Prime Reaper (10 page)

“Ah, wench,” he said, satisfaction rife in his husky voice. “You are wet and aching for me, aren’t you?”

“No, you evil man,” she said, flinging her head. “I am but a poor maid at your wicked mercy. You might force me to your bed but you will never hear me cry quarter.”

He slipped one finger into her moist center. “You think not, wench?”

Danielle shook her head though she was tempted to throw her arms around him and beg him to take her. It was the anticipation she sought—for herself and her lover—

that she sensed when fulfilled would be the best he had ever known. She meant to send him from her with glorious memories to keep him warm each night until he returned.

“Do your worst,
mo tiarna
,” she challenged. “I will take it like a woman.”

“No quarter, eh?” he taunted, rubbing his palm back and forth across her swollen heat. He dipped his middle finger deeper inside her on each pass.

“N-none,” she said, beginning to pant.

Arawn rubbed the base of his hand against the silken curls at the junction of her thighs. “Then I’ll give none, milady,” he said.

He jerked her to him so her highly sensitive nipples came into direct contact with his chest hair. Abrading himself against her chest, he once more slid his leg between hers.

“You are awful,” she said.

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“Nay, wench,” he said as he dipped his head to flick his tongue over the hollow at the base of her throat. “I am the best you will ever have.” He reached down to cup her buttocks in both hands, cocking his head to the side. “I am the
only
one you will ever have.” Deliberately dragging her upon his thigh, he smiled at her quickly indrawn breath.

“You may take my body, you lecherous marauder, but you will never have my soul!”

“You think not?” he cooed, licking at the sweet column of her neck.

“I know not,” she stated, and tried not to shiver as his teeth nibbled gently at the underside of her chin.

“Let’s test that, shall we?” he asked, and released her. “Get on the bed, wench.”

Danielle crossed her arms over her bare chest. “You won’t hurt me, will you,
mo
tiarna
?” she asked.

His amber eyes turned molten. “If there’s hurt, wench, it will be a good hurt, believe me.”

She sniffed and turned around to walk to the bed like a martyr. Sitting down primly, she slipped one slipper off with the toes of her foot then removed the other shoe in the same manner. After taking a deep breath, she stretched herself out on the bed and flung her arms wide as though she were a sacrifice.

“I am prepared to endure your immoral machinations,” she stated. Arawn padded slowly over to the bed and looked down at his lady. Her eyes were closed, her legs pressed tightly together, her arms out with the palms up. She looked almost as virginal as she pretended to be. Had it not been for the slight, knowing grin trying to break upon her luscious lips, he could almost convince himself she was the naïve country girl she portrayed.

“Spread your legs for me,” he said, his voice deep and filled with need. Obediently she obliged him.

“Wider.”

Again she did as he ordered.

He took his time looking at her naked beauty. He wanted to memorize every freckle, every mole, every little imperfection that made her the woman she was. His gaze blanketed her with a heat that made her squirm and when her eyelids fluttered open, he knew she was getting impatient.

“What are you about,
mo tiarna
?” she asked.

“You belong to me,” he replied. “I own you. I am merely inspecting my property.”

“Inspecting your…” Danielle sighed deeply. “Is that all you intend to—”

One moment he was standing beside the bed and the next he was upon it, positioned between her legs, sitting back on his haunches as he put his hand to either side of her vaginal opening and spread her wider.

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Prime Reaper

“I am inspecting my property,” he said again.

“Arawn, you—”

“Hush, wench,” he said sternly. “I’ll tell you when you may speak.”

Danielle clamped her lips shut and narrowed her eyes at him in warning. It was a warning he ignored as he bent forward to get a better look at the prized flesh he had splayed open to his view.

He studied her as though she were the first woman whose body he had ever looked at so closely. Taking her hips in his hands, he pulled her closer to him and lifted her so her most vulnerable area was only a foot from his face. Bracing her lower body on the incline of his thighs, he dragged his index fingers down the inner channel of her outer lips, spreading her open so he could watch the sweet wetness of her ooze from her core.

“
Mo tiarna
, you are embarrassing me,” she whispered. He looked up at her. “Did I give you permission to speak, wench?”

She shook her head, tucking her lower lip between her teeth. His index fingers made the return trip up her moist channel, his fingernails grazing the tender flesh. “I love your smell,” he said, and thrust one finger deep into her. He pivoted it then withdrew, holding her gaze as he put his finger in his mouth and sucked her juice from it.

Danielle groaned and writhed, flexing her hips against his thighs.

“I love your taste,” he told her then took her clitoris between his thumb and middle finger to gently roll it, pushing aside the thin hood that covered it with the index finger of his other hand.

It was sheer torture what he was doing to her body. Heat flowed through her lower belly and settled between her legs, making her throb and ache and want and need. She reached up to grab the pillow beneath her head and crushed it in her hands. Arawn bent forward and captured her clit with his lips, drawing on that delicate nubbin as he slid first one then two then three fingers into her waiting sheath—going deep, withdrawing, going deeper still, withdrawing then straining tight inside her until it seemed he touched her very womb.

“You are torturing me,” she said, and at his elevated brow, she whimpered, clamping a hand over her mouth.

He licked at her swollen clit, he nibbled it to send shivers all the way down her sides and along her thighs. Withdrawing his fingers from her, he moved down so he could insert the middle one into her anus.

“Oh!” his lady gasped, and nearly bucked herself off his thighs. Putting a hand to her belly, he pressed down gently but firmly as he swiveled his finger into her puckered flesh—bringing it nearly out of her then probing deep again. Danielle was panting, her face screwed up as though she were in great pain. Her hand had gone back to the pillow and she was drawing the two edges over her face, her entire body shuddering beneath his artful touch, her breasts jiggling. 53

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

It was the sight of her luscious breasts that brought him up and over her so his mouth encircled one dusky areola. He slithered the midpoint of his body between her spread legs as he suckled her, nipped at her nipples, laved her aching flesh. Not wanting to show partiality, he moved to her other breast to give it the same attention he had given its sister.

His lady was shaking so violently beneath his touch, he knew a moment of pure, heady lust and reared up, flipping her to her belly in one quick movement. Grabbing her hips, he yanked her to him and impaled her on his shaft, thrusting his sword deep inside her silken scabbard.

“Arawn!” he heard her gasp as he increased his speed and the urgency of his passion. Reaching down and around her, he found her clitoris and began fingering it to the same rhythm with which he was piercing her sweetness. His free hand was wrapped around her shoulder as he pulled her body back toward him for each of his forceful thrusts.

They came at the same moment and it was a climax that shook the Prime Reaper to the core of his being. He felt as though the top of his head would come off as he spilled his seed into her lush body. The fierce quivers of her body around his left him mindless and when he collapsed atop her—their sweaty bodies slick and smelling of their union—he did not hear her small, hitching breaths. His breathing came in ragged gasps as he strove to get his racing heart under control.

“Danielle, I love you,” he said, forcing his arms under her body to mold them tighter together.

“Arawn,” she said with a grunt. “You’re heavy.”

Laughing, he rolled over, taking her with him so she was lying atop him, one hand kneading her breast while the other stroked her nether curls.

“Take pity on me,
mo tiarna
,” she said, her voice strained. “It is too hot this close to you.”

“I make you hot, do I?” he queried.

“Aye, you do. I am burning up,” she admitted as she drew in quick, shallow breaths.

He was reluctant to allow her to slip off him but he did. Turning to his side to face her, he put his hand on the concavity of her belly and massaged her.

“Quarter!” she said, taking his hand and moving it away from her. He grinned. “Uh-huh, I knew I’d get you to say it.”

She turned her face to him. He was such a devastatingly handsome man that it made her heart ache just to look at him. To know he was hers—would be hers for as long as she lived—gave her a heady power that brought tears to her eyes. “I love you, Ari,” she said, her heart in her eyes.

“I know,” he replied. “Almost as much I love you.”

“Impossible,” she denied.

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Prime Reaper

“And I own you, wench,” he said with a cocky glint. “Heart, body and soul.” He blew his breath over her damp body to cool her.

“Aye,” she said, lifting his hand to her lips. “That you do,
mo shearc
, and that you always will.”

They fell asleep facing one another, his strong hand held lovingly in hers. 55

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Chapter Six

The morning brought with it a harsh gray day with rain heavy in the sodden clouds. A brisk wind had come in from the North Sea and was bombarding the land, whipping up ash and debris from the craters pockmarking the land around the mountain upon which sat the Citadel.

With the specially made oversized coach already having made one run down the mountain to the depot with the Reapers’ weapons and gear as well as the healer who would be accompanying them, it was now slowly making its way back up to take the seven warriors down to the train that had been designed to carry them west.

“Do you believe he’s wearing a Reaper uniform?” Phelan asked Owen. The two men were staring at Kasid Jaborn where he stood apart from the others, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his black leather uniform pants.

“C
uir síoda ar ghabhar agus is gabhar i gcónaí é
,” Owen mumbled.

“What did he say?” Aingeal asked Cynyr.

Her husband grinned. “Put silk on a goat and it’s still a goat.”

“Remember what Lord Kheelan said,
mo shearc
,” she told him. “Don’t give Kasid a hard time else the two of you might wind up howling together in the con cells.”

“Con cells?” Cynyr asked, a dark brow arched.

“That’s what the healers call them,” she told him.

“Well, I plan on leaving Jaborn alone unless he gets his ass in trouble,” Cynyr said.

“Rest assured,
a ghrá mo chroi
, I’ll guard him as closely as I do my brethren.”

Aingeal sighed at being called his heart’s darling but there was a gleam in his wicked amber eyes she didn’t think love had placed there. Casting a look at Jaborn, she could tell the former
balgair
was unsure of his safety with the Reapers.

“You know,” she said loud enough for Phelan and Owen to hear her as well, “he didn’t have to come here to tell the Shadowlords about the Ceannus. He could have joined them but he didn’t, even though it would have been the easiest way out for him.”

Jaborn lifted his head and looked at her for a long moment. When she smiled gently at him, he nodded respectfully to her then went back to studying the ground at his feet.

“Makes you wonder why he didn’t join them,” Iden said in a low voice.

“My guess is he feared them,” Glyn remarked.

A horrendous crack of lightning branched across the sky then the rain started down in a violent downpour that drove the Reapers and their womenfolk under the roof of the Citadel’s portico. Coming down so hard the coach was obscured by the onslaught, the rain made a loud rushing sound that drowned out normal conversation. 56

Prime Reaper

“Not an auspicious beginning for the mission,” Arawn told Bevyn who was sulking at not being allowed to go out with the other members of his team.

“This isn’t right, Ari,” Bevyn snapped. “If they had to leave someone behind, why couldn’t it have been the Akhkharulian?”

“Because,” Arawn said, holding up his thumb. “The Akhkharulian knows the
balgairs
better than we do and—” he held up his index finger “—you can’t swim.”

“Shit,” Bevyn said. “That sucks.”

“Then learn to swim while we’re gone,” Arawn suggested. He clapped his 2-I-C on the back. “Get Danni to teach you. She tells me she taught many of the children in Haines City. Surely she can teach you.”

Bevyn rolled his eyes. “I’m not a child,” he complained.

Arawn shrugged. “You’d never prove it by me the way you’re acting.” He glanced over at Lea. “Wench, come get your man before I shove his ass out in the rain.”

Lea giggled and came to thread her arm through her mate’s. She leaned her head against his wide shoulder. “Behave,
mo shearc
.”

Another brutal blast of lightning pierced the sky and a heavy roll of thunder followed close behind. The coach rolled up and the driver looked as forlorn as the horses as the cold water came down in thick, slanting sheets. While the driver kept control of the uneasy steeds, the man riding shotgun jumped down to open the coach door for the Reapers. Huddled in his slicker with rain pouring off the rim of his hat, he gave the warriors a mean look.

“All aboard!” he shouted to be heard over the downpour.

“Guess this is it,” Cynyr said, and snaked an arm around his lady to bring her to his chest. He placed his hand on the soft mound that seemed to have shown up overnight on his lady’s body and rubbed lovingly. “You take care of little…” He frowned. “What are we calling him again?”