Wicked Games (28 page)

Jovas's tongue looked very long and red as he licked the witch's nipples until they grew into blushing points. His hand, stroking steadily, slid along her petals with increasing ease and speed, as if she grew wet under his demanding attentions. He murmured again and his robes disappeared in a flash of light, revealing a body as long, muscular, and hard as any knight's.

I stared in fascination at his muscular rump as he lifted himself and pressed his body between Edrea's slender legs. His hips lifted, slid downward, and for a moment I could see his thick staff as he sheathed it in Edrea.

Jovas went to work over her, his muscular body rising and falling on her white, helpless one. Sweat rolled between his shoulder blades. I grew very hot.

Suddenly he rolled, bringing Edrea on top of him without missing a stroke. He craned his head around to look at us, then grabbed the witch's bottom and pulled her cheeks apart in lewd invitation.

Instead of answering Jovas's inviting gesture, milord grabbed my shoulders and turned me to face him. Applying gentle pressure, he forced me to my knees. Knowing what he wanted, I grinned and took his staff into my mouth, rolling my tongue over it to coat it thoroughly in saliva. He thrust his hips against my face and I moaned, knowing what he intended to do to Edrea once I had his organ well lubricated.

It occurred to me as I sucked him that I shouldn't be participating with such enthusiasm in the witch's humiliation. Then again, I also knew what she would have done to me if we had not defeated her, and I could not escape the feeling that she was getting no more than she deserved. I sucked my master even harder.

At last milord pulled free of my mouth and strode toward Edrea and Jovas. Between her legs, I could see the wizard's organ moving in and out of her in long strokes. I swallowed.

Then milord covered her, and I could see only a tangle of legs and the Beast's black furred rump, rising over them. I heard a long, feminine groan and knew he'd entered Edrea's anus.

I licked my lips and cut my eyes toward Jack, feeling such desperate hunger that I wanted to beg the footman to take me. Instead, he left my side and crossed to the tangle of bodies. I saw him kneel facing them, then lift Edrea's head by the hair and aim his phallus for her mouth. His fist tightened, dragging her onto his cock.

Rolling his head on his shoulders in pleasure, he used his grip on her head to guide her back and forth as he fucked her throat.

My nipples burned, and I could feel a steady trickle of wetness filling my core. It was too easy to imagine what she felt, filled by the three cocks of her captors, the smooth burning strength of each of them thrusting in and out of her. I wanted one of them to take me. Now.

But they were too busy revenging themselves on the witch, so at last, in frustration, I went to milord's throne and threw myself into it. Hooking one leg over the arm, I began to caress my own wet flesh.

From where I sat on the throne, I could see how they held her helpless between them. Jovas arched under her, forcing her to ride his grinding hips, even as my master covered her, thrusting against the taut curve of her rump. Edrea shuddered as they pounded into her, but she couldn't protest even if she wanted to with her mouth stuffed with Jack's shaft.

Holding her head immobile with both hands now, he hunched against her face, fucking her throat ruthlessly. I wondered if she could breathe, but judging from the flare of her nostrils, she was evidently managing it somehow.

I shivered and stroked my own breast with one hand, slipping the other down between my legs. It was incredibly arousing, watching them take her. My cream slid hot and thick between my lips.

For a moment it occurred to me that I had fallen far under milord's ownership. He'd made me forget my high birth and ancient name until I cared for nothing but the heat he made me feel.

But in truth, it was not as if my blue blood had ever done a damn thing for me but get me married to a doddering old man with a greedy son. This was pleasure. It was, in fact, more than most women ever found.

As I watched, swirling a forefinger through my soaking heat, I imagined milord's huge shaft sliding out of Edrea's helplessly open bottom, then plunging in again. I remembered the way it had felt when he'd taken me that way, and gasped, pinching my nipple hard in a spasm of desire.

For a moment it seemed she was trying to fight them—white flesh surged against strong hands—but they quelled her rebellion with no particular effort and went back to impaling her again. Their bodies slapped against hers harder now, faster, and I could almost feel three thick shafts ramming in and out of me. I plunged three fingers into myself as deeply as I could, strumming my pearl with my thumb.

As I watched, I heard her begin to moan around Jack's cock. The sound held more delight than suffering.

It seemed the witch had embraced her punishment.

Suddenly the Beast roared out that distinctive sound he makes when he climaxes, and he stiffened, driving deep. At almost the same moment, Jovas's spine arched, lifting both Edrea and my master clear off the ground. Edrea made a muffled sound around Jack's organ, and the footman gasped.

The tangle of sweaty sex that was Edrea, Jack, Jovas, and milord collapsed. Bare strokes away from my own climax, I groaned in frustration.

Milord was the first to pick himself up from the huddle, one hand going to the base of his spine as he stretched his back. Jack was next up, grinning with the satisfaction of his revenge.

Then at last, Jovas stood, lifting Edrea and slinging her over his shoulder, naked and limp. He gestured, and for a moment the dungeon was illuminated in a blaze of light. When it faded, he was dressed in his robes. Edrea, however, was still naked . . . except for chains and a slave collar such as I had worn on more than one occasion lately.

The wizard held out a hand to milord, who took it, careful of his claws. “My thanks for your assistance, Lord Greycastle,” Jovas said, very formally for a man who'd just helped his host rape a witch.

The Beast grinned at him with an astonishing number of teeth. “Believe me, it was my pleasure. I trust you'll keep your slave well punished?”

Jovas grinned back, showing teeth of his own. “Count on it, Ardolf.” He hesitated. “I wish I could break the bitch's curse for you, but I'm afraid she set it too well.”

The Beast shrugged. “I know. You certainly gave it your best effort those months ago. On the other hand, the potion worked. I'll have to be satisfied with that.”

The wizard's eyes slid to me as I sat, decorously bolt upright, in milord's chair. “Perhaps you'll be able to break your spell another way, milord.”

The Beast looked at me, then glanced away. “I don't think so.” His jaw tightened. “Punish the bitch well, Jovas.”

The wizard leered. “Oh, I will. I'm feeling . . . inspired.”

Edrea lifted her head and I saw the flash of helpless acceptance on her face just before they disappeared.

“I hope,” said Jack, “he whips the ass off her.”

“I doubt it,” said the Beast, sounding a little bitter. “He was always soft where she was concerned. That's why he didn't leave her with me.”

Jack shrugged. “Too bad. Still, I'm sure he'll keep her busy . . .”

“No doubt. Get some sleep, Jack. I'm sure you need it.” The Beast waved the footman toward the door and he lost no time finding it. The thick wooden slab slammed shut, leaving me alone with my master . . . and a burning need deep in my core.

I stared at the Beast hungrily, my nipples tingling, feeling a hot trickle deep within. Would he want to take me now, so soon after the witch? I thought it likely; he'd often astonished me with his stamina in the past. “Milord,” I began softly, taking a step forward.

He looked away. “We'll get your clothes. I will provide you with a full purse for the road and summon some of the village men to provide you with an escort. You needn't worry about Cedric. I'll take care of him. And I'll see he gives you your inheritance.”

I blinked, feeling I'd been dunked in ice water. “You're sending me away?”

“I'm freeing you.”

“But . . . but why?”

He looked at me, full on. There was pain in his eyes. “You saved my life tonight at considerable risk to your own. I can't continue to hold you.”

I stared at him. Free. I'd be free again. Free to go back to my own castle, to my women and my tapestries. Free.

Free to be wedded again against my will to some old man. The young ones, after all, look for wealthy widows or pretty young virgins, and I was neither. “No.”

“What?” he asked, astonished.

“If you feel any gratitude at all for me, you won't make me leave.” I looked at the high, muscular arch of his chest, the width of his arms.

“I took you.” Confusion and guilt filled his eyes. “I enslaved you. Beat and sodomized you.”

“And I loved every last moment of it.” I remembered the feeling of his broad shaft sliding into me, his tongue flicking over my nipples . . . even his hard hand hitting my rump. “You've given me more pleasure than I have ever known. I'd rather live as your slave than be free without you.”

And he roared.

I jumped back as his back arched, then twisted like a gigged fish. He began to glow and it seemed his fur ignited.

I screamed in horror. I had killed him. This was the witch's revenge and I had somehow triggered it.

Fur crisped, burned, dropped away in hunks as he clawed at the air. His horns disappeared in a curl of flame and his claws went incandescent and disappeared. I began to scream for Jack, knowing he could do nothing, screamed for Jovas, knowing the wizard couldn't hear.

And then the flame was gone and the Beast fell to his knees. “Milord?”

He moaned. I rushed to him, but hesitated, reluctant to touch him. His skin looked so . . . pink. But as I examined him, I realized there were no burns marring it.

“Beast?” I whispered.

He lifted his naked face and looked at me from eyes that shone with joy. “My name is Ardolf Greycastle,” he said.

The fur had blunted the sharp, clean lines of his features, blurring his male beauty. I stared at him in wonder.

Then Ardolf stood up in a rush of hard muscle and human flesh, and I saw him for the first time truly naked. The sight made my mouth go dry. He looked a little shorter without the mane that had bulked around his head, but my head still came no higher than his breastbone. He was every inch the knight, powerful with thick muscle bred by swinging a sword and riding a warhorse.

His laugh was deep music as he snatched me against his chest. He felt so hard without that cushion of fur around him. “That's twice I owe you, girl. Once for my life, again for breaking the spell.”

The spell was broken? I brushed a cautious hand along his ribs, feeling bone and muscle and velvet skin. It was true. He was a man again. “Are you going to set me free?”

His eyes were just as green as I remembered, though they no longer glowed. “Not likely, slave. In fact, you have some atoning to do.” His attempt at a growl was spoiled by his grin.

“Atoning?” I squeaked as he picked me up and carried me toward his throne.

“Aye. You dared put a leash, by God, on your master.” He dropped into his chair. “And you wanted to see that witch take a crop to me. If anyone gets punished around here, girl, it's going to be you.”

I sighed in pleasure, then lost my contentment in a screech as his broad, furless hand descended on my rump in a stinging slap. Minutes later, I was bucking and cursing, heartily regretting my submission, as he continued to spank me with wicked, lustful enjoyment.

At last, when my bottom was blazing, he stayed his hand, rose from his place, and went down on his back on the stone, lifting me up over him. With barely a pause, he brought me down on his eager cock and sheathed it with a twist of his hips. I braced my hands on his chest and glared at him as he began to thrust with smooth strength.

But he felt so good in me. Each long dig of his organ in my wet cunt ignited my lust, until soon I was meeting his thrusts, forgetting my fiery rump in the pleasure of it.

In seconds, my pique was replaced by desire, and I twisted and shivered around his burrowing shaft as he pinched my nipples mercilessly. I climaxed with a scream. His own cry echoed it, sounding almost as loud as his old roar.

We collapsed together in the afterglow, damp and contented.

“You realize, don't you,” he said at last, “that you're going to marry me.”

“As milord wishes,” I sighed.

And we lived happily ever after—with frequent visits to the dungeon.

R
ose Carson slipped back around the corner of the high stone wall as Major Alan McReynolds opened the wooden gate. Heart in her throat, she waited. A moment later, McReynolds strode past, tall and handsome in his Union uniform, dark head held high. With a lover's keen awareness, she knew he felt troubled. Something in the line of his broad, muscled shoulders spoke of disquiet.

He'd be even more disturbed if he knew the woman he loved was a Rebel spy sent to play on his well-known taste for beautiful women. That she'd inadvertently fallen in love with him would be no comfort at all.

Well, Rose thought, setting her mouth in a tight line, this was the last time. Once she got her hands on that list, she'd be free of her obligation to the Confederacy, content in the knowledge that she'd done her duty. Alan would never have to know what she'd done. But if he ever found out . . .

Well. That didn't bear thinking about.

Enough time had passed to allow Alan to turn the corner on his way to army headquarters a few blocks away in the heart of Washington. Quickly, Rose moved out from around the corner of the garden wall and along the walk toward the gate. Without hesitating, she pushed it open.

For a moment, she allowed herself to scan her lover's property. There was the apple tree they'd exchanged fevered kisses beneath, and there, the thorny, bloodred beauty of the rose bushes whose scent had perfumed so many passionate encounters.

And the house. The elegant two-story brick town house had been the backdrop of some of the happiest moments of her life. How many times had she lain in the canopied bed upstairs, writhing under Alan's skillful touch as his mouth sipped and nibbled? How many nights had she curled against his big body as he slept, her eyes burning with love and guilt?

But no matter what they'd done, no matter how Rose felt about it, she had duties she couldn't ignore. Steeling herself against the bite of her conscience, she walked up the stairs to knock on the finely carved door. Taking a deep breath, Rose folded her hands against her dove-gray skirts and waited for one of Alan's servants to admit her.

There was no answer.

Rose frowned. She'd concocted an explanation for needing to visit Alan's library, something about a forgotten book he'd told her to recover for him, but it looked as though the trip was for nothing. Impatiently, she tried the door. To her surprise, it swung open.

She rocked back on her heels and considered the house's dim interior. This was a stroke of luck.

Quickly she slipped inside, heading for the narrow stairway at the head of the hall. Gathering her skirts in one slim hand, she ascended.

Alan's library lay off to the right of the stairs, a dark, masculine room lined with heavy mahogany bookcases and row upon row of books. Rose, however, only had eyes for the massive desk. Just last night, she'd caught a glimpse of a list of names on the desktop—and several of those names belonged to men she knew to be Confederate spies. If she could just get a look at that list, find out who was in danger of detection and arrest . . . She rustled behind the desk and began opening drawers.

Ah, there it was. In the top drawer, of all places. She frowned. Bad hiding place for such an obviously important piece of intelligence.

“I'm disappointed in you, Rose. I thought you'd be harder to trap.”

Rose's heart leaped into her throat and she jerked her head up.

Alan stood in the doorway, his handsome face hard, a fine muscle ticking in his rigid jaw. He held a pistol pointed right at her head. She froze as he slowly advanced into the room, the weapon unwavering. Rose had the feeling that if she so much as blinked, he'd shoot her.

“I've suspected you for some time,” he said, his tone almost casual. “You were just a little bit too fascinated by things you should have no interest in. But still, I couldn't quite bring myself to believe you could hide a viper's treachery behind such a sweet face.”

Her knees threatened to buckle under her. She caught herself against the desktop. “Alan, you don't understand . . .”

“Oh, I understand too well.” His dark eyes were bitter. “I understand you're a spy and a traitor. I understand you used my passion for you to play me for a fool.”

Instinctively, she held up a terrified hand to ward him off. He grabbed her wrist and snatched her against him, close enough to see the cold intention on his face. “And I understand,” he purred, “that you're going to tell me the name of the spy master you report to, and every bit of intelligence you've ever collected.”

Rose's spine stiffened in outrage. “I'm not going to tell you any such thing!”

“Sweet, by the time I'm through with you, you'll be begging to reveal every secret you ever knew.”

She lifted her chin, outraged that he thought her so lacking in spirit as to believe such a ridiculous threat. “You're bluffing.”

“I assure you, I am totally serious. There are any number of techniques I can use . . .”

Enraged, she barked out a laugh. “What sort of fool do you take me for? The Union army doesn't torture female prisoners!”

His smile was ugly. “No. The army doesn't.” His grip tightened on her wrist until she gasped. “But I'm not the army.”

•   •   •

R
uthlessly, Alan dragged Rose to the bedroom, the gun in his free hand. With a powerful wrench of his shoulder, he propelled her into the room. She whirled around and stared at him wildly, her skirts swinging around her like a bell.

Deliberately, Alan walked to the armchair he'd brought in and sat down in it, keeping the gun trained on her the whole time. Fear and defiance blazed in her wide brown eyes and he felt a twinge of pity for her. Just a twinge, though, easily fought down. She'd betrayed him. Besides, this wouldn't take long.

“Strip,” he growled.

She pulled herself to her full height. “I will not!”

“You were eager enough last night.”

“You were acting like a gentleman last night.”

“While you were busy whoring yourself for your Rebel masters. Strip.”

Damn her. But he knew that the prospect of being naked in front of him—at least under these circumstances—would make her surrender. She'd start talking soon enough, then, and there would be no need for the other preparations he'd made.

She tilted her chin and glowered at him. “I shall not!”

He cocked the gun. “Strip or talk.”

“Shoot me, then. I'll not do either.”

His mouth pulled into a grim smile as he took the pistol off cock.

“Well. You seemed to have called my bluff.” Alan put the gun aside.

And pounced. Rose kicked and fought, but her struggles did her no good against his determined hands. He dragged her to the bed and roped her hands to the overhead supports of the canopy with the cords he'd tied there earlier. Then he drew a penknife from his pocket and went to work, cutting the buttons off her gown, slicing through the laces of her corset, dragging relentlessly at the fabric until it gave, until she wore nothing but her stockings and tiny black slippers.

By the time he was done, they were both panting, she glaring at him in rage, he frustrated and furious.

Now, dammit. Now she would talk.

“All right,” he said.

“It's nothing you haven't seen before,” she spat.

True. But on the other hand, he thought, as awareness of the situation burst upon him, she hadn't been tied before. Her white, pretty breasts hadn't trembled with every breath, her brown eyes brilliant with wrath, her slim torso twisting as she fought the cords that held her. She hadn't looked so . . . tempting.

“Don't you realize the position you're in?” Alan growled, fighting his own heady reaction to her. “Nobody knows you're here. I've dismissed the servants. I can do any damn thing I want to you. The only thing that can stop me is you. Telling me everything. The name of your spymaster, what you told him, everything. Now.”

Her lovely dark eyes narrowed and she bit off every word. “
Do . . . your . . . worst
.”

Looking at her naked vulnerability, Alan wondered if she'd be so quick to dare him if she knew how much he
wanted
to do his worst—or just how bad his worst could be.

Rose tugged on the cords that bound her wrists to the canopy supports and stared in uneasy fascination at Alan. He glared back, his features sharp with a strange combination of predatory hunger and baffled rage. She could feel his eyes on her bare breasts, almost like a physical touch. Despite the situation, despite the anger between them, a slow coil of hunger curled in her belly.

He took a step closer to her and his lids lowered. “Are you sure you want to issue rash challenges to me? Particularly considering your present . . . situation.”

She lifted her chin. “You won't hurt me, Alan. No matter how much you might want to.”

Anger flared in his eyes before he concealed it. “A dangerous delusion. I assure you, I will hurt you. And enjoy it, particularly after the way you betrayed me.” He paused, then said almost casually, “I think you deserve anything I care to do to you.”

He was not going to terrorize her, damn him. “What will you do, then?”

Alan's jaw tightened, and she saw that her challenge angered him.

“That's a very good question, actually. I've given it a lot of thought.” He walked over to the nightstand beside the bed, opened a drawer, and pulled out a long white candle. “I'm hesitant to damage that pretty white skin permanently, particularly since I intend to make use of it. But I think I've hit on a compromise.”

Reaching into a pocket, he drew out a wax packet of sulfur matches. As she watched nervously, he lifted his boot and struck the match on the sole in a swift, violent gesture. A flame flared to life, and he applied it to the candle.

Eyeing the burning taper, Rose felt a twinge of fear. It was daylight and quite bright in the room. What did he mean to do with that?

He turned to her, a demon's smile curving his sensuous mouth, and moved closer until the candle shed a yellow radiance over her pale skin. “Such lovely breasts, so round and smooth and tempting.” He reached out with his free hand and caught one of them, a rough thumb brushing over the nipple until it tightened, grew plump and hard as heat flooded her. Leaning closer, he bent and flicked his tongue over the pert tip. She jumped at the sharp stab of pleasure.

Delicately, he took her beaded flesh completely into his mouth, suckling until her breathing roughened and her strength and anger drained into a dangerous sensuality.

Rose had never felt more naked in her life, more vulnerable and hungry than she felt now, bound and helpless for him. And he'd never looked so big, so deliciously male. An erotic barbarian determined to make a conquest of her tight and creamy flesh.

He slid his arm around her back and forced her to arch over it, pressing her breast hard against his mouth.

“Alannnnn,” she moaned.

He raised his head and smiled at her—just as he tilted the candle over her other breast. A molten drop fell, splashed onto her nipple. She arched with a gasp at the fiery pain. Instinctively she tried to jerk back, but the powerful arm around her waist wouldn't let her escape.

“Stop!”

He merely smiled and began to nibble and lick her left nipple again—even as the hand that held the candle dripped wax on her right.

Alan listened to her gasps and whimpers, felt the way she arched and struggled in the tight grip of his arm. His cock was hard as a sword against his belly, and he badly wanted to plunge it into her.

Swallowing, he took a deep breath and tried to master himself. He hadn't expected that it would go this far, hadn't expected to actually have to drip the wax on her hard little nipples.

And he certainly hadn't expected to enjoy it. In fact, when he'd come up with this particular interrogation method, he'd almost discarded it for fear that he wouldn't be able to do such a thing to her. He'd had no idea of the temptation he'd find in her pretty breast brushing his face, her lithe body surging against his, her moaning whimpers. He couldn't have anticipated the look on her face, the desire, the flashes of pain, the secret, appalled pleasure.

Against all expectation, she found his torment of her as arousing as he did.

He was losing control of this. He was supposed to be interrogating her, gathering information vital to the safety of the Union. But God, she tempted him . . .

Alan gasped, feeling his heart thundering in his chest. He wanted to plunge into her, feel her wet heat closing over him . . . And she
was
wet, he realized. He could smell the musk of her arousal.

With a groan, he jerked away, gripping the candle hard in his fist. “What's the name of your spymaster, Rose?”

She hung there, blinking at him as if stunned by the past heated minutes. Slowly, she licked her lips, her small pink tongue flicking out to trace the rosy fullness of her mouth. He almost attacked her again. “Alan, I . . .”

He crouched, tensing against the urgency of his lust. “Tell me and I can take you. Let me end this.”

Rose whimpered. “No, please, don't make me . . .”

“Yes!” he roared.

Her eyes were brown and deep. “I can't.” He snarled.

As Rose watched with a combination of fear and desire, Alan lifted the candle and blew it out in a single violent gesture, then threw it to the floor. The slim length of wax thunked against the carpet and rolled.

He began to unbutton his uniform shirt, his fingers so impatient that one of the buttons popped off to sail across the room. He didn't seem to notice. In a moment, his shirt fell open to reveal the tight, hard musculature of his chest.

His hand dropped to the fly of his trousers and worked the buttons with a series of rough jerks. Freed, his organ immediately sprang out to jut at her. Deliciously thick and hard, angled slightly upward with the violence of his lust, it was a silent testament to his intentions.