by Jackie Ivie
If her own pulse hadn’t been drowning out every other sound, she would have been more aware of the reaction that had to be happening about her. But she heard none of it and felt even less. And then his lips were on hers, his nose breathing warmth all over her features while what had to be a moan surged through the body she was being pressed against. Sybil’s heart stopped, skipping more than three rapid-fire beats, and when it restarted, it suffused her entire frame with color and heat.
That had to be better than his reaction. Vincent lifted his head and looked at her with eyes so wide, she could see every bit of the amber color that reflected his shock. It was still there when he glanced down at himself and back to her, only this time he was glaring at her—and, from less than a handspan away, that was completely unnecessary. She was already enthralled and captivated and unable to move. There wasn’t anything else he could do.
“What…have you done to me?” he asked in a slither of sound that reached out and pricked at the base of her spine with the unknown intent behind it. Her eyes were probably the match to his in width as she heard it.
There was noise happening all about them and then jostling as the crowd reached forward to congratulate them. Vincent wasn’t a normal bridegroom, however, and this wasn’t a normal wedding. He bellowed loudly to the ceiling, where the sound echoed back, and then hoisted Sybil over his shoulder.
That’s when the argument started.
Vincent didn’t know what was the matter with him, although going two nights with little sleep was a start. Especially when there had been so much power behind the love act with this enchantress the first night, followed by so much anger and frustration and worry the following one. It was as if those things had combined with the radiation of power and bloodlust that had flooded him ever since he’d arrived back and faced the first armed man. The emotion had overwhelmed his ability to think clearly and do anything other than act. And then, when he realized the extent of her power, and that he was fully hooked, caught, and netted—since the more space he put between them, the smaller his member shrank—even then, this woman had the ability to look like a goddess of the mist. He didn’t know what else to compare her with, and that angered him more. Her appearance in that purple-hued gown had set a painful beat into existence right behind his left eye and shaded everything he looked at with a reddish-purple hue. Which wasn’t fair, just, or right. It just was.
As was the smell of her, once he had her gripped to him. And then there was the feel of her lips against his. It had been all he could manage to hold the sensation inside, where none would know how it felt to lose his freedom because he’d been too stupid to stay away from a witch! And then…with that one kiss…she’d had the ability to change everything and set his entire frame afire. Again? Vincent was in shock. He wasn’t disguising it very well, either. He couldn’t. He needed some rest, some food, and some more time spent losing himself within the ecstasy of her frame in order to be able to function. Which was more than any man should have to bear.
He hoisted her over his shoulder, did a turn, and started pushing himself through throngs of people he hadn’t even noted. And the enchantress he’d just wed started kicking at his belly. Vincent gripped tighter to her legs, stopping that nonsense, and she just moved her frame by using the muscles in her abdomen in order to start hitting at his back with her tiny fists.
Vincent’s response had them all backing away as if he’d lost his senses. Which he probably had. He stopped, put his head back, and roared with laughter.
The result should have been expected as the woman in his arms stiffened further, but at least she ceased trying to pummel him. The crowd was laughing with him and parting for him, and he didn’t know what he was going to do once he reached the front door, but that didn’t stop him. Then some of her words started sinking through the fog surrounding his mind.
“You canna’ leave! Na’ now! Wait!”
“Wait?” Vincent spun on his heel, swinging her in an arc that dropped her back to his shoulder with the force of it. “For what?”
“My chest.”
“Nae needed, lass. I mean, Wife. I’ve chest enough for you.” Vincent puffed it out, and there was general hilarity at the action.
“My potions, you dolt!”
“Did I hear that aright? She just called me a dolt. Her loyal husband! Is that na’ excuse enough to take the lass—I mean, the wife—across my lap and take a switch to her?”
“You would na’ dare!” Sybil screeched.
“Get me a horse! Nae! Na’ mine! He’s spent. And na’ the one I rode earlier, either. He has the same issue. Get another horse! What care is it who owns it?”
He was answering before anyone had a chance to ask, but he wasn’t in control of his mouth, any more than he was in charge of anything since he’d put her weight across his shoulder, her scent in his sphere, and everything on him was tingling and aware of what she was doing to him the longer he was with her. He told himself it was the spell she’d cast on him, and despite the anger he should be feeling, he couldn’t deny the pleasant, all-encompassing haze of lust she was making him feel as well. That was being added to by his readiness for the imminent threat from any of the men he’d rendered unconscious, making it even more of an aching issue in his loins. Vincent knew for a certainty he was being driven mad.
He just wished it wasn’t as enjoyable as it was.
“We canna’ leave the chest! Vincent!”
“She recollects my name! Sing to the heavens with me, lads! Louder!”
Vincent knew he had a great singing voice. It came along with his musical ability. He rarely used it. It was crowd-stopping. Which was what happened the moment he lifted his chin and ran through the first voice of a hymn he’d learned back when he was a lad and supposed to turn out differently. Then it turned into the bawdy rendition of a song he’d put into existence during his ride back here. Featuring a whore with endless breasts that a man could walk on. And the crowd about him reacted with more laughter.
“Damn you, Danzel!” she yelled once his breath ran out.
“She’s damning me? Now? Does the woman na’ ken when a thing is too late? A man’s damned the moment he weds. What is wrong with the lass? I mean—the wife!”
“We canna’ leave without my chest! ’Tis too dangerous,” she commented once the hilarity following his announcement settled a bit.
Vincent sobered slightly at her serious tone. He wasn’t drunk. It just felt that way. That was odd. He started down the steps, facing not just one horse that had been brought to him, but two.
“Strange that you should mention danger. ’Tis the thought of that making me hasten away, my love. I mean, lovely…bride.”
She’d sucked in a breath at his words. At least, that’s what he thought happened, since her belly flattened along his shoulder, reminding him that he had her form draped across it…her legs in his arms…her breasts hovering above him, and that put her essence right in reach of his mouth….
“Vincent!” she cried out before he even had time to put action to the thought. As if she knew what he’d been about to do.
He pulled his head back. Of course she knew. She was an enchantress. And a witch. He shook his head slightly to clear it. That was stupid. All that happened was the yard in front of him rotated and swayed before righting again, showing a multitude of early risers, a dawn that still had rain coming with it, and horses being held ready for him. Nice horses. The dwarf’s horses. Which reminded him. “Make haste, lads! We’ve a bit of ground to put behind us!”
“Nae, Vincent…Please? I beg it.”
He was about to attempt to mount with her in his arms, but when she turned such a pleading tone on him, he felt like a little lad being chastised by his mother. Vincent sighed heavily and stopped, waited a few heart-thumping moments, and then loosened his arms a bit so she could slide almost to the ground. He didn’t let her feet touch, just the tips of her toes. He didn’t dare. She might try and run, and he didn’t know if he was capabl
e of catching her at the moment. And until she turned back her spell, he wasn’t letting her out of his sight. All of which she should already know.
He frowned.
“What kind of an enchantress are you?” he asked once he had her in his arms and facing him. Or facing his upper chest, since that’s where her height put her, and she wasn’t looking any farther.
She blew amusement through her lips at him. That put a fire into place atop the cool mist covering his bareness. And that transferred to a current that was spreading the fire lower, through his belly and from there…to his groin.
“Damn you, Wife! Cease that.” He tried to sound stern, but it came across more as a slurred rumble of sound. He wondered how much power she had to make such a thing possible when he hadn’t touched a drop of ale, or mead, or anything else with spirits.
“What? This?” She lifted a finger and trailed her nail along the space where she’d just touched with her breath, making the fire start to burn deeper. Internally. Causing him to break into a sweat along the thong on his forehead, and giving her no doubt about the effect on his body, as everything that was full, weighty, and back to normal size due to her nearness got hard and engorged and readied because of the same thing.
And he was surrounded by all kinds of folk! Including her stepmother and a priest of the faith!
Vincent groaned. “We dinna’ have time for this!” He bent his head to whisper it. “We have to be gone. Afore any of them…wake.” He gestured with a tilt of his head back to the castle behind her. It didn’t work. It just put his nose against her hair, where it was impossible not to be overwhelmed by the perfumed scent of her. He stood there, felt his grip easing and her body falling the last bit to the ground, as trembling transferred to a weakness along his limbs. Vincent half closed his eyes to make it bearable as he got a dose of her full power.
On him.
She giggled. The huff of breath touched him, pierced almost through him, and made him jump slightly. Before he groaned again. The only good part was that the sound he made was softer this time.
“The men. You ken?” he asked again, once he found his voice.
“They’ll na’ waken for some time. Mayhap on the morrow.”
“I dinna’ have that much power to my blows, lass.”
She smiled. He watched it happen and thanked his stars that she wasn’t breathing on the spot of chest she was speaking to. That area was so aware of her, it was raised in gooseflesh with the experience. He hoped she’d think it due to the cool morning air about them, and not what it really was. That was a forlorn wish. As were most of them since he’d met her.
Then she moved. He was aware of it as she did so, since the part of her he had wrapped his arms about alerted him, but it still sent a roar of sound and vibration through him as she lifted her chin and met his gaze. He’d been wrong about her eyes, too. They weren’t silver. They were high-density lightning, and just as energizing and stirring and electrifying. Vincent wondered briefly, with the part of his mind he still controlled, why she continued to set her spell on him when she already had him. It didn’t make any sense.
“I’ve dosed them.” Rose red lips whispered it, moving his eyes there.
“What?” Vincent mouthed it.
“They will na’ awaken until the morrow. I’m na’ certain of Sir Ian, though.”
Her mouth was moving still, creating words that took time to filter through his hearing and make sense. It wasn’t his fault. Her lips were made for kissing, they looked slightly bruised and enlarged from that already, and they were right below him. Tempting him…making him crave them.
“Why?” he asked and tightened one arm about her while the other one went beneath her buttocks in order to lift her against where he was undisguisedly brazen, and burning hard for her.
“I dinna’ ken how much…to give…such a small…frame.”
Her answer didn’t make much sense to him, either, but the fact that it came in pieces of breath made every bit of the world right. And sane. And gave purpose to the act of marrying her. And the raging desire to bed her. Now. Right now. Without benefit of bed, or walls, or even privacy.
“Help me, lass,” he murmured just before taking possession of her lips and stalling everything, even time.
“Help?” She was asking it with the gulp of breath he gave her within the span of space between their lips. Vincent was well on his way to losing sense of everything and didn’t know what else he could do.
“My need…is too great, lass. You doona’ ken!”
There was a swell running through her, resembling giggles but worse. Or perhaps it was better, since it had a gleeful sound to it once she pulled her mouth away enough to give it voice.
“Too great?” she teased.
“’Tis your fault.”
“Mine?” He thought that was the word put into play before she made everything immeasurably worse by wrapping both arms about his head, pushing her body fully against his, and slamming her lips to his.
Vincent’s knees trembled. He felt it happen and hoped he didn’t disgrace himself fully by falling on his buttocks in front of spectators because he couldn’t control his lust for his new wife. The only good part would be that if anyone got an eyeful of the Viking at full passion, at least there’d be something to see.
“What have you done to me?” he asked yet again, moving his mouth along her jaw line.
“My chamber.” She had her mouth to his ear to hiss it.
“Now?” he asked.
“Aye. Now. Right now.”
The power of her own need surged through him, granting him back the ability to think and the strength to make it happen. Vincent lifted his head. They were still amid a crowd, and everyone looked expectantly at him. Which made him blush heavily. With the resultant burst of warmth. Him. Vincent Erick Danzel. The wandering man of many talents and no roots. He cleared his throat.
“I’ve had a change of heart! I nae longer need horses. Take them back.”
“Nae?” someone asked.
Vincent shook his head. “I’m more in need of some time…alone. With my bride! Make way!” He had her back over his shoulder and was taking the steps two at a time. He really didn’t need to say the last, for not one person got in his way.
Chapter Sixteen
He had her berthed in his arms and was kissing her before they reached her chamber, taking every bit of her senses and sending them spiraling. She didn’t know how he managed to reach the right tower, let alone mount the stairs, while his lips were locked to hers, his breath mingled with hers, and every bit of it was sending her reeling. Then she remembered. He was more man than she’d dreamed existed. And much more male than she’d ever prepared for.
And he was all hers.
The pleasure of that thought sent rioting shivers across her entire frame, over and over again, until there wasn’t much space between when one ended and the next began. She was tortuously aware that the underdress was gossamer and clinging to every bit of her then.
Exactly as it had been crafted to do.
The door slammed behind him, bringing her mouth fractionally away, and he chased her back down, his lips trying to drink her very essence away. Sybil knew she’d be bruised. Her lips were stinging already, feeling large and engorged and prepared. He stumbled slightly as he made certain of the door shutting. Sybil had her fingers in his hair and her body clamped to his.
He moaned against her lips and sent a flash of tongue into the caverns of her mouth. Sybil couldn’t prevent the total slam of her body in reaction as it lurched, putting her closer to him than before and making the act of breathing difficult to accomplish.
“Lass…”
He mumbled it as he licked and sucked and probed. Sybil took what he was showing her and used it to her own advantage, feeling every shudder that ran through him.
She heard the slam of the bolt falling, spent a flash of time wondering how he’d managed it with his right arm while keeping her sealed to him with his left,
and then let it go. She didn’t care. As long as she was sealed in…with him.
“Ah, lass…” He crooned it, moving his mouth from the caress of hers in order to tongue his way to her ear. “What have you done to me?”
“Naught,” she whispered back, although the word was lost as she tongued the skin beneath his jawline, feeling his entire frame throb as she sucked and kept sucking. It was only fair since that was what he was doing to her.
Fingers punished where they gripped, holding her waist as he lowered her, holding her in place as he leaned into her, shoving that massive hard part of himself into her lower belly. And Sybil cooed her satisfaction at the size, tension, and heat of it, lowering her hand to him and wrapping her fingers around what she could.
Vincent went stiff. Solid. Statuelike and still. Sucking in and holding a breath, she knelt beside him, running one hand up his leg while the other was put to use stroking and coaxing and pleasuring him. Her mouth murmured sighs of satisfaction the entire time. Each stroke brought a palpitation of movement to the mass of man in her palm, making him even larger, harder, and more massive, until he burst the size one hand could hold.
His kilt was in the way, and Sybil shoved with both hands to move it, pushing and pulling until the belt slid open, allowing mounds of mud-splattered, rain-drenched plaide to fall to his ankles, leaving everything on his lower body on display. She murmured her pleasure at that, and looked up his frame to catch his eyes.
“Witch.” He breathed the word and then leaned forward to grasp her upper arms and pull her into his arms.
And then they were at her bed, falling into it with a seamless motion and making it bounce with their combined weight and the method of arrival. The mattress didn’t stand a chance of staying in place at the roughness of his motion, and she heard the protest of her frame boards as they collapsed, sending the feather-and-straw-stuffed mattress to the floor. Where the thud was balanced by the feel of it happening while atop him.
