Demon Lover (14 page)

Chapter Thirteen

It was the strangest week of Gwyneth’s life. It began to feel almost natural to wake up and go to sleep in the same evenly lit darkness, to eat the strange if often delicious underworld food and walk among the white-skinned denizens of hell as if they were normal people.

She no longer thought of them as demons. Not even her abductor, who displayed such wildly contradictory character traits. She never quite knew when she would see him. He would take odd moments from his hectically full schedule just to watch Brea play, or to take them both to see something he’d thought might entertain them. And yet the evening meals, from which she was never excused, whether they were alone as on that first evening or in company, he deliberately infused with sexual tension.

She learned to deal with it, smiling innocently or popping food into her mouth with a suggestive deliberation that made him shift in his seat. He didn’t hold all the cards. He wanted her. That was clear from the bulge in his pants that he couldn’t always hide. And yet the week passed with no summons to his chamber.

Instead, leaving Brea with Agnet and her children for an hour, he took her clambering over rocks and streams. Away from the city, she felt able to remove her shoes and stockings and hitch up her skirts to leap around as she hadn’t since childhood. Svartan, agile as a mountain goat, led the way, diving through waterfalls, jumping over streams and sliding across slippery rocks. It was gloriously childish, and Gwyneth heard herself laughing almost with surprise. When had she last had fun?

The thought distracted her, and she missed her footing when she jumped. Her arms flailed, her feet struggled to grip the rock, and she fell.

Svartan leapt back to catch her, breaking her fall with his own, and yet somehow as they rolled, she ended up underneath him, gazing breathlessly up into his fascinating face. His eyes were so dark, glimmering lights of lust flickering with the reflected stream. Gwyneth’s stomach turned over. Her heart beat fast like a bird’s. Svartan’s weight was heavy on her, but curiously sweet and dangerously exciting. Between her sprawled legs, she could feel the outline of his cock growing.

For several moments they lay perfectly still. Then he broke her gaze, glancing lower to her lips and cheeks, her throat and breasts. Taking more of his weight on one elbow, he slowly lifted his hand and placed it over her left breast.

Hot pleasure shot through to her fingertips, to her womb. Her nipple rose up to greet his palm and he began to rub it very slowly, very gently. Each tiny movement caused exquisite sparks that caught at her breath. His gaze came back to hers, watching her reaction and she, too stunned or too amazed to move, stared back. She knew it should be a repelling stare, but somehow she doubted it. His hand felt too good on her breast, the hard ridge of his cock against her pulsing pussy just too wonderful to reject.

Deliberately, he slid his hand inside the neck of her gown and began again on her naked skin, using just his palm to rub her nipple, oh-so-lightly flicking across it, over and over.

She opened her trembling mouth to say something, anything to break the spell of desire under which she was so rapidly sinking, but she never did. For he simply lowered his head and took her mouth, matching the rhythm of his kiss to the movement of his devastating hand.

Gwyneth arched into him without meaning to. Very slowly, very lightly, he began to rub his cock against her while he kissed her and caressed her breast. The sound of the waterfall and the rushing stream filled her ears. The sweet, earthy smells of fresh water overlaid the warm, distinctive scents she always associated with Svartan. It was like a taught reaction. One hint of him and her whole body seemed to salivate.

The kiss broke naturally. A very faint smile played about his lips and eyes, but still he said nothing. Softly, he took his hand from her breast and eased his weight off her before getting to his feet and holding out his hand to help her rise.

Bemused, Gwyneth gave her own. She wondered if she was being taken to a cave, to some other suitable place where he would claim his second two hours.

Oh, no, he can’t, she thought in panic. I haven’t got what I need!

But he claimed nothing, merely carried on jumping over rocks, back the way they’d come until they rediscovered their stockings and shoes. Then he asked her thoughts on his tribunal and listened carefully to her opinions before taking her back to the palace and leaving her.

But that evening, they dined alone. Gwyneth could hardly eat because of the strength and speed of her heartbeat. She was sure it would be tonight, and she welcomed it with more than a simple desire for freedom. She was ready for him now and to gain her daughter’s freedom, surely she was allowed a little wicked sexual pleasure of her own.

When the meal was done, he rose and laid her trembling hand on his arm and conducted her to her own bedchamber, where, as usual, he touched Brea’s cheek by way of a goodnight caress. After which, he merely kissed Gwyneth’s hand and departed.

Leaving her a mass of confused and tangled emotions that tore her apart.

Ragnorak was winning. He sensed it. Her body still craved him, more powerfully than ever. And she could see he was no demon, that he worked hard for his people, and she admired that in him. More than those things, he’d seen her eyes light up with rather more than challenge when he came upon her unexpectedly. And yesterday’s kiss, with no sexual favor asked or expected, had done his cause no harm at all.

With this in mind, he hurtled through his self-assigned early morning tasks and strode impatiently to her bedchamber. He would offer to end their deal and instead offer her marriage, half of his kingdom, and the whole of his heart, which had always been hers from the first kiss in a room full of golden threads.

He rapped once on her bedchamber door but didn’t trouble to listen for the reply before entering.

She didn’t hear him. She was standing almost up against the opposite wall. Her body shook. She held Brea over one shoulder, as if winding her, and the baby grinned at him with recognition. His heart turned over before Gwyneth heard his footfalls and spun round in alarm. And he saw why she shook.

Her whole body was racked with huge, silent sobs. The evidence ran down her cheeks, into her hair and her mouth and dripped on to her neck and the hands that held her daughter.

Stricken, he stared at her.

She whispered, “There are no windows. No doors to the outside. No sky, no sun. Svartan, we are dying here…”

He couldn’t bear it. He swung around and left, leaning against the closed door. So near and yet so far. He’d known she would grieve for her own world, but he hadn’t expected it to affect him so profoundly.

It was natural. But she wasn’t dying. The baby was even smiling. And Gwyneth wasn’t truly unhappy. He could swear she’d enjoyed yesterday. She was merely homesick. And maybe there was something he could do to alleviate that.

Straightening, he opened the door and found her pacing the room with Brea falling asleep on her shoulder. Her face was dry now, if still somewhat streaky as she stared at him with defiance.

“Come with me,” he said gently, and she was so surprised, she went without a murmur.

He took her to his library, his most prized possession because it contained the best books he knew from both their cultures.

“Look,” he said, pulling a large book on botany from the shelf and opening it at the picture plates showing various woodland flowers. “On this side are all books in your own language. Art, science, literature. You’re welcome to read them whenever you wish.”

She swallowed, gazing from the books to his face, then back to the large, leather-bound botany volume. As if she couldn’t help it, she took one hand from Brea’s back and touched the painted flower with her fingertips.

“I didn’t show you them before because I thought they would just feed your homesickness,” he admitted. “But maybe they can help, instead.”

She frowned, staring at him. “You think books are a
substitute
? The only help you can give me is to let us go free.”

Every word was like a dagger in his heart. He laughed at himself for the easy victory he’d been imagining only minutes ago. She wasn’t won. She was nowhere near won.

He said quietly, “That wasn’t the deal.” And turning away, he left her with the books.

Midas stared into the strained and wizened face of the man pilloried with cuffs on his hands and feet. He could tell by the vacant stare in the old fool’s eyes that they’d gleaned all the useful information they could from him. His addled, decrepit brain would give no more details about Midas’s father and the lusty love of his youth no matter how much he was tortured.

Heaving an exasperated sigh, Midas stepped back and folded his arms across his chest. “Very well. Let him go.”

“Do you mean let him go from the castle or from the stocks? Should I have him returned to the dungeon to await further questioning?” Wallace was a stickler for precise directions.

“I mean let him go. As in, take him back to whatever alley you found him scavenging in. He doesn’t know any more than anyone else about my long lost brother.”
Or his ridiculous name!

“What I need is to start thinking about this in a more creative way.” Midas found his steward was an excellent listener. He never interrupted and he always agreed. It helped the king to air his thoughts aloud to his most toadying confidant.

“What I need is to stop trying to find old timers who know nothing and seek a denizen of this so-called underworld who might help me find out some news about Gwyneth. I may never remember or learn my half-brother’s name, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find another way to achieve my goal.”

“Absolutely, sir.” Wallace bobbed his head and motioned for the guards to unfasten the old man attached to the pillory. When they did, he slumped into a pile on the floor, looking like nothing so much as a heap of rags. A pair of guards lifted and carried the man from the dungeon chamber.

Midas continued. “Send out soldiers, spies and servants to search the length and breadth of the land for any creature that even hints of being a denizen of the underworld. Goblins, elves, demons or mere men—whatever these creatures are—I want at least one brought here for questioning. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“As extra incentive, I will give a purse of gold to the first man who brings me a specimen. And Wallace?”

“Yes, sire?”

“As extra incentive for you personally, if you mobilize this search party and bring me such a person within the week, I will
not
fire you and give your job to someone younger and cleverer. How does that sound?”

“Very generous, Highness. Thank you.” The steward bowed his way out of the chamber, leaving Midas alone.

He stared at the blood-streaked pillory, wondering what it might feel like to have one’s head, hands and feet immobilized while someone flailed one’s back raw or punched the stupid, obsequious smile off one’s face. Very painful, no doubt.

But one couldn’t squeeze blood from a potato and clearly he’d been questioning the wrong sort of people. By focusing his search in a new direction, surely he’d finally get the results he needed.

And then he would reclaim his bloody bride and his baby, too, even if he had to take his army and storm the underworld to get them.

Chapter Fourteen

“You’re a very powerful man. I’m not denying that. You can command the elements, turn straw into gold and cause rocks to split apart and come back together again. All I’m saying is that in certain circumstances you’re not as strong as you think you are. There are some things even you can’t handle.”

“I can deal with one tiny baby for a couple of hours.” Svartan bent over Brea’s crib like a big, looming gargoyle and let her cling to his finger.

“No. I really don’t think you can. Not when Brea starts screaming. She can make your ears bleed, and you have no breast with which to appease her.” Gwyneth folded the clean white diaper in her hands.

“But you’re not afraid to leave her with Agnet.”

“Agnet is a mother. She knows what to do.”

“I could learn if you’d let me.”

“Now you’re just pouting, which is so unattractive.” Gwyneth hid her smile. When had their relationship changed from captor and captive to this light, amusing banter? And exactly how many days had passed since she and Brea had come down here? It was easy to lose track.

He straightened, scowling. “Fine. You go have your luncheon with the ladies and leave Agnet in charge. It’s not as if I have no work of my own to tend to.”

“You work too hard.” She tossed the diaper down and crossed to him, resting a hand on his arm. “You should think about taking some time for yourself. Or for me.”

Her intent might be obvious, but she was tired of waiting for him to demand his second trial with her. She was tired of being underground, no matter how lavish the accommodations or how kind her host or how amenable all the people she’d met so far had been. Did he plan to wait until the very last two days of their allotted month to finish this? Well, she didn’t have the patience to wait any longer.

“What if instead of my going to lunch with Lady Candara, I spent those same hours with you?” She slid her hand along his bare, muscular forearm. “I think it would be much more enjoyable for us both. I have some things I’d like to try…” She trailed off, leaving him with the suggestion that those “things” were the most erotic, taboo, sensual acts he could imagine.

His tongue darted out to flick over his lips. “You want our next session to be now?”

“If you don’t feel you’re ready, we can wait.” She shrugged, letting him know she doubted his ability to hold out this time, no matter how much preparation time she gave him. She moved in close, her body mere inches away from his and his heat radiating through her lightweight garment. Nudging against the bulge in his breeches, she whispered, “I wouldn’t want you to give in
too
easily.”

“Madam, you think too highly of your charms. I assure you, whatever wiles you have in mind, I can withstand them.”

Gwyneth nodded. “Then let’s retire to your chamber and find out.”

“Very well.” He met her gaze with a challenging stare of his own intended to make her uncomfortable. But she knew him better now. He couldn’t shake her confidence if she didn’t let him.

Besides, she was armed with tools this time. She went to the dresser drawer where she’d hidden the lengths of torn petticoat beneath some undergarments.

He watched her as she placed the makeshift ropes in a bag. And Gwyneth watched him from the corners of her eyes, gauging his reaction. If he was impressed by her ingenuity in crafting the ropes or aroused by the idea of bondage, he didn’t show it.

Agnet arrived to take over Brea’s care. When they left the room, Brea was in her arms, reaching for a sparkling mirror-studded rattle which Agnet held just out of reach. Gwyneth decided that was how she must treat Svartan today. She would tease and torture him as he had her, bringing him close to climax again and again until the merest brush of a feather would put him over the edge.

Her body burned and shivered at the same time, and she was grateful she wasn’t the one who had to hold out from orgasm. Her pussy was already melting like wax, moisture trickling down her thighs at the mere thought of Svartan in chains—or homemade bonds, as the case may be.

His room, which she hadn’t seen since the night of her failure, was as she remembered it, dimly lit, very masculine, with spare yet well-appointed furnishings. The bed was a world away from Midas’s pillow-laden, overly soft bed. The four posts were carved stone, a deep black that shimmered with elusive iridescent greens and purples.

The white coverlet had been replaced by one of deep purple. She pulled it back to reveal equally dark plum-colored sheets beneath. She began to tie her little ropes to the posts, tossing a casual, “You may undress and lie down now,” to Svartan.

Gwyneth snuck a glance at him to see if he obeyed, and her already pattering heart beat faster at the sight of him removing his shirt at her command. His head was bent as he unfastened the buttons and a fringe of his black hair fell over his forehead, curtaining his eyes. Her fingers itched to brush it back, to feel those silky strands between her fingers and then to stroke her hand down the side of his face.

She turned her attention back to knot-tying. Of course, he would be able to break her braided bonds easily enough, if he truly desired, but it was the idea of shackling that counted.

“How do you want me? Face up or down?” His deep voice sent a renewed shiver vibrating through her. His words may be submissive, but the tenor of his voice would always sound commanding.

Although she’d had these days—weeks?—to plan her strategy, his question took her by surprise. She’d assumed face up. That was the side his cock was on. What could a woman do with a man’s backside? She tried to imagine, and the intriguing ideas that occurred sent a wave of heat shimmering through her.

“You may lie on your back,” she informed him coolly as if he hadn’t thrown her at all. “But first, I will blindfold you.” She held up the black silk scarf with which he’d once blindfolded her, the scarf she’d kept hidden after their encounter in the midst of piles of gold. If he was surprised to see she still had it, Svartan didn’t show it.

Gwyneth remembered the night she’d worn the scarf as he examined her nude body and touched her all over. She’d felt vulnerable, stripped bare, yet powerful at the same time for she’d realized how her body enflamed him by the ragged sound of his breathing and his quiet groans. Now it was her turn to wield the power of the blindfold, cutting off Svartan’s sight the better to enhance his other senses.

Svartan turned around, bending his knees slightly so she could reach high enough to tie the fabric around his head. After it was fastened, she led him to the bed, although he probably could’ve found his way there blind. He sat on the edge, then reclined on his back.

Gwyneth gazed at the contrast between his pale body and the deep purple sheets. He was aggressively masculine with his broad shoulders and long legs, his chiseled chest and big hands. But soon he would be spread-eagle and helpless. Her heart beat faster as she imagined it. She loved the idea of having this strong, commanding man at her disposal.

But enough imagining. She’d done nothing but for days. Now it was time to make the image a reality. Moving to the head of the bed, she grasped his wrist and drew his arm high. She tied his wrist to the piece of rope she’d already fastened to the bed so his arm was pulled straight. How nice that he had such a large bed to allow her to position him exactly the way she wanted.

She did the same on the opposite side before stepping back to admire the effect of his arms stretched over his head and bound tight. Moving to the foot, she bound his left ankle and right, pulling his legs apart and leaving him in an X across the bed. The sinews of his arms and legs were beautifully delineated. His cock stood erect from its thatch of dark hair, the heavy sac of his balls drawn tight beneath. He was certainly aroused.

Gwyenth studied every aspect of his body: the dark hair that sprinkled his abdomen and legs and tufted in his armpits, the hard planes of his jaw and chin and jutting nose below the black sash that covered his eyes, the flat discs of his areolae with the tiny buds of nipples. She left him waiting, anticipating her first touch, for she’d learned from experience that expectation was a large part of the game.

His lips parted and he exhaled. His fingers curled and clenched, and the long muscles of his arms rippled. Svartan shifted, checking the limits of his movement in this spread-eagle position, and Gwyneth smiled at the control she had over him. Let him try to get through the next couple of hours without coming.

She moved toward the bed, leaned over him and licked lightly over his right nipple. His senses were so heightened, he gasped as if she’d burned him with a brand. Gwyneth lightly nipped the taut bud, and his back arched off the bed. His reaction to her touch worked magic in her own body. Her nipples tingled, and her milk threatened to let down even though she’d so recently nursed Brea. And the fire between her legs…she didn’t even want to think about. Best to concentrate on the task at hand.

After she’d kissed and licked one nipple, she moved to the other side. He would be expecting the same treatment, little licks and nibbles, and so she gave him something totally different. She pinched his nipple hard, twisted it almost viciously. He hissed and bucked beneath her punishing fingers. She let go, replacing fingers with mouth and soothing him with soft licks.

Meanwhile, she scraped her fingernails down his stomach, clawing lightly all the way from chest to groin. The base of her palm bumped against his cock. She scratched the length of his shaft, and this time it was his hips rising off the bed, as far as they could with his legs bound.

Gwyneth retreated, leaving him to dwell on the sensation. She stood and moved to the foot of the bed, watching him as his chest moved up and down from his rapid breathing and his fingers curled and uncurled. His cock was quivering, and she wondered if he might come without her even stimulating it directly.

She brushed her fingertips from the soles of his feet to his toes. He jerked, pulling against his bonds. The homemade ropes stretched, but were braided tightly enough that they didn’t give. Gwyneth climbed on the bed between his spread legs and lowered her head. She swept her hair up the length of one of his legs, allowing the ends to tickle his flesh from ankle to thigh. Poor Svartan groaned.

She draped her hair over his cock, feathering his erection with swishes of the silky strands. And she did the same to his balls, teasing them with gentle playfulness. But pleasure was best balanced by a little pain, so she soon abandoned her friendly torture to try something a little rougher.

Again Gwyneth rose from the bed. She moved toward the top and leaned over to kiss Svartan’s mouth. His head rose from the pillow as he sought a deeper kiss, his tongue searching between her lips to find hers. She pulled away, leaving him reaching in vain and she went to the fire pit where hot coals burned red.

Candles were in short supply down here since the lighting was mostly from the strange crystals or oil lanterns, but Gwyneth had asked Agnet to get her a few, claiming the candle glow made her feel more at home. She drew the four-inch stub of a taper from her pocket, quickly stripped off her gown, then lit the candle from the coals on the hearth.

She watched the pretty yellow flame dance then grow steady. Wax melted, beading and rolling down toward her fingers. When the wax touched them, it barely stung. Gwyneth had secretly played with wax in her chamber, so she knew it would be just painful enough but not excruciating for Svartan.

Returning to the bed, she passed the candle over his chest close enough that he could feel the heat, but without spilling any wax on him…yet. His nostrils flared as he inhaled the waxy scent of the candle and understood what she was about to do.

“Just don’t singe the hair off my balls, please,” he murmured with a little smile.

“I wouldn’t dream of harming you more than you would enjoy.” She tipped the candle just a bit, and a thin drizzle of wax splashed onto his chest just above his left nipple.

Svartan gritted his teeth and frowned—or at least she thought he did. It was hard to tell, as that part of his face was hidden by the scarf. He set his jaw tight, steeling himself for her next assault.

Gwyneth watched the wax harden to a paler red. It made pretty patterns on his white skin. She drizzled a line below his breast bone down toward his belly, and it flowed toward either side of his body before hardening. Svartan let out a low groan that time.

She moved lower. Would wax on his penis be too much? Was the flesh too sensitive? The purpose of this experiment was his arousal. She didn’t want to hurt him to the point where she couldn’t fuck him after a bit.

“Tell me if this stings too much,” she whispered, and then she tipped the candle again letting only a single fat drop land on his shaft. But it slid all the way down to the base, leaving a sizzling trail.

Svartan cursed in his native tongue. At least she assumed he was cursing, but as rough as the language sounded he could have been praising her technique and begging for more. Gwyneth decided to err on the side of caution and abandoned the genital area. She moved farther down and splashed a little wax on his thighs, earning another exciting twist and curse from him. But the fast burning candle was already growing too short, too close to her hand so she ended the game by blowing it out.

“Poor thing. Does it hurt much?” she asked as she vigilantly peeled every bit of wax from his body and examined the pinkened skin underneath.

“No,” he said through gritted teeth. “Not
too
much.”

“Well, let’s see if I can soothe your pain a little.” Returning to her discarded gown, she took the last of her props from the pocket—a small vial of sweet-smelling ointment, also provided by Agnet.

She uncapped and tipped the bottle, pouring a palm full, then she settled on the bed beside Svartan and began to massage his shoulders and chest. She was careful as she moved over the minor burns on his chest and stomach, her stroke soothing and gentle. When she reached his cock, she grasped it and kissed the soft head while sliding her hand down his shaft. She teased her tongue over the tip of his cock and then swallowed him deep, sucking hard until he was thrusting against the back of her throat.