Iloria

by Moira Rogers

  When her fingers came even with his heavy belt, he caught her wrist. His hand was large enough to easily encircle it, but his iron grip remained carefully gentle. “These are dangerous games, my lady. Perhaps words are safer than actions tonight. A tease instead of a trial.”

  She remembered the wildness in his eyes and relented with a nod and a step back. He still stared at her as though he longed to ravish her, and she understood the sentiment. “I believe the thing I want most is your pleasure, my lord. You’ve given me glimpses of it, tiny tastes, and I find myself hungry for more.”

  He turned from her, scanning the room until his gaze settled on one of the low-backed couches. Two long strides took him across the room, and he dropped to it before crooking a finger at her. “Come here, Iloria, and sit astride my lap.”

  She picked at the ribbons on the neckline of her shift, unlacing them as she walked. “Clothed?”

  “Clothed,” he ground out quickly. “Trust me.”

  A configuration her tutor had never covered, though it made sense as soon as she slipped onto his lap. The hard length of his erection rubbed through their clothes, just as it would nestle inside her if they had been naked. “Yes, I understand.”

  “So studious.” He gripped her hips and drew her closer. “This isn’t something to understand. Close your eyes and feel why it can be so very gratifying.”

  Iloria did as he commanded. Each gentle rocking motion sent bolts of sensation shooting through her, until she finally clutched his shoulders and shuddered through a moan.

  His mouth found the curve of her breast, hot and wet as he murmured against her skin. “Find your satisfaction. Move your hips and show me what you need.”

  Slow and hard, the way the courtesan had told her to begin. As an experiment, she circled her hips as she ground against him. It worked, perhaps a bit too well, because it was suddenly hard to catch her breath. “Farran—”

  He shifted his mouth lower and caught her nipple between his teeth.

  A wave of tense pleasure crashed through her, and she bit her lip against the need to cry out. To beg for more.

  Teeth turned to tongue, wicked, dragging licks interspersed with brief sucking. And now he was making noises too, low groans as the hand at the small of her back urged her to rock harder against him.

  It was overwhelming, something just short of but also beyond release. She’d known her own touch but nothing like this. “Please,” she whispered, entranced by the sounds he made. “Show me, love.”

  He worked one hand between them, under her shift until his fingertips found bare flesh, and pressed his thumb to her clit.

  Iloria tossed back her head, his name on her lips. Quiet was a thing of the past, something that couldn’t coexist with the decadent bliss that coiled through her. She surrendered to it, dug her nails into Farran’s shoulders and held on as she rode every exquisite throb to completion.

  It thrilled him. He showed it with his groans, with the wild way he watched her face as she eased back from the edge. Then he twisted his hand, working two fingers inside her as he bit off a growl. “Again. Ride my fingers until we both come.”

  She couldn’t. Not again, so soon, though his fingers curled, rubbed inside her and choked off her protests with another surge of ecstasy. “Oh—yes—”

  “That’s right,” he whispered. “You’re so aroused, so eager. I can feel it through my pants, feel how hot and wet your cunt is. Your sweet wiggling will bring me release.”

  “You could take me now.” Desperation drove her to speak. “I’m ready for you.”

  “Not yet.” It was almost a snarl. “Not until they’re gone.”

  It took her a moment to realize he was talking about their guests. “They’re on the other side of the castle. They can’t hear us.”

  His chest heaved. In the next moment, the world moved, spinning dizzily as he spilled them both onto the floor. The remains of her shift shredded under his hands, and he bent and kissed her again.

  Iloria opened her mouth to his and clung to his neck as the hair on his chest teased at her nipples. There was something undeniably primal about having him over her like this, ravishing in his ardor.

  And ravish he did. With his mouth first, trailing lingering kisses over her throat and lower. He took his time with her breasts, using his tongue until she clutched him closer, and then he bit her gently.

  She arched her back, anxious to feel that sharp, fleeting pleasure once again. “I—I like that.”

  “This?” Another spot, and his teeth closed a little harder.

  She couldn’t answer, not with words, so she wound her legs around his waist and bucked up against him.

  “Yes,” he murmured, his voice laced with dark pleasure. He moved lower still, nipped at her abdomen and bit her hip hard enough to mark her. “You like this.”

  “So do you.”

  “Marking you?” The tip of his tongue traced across the sensitive skin he’d ravished. “Or the way you make those little noises in the back of your throat and rub against me?”

  “Both.” For all his wild passion, he was being so careful with her. A tender warmth flooded her, and she stroked her hand over his head.

  Curling his hands around her thighs, he coaxed her legs down and apart, baring her to him completely as he settled between her thighs. “And will you rub against me when I have my tongue buried inside you?”

  “Yes?” If she wasn’t too busy clutching his head and begging him to go on.

  “We’ll find out,” he said hoarsely, then fit actions to words and dropped his mouth to her cunt.

  The intimate touch streaked fire through her, even more than the eager, questing pressure of his fingers had. His tongue was soft but firm, and every lick drove a tiny, helpless noise from her throat.

  Iloria laughed, lost in sensation. “I can’t be quiet.”

  “Then don’t be.” His hands returned, fingers working into her as he closed his lips around her clit and sucked.

  How could anyone survive such hedonistic bliss? It vibrated through her, stretching her taut as a bowstring. She moved, though she wasn’t sure if she was trying to get away or closer, a question her hands answered by fisting in his hair. “Farran!”

  He groaned and lifted his head just enough to speak. “That’s it, my lady. Scream and beg, and when you’re hoarse from it I’ll know you’re ready for something larger than my fingers.”

  Iloria twisted beneath him and smacked his shoulder with her fist. “Farran, now. Please.”

  “No.” The word held an edge, a feral growl that he gave voice as he lowered his mouth again.

  This time, there was nothing practiced or polished about his affections, just sheer, undiluted hunger. Iloria arched under his mouth and tried to hold back her shriek when he crooked his fingers and sucked her clit again.

  Pleasure turned to an odd sort of pressure, something beyond what she’d experienced before. It had to be good, because she couldn’t stop writhing under his tongue. She tried to whisper his name but her voice rose in a scream, a scream that shocked her until liquid fire tumbled through her in its wake.

  Burning. This was a flame his fingers and tongue couldn’t hope to quench. Only one thing would, and she begged shamelessly for it between gasps and shocked cries. “Farran, please—please take me—”

  He turned her onto her stomach, her bare skin pressed to the rug. He gripped her hips with work-roughened hands, coaxed her up into a position more suited to wolves than humans. “No one can take you from me,” he rumbled, his breath tickling over the curve of her ass.

  Iloria arched instinctively, bowing under his touch. “Never, love.”

  He growled again, the only warning before he bit her hip. She sucked in a breath, and he closed his teeth just below the small of her back. Up the center of her spine, each sharp nip weakening her knees.

  By the time he reached her shoulders, his breath hot on her skin, Iloria was shaking.

  “Beg to be mine,” he rasped, tangling
his fingers in her hair to lift it from her neck. His grip tightened as he rocked his hips, slicking his cock against her cunt without pushing inside. “Beg to be mated.”

  It was everything she’d come to want. No more questions, no uncertainty. She would belong to him, and he to her, and nothing save death could ever come between them.

  But no pleas came, just the simple truth, carried on a whisper. “I need you, Farran.”

  He bit the back of her neck with a groan and pushed forward. Iloria clamped her teeth on her arm, half expecting the slightest hint of discomfort to make him stop, but he kept thrusting deeper, all the way into her body. Then he froze, trembling.

  The sensation was intense, disorienting, more so when she shifted her hips and felt her inner walls grip his cock.

  He shook, his skin rubbing over hers with every heaving breath. “Are you hurt?”

  Hurt. It made sense, it had to, but pain was a distant, vague concept. All she felt was right. He was above her, around her. Inside her.

  Right.

  “Iloria?” Panic laced her name, and he started to pull away.

  “No, wait.” She grabbed at him, though the sudden spike of pleasure at his movement rendered her clumsy. “Don’t go. I’m not—I’m fine, not hurt. I swear it.”

  He groaned against the back of her neck. “I can’t hold on very long, love. The madness... You feel so good.”

  His words shivered through her. “You don’t have to. Just show me, Farran.”

  With a wordless moan he straightened, sliding his hands down her back to the flare of her hips. “Open yourself to me. Want me. I can give in to the magic, but if you don’t accept my claim, the mating won’t take.”

  Every day of their marriage, she’d been waiting for this moment. More open to it, to him, than was advisable. She’d laid herself bare even when he’d held himself back, and she knew of only one way to do it now.

  Iloria bent her head, relaxed into his touch, and whispered his name.

  Magic exploded, rushing over her like a wind that left tickling heat in its wake. He hadn’t even moved, but she could feel more of him inside her, as if his carnal penetration was a mere shadow of the true extent of his possession.

  He tightened his grip on her hips and pulled away with torturous gentleness. He seemed to remain that way forever, tension in his body and his fingers digging bruises into her skin.

  “Iloria,” he whispered, a mere moment before his self-control shattered, and he surged forward in a claiming thrust.

  The shock of it stole her breath. Now that she’d adjusted to having him inside her, all she felt was satisfaction—and a fierce yearning for more. “Don’t stop.”

  He only grunted, already pulling her back into his next advance. Then he slammed his hands to the floor on either side of her, his body becoming a cage that surrounded her on all sides. “Never.”

  She slipped to her elbows with a whimper. “Never?”

  “Never.” He cupped her breast, and even the play of his fingers across her nipple was utterly possessive. He fucked her with strong, steady thrusts and toyed with her breast until she had to clench her hands in the rug to still their shaking.

  The rest of her wasn’t so cooperative. Her knees threatened to collapse, and she struggled to draw in breath between helpless cries. But nothing centered her, nothing existed but Farran—and the things he would show her if she let him.

  Iloria abandoned her quest for control with a relieved moan. “Harder.”

  “Not yet.” He bit the back of her shoulder as his fingers skated down her body to center on her clit. “Come.”

  With the first slick stroke, denying him became unthinkable. Impossible. Iloria choked on a cry and clenched her eyes shut as the tense heat that bound her crested. For the span of one heartbeat, everything inside her was still, silent, and then she exploded in a heady, uncontrollable rush.

  Pleasure spilled out, and he rushed to fill her. His body, his essence, magic thundering through her and stroking the parts of her his touch couldn’t reach. “Yes,” he muttered. “Yes.”

  She could no longer lie there, passive and accepting. He’d claimed her. Now it was time for her to do the same.

  Iloria pulled free, then turned and braced both hands on his chest. “Say it again,” she murmured.

  Danger lurked in his dark gaze, the whisper of his curse and a great wildness. But he didn’t deny her, only watched her from those shadowed eyes. “Yes.”

  Magic was singing through her blood, so she drew in a breath and pushed. Farran tumbled back to the floor, and Iloria let instinct guide her as she moved to kneel over him.

  Tracing her fingers over his shoulders sent the magic spiraling faster, especially when he growled and reached for her, hunger and impatience turning his expression severe. “Iloria.”

  She settled her hips over his, desperately wishing she’d paid more attention to the finer points of seduction. She felt clumsy, as if her trembling hands and harsh breaths did no justice to the gravity, the power of the moment.

  She rocked down as he thrust against her, taking him deep. “You made me wait.” Her voice sounded far off, even to her own ears. “You can, too.”

  A fraction of his strength would have overwhelmed her, but the hands flexing on her hips didn’t push or even coax. Farran stared up at her with a slow, lazy grin. “Ride me, love. Claim me.”

  His smile froze her in place for a moment. She’d rarely seen it, beautiful though it was, and she touched his lips as she began to move. “Promise me.”

  He licked her fingertips. “I promise.”

  She swallowed hard. “You didn’t ask what I want.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” His teeth scraped her skin. “Ask for it, and I will see it done. Anything.”

  “I want...” How could she explain? “No regrets, darling. Not about this.”

  He didn’t hesitate. “None.”

  Iloria leaned closer to him and swayed a little as an immediate rush of renewed pleasure rocked her. The new position sharpened the angle of his penetration, and the hair on his chest teased at her nipples. She muffled a desperate moan with a kiss.

  His teeth scraped her lips as he licked her tongue and thrust up, every movement wrapped in urgency. “Harder, love.”

  His ardor fed hers, stoked a need she barely recognized and certainly couldn’t voice. She braced her hands on either side of his head and lifted her hips, then nuzzled his ear. “Show me how.”

  Rough and quick, that seemed to be his need. He dragged her into each advance, grunting against her cheek. He moved her body until the angle pleased him, until every thrust shocked her anew.

  She had to bury her face in his neck, then sink her teeth into his skin to stifle a shriek as she hurtled over the edge again, straight into ecstasy. Bliss. And this time he followed her, roaring his pleasure as he held her in place for his final desperate thrust.

  Iloria clung to him, shivering. “Farran.”

  “Mate,” he corrected hoarsely. “Now and forever.”

  Mate. She sought his mouth blindly, driven by a need for contact even more intimate than their joined bodies—the sweet, slow caresses she’d been told could follow sex. The ones that spoke of tenderness.

  Love.

  He kissed her for long moments before pulling away. “Sweetheart.” He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek as his other arm wrapped around her. “I would ask a favor of you.”

  His heart pounded in time with hers. It made Iloria smile as she met his gaze. “What is it?”

  “Come to my bedroom tonight.” He touched his thumb to her lower lip. “To my bed. It’s where my mate should be.”

  The happiness that welled up in her chest broke free on a soft laugh. “As it happens, I’m far too exhausted to make the journey. Perhaps if I had some help?”

  Farran chuckled. “Perhaps we should both take a moment. Though I might have the strength to find your robe.”

  “It’s fortunate your rooms aren’t far from mine.”<
br />
  “But servants could still be about in the halls.” He rocked upright and lifted her to the couch.

  Iloria retrieved her velvet robe from the end of the couch and slipped her arms into the sleeves. “What about you?”

  “You were gentler with my clothing than I was with yours.” He sounded almost apologetic, though his smile as he retrieved his trousers and pulled them on held a hint of smug pleasure.

  “Call it what it is.” She nudged her discarded dress with one foot. “You ripped mine to shreds.”

  He plucked her off the couch with a laugh. “Then I’ll buy you new dresses. As fine as you want—and perhaps some less fine that you wouldn’t mind seeing torn.”

  “How wasteful.” Iloria wrapped her arms around his neck. “Especially when I could simply endeavor to be naked more often.”

  “I don’t care about waste,” he murmured. “I enjoy the pleasure of uncovering you, one scrap at a time.”

  She still had her ceremonial robes tucked into her trunk, intact and ready to be worn again. “I’ll think of something,” she promised, then nibbled his ear as he shouldered through the door and into the hallway.

  No servants walked the halls, and even the lanterns lining the walls remained unlit. “The servants must be busy dancing attendance on the High Lord,” Farran mused. “They’ll never forgive me for not providing them with sufficient warning.”

  “Not that you had warning yourself, though I suppose—” Her foot caught on one of the tapestries hanging over a window, pulling it aside and flooding the dark hall with a rush of moonlight.

  Farran’s arms stiffened around her, and an eerie growl rumbled in his chest. Magic cracked through the hall in a thundering roll that must surely have shaken the very keep on its foundation.

  “Iloria.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “Get down and run.”

  The curse. She scrambled out of his arms but, instead of running, smoothed the tapestry into place with shaking hands. The hall dimmed once more, and she turned to him with a shaky sigh. “See? The light is gone now.”