited.

  He watched her lift her shift just enough to bare her warmth and settle it

  against his loins. Perversely, it enraged him even more that she did not intend

  to remove her clothes. She could steal his child, but she would not show him her

  nakedness to do it. Well and good, she would learn soon enough that she was

  doomed to fail. To that end, he closed his eyes against the look of her, which

  was too lovely by half.

  He fed on his anger. He seethed with it, his only desire to get his hands on her

  so he could beat her senseless. That she would dare do this to him! He recalled

  the words he had thought a jest, that she needed no help to rape him. For that

  alone he despised her. For that alone he could kill her, but she meant to steal

  from him as well, flesh of his flesh. The mere intent sealed her fate.

  But she was a stupid wench to think it was even possible to rape a man. Had she

  kept her mouth shut and merely offered herself to him, she could have had what

  she sought. His flesh would have responded instantly to the invitation, as it

  had nearly done at the mere sight of her. But now he did not even have to fight

  to remain unmoved beneath her, for his killing rage continued to leave him soft

  and uninterested in her warm flesh.

  She did not just sit there atop him and expect miracles. He could feel her

  fingers handling him, yet in a way that he had never been caressed by a female

  before. But when he became aware that she was trying to stuff his soft flesh

  inside her, his eyes opened incredulously. He saw that hers were closed now. She

  was biting her lower lip, and concentrating so deeply on what she was about, her

  features were scrunched together. He flinched when one of her nails poked him,

  but he realized she was not even aware she had done it.

  He wondered how long she would continue to attempt the impossible. Not long. She

  finally released a sob of frustration, and without meeting his eyes again, she

  gave up her seat and nearly ran from the room in defeat.

  Warrick felt such fierce satisfaction, he wanted to shout with it. To have

  thwarted her so easily, with no effort on his part. He had won. She had failed.

  But she returned.

  He had not thought she would. And her face was now flame bright, but also filled

  with sueta look of determination, he felt his first stirring; of wariness, and

  rightly so. She slowly shrugged off her bedrobe and let it drop to the floor.

  When she reached for the hem of her shift, he closed his eyes tight.

  Her voice came softly to him.

  ?You can fight me, sirrah, but I have it on good authority ?twill do you no good.?

  He would not have answered that even if he could, but he would like to cut the

  throat of whoever had just given her the courage to try again. He strained to

  hear if she approached. Her small hand lighting on his chest told him she had.

  ?You must have realized I am a virgin.?

  He did not know it, but the word had the desired effect on him, even though he

  did not believe it. But so, too, did her hand, tracing a slow path down his

  chest to his belly. He expected his rage to distract him, but her voice

  continued to distract him instead.

  ?In my ignorance, I did not even know you were not ready for methat you needed

  encouragement of a certain kind. I did not even know that this soft flesh of

  yours would change and grow to a hardness like the rest of you.?

  She touched him, there, as she said it.

  ?I find it hard to believe, for ?tis already large, yet did Mildred assure me ?tis

  so. I am eager to see this strange happening for myself.?

  Did she know that what she was saying was as stimulating as her touch? Damn her

  and her advisor to perdition! Sweat broke out on his brow. He would not succumb

  to this seduction.

  ?I am to kiss you andand lick you, everywhere, even as a last resortthere.

  Mildred said you would have to be dead do you not respond if I kiss you there.?

  He was already responding. His mind screamed his rage, but his flesh was a

  betrayer of the worst sort, with a mind of its own, tantalized by her promise.

  He strained at his bonds. He went wild, trying to dislodge her hand. But she

  stood beside the bed, undisturbed by his thrashing, and her fingers closed

  around him, holding on tight. He stilled when he realized all he did was aid her.

  ?I would not have believed it did I not see it,? she gasped.

  There was awe in her voice. And she was petting him now, giving that worthless

  piece of flesh praise for obeying her instead of him. She did not even know he

  had not reached his full size, that he still fought with every particle of his

  being.

  ?I suppose now I need not kiss you.?

  Was that disappointment in her voice? Oh, God, he could not stand much more.

  What he had thought impossible was not. She could have what she wanted did she

  continue and he had no hope that she would not continue.

  When she climbed onto the bed, he thrashed again, but she grabbed hold of his

  hips and hung on. And he could feel her nakedness now as she hugged him, her

  breasts pressing against his skin, nearly at his groin. This, too, merely aided

  her, forcing more blood to rush to that traitor, so he stilled again, hoping he

  was not hard enough to penetrate her, praying she was a virgir so she would not

  know the difference and woulc still fail.

  She crawled up him, still holding on tighth in case he tried to throw her off

  again. Warric groaned at this further stimulation. And thei she was seated, and

  he was hard enough tha she only had to nudge him in the right direc tion.

  Heat. Scalding heat and moisture. Why coul she not be dry? Why could she not? ?

  Her whimper went through him like a lanct, even as he felt the cause of it. She

  was still trying to seat herself fully, but her maidenhead would not give, and

  she was progressing too slowly to do aught but cause herself pain. He felt a

  savage pleasure in that. So she was a virgin, and her own pain would defeat her

  where he could not.

  To move now would truly aid her, so he remained deathly still. Yet she was so

  small and exquisitely tight, the urge was there, nigh overwhelming, to thrust

  deep into her. He killed it swiftly. He could not control that traitor, but he

  still controlled the rest of his body.

  He heard another whimper, louder, and he opened his eyes to feed on her pain.

  Tears streaked her smooth cheeks. Her sapphire eyes, glassy with wetness,

  reflected that pain. But he had forgotten her nakedness.

  She was a small woman, but she was generously formed, her breasts bountiful, her

 
waist tiny. The spread of her hips over him, her splendid breasts bouncing with

  her soft panting, the feel of hot wetness squeezing only half of him the sight

  of that part of him inside her? It was his undoing. He did not thrust. He did

  not have to. The blood rushed to swell him to his full, throbbing length, which

  pushed right through her maidenhead without either of them moving to help it.

  She cried out as it happened, and her weight carried her down to sheathe him

  fully in her depths. Warrick ground his teeth against the gag in his mouth. His

  muscles strained, but he remained still otherwise. He fought now for impotence.

  He fought to ignore the powerful urges of his body. It was torture. He had never

  resisted anything so hard, never wanted anything so much that was so opposed to

  his will.

  She moved on him, hesitantly at first, clumsily. She was still hurting, still

  crying, but still determined. Her breath, which was coming so hard, fanned his

  belly along with her hair, providing another caress, another torture. And he

  knew exactly when he lost the fight. He tried one last time to throw her off,

  welcoming the pain in his ankles and wrists, but she knew, knew, and she held

  fast to him. And then he no longer cared, was mindless in the throes of primal

  instinct, which took over compktety to dram his seed with explosive,

  unbelievable relief. Damn her, damn her!

  Chapter 9

  I am glad ?twas you.

  Warrick would never forget those words, nor would he forgive them. He recalled

  them again and again in those next days while he lay chained to that bed.

  She had collapsed onto his chest when it was over, her tears wetting his skin.

  She had found no pleasure in their coupling, but she had gotten what she wanted.

  And before she left him, she had touched his cheek and whispered ?I am glad ?twas

  you,? and his hate had increased tenfold.

  Her servant had come after that, to tend his wounds. The older woman had clucked

  her tongue over what he had done to himself, but she had also found the blood

  encrusted lump on his head and cleaned that, too. He had let her. Devastated by

  his failure, he no longer cared just then what was done to him. Nor had it

  bothered him when the man came in still later to stare at the blood and seed

  still wet on his loins with an odd mixture of satisfaction and fury.

  ?She tells me you fought her. That is good, or I think I would kill you now for

  what you had of her.?

  The man had turned about and left after that, nor had Warrick seen him again.

  But those few words had given him a wealth of information. He knew now that he

  was not meant to leave here alive. They wanted no ransom from him. They wanted

  only the babe he might already have planted in the wench?s belly. He also knew

  the man was jealous of him, that he would take pleasure in killing Warrick when

  his usefulness was at an end.

  Still he did not care, not that next day, not about anything. He did not even

  feel the humiliation of having Mildred feed him, bathe him, and assist him to

  relieve himself right there in the bed. He did not even try to speak to her when

  his gag was removed for the feeding. His apathy was almost completeuntil the

  wench came back.

  Only then did he know it must be night again, for there were no windows in that

  small room to tell him of the passing hours. And only then did he come alive

  again, his fury driving him nigh mad. His thrashing loosed his bandages,

  embedding the iron manacles deeper into his still raw flesh.

  But she was patient that second night. She did not try to touch him until he had

  worn himself out. And she avoided getting on the bed until he was nearly full

  ready for her.

  Three times she visited him that second night, throughout the night, and three

  times the next, waking him if she needed to. Each time, perforce, took longer,

  with his body already sated, yet that did not stop her. She had him at her

  complete mercy. She examined him fully in the guise of caressing and stimulating

  him to readiness, everywhere, but mostly between his legs.

  She was fascinated by his manroot, brought her face and breath close to it, yet

  never did she actually do as promised that first night, for ?twas unnecessary.

  The mere thought that she might affected him as if she had. And he could not

  prevent any of it, could not stop her, could not smite her with a look or put

  the fear back in her that she should feel. She used him, she drained him, she no

  longer displayed the least remorse. She had no mercy whatsoever.

  Ah, God, how he wanted revenge on her. ?Twas all he thought about the third day,

  what he would do to her if he could just get his hands on her. And to think he

  had actually thought to give her a home when he had first seen her. Aye, he

  would give her a home, in his dungeon. But first he would pay her back in kind.

  Nay, first he must escape.

  ?Tell me her name.?

  Twas the first time he had spoken to Mildred. She eyed him warily as she brought

  another spoonful of thick mutton stew to his lips.

  ?I think not. You do not need to know.?

  ?My men will find me, Mistress. Do you want to live through the destruction I

  will wreck on this place, you will cooperate with me now.?

  She had the gall to snort at him.

  ?You were alone when taken.?

  ?Nay, I was with my squire Geoffrey. They killed him, did you know??

  Such coldness had entered his tone, Mildred was suddenly afraid of him, even

  though he was bound fast. Then she scoffed at herself and at him.

  ?A knight? Nay, they were sent for a villein. Think you they would not know the

  difference??

  He did not try to convince her otherwise.

  ?My men were sent ahead. I was to join them the next morn. Think you they will

  just ride on without me??

  ?Methinks you spin a fine tale, sirrah, but to what end?? she asked.

  ?Release me.?

  ?Ah, fine tactics.?

  She grinned at him.

  ?But ?tis unnecessary to tell me lies. If I had the key to release you from

  these chains, I would not use it, not until my lady has what she needs of you.?

  She did not add that Rowena had already bidden her to find the key. But she had

  had no luck thus far, and she would not give him false hope any more than Rowena

  would.

  The feeding had taken longer this time, because he would not be quiet. The extra

  time had given the red gag marks across his cheeks a chance to fade. She noticed

  this when she bent to tie a new gag in place, and the sight of him without those

  distracting marks gave her a distinct chill.

  ?God?s mercy, you have a cruel look about you,? she said more to herself than to

  him.

  ?I did not see it ere now.?

  Warrick did not need to be told that. It was why his first wives had feared him.

  It was why his enemies feared him. It was why that cursed wench should have

  stayed away from him. It was mostly in his eyes, so expressive of his black

  thoughts, but also in the hard, bitter slant of his mouth, which rarely smiled.

  And his expression was particularly bitter now that he knew she would not aid

  him.

  ?You would do well to remember that?

  She stuffed t
he gag in his mouth to cut him off, saying indignantly ?It does you

  no good to threaten me, sirrah. I do my lady?s bidding, not yours. Tis no wonder

  she is naught but aggrieved when she leaves you each night. ?Twould have done

  you no harm to have treated her gently when she had no choice in coming to you.

  But nay, you are as cruel inside as you are without.?

  He had sunk back into pure fury at those parting words. Was he supposed to feel

  pity for a woman who repeatedly raped him? Was he supposed to feel sympathy when

  the purpose was to steal a child from him? When she was glad, glad that ?twas he

  at her mercy instead of another? And why was that? Why would she be glad, when

  women feared him? It had been thus since his sixteenth year, when he had learned

  of all that was lost to him, his family, his home, naught left but his life and

  a betrothal contract that could not be broken. He had changed then changed

  utterly, not just in character, but in appearance, for the darkness that had

  entered his soul had also been etched on his face.

  Since then, he had never taken a woman to his bed who did not at first fear that

  he would hurt her in some manner. Even after a second or third time, they still

  did not trust him not to visit some cruelty upon them. His wives? such timid,

  meek creatures, they never did get over their fear of him, even though he had

  never given them cause to think he would be brutal with them. But they had both

  died many years ago. And they had lived with him during the years when he had

  lived and breathed for revenge, when his every thought was of destruction and

  killingas it was now.

  How could she be glad? Because he was bound fast and could not touch her?

  Because she knew he would be dead before the chains were removed from him, so

  she had naught to fear of him? That was a very real possibility, that he would

  be butchered right here in this bed, without a chance of defending himself,

  without a chance of obtaining the least retribution.

  He did not fear death. There was a time when he had even courted it, when his

  life had been so empty and miserable he simply had not cared if he lived or died,

  and not much had improved since then. But he would regret the loss of this

  chance he now had to better his existence with Lady Isabella. Even more than

  that, however, he would regret being unable to avenge himself on these people