My Lady Enslaved (6 page)

Rosebud? He seemed calmer now ever since she had obeyed him and laid down. His lean cheekbones were planed and his black eyes were deepening with arousal. She shivered beneath her own arousal as Ravenscar dipped his middle finger into the rouge. “Close your eyes,” he whispered.

She obeyed him yet trembled in blind anticipation of what he would do. Then she felt his finger on her lips, and she parted her mouth in surprise. He slowly traced the fullness of her bottom lip, and then the small bow-shaped arch of the top one.

“Rouge is for sexual creatures,” he murmured and she could feel his warm breath just before he took her rouged lips beneath his mouth. He was kissing her! And it was a storm of heat and possession as his tongue aggressively swept deep into her mouth. Uncontrollable sounds of longing escaped her throat and suddenly Ravenscar clasped her nape, holding her to his deeper kiss as his tongue swirled around hers. He stroked the flat of his feverish tongue over hers again . . . and again. When he finally left her lips, her arms were clinging to his shoulders without consciously realizing that she had done so.

“I will rouge your nipples, your cunt, and your tight little ass,” Ravenscar murmured. “Each of the places on your body that I intend to make mine.” One of his scarred fingers with more rouge on its tip came forward again and Chloe stared at him transfixed as he slowly rouged her lips again. “And your mouth,” he finished in a husky whisper.

“I will fuck your mouth next time, Rosebud,” he murmured as he straddled her and the ache in her loins grew hot. “I will hold you down and put my big cock deep inside your mouth.”

He put more rouge on his finger and she sucked in a trembling breath hearing his dark carnal words and feeling his hot male penis lying on her stomach. “And you’re going to crave me, Rosebud. You are going to crave my cock thrust deep into your throat. Fucking your mouth.” He touched rouge to the tight swollen circle of her nipple and she gasped with a moan of aching need as he painted the areola with scarlet rouge. He left the thrusting spike in the center its natural pink color. “Put your arms above your head, Rosebud.”

Chloe gazed at Ravenscar gazing down at her. He was so still, waiting for her obedience. He must feel how she shivered. How excited she was. She raised her arms and his inky-black eyes lowered to watch her breasts plump and firm upward. “Raise your breasts to me,” he whispered as he lowered to a crouch over her.

“Raven,” she moaned senseless as she raised her breasts upward to him. His tongue darted outward and he licked the pink tip of her nipple. “Oh,” she cried softly.

He straightened a little and began painting her other areola with scarlet rouge as she poised, arched upward beneath him. “You were made for this, Rosebud. Made for my lust.” Then he nipped her other nipple spike between his teeth, holding it.

“Please, Raven, please,” she mewled, quivering as he held her nipple, then rolled it around the edge of his teeth.

“Do you want me to rouge your cunt, Rosebud? Do you want me to suck on your hot little clit?”

“Say it,” he commanded, dipping his finger into the rouge again.

“Show me,” he demanded in a tenor rasp.

And she did, like-like his slut . . . his whore . . . or perhaps his love. She spread her legs before him. Lifting one onto either side of his lean hips. Opening herself to his gaze. Showing him how much she wanted him. Showing him how wet she was for him.

“Please, Raven,” she begged, shamelessly undulating her hips upward toward the hang of his rigid male cock. His gaze seemed to change then as though a blanket had been ripped away and she saw pain in his black irises. Pain and vulnerability. It was his hands and the rasp of his voice, she thought. He believed that no woman would desire him because of his injuries. And he believed that she was the one who had inflected them. Yet she would not let herself think of that now. Not now!

“Christ, you are as beautiful as you are viscous,” Raven rasped with no real rancor, and then unexpectedly one of his fingers thrust upward . . . plunging inside her, and she cried out with pleasure.

He thrust the bluntness of his finger inside her again and her heels clipped his lean hips as she cried out and arched toward him. Then his mouth was on her sex with his tongue flicking wetly over her clitoris as his fingers mated her with hard inward thrusts.

“God, your cunt is so hot, Rosebud,” he growled as he used the fingers of his free hand to spread the lips of her sex open while his tongue burned her clitoris with rapid licking motions.

“Oh! Oh hh, Raven. Ah-ah-! ”

“Ah-oh! Oh hh! Ah! Ah!”

She might have fainted a little after the third time Raven wrung a rapturous climax out of her because when she opened her eyes Raven was painting rouge on the lips of her love-swollen sex. His gaze was nearly tender, but then he saw her watching him and his gaze turned more guarded. All she could think of was that Raven called her sweetheart and always gave her pleasure before he took his. What could that mean?

“I want your sweet little ass now, Rosebud.”

Chloe felt him behind her, and she felt him lean over her shoulder with his warm breath on her cheek. “I am going to take it, baby girl,” he murmured in a gravelly voice as one of his hands slowly sifted through her hair. She felt the fingers of his other hand nudging the crease of her bottom and her buttock cheeks tensed, then his finger was there and she felt the creamy sensation of the rouge he applied, circling the reluctant entrance.

“Please, I can’t, please,” she pleaded, curling tightly into a ball.

Amazingly, Raven’s finger left the edges of her rear entrance and his big hand began to rub over her buttocks and down her thighs. “Soon,” he murmured. “Soon, Rosebud.”

Harrison did not know what stopped him. Christ, that was a lie, of course he knew what stopped him. It was because Rosebud was afraid and he was beginning not to care if it was some grand acting scheme on her part. In fact it was just too hard to believe that her emotions were not genuine. Never once, not in one single instance had Rosebud slipped, and now his own passions were too tightly wound up with need. Needing her. Never in his life had a woman responded to him like she did. He had certainly never been as excited.

He kept thinking of something his fellow Archangels once said. It was before Drummond married and his former spying associates had all claimed that they would prefer to have a well-taught mistress in their bed, as the one they would marry, than a frigid society wife. Drummond had gotten his wish with Gabriella. And she was a woman to be truly jealous over.

Harrison turned his gaze down to his fragile rosebud. She was shaking. He clamped down on his own rigid passions and searched for the bed quilt to cover them. She flinched when he pulled the warm quilt up over both of them. “W-what are you doing?” she stuttered in a whisper.

“Sleeping,” he rasped, and then he grabbed her, pulling her tight against him.

“S-Sleeping,” she whispered faintly.

“Mm,” he murmured, laying on his back stroking her hair from where she was turned into his side. “Go to sleep,” he finished.

He heard her puff a sigh of uncertainty, however it was only a short time before she was asleep curling into him more and nuzzling her cheek on his shoulder. He was not surprised, he had sated her well and kept both of their emotions tightly strung. The release was exhaustion. He stared at the ceiling oddly distorted from the flickering of the candles around the room. Rosebud always used candles as though she did not trust the gas lighting or perhaps had never had it before. What was happening to him, he thought vaguely, perhaps a bit sleepily? It was then he rolled over to embrace Chloe into the circle of his arms. He was determined to sleep.

Chloe? Ah, Christ.

 

Chapter Seven

 

Harrison likened himself to a mangy irritable cat the next morning. A caged panther stalking his den snarling at everything in his path. His small staff avoided him as much as they could and he wisely left his woman locked upstairs in his bedchamber. He was prickly and furious. He could not answer to be in Rosebud’s company now. Thoughts he did not want to consider tangled his mind. Urges deeper than that, gnawed at him. One salient point rose above the rest and it was madness. A crazy, delusory thought that would not leave him alone.

He might lose her.

“My lord, there has been an incident.”

Harrison raised his dark head with his black eyes sharpening as he pushed away from his seat at the breakfast table. “An incident?” he inquired, leaving his food untouched. It had been a useless gesture to try and eat anyway.

“There has been a, um, delivery, my lord. Of a nature we are unsure how to deal with,” his butler stated.

Harrison raised an eyebrow as he stalked toward the man and it was then he heard a wailing sound growing shriller by the moment and coming from the front entryway. “What the devil?” he muttered, passing his butler to come into view of his footman standing in the entrance hall holding a battered basket at arms length. It was from this battered basket that the heart-wrenching wails erupted, and while Harrison moved forward to view this menace, he heard his butler gasp, “Baby.”

Harrison abruptly halted, however he had gone too far and now stood over the shivering wicker conveyance. He had no choice beneath the ear splitting squalling but to look down and see the ruddy tear-stained face of what was indeed a baby.

“There is a note, my lord,” his footman informed him handing forth a scrap of twill parchment.

Harrison drew in a startled breath. The note was vague and it could mean anything to anyone but to him it meant . . .

“. . . My lord, please excuse me!” his upstairs butler exclaimed as the man’s hurried feet came to a halt beside the expanding group of men, in the black and white tiled entrance hallway. Harrison noticed that the baby now merely gurgled and gnawed on its chubby fingers with its brown eyes fixed squarely on him as if in anticipation. “. . . The lady is about to hurt herself,” the upstairs butler continued to blurt. “By pounding on the bedchamber door, my lord. And she is screaming as though- ”

Harrison snatched the basket, interrupting his upstairs butler's review, as he turned and began to mount the stairs two at a time. He heard Rosebud’s screams just before he turned the corner, and at that precise moment the baby began wailing again. The cacophony was unnerving, however when he reached the door Rosebud suddenly became eerily silent, leaving only the baby’s squalls echoing in the hallway.

“Stand aside, Madame,” Harrison growled at the door in the loudest voice his scarred throat could offer as he turned the lock and pushed the door open.

Rosebud stood there ravished by tears and emotions, however the instant she saw him and the wicker basket, she cried, “Sebastian! My baby! My baby!” She grabbed the basket from him sinking to her knees at his feet where she set the basket on the floor and began pulling the squalling child from within. “Oh Sebastian, praise Buddha! Oh my love, my love,” she cooed.

The baby screamed louder and Harrison stayed rooted to the spot with his chin dropped to his chest as he watched Rosebud rock the baby frantically. “He is hungry, Raven. Starving.” Rosebud tilted her small chin up to him with anguished brown eyes. “I-I do not know if I have milk. It’s been days! I think it may have dried.”

Harrison watched big tears forming in Rosebud’s eyes as her small half-cup chin began quivering. He ground his back teeth and rocked back on the heels of his black Hessian boots, deciding in the space of one breath that he should leave now.

“You have milk,” he rasped in the next instance, lowering to a crouch to lift Rosebud and the baby up into his arms. He lifted himself easily to his feet carrying them as he took them to the bed to set Rosebud on the edge. “I can attest to that fact,” he finished grimly, then he added, “Try.”

Rosebud was clothed in what he allowed her to wear, an armoire full of scandalous gowns. What draped her figure now was diaphanous emerald colored silk nearly black because the green was so rich. However the sheerness of the fabric showed that she was allowed no underpinnings. The bodice was gaping, nearly falling off her shoulders, giving the entire assemblage the appearance as though it might fall off her at any moment leaving her completely nude to his gaze.