Slayer (9 page)

“I’d wager I know more than enough.”

“A wager.” The prince smiled as he lifted her chin with his thumb, forcing her to look at him. “Now that’s a wager I’d be willing to take.”

Brea scowled, but Cahill tightened his grip on her chin, holding her in place. “What if I was to convince you otherwise, Princess? What if I was to prove there was more to this carnal act than you are aware and what if I was to wager that by the end of it, you will be begging me to take you to our marriage bed?”

Still holding her dagger, Brea pressed the tip into the juncture of his rib cage. With satisfaction she watched his eyes widen at the sharp pain of it. “I will make no such wager.”

Cahill released her face and stepped back, out of the reach of her dagger’s lethal point. “Because you know you’ll lose.”

“Ha!”

“Remind me, Brea, who was tugging at the draw to my breeches the other day. I might be mistaken, but I’m almost certain it was you.”

“You swine!”

“Yes. A talking swine, at that. Come on, Brea. Stop fighting it.” His hand moved so swiftly she wasn’t able to get away in time. He grasped her wrist and squeezed until she dropped the dagger. Then he pulled Brea to the bed of furs and pushed her down. “Tell me you don’t want me.”

“I don’t want you,” she snapped. And she didn’t. Not logically. But apparently her hands did because they wound around Cahill’s neck and pulled him down onto the furs beside her.

Chapter Eight

Cahill kissed Brea using every ounce of control he could muster. His tongue flicked gently over hers, his lips moved with a forced laziness that was nearly killing him. But she’d encouraged him, if somewhat unwittingly, and he didn’t want to scare her off. He paused from his kiss to regard her beneath heavy lids. There was no mistaking the raw desire in her grey eyes, no mistaking the attraction she felt as her body shuddered beneath his hands. “Tell me to stop, Brea. Tell me now,” he urged. “Or I won’t be able to.”

Brea’s lips parted as if she was about to say it, about to tell him to stop. But she didn’t. Instead she licked her lips as her breath caught in her throat.

“Merciful gods in heaven.” Cahill groaned as he leaned down into her and kissed her with more restraint than he thought he could bear. He had to have her. He had to hear her moan. It was absolutely essential that he bring this combative woman to her knees. Because she already had him on his knees.

Cahill was certain he had died and gone to heaven when, in a breathy voice, Brea moaned, “Please, Cahill. Please don’t stop.”

As if stopping was even a possibility.

He groaned as he pulled her close and nuzzled the side of her neck. “I have never met a woman like you,” he whispered into her hair as he deftly untied the sash at her waist. He slid it out from beneath her and then tugged at her shirt until he had it pulled up and over her head. She laid there beneath him, her grey eyes wide with longing and wonder. He kissed her lips and then paused a moment to take in her glorious body.

She was so much slimmer than other women he’d seen. Her flesh was not rounded with dimpled plumpness, but firm with planes that came from hard work and muscle. Her breasts, though small, were full and ripe, tipped with tiny rosebud nipples that cried out for his kisses. “Yes,” he sighed as he gave in to those pretty demands. He kissed her breast then flicked her nipple with his tongue, well aware of how his kisses were affecting Brea’s breathing. “I’ve never desired a woman as I desire you.” With reverence, he ran his hands gently down the length of her torso. “So strong,” he whispered as he leaned down to kiss her shoulder. “So beautiful.” He cupped her breast and shifted his body so that he could have better access to her other nipple, for he desperately needed to taste her again, to suck and lick and devour her deliciousness.

Brea sighed and held his head to her chest. His tongue danced across her hardened bud before he sucked her into his mouth again. But his right hand continued downward to her thighs, and Cahill kissed the valley between her breasts before he raised his head so he could watch his hand trace the vicious scar on her leg. “So brave.”

“Cahill?”

“Yes, my love?” So enthralled was he by his exploration of her extraordinary physique, he did not hear the quavering in her voice.

“Cahill, I can’t do this.”

How he wanted to ignore her. His hand was even then easing her legs apart. Stopping now was tantamount to the worst torture he could imagine. But he stopped nonetheless. He closed his eyes and let out a long, shaky breath.

“Why are you stopping?” Brea asked with a voice quavering even more than his.

“You asked me to. It’s hard, Brea, to—”

“No,” she said as she shook her head from side to side., She grabbed his hand and slid it back into place between her legs. It was then he noticed that her little bottom rocked back and forth, grinding into the furs beneath her. “What I mean is, I can’t do it. I can’t just
lie
here, like those other women. The ones in the taverns.” She bit her lip and wiggled some more. “I’m going crazy. I need to
do
something.”

It took a moment for Cahill to understand what Brea was talking about. Then he smiled, and his hand happily went back to work between her legs. “You don’t have to just lie there, my love.”

Her brows furrowed as her breath came faster. “Then tell me what to do.”

“Why don’t you start by undressing me?”

A smile of delight lit up her face as she flew to her knees. Cahill wondered if she even realized the manner in which she pressed her heels into that tender part of her rump as she rocked back and forth and side to side. But then he totally forgot that line of thinking as her hands tore at his shirt. Literally tore it. She used her teeth to assist in the shredding of his clothes, and Cahill didn’t think he’d ever been more aroused.

However, once the remains of his shirt slid from his chest, Brea’s inquisitive hands would have brought him to his knees were he not already there. “You’re so hard,” she said as her palms spanned his chest. Then she leaned down and kissed him, mimicking his movements, her tongue flicking here and there, just as his had. Cahill clutched her head to his chest and groaned, gritting his teeth, afraid he would spill his seed upon the furs instead of depositing his essence inside Brea’s glorious body.

“If you think that’s hard, woman, you should reach lower.”

She was already one step ahead of him. Her fingers fumbled at the tie, and Cahill roughly moved her hands away to take care of it himself. He stood in order to remove his breeches and boots and chuckled low in his throat at the wide-eyed look Brea had on her face as she stared at his erection.

If she licked her lips one more time, Cahill would not be able to control himself. Thank the heavens she didn’t. Instead she whispered, “Cahill, has anyone ever told you it resembles a decapitated dragon?”

Cahill laughed. “No! And I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

“May I?” She reached tentatively toward him, and Cahill nodded, his jaw clenched as he held his breath. Her trembling fingers stroked the length of him, circling and cupping until Cahill was quite certain he was going to die or burst or both.

He grabbed her hand and wrenched it from his throbbing cock. “My turn.” Gently he pushed Brea onto her back and then, gripping an ankle in each hand, pulled her legs apart, bending them gently at the knees. “If you need to do something, Princess, you may touch yourself, or run your hands through my hair.” He kissed the inside of her knee. “Groaning is good. Screaming my name, even better.”

He gently ran his hands up her thighs and parted her silky curls with his thumbs. Brea let go a string of curses, using words even Cahill was unfamiliar with. “That works,” he muttered as he kissed higher, one leg and then the next, gently pressing kisses here and there, but all the while holding her writhing legs firmly apart.

“What are you…oh!” Brea cried as he blew cool air onto her moist opening.

He touched her clit, and she bucked beneath his hands. “Oh, Princess,” he groaned. Then he lowered himself so that he could suck her salty juice down his throat. He nipped at her clit and stroked her with his tongue as Brea ground her pelvis into his face. But her hands were in his hair tugging him away. He lifted his head and smiled at the wild look in her eyes.

“Cahill!” she panted. “You can’t do that. You have to stop.”

“Why? Don’t you like it?” He ducked down for another kiss, and Brea cried out, though her hands tightened in his hair.

“That can’t be…proper.”

He plunged his tongue inside of her. In and out, in and out while her hips rocked back and forth. “Proper, Princess?” Cahill asked as he lifted his head for just a moment, “There is nothing proper about the things I want to do to you.”

“…oh!”

Finally, Cahill rose from his place between her legs and crawled up to meet her. Her hair lay disheveled about her face. Her eyes luminous with need. Her lips parted and swollen. She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. He lowered his face to kiss her, and at first she kept her mouth closed, but his tongue was too insistent and once she opened her mouth, she went wild, sucking her scent from his lips and tongue. With a groan, Cahill pulled away. Stroking her face, he whispered, “You know, my dear. Some women enjoy returning the favor.”

“You mean…?”

Cahill nodded, then closed his eyes and grunted softly as images of Brea taking him into her mouth nearly set him off. She reached down between his legs, and Cahill rolled swiftly away.

“May I try it?” she asked, her voice husky with desire.

“Next time, my love,” Cahill said as he rolled back on top of her, grasping her naughty hands and holding them above her head. “I will not be able to control myself now if you do.”

“Oh!” she said as for the first time he nudged his cock between her legs. It was Cahill’s intent to go slow, to ease his throbbing cock into her tight opening. But he did not anticipate Brea wrapping her strong legs around his waist. Nor could he have predicted the force with which she both ground her pelvis against him and pulled hard against his buttocks. With a curse he wouldn’t have dreamt of uttering with any other female, Cahill thrust.

The thin wall of her virtue didn’t stand a chance, and Cahill was unable to slow once he’d forced himself inside. Even if he could have slowed, Brea wouldn’t have let him. For the first time ever, Cahill found he could completely be himself with a woman. He could drive himself into her without fear of breaking her. He could say the indecent thoughts that popped into his head, he could grunt and groan with the ecstasy of joining his body so violently with a mate who matched him thrust for thrust, curse for curse, moan for moan.

At last, when Brea screamed his name and Cahill was certain her fingers were permanently embedded into his butt cheeks, Cahill let go. The pleasure of spilling himself inside of her was unmatched, and his entire body quaked with a strange pleasure that bordered on pain.

Collapsing on top of her, he rolled both of their bodies so that they lay on their sides facing each other. In the circle of his arms, Brea’s whole body trembled.

“You’re cold,” he said.

“No.”

“I’ve hurt you.”

“Oh, no.”

“What is it?”

“I had no idea. Cahill, I had no idea.”

“Oh.” He held her tight and pulled a fur up over their entwined nakedness. Cahill never wanted to undo himself from this extraordinary woman.

“I think I want to do it again.”

Laughing quietly at her comment, Cahill caressed the side of her damp cheek. “We will, my love. Once we are married.”

Brea went still in his arms. Then, much to his consternation, she pushed herself away. “I won’t marry you, Cahill.”

“But we must. Now more than ever.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve taken your virginity!”

“You didn’t take it, Cahill, I gave it to you.”

“But, Brea, please.” He reached for her, but she moved out of his embrace.

She shook her head and got shakily to her feet, a blanket of fur clutched to her bosom. “Don’t you understand?” she asked with a sob in her voice. “The only thing I have left is my freedom. I can’t give it up. Please don’t ask me to.”

Chapter Nine

“So the troops return victorious,” the queen said, sounding anything but pleased with the matter. She turned to Peacock. “It seems my stepson has accomplished what you could not.” She clucked her tongue against her teeth. “A shame he couldn’t have been killed in battle. Such an honorable way to die.”

“The woman Breanna rides with the party.”

Eleanor leaned closer to the window of the keep, her eyes narrowed as they watched the procession below. “Is that so?”

“I’m told an attachment has developed.” There was a clear tone of revulsion in Peacock’s voice.

“Och!” she fumed. “Why couldn’t she have just gone back to the rock she crawled out from under?” Eleanor felt Peacock fidget by her side as the troops returned home to flags, fanfare and tears for the fallen. She turned to look up at him. This was the twentieth night. She had only one chance left. “I shall require your services once more, I’m afraid.”

Peacock did not meet her eyes. He stared stonily at the troops below. Then, in a very low voice, he whispered, “No.”

“No?” The queen turned to study him through narrowed eyes. “Did you just say no?”

Finally he dropped his gaze from the window and the intensity behind his black eyes nearly knocked Eleanor over. “That’s right, my queen,” Peacock snarled. “I said no.”

“How dare—” But Eleanor had no time to finish. Peacock grabbed her arm, holding her wrist so tight she felt the bones pop beneath his hand.

“There is only one thing you can promise that will entice me to perform this wretched act with that dragon slaying he-she.”

With a squeak of pain as Peacock tightened his grip on her, Eleanor asked, “What is that?”

“Marry me so that I may rule by your side.”

Eleanor tried to wriggle her wrist free, but Peacock refused to release her. “I’m sorry, Captain,” Eleanor said, her voice strained. “You know the law. I must marry royalty.”

“That law applies only to men, and you know it.”