Ravished (17 page)

          The feeling Bronson
had closed in on her before neared, that same building of sensation that was so
evocative with mystery.  Her core clenched with longing and emptiness.  What
would happen if she had something inside her?

          Alex sat higher, at
an angle, parting her thighs as wide as they would go as she moved her other
hand down and pushed through her folds and edged the entrance to her vagina.

          Just slipping near
the spot had her back arching, it felt so wondrous.  She increased the rubbing
slide on her bud, pushing a forefinger inside her passage.  Pleasure bloomed on
her nerves, heat uncurling deep in her belly, sliding excitingly through her
being.

          She withdrew her
finger, mimicking the motion of Bronson’s shaft in her rear hole, imaging his cock
filling her sheath.  She gasped as the bliss soared and came crashing through
her.  She cried out, rubbing her bud frantically, pushing inside herself
harder, as deep as she could reach but not nearly deep enough.  He would be
larger than her finger, agony and ecstasy that she would welcome.  The bed
shook with her movement, mattresses groaning as she fought for release.  Sweat
blossomed on her flesh as she moaned, following the path of ultimate pleasure. 
Tremulous waves erupted suddenly, quivering through her sex.

          She collapsed,
dropping her hands to her sides weakly, her insides twitching with receding
pleasure.

* * * *

          Bronson was worried
when Alex didn’t come down for the hunt.  He thought of going to her door, but
knew if she slept, he would disturb her.  It was also possible if she was
awake, she would likely ignore him, and he would be no better off with knowing
if she was well or not.

          The weakness she’d
displayed upon their arrival disturbed him.  He was in agony, thinking he’d
hurt her somehow, but thinking back on their joining, he could not remember
signs that she’d suffered a hurt.  He hadn’t had adequate lubrication, of
course, and the saliva he’d rubbed on his shaft was minimal.  It was possible
she’d sustained injury.  With that thought, he felt like tearing off and
storming upstairs to check on her, but he dared not until he’d occupied his
father with other matters.

          Once he’d gotten
father to delay the hunt until after luncheon, he went inside and ducked into
the elaborate servant’s passages that traveled the length of the castle. 
Nearly every room had alternate access to it, as well as hidden spy holes known
only to members of the family.  He hadn’t mentioned it to Alex when she’d
appropriated the key to her room from him—he’d always known he had other ways
of going inside should it be necessary.  And, of course, the spy holes could
prevent her from ever knowing he could see her.  They’d been used in times past
for various intrigues, and with King Henry, and under his father’s rule, the
Blackmore generations had had to use every means at their disposal to survive
the volatile times.

          He was glad he’d
thought to put it to use now, so that he could see about her.  He felt certain
she slept, but he could not contain the concern that bid him see for himself.

          Bronson raced up
the dangerously narrow stairs, taking no heed to his safety.  The passages were
shallow, strung with dusty cobwebs that clung to his shoulders as he passed
through them.  He brushed them off, forging ahead until he was certain he
neared her room.  Heat suffused him, radiating from the wall, soaking through
the stonework from the fireplace inside, and he knew he’d come upon the entrance
that led into Alex’s chamber.  He unplugged the small eye holes, freezing in
place at the sound that drifted to his ears.  Moans of pain sent alarm shafting
through his gut, making his heart clench painfully.

          He peered through
the eye holes, his alarm instantly changing to pure lust.  Alex sat on the bed,
her legs splayed wide, her fingers buried in her folds.

          His cock roared to
life, straining against his cod piece, demanding freedom.  Bronson clenched his
jaw on the pain, knowing he should look away from her, but unable to stop.  The
image of her, her mouth open on a moan, her eyes closed with desire, tortured
him abominably.  Her arm moved in a tremulous motion, slowly gaining in
confidence as she found the right stroke to bring her ultimate pleasure.

          His blood pumped
furiously, pounding hard in his groin, feeling as though it would beat him to
death.  Stifling a groan, Bronson unleashed it.  His engorged length sprang
into his palm, and he wrapped his hand about it, stroking himself as he watched
her, imagining the feel of her silken glove wrapped about him.  He bit his lip,
pressing his face against the wall as if it would get him closer to her.

          He pumped his cock,
his curled hand slipping up the rim surrounding its head, increasing the acute
pain drawing through his veins.  He watched as she thrust a finger inside
herself, arching against it, widening her thighs, her fingers moving
frantically now.  He felt her frenetic need even at the distance, a mirror to
his own longing.

          Frenzy stormed
him.  He stroked himself harder and faster, bruising his flesh.  His throat
ached as he restrained his moans of passion, the desperate longing to bury
inside her unbelievable now.  She jerked against her fingers, crying out,
sending him over the edge.  His cocked throbbed, seed erupting from its tip to
spew on the wall before him.  He continued to pump until the life drained from
him and his shaft grew flaccid in his palm.

          Shuddering, muscles
jerking with tension, he enclosed his aching flesh back in his cod piece and
watched as she weakly moved from the bed and into a waiting tub.  Mists of
steam rose as she broke the water’s surface.

          She was so close to
him now.  If he took but two steps, he would be upon her.  She leaned her head
back on the tub’s edge, closing her eyes, rubbing her hands up and down her
arms, across her chest before resting them on the edge as well.

          Already life
stirred in his groin to see her laying there, vulnerable, near naked and wet. 
She would be slick, ready for his cock even as he readied for her.  His own
hand was no appeasement for his appetites—never had it been, and never would it
satisfy, not as long as she lived.  There was but one way to satisfy his
desire, and by God, he would satiate his taste for the woman.  Now.

          For too long she
had tormented him, for eons it seemed, beguiled him with her mystery.  He would
know the taste of her woman’s flesh, the feel of her breasts in his palms, the
sight of her hair unbound.

          Bronson unlocked
the door, easing it open.  She did not stir as he passed into the room and
closed the door gently behind him.  She appeared to almost be asleep, her
toying having sated her to exhaustion.

          Bronson was in no
way satisfied.  Without sound, he strode to the tub, standing over her, willing
her to open her eyes and look up at him.  Slowly, she did, her eyes widening
with horror.

          She shrieked and
covered her chest, sloshing water over the sides of the tub.  “How did you get
in here?” she demanded, looking frantically back at the door.

          “I have my ways,”
he said gruffly, heat suffusing him at the wild look in her eyes, the soft
parting of her lips.  His cock swelled, his cod piece growing unbearably
tight.  Throwing away caution and care, Bronson bent and grasped her shirt,
ripping the neckline open to her navel.

          Alex screamed and
ducked down into the water.

          Bronson caught her
arms, hauling her up until he could lay eyes on the binding across her
breasts.  “What is this?” he demanded, giving her a hard look, wondering if she
would divulge her secrets now that she’d been exposed.  He’d gone beyond the
point of caring if she did or not.  He knew she would never trust him, for he
did not deserve her trust, in any form.

          Alex gaped, clawing
at his arms for release.  “A wound, nothing more, my lord,” she gasped, her
feet slipping in the tub as she fought for purchase.

          “I would see this
wound,” he said low, pulling her to her feet.  “Strip the binding, Alex.  I
want to know that you’ve not come to great harm in my household.”

          Alex straightened
her shoulders, the fingers of one hand going to the binding.  She looked at him
a long moment, as if stunned at her predicament.  He recognized the look in her
eye, knew just before she moved that she would bolt.  She whirled around,
running, her soaked feet slipping on the wet floor.

          Bronson caught her
before she could fall and do herself injury, propelling them both onto the
bed.  She yelled as he came down on her, bucking, scrabbling for freedom on her
backside and elbows.  She glared up at him, the fire in her eyes burning him
alive.  His groin felt near to bursting having her beneath him, struggling
against desire.

          Bronson straddled
her waist, pinning her elbows down with his knees.  She cursed him, panting and
collapsing back as she realized the futility of her continued fighting.  Her
eyes widened as he withdrew a slim dagger from a sheath at his waist, angling it
toward the binding on her chest.  She jerked involuntarily as he sliced the
linen away, working through the layers until he could reasonably grasp the
edges and not worry on hurting her.

          Slipping the dagger
back in place, he took hold of each cut edge and pulled, ripping the binding
and freeing her breasts.  Alex gasped in outrage, struggling, her breasts
bouncing free of their confinement.  Bronson watched them in a daze, his
salivary glands tightening.  Her small breasts plumped up like soft rounded pillows,
the pale flesh red from her constriction, her blushing pink nipples engorged
and standing at attention.

          Bronson swallowed,
struggling through the lust laden cloud fogging his gaze.  His voice hoarse
from want, he said, “What is this, Alex?  I see no wound here, but find woman’s
flesh instead.  Do mine eyes deceive me?”

          She was watching
him steadily when he chanced to look back on her face.  Her eyes were wide with
fright and something else, and she seemed to hold her breath with expectation. 
She sucked at her bottom lip as though trying to work moisture into her mouth,
but she did not speak, did not dare try to stop him.

          God help him, he
could not turn back now.

          “Have you deceived
me all this time, or am I struck with accursed vision for my sins of the
flesh?” he asked hoarsely, unable to tear his eyes away from hers as he slid
off her waist and backed down her hips.  She held still, waiting to see what he
would do.

          “I am damned, for I
cannot help but doubt.  I wouldst have more proof, if err mine eyes,” he
growled, shifting down her thighs onto the bed, grasping her knees as he forced
her legs to part.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

          Fear unlike any
she’d ever known before froze Alex to the bed.  She could not breathe.  She
could not think.  All she could do was watch as Bronson stripped the soaked
binding and exposed her breasts to his view, looking at her chest as though he
wished nothing more than to eat her alive.  A stillness possessed him a long
moment, winding the tension within her, and then he was speaking again, moving.

          When he moved down
her legs and parted her thighs with rough hands, his fingers slipping on her
still wet flesh, exposing her intimate folds to his vision, she thought she
would die from the ecstatic pulse of desire that seized her insides at the hot
rake of his gaze on her woman’s flesh.

          Alex bit her lip to
keep from crying out as he held her gaze, dipping his head between her thighs. 
Her belly jerked on an anticipatory spasm.

          Hot breath scorched
her flesh, and then his tongue pierced her wet, swollen folds, moving straight
to the nub that had so longed for his touch.  Alex’s hips jumped off the bed as
he stabbed her with the molten tip, flicking it across her to capture the cream
lading her nub.

          “It seems you are
indeed a woman,” he growled into her slit before swathing his tongue down
through the heavy honey that saturated her.

          Alex gripped the
sheets, her skin frigid and wet, but heat suffusing her from the inside out. 
“Nay, my lord.  You cannot!” she breathed, her thighs trembling as he pushed
them as far apart as they would go.  His hands curled around her buttocks,
cupping her as though she were a vessel of ambrosia and his for the taking.

          He nuzzled her
pubic mound with his nose, fanning his breath across her folds.  “I can and
will,” he said, his voice rough, thick with lust.  “My thirst is great, Alex. 
I fear only your honeyed sweetness can slake it.

          The rough
possessive timbre of his voice resonated low in her belly.  Alex shook her
head, closing her eyes, unable to look at his dark head nestled between her
thighs.  The sight of him there overcame her, heightening the lust that
embraced her, saturating her femininity until she thought it would draw all the
moisture from her body.