Ilar groaned, a throaty sound of pleasure as his hands found hold at her hips, reaching to squeeze her tender backside. He urged her to his arousal. She explored every nuance of his chest and back, unable to get enough of his feel.
“I wish we had a bed,” she said shyly into his ear as he began devouring her neck, kissing her, sucking love brands beneath the edge of her gown as he further marked her flesh as his territory. She loved the feel of him against her, loved that he didn’t just want her because of her enchantment.
“Who needs a bed?” He growled. Rhiannon shivered at the passionate admission and was instantly pulled off the ground. Her feet dangled. He supported her by her rounded backside, as he stepped her to the side of the cliff bottom.
“You mean,” she gasped, feeling him loosening the hidden ties on her shoulder to free her breasts, “here?”
Her body jumped with pleasure at the very idea.
“Yes, here.” He nodded. His shifting eyes met with hers. He teased her breasts, budding the nipples, claiming them, branding them with his hot touch.
The firelight haloed his head, glowing only softly in their darkened crevice. The length of his hair tickled her breasts and shoulders. His power and strength excited her. He took her hand and lifted it so she could grab onto a rocky projection in the cliff side. Keeping his gaze focused deeply on her entranced one, he tore the tunic from his waist and pulled up her skirts. His forehead pressed into hers, his nose lying along her nose as he watched her every reaction, took in her desire. Her ragged breath fanned over his parted lips--a stirring caress all its own.
Ilar brought his body to her, lifting her legs to his waist, holding her up, his strong fingers pressed into the tender cheeks of her butt. She dropped her hands to his shoulders, kneading into him, understanding how he meant to join them. Rhiannon tried to lean forward for his kiss, but his eyes held her back as he nipped playfully at her swollen lips.
Ilar entered slowly, letting her feel each aching movement of his claiming as he pushed into her slick opening. She was wet with desire, ready for him. He fitted and stretched her around his arousal. This time there would be no mistaking that she was marked as his. His brand would be all over her, his scent would be her scent. Rhiannon’s mouth opened, her head drew back in ecstasy, her eyes drifted closed.
“No, Rhian,” he demanded. “Look at me.”
Surprised by the sternness of the command, she obeyed. Her mouth widened in a silent scream of pleasure as he pushed fully into her moist depths. She blinked, her lids lowering as she fought to keep them open. He held himself there, deep, strong, filling.
“Ilar,” she said, weak and needy. Ilar still didn’t move. Rhiannon squirmed against him. The hard rock at her back made it impossible to thrust herself against his distended flesh. She was trapped, at the mercy of his will.
“You are my lover, no one else’s,” Ilar stated, possessive.
Gasping, Rhiannon nodded in feverish agreement. She pushed her lips to his. He refused her. Why was he stopping? She didn’t want any other lovers. She wanted him, needed him. She tried to force him to move, wiggling her hips against him.
He reached to press his finger along the artery at her neck, fitting his thumb to the groove, as he found the soft divot at the base of her throat. He heard her racing heart beneath her breasts. Her chest rose and fell with heavy breath. He splayed his fingers over her jaw, as if he could drive the admission out of her.
“Yes, Ilar,” she gasped at last, giving herself over to him completely. His eyes pierced her soul, intent and demanding. “I belong to you, no one else.”
A bestial growl left his throat as he gave her body what it craved. His lips crushed into hers as his hips thrust, moving deep and gentle inside her. Rhiannon’s nails bit into his flesh, digging in mindless ecstasy. Her legs stretched and strained as she held on. When her clawing drew the slightest bit of blood, he groaned in delight that her passion matched his. His body healed itself instantly, unharmed by her rough, eager hold.
“Oh, Ilar... ahhh,” she said, whimpering ever so delicately at the way he made her feel. She never wanted this moment to end. She bit into his lip with her teeth and stretched her tongue into his mouth.
“Rhian,” he said loudly, answering her call. Neither one noticed the dark night, the silver moon, nor the splendor of the crag Rhiannon was pressed against. All they saw and felt was each other.
“Ah, Ilar, that, I, oh! Yes! Yes!” she cried incoherently, unable to get her thoughts across as she tensed. His pace kept steady, working her to her climax. His body slid in her moisture with ease, rocking against her hips. His hard shaft pressed forward, stretching her with the thickness of him. Suddenly, she screamed. Her hips bucked against him as her back arched into the hard stone. The stars sprinkled above her, blurring like trails of light through her half-closed lids.
Ilar’s yell joined hers as he felt her body convulse against him, racking in tremendous fulfillment, milking the seed from his body. He didn’t stop, pumping faster as he rushed to join her cry. Abruptly, Ilar tensed, spilling himself completely into her, letting her have every last inch of his soul. Dropping forward, he bit lightly at her neck as the tremors slowly left them. He drank the thin bead of blood that followed.
“Ah,” she said, unable to get what she was feeling past her lips. Never in her life did she imagine she could feel so much in one instant.
Ilar pulled himself from within her, letting her legs fall to the ground. Not backing away, he trapped her to the side of the cliff, beneath the protective fold of his body. Rhiannon let her hands fall lightly to his neck, rubbing along his jaw as he gently kissed her.
“Mm,” she lazily moaned against him. Without warning, her eyes popped open and she pushed him back.
Ilar blinked in surprise. Rhiannon tried frantically to right her dress, a bright blush staining her cheeks with pink.
“What?” he asked, his senses alert. He detected no danger.
“What if Malak comes back?” she asked, frantic. It mortified her to think the man might have heard her screaming or that he might find them wantonly pressed to the stone.
Ilar frowned. He grabbed her jaw in his hand, forcefully moving her face to meet his. His eyes burned in possession. His scent was all over her. She was his. “You are my lover, not his.”
Rhiannon balked, as she tried to slap him away. His grip kept her from lacing the ties on her shoulder so she could cover herself.
“Ilar, please,” she begged, trying to pull away. “Stop.”
To her surprise, he roared in anger. His lips were not soft and gentle when they moved to possess her lips. She gasped, thrilled by his passion, but frightened by its intent. His teeth slashed into her, grinding and biting. He forced his tongue into her mouth until she couldn’t breathe anything but his breath.
Tears came fearfully to her eyes. Moaning in fear, she hit at him, trying to get him to back away. Ilar let her go, his chest heaving.
“Ilar, please,” she pleaded, desperate, terrified and aroused by this side of him. “He’ll see us.”
“You dare to speak to me of him?” he demanded, hotly.
“What?” she asked, trying to burrow into the unforgiving stone. “What are you talking about? I only meant--”
“I know what you meant,” he thundered. Taking his hand to her throat, he didn’t squeeze. No matter how angry he was, he could never really hurt her. “Get this straight, Rhiannon. You are mine until I let you go.”
Rhiannon trembled. She would have been pleased by the claim, had he not screamed it at her. His eyes were wild, possessed. Her body trembled. It had to be the enchantment. It wasn’t gone. That’s why he acted like this. That’s why he came to her again. He was under a spell. He didn’t really want her. It was only the spell.
Rhiannon cried, unable to stop the flow of tears that poured over her flushed cheeks. It was a wretched heartbreak, clouding over the passion in her limbs.
Ilar drew back at the sudden burst of grief. His
eyes took her in as she crumbled to her hands and knees on the stone, weeping.
“Rhiannon,” he began, automatically reaching to comfort her.
“Don’t touch me,” she said viciously. “Don’t you dare touch me!”
Ilar’s mouth snapped shut, pressing into a hard line. Her eyes glared out at him, bitter and hard. His chest caved in on itself until he was sure his heart would never beat again. Stiffly, he nodded, turning to go back to the campfire.
Rhiannon didn’t move. Huddled in the dark corner, she righted her dress the best she could. Her legs wouldn’t stand. Ilar didn’t come for her again and it was there she fell into a troubled sleep.
* * * *
Malak spent the night alone in a comfortable cave in lycan form, not wanting to bother the two lovers. He heard their cries of passion as he ran the mountain trails. His heart had been gladdened that they finally got over their stubbornness. But as he came back to the campsite early with the dawn to see Ilar staring moodily at the flames and Lady Rhiannon missing, he wasn’t so sure.
“Where is Lady Rhiannon?” Malak asked Ilar carefully. For a moment, he froze. Ilar’s face looked as if he could have committed murder.
Jerking his thumb up the cliff, Ilar pointed to where she still slept behind the jutting of rocks.
Malak frowned, relieved when he detected the slight sound of her breathing. As he came around the corner, he found her huddled into the rock face. Her body trembled with cold as she slept and she used her own hair as a blanket. Leaving her where she was, Malak came around to glare at his friend. “What did you do to her?”
Ilar merely grunted.
‘By all that is Sacred, Ilar, look at her!’ Malak directed so as not to scare Rhiannon. ‘She’s freezing!’
“You look at her,” Ilar grumbled aloud. “I’m done with her.”
‘You marked her as yours, Ilar. She’s yours to deal with!’ Malak raged. He strode down to the path and began slowly stripping out of his clothes.
“Where are you going?” Ilar asked, standing.
“I go to hunt down Cupid,” Malak answered with an angry scowl. “He has to be somewhere within these caves. His pungent scent shouldn’t be too hard to track. I’ll leave my satchel with you for Rhiannon. Once I have him tracked, I’ll send word. Until then, you put things right with her. I want no more in the middle of you two.”
Malak leapt down onto the lower path. Ilar didn’t watch as Malak’s body blurred into a vision of raven black fur.
“Where’s Malak going?” Rhiannon asked, yawning. Malak’s lycan form ran off in the distance, his tunic clutched into his mouth. She’d barely heard them talking, not knowing what they said in their bestial tongue. She flinched as she stretched her tense muscles.
“Sorry to see him go?” Ilar asked bitterly. He hadn’t slept.
Rhiannon flinched again, this time at his sharp tone. Ilar stood, kicking dirt onto the remnants of the dying fire.
“Just sorry my only decent company is gone,” Rhiannon grumbled. When Ilar’s hard gaze flew to look at her, she frowned.
She watched in silence as Ilar packed up the campsite. When he came to her, she tensed, her eyes hungrily devouring his face for a tender sentiment of any kind. Harshly, he thrust Malak’s satchel at her and said, “Here. Eat while we travel.”
Rhiannon took the satchel from him and hefted it over her shoulder. It was heavy and weighted her steps, but she didn’t complain. Ilar didn’t wait for her as he leapt off the rise and began a swift pace.
Rhiannon struggled to follow him, climbing down with much less grace than he. Then, running, she rushed to catch up to his fast stride. Ilar merely glanced at her, not saying a word as he jogged.
* * * *
The stitch in her side was killing her. It had started as a minor annoyance about an hour before, but soon grew to a sharp pain that strained her already sore body to the point of exhaustion. Ilar’s jog soon turned into a run down the side of the mountains. He didn’t seem to notice the weight of his satchel and his endurance was tireless.
After three hours of jogging and stumbling without a break or food, Rhiannon’s body was pushed to the limit. The satchel pulled her down, pressing into her shoulder, shooting pains up her neck. Looking ahead, she stumbled to a stop. Ilar was before her, running ever forward.
Let him go, she thought bitterly, swaying on her feet, beyond caring. Her body was drenched in sweat. Her long locks were plastered to her head. She’d wished more than once she could stop to bind them from her face. The clip she’d used the day before was long lost back at the campsite, most likely when she and Ilar made love.
Rhiannon frowned. Could it be called making love when a spell forced him to her? Never had she felt more repulsive. It was like paying a man to be with her, or blackmailing or bribing him.
Ilar felt the distance spanning between them and stopped to turn around. Rhiannon stood, weaving gingerly in the breeze. She said she could run and he hadn’t thought to question her claim. She hadn’t once asked him to slow or stop. In fact, she’d said nothing to him.
Frowning, he took a step toward her. The long strands of her hair blew, stretching like silken waves over the side of the mountain base. The satchel’s weight pulled her to the side, following the trail of her hair. Ilar panicked as her body swayed again. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, swiftly darting to her side.
Rhiannon let the weight of the satchel take her down as her body swooned, too tired to fight. She felt herself falling, but didn’t care. The blackness was inviting and her mind grabbed hold of it, numbing her to everything else.
Ilar would never forget how his heart stopped as she fell limply over the edge of the cliff. Leaping into the air, he soared forward, blindly diving after her. He caught her in his arms, blocking her body as they slid and bounced down the rocky incline.
The rocks tore up his back as he held her. They slowly skidded to a stop, rolling over each other as they came to the end. Rhiannon flew out of his arms and cried out at the sudden jolt to her ankle. Ilar grunted, crawling to her, ignoring his own pain. The wounds on his back would heal themselves.
Rhiannon lay there, staring at the purple sky, seeing the haze of violet clouds overhead. She gasped for breath. The wind had been knocked out of her. Suddenly, a shadow cast across her face and Ilar’s hair cocooned around her face to block out the bright light. The dark handsomeness of him was so much better a view than the sky had been. She could spend the rest of her life looking at him.
Her hands were tossed above her head, lying over her golden curls. Ilar’s heart stopped beating to look at her. She was so beautiful to him.
“I needed a small rest.” It felt too good to just hold still so she didn’t move. Her world still spun with the effect of their fall.
“Foolish woman,” he said, relieved she still had her wits. Looking up at the cliff, he saw it hadn’t been as steep as he first feared.
“You saved my life,” she said in awe, staring at his handsome, devilish eyes. She instantly heated toward him at the look on his strong, proud features.
Ilar again glanced up the incline. Giving her a smile that made her heart stop, he said wryly, “Hardly.”
Rhiannon grabbed his face with a sudden burst of energy, taking his mouth to hers in a desperate kiss that said everything she dared not. Her mouth pressed into his firm lips, remembering the feel of them all too well. She needed him, wanted him, craved him. He was so stubborn, so frustrating and proud. He made her want to scream and tear every gorgeous inch of his hair out. But when his deep set eyes looked at her so openly, she couldn’t stop herself. She just had to kiss him. When she grew too weak to hold her body up, she fell away, panting, staring at him.
“What was that?” he asked, awed, licking his lips still stinging with her taste.
“I don’t know,” she said, dreamily, breathless. “I just felt like doing it.”
“Do it again,” he urged, tilting his head down to hers, not giving her a choice. His m
outh sawed against her, passionate, demanding, searching.
Rhiannon chuckled, grabbing his face to keep him near her, pulling at his back when she would feel more of his body pressed along hers. The thick set of his erection burned into her stomach, teasing her through their clothes. She forgot everything but the sensation of him against her.
Seeing movement in the light shining over her closed lids, she gasped, pushing frantically at Ilar’s chest. A scream bubbled in her throat.
“Careless human!” a small green piskie screeched. He had wide eyes that looked cute and innocent, but the look on his face was anything but. Suddenly, Rhiannon realized that she’d struck the poor being with her foot when she fell. The creature wielded a small knife as if it would stab her.
Ilar turned, growling at the little pest, snapping his jaw as if he would bite it. The creature ran off, taking great leaps over the grass to make good his escape. When he turned back to resume his kisses, Rhiannon had already withdrawn. The spell between them was broken. Her stormy eyes were fixed overhead, her body stiff, and Ilar heard the roar of a far off dragon.
“Just get me home, Ilar,” she whimpered, swallowing in fright. She’d been through too much--seen too much. Now tiny green beings wanted her dead and there was fire spouting across the sky from a giant winged beast. She cringed away from the flying dragon.
Ilar thought she moved from him, as she recoiled into the ground. A pain ripped through his chest.
“Please, Ilar, I just want to go home,” she said.
Frowning, Ilar rolled off her body. His limbs stung in protest. His full erection throbbed to be inside her, always inside her. It didn’t matter how often he tasted the pleasure of her, he wanted her again, each time worse than before.
Holding his hand down to her, he watched as she hesitated, her eyes turned full to the purple sky. Slowly, her palm fitted into his and he jerked her up. Rhiannon winced in pain, her ankle folding underneath her as she tripped.
Ilar instantly grabbed her up in his arms. Striding over the field, he leapt easily back up the incline with her gripped tightly to his chest. Rhiannon gasped and burrowed deeper into his embrace. Bringing her to a shady knoll of grass, hidden from the direct rays of the sun, he set her down. Her arms didn’t wish to leave his neck and stubbornly held their place when he would pull back.
Naughty Cupid Trilogy Page 13
