Rumpel's Prize (15 page)

Rumpel was frightening because he was a great mystery still, a great unknown. She’d always imagined her first time would be with a sweet lover, a gentle and caring man. Someone bashful and playful.

But Rumpel was a predator. A stalking lion seeking to destroy her, and gods, she wanted him to. She wanted to be consumed, owned, and possessed.

“Say it!” he commanded.

And she was helpless to deny him anymore. “Touch me, Rumpelstiltskin.”

Shoving away from the mantel, his smile was wide and vicious, all teeth and fangs, and for a moment she thought he’d been playing yet another game and her palm itched to slap him.

But then he growled, “Close your eyes.”

“Why? What are you going to do?”

Clenching his own shut, he pinched his nose, and that’s when she noticed his hand was trembling. It was a shock to discover that he was just as affected as she was.

“Do it now and do not look.”

Desperate to know his touch, curious as to what he meant to do, she squeezed them tightly shut.

The faint scent of sulfur, not at all unpleasant as it was mingled with his unique odor of whisky and cloves and smoky cherries, permeated her senses. Then a warm hand framed her face and the touch did not spark with power, but it burned anyway.

Moaning, she drooped into it, seeking more. Wanting more, because she’d never known this before. A touch that did not hurt, did not demand, but made her body ache and want and need.

“You’ve bewitched me, siren.” His voice was deeper, fuller, and moved deep inside of her.

Words failed her in that moment, but they weren’t needed. Lips crashed into hers and then the hands that’d framed her so tenderly were now clamping tight to her waist and he was repositioning her, shoving her against the wall, but he moved one hand behind her head so that she did not bang her skull. And the compulsion to open her eyes, to see what he truly was, seized her. Was he more beautiful in his demone form? Or hideous? Did he look like the others?

“Do not open your eyes,” he said, as if knowing where her thoughts led, and then his lips were claiming her again.

He wasn’t kissing her; Rumpel was owning her. His tongue shoved into her mouth, demanding she wrap her own around his, and she did, desperate for more. He tasted tart and rich, like smoked cherry, and she moaned, clawing at the front of him.

Depriving herself of one sense made the others flare to life even sharper. The rumbling growls that tore from his throat, the rustle of her nightshift as his hot hand shoved it upward, the strength and dexterity of his fingers as they crept along her inner thigh, each sensation was distinct.

“Oh gods,” she moaned, scratching so hard at his shirt that she tore it. The rending of fabric was like gunshot in her ears.

With a hiss, he clamped onto the shell of her ear with his sharp teeth. “Touch me, Carrot. Anywhere, everywhere. Touch me.”

Wild now, drowning in sensations, she thrust her hands beneath the tatters of his shirt and dragged her nails down his rock-hard stomach. Moaning, he leaned farther into her, pressing something hard and hot and thick into her thigh.

“Oh… oh.” It was all she could say; she prattled that one word over and over, walking a tightrope of desire so sharp it bordered on pain. Her body was alive, like a living flame, and his touch was inciting her to that same level of madness he’d claimed. Darkness clawed at her vision and demanded she open her eyes, especially as his fingers began a dangerous circuit upon the inside of her thigh.

“Tell me to touch you there.” His hot voice was in her ear and she banged her head against the wall.

She was a creature of duality, hot and cold, frenzied and yet completely rational. She wanted this, wanted him. As insane as this was, as much as she knew she shouldn’t do this, she could deny him nothing. Parting her legs, she wrapped one tightly around his thigh and moaned a heated “Touch me.”

Like a caged beast let loose, he had her pinned, every inch of her touching him, and then his hands slipped inside her and she groaned, intrinsically knowing to shove herself down onto him, taking him in deeper.

“Carrot,” he moaned, “you smell sweeter than the morning dew.”

Burying her face in his neck, she inhaled him. He flooded her. There was no her in that moment, just Rumpel. His body, the up-and-down motion of his fingers, the pain mingled with pleasure, and she needed so much more than this.

Whimpering, not sure what she needed, she clawed at him. There was something building deep inside her, a blunt, heavy feeling centering right where his fingers moved. Like a spiral, the energy gathered and built and she cried out, clutching his back, feeling as though she was going to die.

“I can’t,” she sobbed. “I… can’t.”

“Ssh, love,” he murmured, and then his fingers were out of her and that was even worse.

Because the magic, the power, it was all gone, but her body was still buzzing and she dug her nails into his arms. “No, don’t.”

Chuckling, his heady breaths feathered the side of her neck. “I’m not going anywhere.” Then there was a rustling sound, like he was sliding his shirt off.

And she knew she was right when he pressed against her and she felt his naked flesh. She had shoved her hands down, ready to fling her own garment off when he grabbed hold of her. Her scent was strong on him and made her blush with a sudden bout of embarrassment.

“Not this time, Carrot. This one is just for you.”

But the moment his hand slipped back inside her, the shame was replaced by the wanton and heady nature of a siren. Crying out in relief, she bit her lip.

“Bite me,” he whispered into her ear.

“What?” She almost opened her eyes, but he slammed a palm over them.

“No looking or this ends.”

“Why can’t I see you? I’ve seen your servants; I am not bothered by your form.”

His breathing was hard and when he whispered, it was full of grit. “I will show you passion and feed your siren, but never look upon me in this form, Shayera. Swear it.”

Curiosity burned inside her, but her need was brighter. “I vow it. I swear.”

His cheek pressed to her own. The touch was so intimate, so gentle compared to what they’d been doing, that for a moment it was easy to believe he was the tender lover she’d always imagined.

“Then bite me,” he ordered again, and this time she did not deny him.

Opening her mouth wide, she latched on to the curve of his neck and bit down onto the throbbing vein.

Grunting, he shoved his fingers up and down again, and the salty sweetness of his flesh beneath her tongue mingled with his touch, lighting her up like a firework. The spiraling became so tight, so potent, that she could either die or let it shatter her completely.

With a final lick of his flesh, she howled with release. Rumpel pumped her harder, milking every last drop of pleasure, and as he did so, he thrust his hips upon her. In a moment, a roar sprang from his lips, thundering to the heavens, and their muscles twitched together in the afterglow.

Languid in his arms, breathless and feeling as though she’d run a marathon, she laughed, hiding her face in his chest.

He tipped her chin up and kissed her lips, and she felt the movement of a smile. Then he was out of her arms and the sulfur was back.

“Open your eyes.”

And when she did so, he was as he’d been. Aloof and cold, and haughtily beautiful. His amber eyes literally glowed like the red behind them wasn’t quite yet contained. The smile was nowhere to be seen.

“Be well tomorrow, siren.”

And with that, he was gone.

“Do you think she is the one?” Giles asked as they watched her through the two-way mirror.

Rumpel hadn’t slept at all last night, not after what he and Shayera had done. What he’d done to her. Her scent had saturated his senses, and the desire he’d hoped to quench had only worsened the moment he closed his eyes and remembered her breathy moans, the way her pale skin almost seemed to glow.

The witch’s curse had been nullified by his true demone form, but her charms had been raw and potent, priming him to a level of near delirium. He’d wanted to ruck her skirt up, drop to his knees, and suckle from between her thighs.

He’d known the instant he’d left that he’d have her again. He took no joy in her trial this day.

Rather than walk about the room this time, Shayera knelt and appeared as though she were praying; her fingers were clasped tight and she was murmuring something.

“I do not know, Giles.”

Giles looked astonished, eyebrows lifted and mouth slightly parted. “You do. You know.”

Gripping the armrest, Rumpel leaned forward, his desperation to take her again, to leave this castle, bordered on folly. True enough, she had siren’s blood coursing through her veins, but to a demone prince charms like hers, though powerful, were little more than a nuisance. Like the buzzing of a fly, easily swatted away if one so desired.

“I want her.” He looked to his man, daring him to say something.

“You should not do this then, master.”

The sharp prick of anger was quickly extinguished in the simple fact that it was a truth he could not deny. Miserably, he turned back to stare at her. “I know.”

Squaring his shoulders, Giles pointed to her. “Should I—”

“I should do a great many things, I’d imagine, and if I had a chance to do it over again, perhaps I would make different decisions. But this is the path we’re on now.” Turning his face so that he no longer looked directly at Giles, no longer had to see the censorious gaze, he dipped his head. “Your move, warrior.”

Faithful to a fault, his man had begun to waver into fog when Rumpel growled. “Do not touch her as a man.”

“Aye, massster.” Without a corporeal form to properly enunciate, Giles’s ghostly whisper was the last thing Rumpel heard before the next game began.

Once again the room shifted and Shayera thought she was prepared for anything. Anything but where she suddenly found herself.

“What is…?” Words failed her as the joy of seeing a home she thought never to see again suddenly blazed to life as her family home materialized before her.

“Mother! Father! Briley!” She squealed and ran up the steps, holding her peach-colored gown up so as not be hindered, banging loudly, laughing and crying all at the same time.

Briley’s face was the first one she saw. His little blond head was hidden behind his bedroom door, which was painted a bold yellow, red, and blue. It was based on his favorite superhero, Superman.

His eyes lit up and then he threw himself into her, knocking the breath from her body. But she didn’t care, she was too happy to care. “Briley, oh gods, I’ve missed you, sweet boy. So much. So very, very much.”

She peppered his cheeks with kisses. This may not be real, none of this. But, real or not, he felt warm and alive. His hair smelled of his favorite strawberry-scented shampoo, and his kisses were just as manic and happy as she remembered them.

“I love you,” she cooed, rubbing his silky hair through her fingers.

“Shay Shay.” He smiled the sweetest gap-toothed smile and she dropped to her knees, cuddling him into her body. There’d been a time when he’d done this exact thing with her.

Since the moment Briley had stepped foot into Kingdom, he’d been locked in perpetual youth. Mother had said the boy suffered a malady of the genes on Earth and he’d been instantly cured the moment he’d stepped into the new world, but he’d been terrified of growing up and had begged and pleaded with Danika that he should remain as he was forever, a boy of twelve.

Uncle Kelly, Mother, and Father hadn’t had the heart to deny him, and so here he was, her old-young cousin whom she adored.

“Is this real?” He laughed and nuzzled her throat, sniffing it as he always loved to do.

He claimed she always smelled like flowers and licorice, an odd combination to be sure, but one that seemed to make him happy.

“Are you really home?”

Her grin was broad. “For now, I suppose I am. Where is everyone else?”

“Father is working the pub and Aunt and Uncle are out back in the garden. They talk about you a lot.”

“Do they?” She couldn’t seem stop touching his cheek.

“Mm.” He nodded. “All the time. Aunt Betty cries a lot too. At night, when she thinks the rest of us are asleep.” His bow-shaped lips turned into a frown.

The thought of it broke her heart. Touching the tip of her pinky to his lips until he smiled once more, she said, “Well, I’m here now.”

“How does that man treat you, Shay Shay?” He gripped her wrist tightly. “Is he nice to you?”

Gods, how to answer that question. Rumpelstiltskin was complicated. Divine, dangerous, seductive, cold.

“He’s…” She sighed. “He’s not mean to me. Though he does sometimes get a little grumpy.”

His brows bunched. “I do not like to hear that. What do you do when he gets like that?”

“I…” She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth before exploding into action. “Tickle him like this!” And she proceeded to show him in great detail until she had him in hysterics, hanging on to his side and twitching almost violently.

“Stop. Stop.” He wheezed. “Mercy.”

“Well, I suppose, since you asked so nice.” She dropped a kiss onto his cheek and he hugged her tight, almost bruising her rib cage.