Mistress of the Storm

by TERRI BRISBIN

  In the early hours just as the sun rose, when unable to sleep, he would walk the battlements of the keep, gazing down at the sea and the village outside the walls. Several times in the last months he’d noticed her leaving the keep just before dawn, and walking to the south beach.

  With nothing more than curiosity to keep his attention, Duncan would watch as she took off her clothes and flung herself into the water. Her practice was the same each time he’d watched—dipping twice under the surface of the water and scrubbing her skin as she did. Then she would plunge down and remain in the freezing waters until he thought she’d perished. He remembered several times when he began counting how long she stayed under the water, wondering if she would rise from it at all.

  Over the months he’d witnessed her behavior, the changes within him making any tension he felt as he counted out the seconds lessen until he’d watched in complete disinterest, no matter how much he knew he should be concerned.

  Watching the way she tilted her head, he was reminded of the way she looked up at the sun as she walked, sometimes struggling, out of the waves. In the earlier times he’d seen her, he’d thought she might be a selkie or water spirit. But, lately, he observed her actions from an emotional and physical distance—until she lowered her head and gazed at him through her lashes.

  That heat seared him again, letting him feel things he’d not felt in months. Was she a selkie risen from the sea or some otherworldly creature capable of giving him back all he’d lost? His moments of disinterested watchfulness were over, for his body and his soul knew she was more than she appeared, and his mind knew he must discover her secrets and their link to his own. Standing, his feet moved before he could think on what words to say or what he wanted. All he knew was that he wanted . . . her.

  Unable to understand or explain what was between them, Duncan stood in front of her, his gaze never wavering from hers. He did not stop when the entire crowd noticed and quieted. He continued even when she tore her gaze from his for the slightest moment, then met it again. He did not let the fact that every eye in the room fell on their encounter concern him at all.

  “Who are you?” he asked, unable to form his thoughts and the newly-returned needs into anything more complex.

  She looked away, turning her head and her eyes, and he followed the direction of her gaze. The man with whom she’d arrived frowned at her, then looked over at Duncan, assessing him before nodding to her.

  “I am called Isabel, my lord,” she said in a voice that sent chills through his numb body. She bowed her head as she spoke.

  “Isabel,” he whispered, savoring the sound and feel of it on his lips—something not possible just minutes ago.

  “Duncan?”

  Duncan acknowledged Lord Davin with a tilt of his head, but dared not look away from her. Fear had returned as well as sensation and he was afraid all of it would end if he turned from her. “Lord Davin?” he replied in the same manner.

  “Is aught amiss?” Davin asked. “Has she offended you in some way?”

  “Nay, my lord.” From the reactions of those in the room when she’d entered, offended was not the word Duncan would have used to describe her effect. In a moment of clarity, the whole of the situation became clear—her entry, her dress and sensual manner, her position away from others, her early morning departures from the keep, the gazes filled with lust that watched her every move, her habit of looking to the man for permission.

  She was a harlot and the man her whoremaster.

  “The lady intrigues me,” Duncan explained. The bold guffaws from those watching and listening confirmed it. She was no lady.

  Davin leaned in and explained under his breath. “She is only tolerated here because of her father’s worth to me. If she interests you, I will order him to send her to you. No coin need be exchanged for her.”

  The discovery that she made her way from man to man and bed to bed ought to have dampened his interest, but it did not. Harlot or lady, she brought his body to life under her gaze. He felt the blood in his veins and the fabric as it pulled against his erection—sensations gone for months. Being a harlot made it easier somehow to want her just for physical release.

  Not daring to leave it to chance or willing to delay, Duncan looked over at the man who’d brought her in and waited for his answer. When Davin crossed his arms over his chest and turned as well, a nod was hastily delivered. Duncan held out his hand to Isabel and waited for her to accept it.

  His stomach clenched even as his cock surged with anticipation and his skin ached. He held his breath, unsure if the pride he saw in her eyes would allow that public declaration of what was to happen. The moment spun out between them, drawing the silent observation of everyone around them until he could see nothing but her. He could almost hear the sound of her shallow breaths as he waited. Then, as though moving with exquisitely slow motions, she lifted her hand and placed it in his.

  A wave of heat and a shock pulsed through him in that very moment. He gasped at the intensity of it, for it burned without harming as it coursed through his body. Her matching gasp and the surprise in her gaze told him she’d felt it as well. Duncan closed his fingers around her hand, guiding her out of her seat and along the table until she could step closer.

  Her scent flooded him with a mix of flowers, arousal and something unexpected, a hint of innocence. Duncan inhaled again as he drew her to him and placed his arm around her waist. She shook her head, but he sensed it was more out of confusion or surprise over the growing attraction between them than denial. When they reached the corridor outside the hall, he hastened their pace. He guided her up the stone stairway to his chambers in the tower and could not help that they were almost running when they reached his door, both out of breath. He flung the door open, surprising Ornolf, who remained within.

  “Out.”

  Ornolf glanced from Duncan to Isabel, squinted, and frowned before offering a cursory bow and leaving them.

  Duncan faced her and waited for some sign of hesitancy or refusal before closing the door. A whore had no choice, true, but he did not want to think she was there against her will. He needed to believe she felt the force between them and wanted it, needed to believe it almost as much as he wanted her naked beneath him.

  After months of feeling less and less until nothing remained within his heart or soul, the flood of feeling nearly overwhelmed him. Usually it was the power surging within him as he neared the fullness of the moon that drew women to him. But that would not begin for another sennight or so. Duncan did not understand the need he felt for her, the hunger to have her, but he could not deny it or stop it any more than he could stop breathing.

  The door slammed closed and it was only the two of them.

  Chapter Two

  Isabel could not breathe.

  She tried to tell herself it was from running up three flights of stairs to reach the chamber, but she knew it for the lie it was.

  Shame had assailed her belowstairs for she had been forced to accept the man’s invitation while her sister watched. She never wanted Thora tainted by what she’d done and never wanted her to witness it. Isabel did not fool herself into believing her sister was ignorant of what she was and what she did, but for the first time it had been done in Thora’s presence with no way to blunt the embarrassment she must be feeling.

  In the chamber, a storm built around and between Isabel and Duncan. Heat poured through her as his gaze burned into her. She feared for her soul and her sanity as that storm beat against the defenses she’d built around herself.

  She tried to control her breathing, drawing in several deep breaths and letting them out slowly. The slamming door made her jump in surprise. The man stood there staring at her and she wondered if he felt what she was feeling. Would he want a whore the way he wanted other women who shared his bed?

  He entwined their fingers and tugged her closer. She stepped away to gain some power over the situation before it spun completely out of her control. He would not allow it
, drawing her back to him and wrapping his other arm around her waist once more. When she expected to feel his mouth on hers, he leaned toward her, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply as though there was some scent.

  Isabel found herself unable to resist the temptation to do the same and discovered the smell of him drew her in. Falling into his embrace, she lifted her face to his. It was she who leaned up to touch their mouths. With the first touch of their lips, the storm that brewed between them exploded into something uncontrolled and unknown to her.

  Flames of a never-experienced desire leaped to life deep within her and Isabel wanted him in a way she’d never felt . . . and never wanted. She needed to pull the veil of self-control back into place, but every touch of his mouth to hers and every caress pushed it away. If she did not regain control, she would be destroyed by the very thing she wanted most in that moment—him.

  Lying down with other men had been like acting for her. She knew just when to sigh or moan, when to stroke flesh, when to resist and when to comply. But every ounce of confidence she had in her ability to keep herself separate from the acts of the flesh and safe from the demeaning nature of it all was being destroyed by Duncan. She knew his name, and he threatened it all with a look of longing and a hand held out in offering.

  She could not find the strength to leave his embrace and put an end to whatever was happening between them. Her traitorous body leaned against him, urging him for more.

  He did not hesitate, possessing her mouth as he released her hand to wrap both arms around her. He stole her breath with his lips and tongue, tasting her, then nipping along her neck, as her gasps kept pace with his kisses. Her breasts swelled, their tips chafing against the fabric of her dress. He had chosen it because of the way it rubbed her nipples and made them hard and visible to any man looking at her, but now the friction sent spirals of pleasure through her body. When Duncan moved his hand up to cup one, she could not help but arch against it, seeking more.

  He kissed her then, laughing against her mouth and she craved to hear it again. The deep rich sound echoed in her mind as her body reacted to it. The movements she usually had to force herself to perform became no chore. Isabel let her hands glide over the strong muscles of his back and down until she reached his buttocks, squeezing the muscular globes of his flesh. It was his turn to arch against her, and the proof of his readiness thrust against her belly.

  He lifted his mouth from hers, his breathing ragged and quick. He searched her eyes, then held her gaze as he reached down and gathered the folds of her gown in his large hand. The tension of it—knowing what would follow and both wanting and fearing it—made breathing difficult for her. She placed her hand on his arm, whether to stop him or to hasten him to his target she could not tell, but when his fingers slid between her legs, she found herself pushing him to go deeper still.

  Duncan smiled, realizing she did not want to enjoy what they did. He could feel it in his soul, though how, he knew not. Isabel leaned her head back as he thrust two fingers deep into her woman’s cleft and massaged the swelling folds.

  The heat of her core so near to his fingers threatened to burn his flesh. He could feel the moisture that poured from her as he rubbed and teased the bud within the folds. He felt her body pressing against his as he fought the need to lay her on the floor and plow into her as he wanted to. In that moment, he realized what he wanted most of all. Like a man dying of hunger, he needed to feel her touch on his skin. More than him touching her, Duncan needed her hands on his body. He pulled away from her and stepped back, holding her arms so she did not fall.

  When she stood without danger of tumbling over, he loosened his tunic, shirt and trews and pulled them off. Standing naked before her, he whispered his command to her as the very air around him caressed his flesh in a way he’d not felt in months.

  “Touch me.”

  Duncan closed his eyes and waited, praying to any god listening that he was not mistaken or fooling himself about her ability to restore all that had been lost to him. After a few moments, he opened his eyes to see if she had changed her mind. Like a siren of legend, she stood before him smiling. She reached up and tugged the laces of her gown and tunic loose, then gathered both up and pulled them over her head, leaving her in a shift so sheer it covered little of her temptress’s body.

  He could see the darkness of her rosy nipples and the triangle of hair at the junction of her legs. She slid her hands over her body as she reached for the hem of the shift. Then, she paused and reached up to take her own nipples between her fingers and thumbs. She twisted them, arching her head back, letting the length of her hair swing behind her.

  His cock surged, thickening and growing harder each time she flicked her thumb over the tips of her breasts and he swore he could feel her touch on his erect flesh. Finally, she pulled the shift over her head and revealed the rest of her womanly curves to him. The breasts he’d held in his hands were high and firm, tipped with large, rosy nipples that drove him to madness. Her waist narrowed only to have her hips flare out becomingly. The strong legs he’d seen from afar could ride a man all night . . . and he wanted them wrapped around his waist as he filled her flesh with his. Duncan took a step toward her but she waved him off. Not daring to risk her displeasure, he waited and watched as she took one gliding step toward him. Then another brought her to within an arm’s length of him. He closed his eyes once more, returning to his silent prayers.

  The sharpness of her nails grazing down his flesh shocked him into opening them. Beginning on his chest, she flicked her fingers across his nipples, making him shudder with pleasure. With her gaze capturing his, she moved lower and lower, avoiding his cock but touching his balls until she stopped on the skin of his thighs.

  He felt every inch of his skin as she touched it!

  When she cupped him, he gasped out of sheer shock and watched as her green eyes glimmered and her lips curved into a wicked smile. He feared and prayed her next move and held his breath waiting . . . waiting. . . . Instead of leaning down, Isabel fell to her knees, grasping his legs to support her as she moved. Without shifting her gaze, she licked her lips and touched the tip of her tongue to his turgid flesh.

  Duncan could not hold back his loud moan. It echoed through his chambers and was joined by another and another as she took him into her mouth and suckled him. Her hands never stopped their intimate torture, cupping his sac and moving over his thighs and arse. He felt the flicking of her tongue along the length of his cock and her teeth as she nipped it.

  He’d felt nothing like that before. Not even before his senses began to dull months ago. Not even during the wild nights of passion and pleasure in the years past when his power drew women to him to satisfy his growing need and desire. Whether the intensity was greater simply because of the absence of feeling for those last months or whether it was something else entirely became a moot point, for his flesh screamed out for more and she provided it.

  She released his cock and trailed a path of wet, hot kisses over his flesh, down his thighs, and around to his arse. Shudders of pure pleasure coursed through him as she reached around and stroked his shaft from behind, her skin rubbing against his as she gradually stood. Her head did not rise to his shoulders, so her breasts pressed against his arse and then his waist and back as her hands encircled his cock. Duncan reached around, grabbing her arse and pulled her against him tighter. The curls at the junction of her thighs teased his skin.

  Overwhelmed by the sensations she created and by the sheer thrill of feeling everything once more, he was surprised at how quickly his release came. She covered the tip of his cock, pumping the length of it until every drop escaped. His seed may have spilled, but Duncan was in no way finished. He turned, taking her by the waist and tossed her onto his bed, climbing in and covering her with his body. The musky smell of his seed added to that of her arousal and it spurred him on to further pleasure for both of them.

  He moved over her like the fog as it covered the hills and glens of Skye. Gen
tly at first, with caresses so light she thought she must have dreamed them, then increasing in pressure until she cried out from the pleasure. His mouth tasted and licked and even bit her skin, from her neck to her feet. He turned her like the waves of the sea, over and back, this way and that, until no part of her was untouched by him. He buried his face between her legs. He suckled her there, pausing to incite and then to soothe, until she screamed out a release unlike any before. Her body ached from it yet hungered for more and he gave it to her.

  All pretenses dropped and Isabel absorbed the pleasure, allowing her heart and soul to partake as she never had. Her mind warned of the danger, but she ignored it. Long past the point of stopping, she let him have her, have everything that she was.

  She tried to tell herself she had no choice—a whore did not choose her way—but when he gazed at her with such wonderment and hunger and desire, she could deny him nothing.

  She wanted to deny him nothing.

  Release followed release, pleasure upon pleasure, until he rolled her onto her stomach, lifted her against his body and spread her legs with his knees. He slid his hand down, opened the folds of flesh between her legs and guided his cock to the place that ached to be filled. With a thrust that took her breath away, he plunged in so deeply he touched her womb.

  Isabel tried to move with him as he drew back, but he held her tightly, his hand teasing the bud between the folds. Filled with him, his hand pleasuring her all the while, she felt the tightening spiral of pleasure deep within her. His cock stretched her and she wanted to slide along it, to ease his way inside her, but he held still. The strength of his arms wrapped around her not allowing her body to arch.

  He paused then, resting his head on her shoulder from behind, inhaling and rubbing his face in her hair. Isabel felt as though she stood overlooking the sea from a cliff, waiting to fall free into the abyss. She held her breath as her body tensed, her inner muscles tightening around his flesh.