Ravished (19 page)

          Her legs tightened
involuntarily, hooking beneath his buttocks, urging him deeper, harder. 
Pleasure scored her, erupting along her nerves.  Alex moaned as he increased
his tempo, gliding through the arousal soaking her folds, searing her from the
inside out.

          He sucked her neck
hard, branding her with his mouth.  Alex arched against him, clawing his back,
tilting her head deep in the pillows.  The bed shook with his movement, quaking
around them, echoing their groans of pleasure and pain.

          Pleasure mounted,
amplifying from its fragile beginnings into a force that threatened to explode
within her, destroy her sanity if she could not reach it.

          He blistered her
with his molten rod, stroking, ramming, grinding against the swollen bud with
each push until all her senses focused on the one place, screaming for
release.  Her blood boiled.  Her flesh scalded with his touch.

          It overwhelmed her,
erupted through her muscles, dissolving flesh and bone.  Alex screamed, jerking
against him as the orgasm rippled through her in a wave that melted her, molded
her to his body.  She clung to him, desperate to hold on to the pleasure,
tightening her hold until she could no longer feel her arms or legs—only the
ecstasy, swirling inside her.  He groaned, arching his back, throwing his head
back as he raised on his arms, thrusting into again, his movements disjointed,
hurried.  His cock throbbed inside her, seed erupting from its tip deep in her
womb.

          He collapsed on
her, crushing her, but she did not mind.  Their heavy breath mingled, their
sweaty bodies clung to one another.

          Slowly, sight and
sound returned as the bliss ebbed.  Bronson rolled, dragging his flaccid cock
free of her body with a loud smack, pulling her on top of him to cuddle her on
his chest.  Her hair cascaded around them in a fine tangle, and he ran his
hands through her tresses, dislodging the snarls with gentle thoroughness.

          Alex lay there,
enjoying the feel of his hands in her hair, the sound of his heart near her
ear.  Her body was sore and tired, close to exhaustion, but it was exhilarated
as well, a contradiction that astounded her.  She could not help the madness
he’d slipped over her, coaxed her into with forceful gentleness.

          Having him like
this wounded her, for she knew it could not last.  She’d lain there long
enough, reveled overlong in the feel of his arms and the warmth of his body. 
Touching him dissolved the strength of her will, and she could not survive
without it.

          Alex lifted her
head, looking up at him.  His eyes were closed as he toyed with her hair.  His
brow was unmarred by worry, lighter, some of that darkness that had so
terrified and beguiled her was diminished.

          She pushed at his
chest, intent on standing and washing herself in the cooling water, relieving
herself of his scent on her skin.

          He opened his eyes
at her movement, giving her a dark, possessive look, aggression permeating the
sudden tenseness of his muscles.  With unmatched speed, he shifted his hands to
her shoulders in a merciless grip.

          Alex stiffened,
grasping his forearms but not attempting to break his hold.

          “I see the intent
in your eyes,” he ground out, shaking her when she tried to look away, forcing
her to meet his gaze..  “I will not give you up, Alex.  You are mine, always,”
he said, his voice tight and forceful.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

          Bronson angrily
thrust away from her, sickened at his actions.  She weakened his will,
destroyed his resolve to stave himself from her.  He glanced back where she lay
on the bed, naked, her thighs smeared with blood and his seed, saw that her
maidenhead stained the bedcovers and felt like heaving his guts out for his
trespass.  He was caught between disgust for taking what did not belong to him,
and desire to steal it again, to go back to the bed and ram her depths, mold
her to his cock until she screamed his name and he knew she would never scream
another.

          His cock hardened
to see her as a woman, her fine hair tangled around her shoulders, curling
around her breasts.  He’d thought to assuage his hunger for her.  Instead, he’d
only increased his appetite.

          Bronson turned
away, striding to the tub.  The water was still warm.  It seemed a lifetime had
passed since he’d seen her touching herself, since he’d taken her innocence,
but little time had, in truth, elapsed. 

          He stepped into the
tub, enjoying the warmth that eased over his skin.  He watched her across the
room, gathering her hair onto the crown of her head, trying to shield herself
from his gaze by turning her back to him.

          “Come, the water is
still warm, and you needs must bathe the ruin of your maidenhead from your
thighs.”

          A small, hurt sound
escaped her, but she stood and walked to him, eyes downcast, feet dragging.  He
felt her torn sound in his gut, felt it clench his heart.  He angrily thrust it
away, remembering who she was, what she’d done.  He should not care if he hurt
her—he
would
not
care.

          She stopped before
him, turning her back to him to step into the tub.  “Nay,” he said, halting
her.  “I would have you face me.  I want to watch you bathe.”

          A shiver ran
visibly up her spine, but she turned, stepping into the tub.  It was a small
vessel, not near large enough for two people.  She was forced to sit on his
extended legs, her knees on each side of him.  Gooseflesh dimpled her skin as
she dipped a cloth in the water and ran it up her arms, across her chest.  Her
hair trailed in the water, clinging to her skin in places, and floating on the
surface in others.

          He watched her slip
the cloth over her breasts, darting a glance to her face, saw her bite her lip
as if pained.  His cock throbbed to life, standing from his belly.

          He could not bear
it, to watch her but not touch.  With a hoarse groan, he reached across the
short distance and wrapped his hands around the small of her back, hauling her
against him.  He startled a gasp from her, her eyes shot daggers at him, but
her lids dipped with lust.  Her thighs slipped around his hips and he gripped
her cheeks, spreading her as wide as he could as he lifted her and impaled her
on his staff.

          She cried out,
arching her head back, gripping his shoulders, her sheath tight on his cock. 
He pumped up, into her, groaning, grunting at the vice of her body, the pain
she inflicted on him with her sex.

          He kissed the front
of her arched neck, holding her closer, tightening his strokes.  It was easier
now, the pleasure before ripe for the plucking.  Her womb trembled around him,
she panted, gasped, bloodied his back as her orgasm quivered inside.  The
rhythmic convulsion of her muscles was his undoing.  He came inside her,
thrusting until he was certain she must tear above the pounding of his cock. 
Silk gripped his cockhead, sucking the seed from his body.

          He groaned against
her neck, gasping, breathing raggedly as the mind numbing pleasure roared
through his veins and out through his cock.  He rammed inside her until there
was nothing left, until she’d taken every measure he had to give, and still, he
wanted her to have more.

          Never, never could
he have enough of her.  The thought rent his mind, turning him to madness.

* * * *

          Bronson held Alex
captive in the bed the remainder of the day.  His father’s hunt was delayed
until the morrow—he’d seen to that after he’d had the bath taken away and she’d
hid beneath new, unstained covers he’d pulled from the chest.  She hadn’t dared
try to bar the door against him while he was gone, for he was in a mood that
allowed no resistance, and God save her, she was of little mind to fight him.

          Let her have this
one day of ecstasy—it would end soon enough.  He could not keep her locked away
forever.

          He brought a
platter of food for them when he returned, as well as wine.  He fed her the
choicest morsels, pampered her, brushed her hair and soothed the aches of her
body with his hands.  With the aches of her femininity, he soothed with his
lips and tongue, delving deep to the twinges of pain in her core, until he
drove her to arch against him in mindless wanting.

          She felt bruised
from his loving, and each touch brought pleasure crashing down around her. 
Finally, she fell asleep in his arms to the feel of him brushing her hair back
from her forehead and kisses upon her temples.

          She awoke an
indeterminate time later to his lips on her cheeks and jaw, his hands on her
back, cupping her against his hardness.  She moaned, responding already, her
sex awash with arousal.  He coaxed a thigh around his hip, urging her to touch
him.  She stretched her arm between their bodies, gripping his engorged staff,
fascinated by its silky strength and heat.  She loved the soft groan in his
throat as she brushed her thumb over the tip, wondered at the tensing of his
muscles, the movement of his throat as he swallowed hard on the passion.

          She lifted her
thigh, and he squeezed the cheek of it, cuddling her closer as she guided his
cock into her tight entrance.  Pain ebbed along her nerves, but it was good, so
delicious as he slid deep inside her.  She rubbed her bud, slipping in her
creamy arousal, smearing it on his cock to ease his passage.

          He moaned, kissing
her forehead, thrusting his hips against her, trapping her hand to her bud. 
She rubbed it, clenching on his cock, gasping as he plunged with short, vivid
strokes in her depths. 

          He made slow,
gentle love to her, gliding through her wetness.  Her sheath seemed formed for
him already, and she was unable to imagine anyone else ever touching her so
deeply.

          Bliss crashed from
the frantic move of her fingers, the pulse of him in her depths.  She moaned,
freeing her hand to clutch his arm and widen, take him deeper.  He sank as far
as the position allowed, spewing seed inside her, giving her achy release and
then holding her to the feel of him as he drained his life into her womb.

          He gave her no time
to wonder at his possession, no time to worry on the future.  There was only
now—this.

          She wanted to
question his motives, but each time she opened her mouth to speak, his kissed
her and stole the words from her mouth, sucked the speech from her tongue.

          Exhausted, sated,
they slept through the night.

          When the sun broke
through the darkness, Alex knew the wonder she found in his arms was lost to
her.

* * * *

          Bleary-eyed, Alex
stared at Bronson’s back with a mixture of irritation and a curious sort of
admiration.  She would not have been particularly thrilled at the idea of being
dragged out on a hunt at any time.  After the night she had just spent in
Bronson’s arms, straddling a horse was the last thing she had any interest in
doing.

          There was
no
part of her privates that didn’t throb with a combination of fond reminiscence
and pure unremitting pain.  Realizing some of it was caused in part by the
heavy, oaken leg laying across her thighs and the meaty arm around her waist,
she sighed, easing herself out from under him.

          Her slow, cautious
movements alerted him.  He shifted until he’d turned his head toward her.  A
familiar light gleamed in his eyes, and his hand tightened at her waist. 
“Where do you go, wildcat?”

          She stilled,
tamping down the beat of her heart.  “’Tis the morn.  My belly is empty and
craves sustenance.”

          He pulled her
closer, arching a brow.  “I have just the thing to fill your insides.”

          “Nay,” she cried,
half laughing, half shrieking in horror.  She planted her palms on his chest,
holding him at bay.  He would have none of it.  He dragged her to his length,
holding her to him with leg and arm, kissing her breathless.

          Her stomach
growled.

          Bronson broke from
her mouth with a chuckle.  “It seems I’m remiss in my duties,” he murmured.

          Alex flushed with
embarrassment, ducking her head as he tried to kiss her again.  He growled
softly as he connected with her cheek.  “Do you not remember what day this is? 
Have not you promised your father the hunt?”  She regretted reminding him, but
truthfully, now that she thought on it, she could at least handle her horse. 
There was no controlling the wild, bucking beast that was Bronson.

          He sighed, rolling
off of her.  “You are right.  I will leave you to dress,” he said, slipping his
hose and cod piece on as he gathered the remainder of his garments.  “They will
be breaking their fast by now.  You’d do well to hurry if you want to quiet
your belly’s gnawing.”