Authors: Lydia Michaels
The sound of his
breathing filled the room, deep and choppy. She opened her eyes. There were no
words in her vocabulary to describe the look on his face. Desire. Longing.
Hunger. Lust. They all came up short. No one had ever looked at her that way.
The leather creaked as
he eased out of the chair. He approached her slowly, placing his fingertips
gently on her left shoulder as he circled her with slow steps, his gaze traveling
over her tattooed flesh. While he moved around her, taking in her body, his
fingertips made a slow drag from her shoulder, across her collarbone, over her
other shoulder, and down her spine.
Fingers traced down her
back, over the tree of life that sprouted there, to her hip where a lotus
branch bloomed. A finger followed the swell of her bottom, dipped under the
elastic of her silk panties and pulled the garment away. Her breath grew choppy
as the moment became weighted with erotic intent. Silk fell to her ankles and
she slowly stepped out of her underwear, kicking the fabric aside.
He dropped to his
haunches and kissed the spattering of monarch butterflies taking flight over
her thighs. Her knees shook and her insides quivered. His mouth felt absolutely
sensational on her flesh.
Kissing his way to her
stomach, his hands framed her hips and turned her so she faced him completely.
Her trembling fingers gripped his shoulders, needing the balance. His thumb
traced the adorned silhouette of Mother Nature above the groomed patch of hair
at her sex then drifted down to where her piercing peeked past her folds.
She was so aroused she
almost collapsed at the reverberation his finger sent into her oversensitive
clit. Her body jerked in his hold and she gasped. He looked up at her as he
leaned forward, shiny blue eyes staring back at her.
Fuck farming. This guy
should be in show business. Damon Salvatore, step aside.
She whimpered as his
lips pressed into her hip. Her heart was hammering in her chest and she could
barely remain upright. She needed to come—and fast.
Suddenly, as if he’d
read her mind, his mouth latched onto her sex. She screamed at the contact, his
tongue piercing her folds. Delilah knocked over a metal tray and reached
hopelessly for something to hold onto. Coming up short, she fisted her hands in
his hair. He growled into her sex and she cried out as her first orgasm ripped
through her like a tidal wave in a forgotten pond.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
He was relentless. His
mouth plundered her slit. Her legs had no time to adapt to the onslaught of
pleasure. Muscles spasmed and she collapsed, sure she would bust her ass, but
he had her around the waist. He carried her to the chair and kissed her hard.
Her taste covered his lips and tongue.
His fingers probed and
stretched her sheath. Before she had a chance to touch him, she was turned
around. She quickly reached for the condom she’d grabbed and handed it over her
shoulder. “Here.”
He grunted and took it.
Hot flesh pressed into the backs of her thighs as she widened her stance. The
chair was large, like a salon chair, but still made for an awkward fucking
post. She scrambled to find the best way to get on her hands and knees, but her
limbs were simply too long.
Finally, settling her
knees wide in the seat of the chair, her spine arched, shoulders lifted, and
she grabbed hold of the leather. Christian’s length probed at her wet opening.
Her sex stretched to accommodate him—holy mother of penis he was wide. She
breathed through her teeth as he pressed in and she moaned at the glorious
sensation that came as he slid in to the hilt. Full.
His grunt of
satisfaction covered her sigh. Warm lips pressed into her shoulder as his palm
coasted up her arm and gripped her chest. He slowly withdrew and thrust back
into her. Her body quivered around him and she cried out as he thrust deep
again. On and on he fucked her. God, she needed this.
Delilah let go of all
her tension from the week and embraced the moment. Her body grew slick with
sweat. Christian’s stamina was like nothing she had ever experienced before.
Her body peaked, only to
suspend on a plateau of ecstasy. He never let her pleasure dwindle. Their skin
slapped together as breath panted from their lungs. She was growing tired,
breathing heavily, as was Christian. After some time, her eyes closed and her
head lolled to the side. They’d been at it for almost thirty minutes—marathon
fucking.
Her ears vaguely
registered a sharp crunch over the slap of their skin, but her repetitive soft
moans that came with every thrust made it hard to discern the sound. It sounded
like he’d bit into an apple, which was weird. There were no apples in the shop
and who could eat at a time like this?
Christian’s hard abdomen
pressed into her damp back as he kissed her throat. She sighed and pressed her
ear into her shoulder, letting him have at her neck, which was one of her
favorite erogenous zones.
He nipped at her flesh
and she moaned. She loved a little rough play, but she was ready to pass out.
Then he bit her hard.
She yipped and his hold
on her tightened. Another orgasm built as if he was pulling from the threads
that sewed the seams of her soul.
He was giving her a
hicky, but he must have hit some sort of pressure point because his mouth was
making her insane. He drilled into her and she went over the edge with a scream
of ecstasy. Her mouth opened, body tightened. He shivered behind her, against
her, growled into her throat as hot pulsing jets of his release filled her.
Wait! Why did everything
feel so…au naturel?
His touch, warm and wet,
pressed over her mouth. She tensed and opened her eyes. Christian still sucked
on her neck. Fatigue slammed into her, nearly knocking her out. Her thoughts
grew sluggish and dopy. She tried to turn her mouth away from whatever was
covering it, but he growled—seriously growled—and forced her lips open to press
it against her teeth. The aggressive move had her eyes flashing wide in panic.
Maybe he was way more into kink than she thought.
It was his arm. She
screamed, unsure what was happening and incredibly weak. Unable to fight him
off of her she cried out in terror. Was he strangling her? Hot liquid filled
her mouth and she gagged at the taste, then proceeded to choke. As she
sputtered around his arm, flecks of red spattered the white leather chair like
abstract art as her vision blurred.
Oh my God, am I dying?
She screamed, but he
wouldn’t let her go. Her struggles were completely useless under his bulk and
strength. His mouth ripped from her neck, her traitorous body still climaxing
and she let out a gurgling scream.
“Swallow it,” he hissed
against her ear. “Swallow it and it will all be over soon.”
She didn’t want it to be
over! She fought and when she acknowledged how depleted her strength was she
began to cry. Sobbing over his arm, she realized he was going to kill her.
Contrary to what he was forcing her to do, his touch and words were gentle. He
still filled her, but only with slow, tempered motions.
His mouth kissed over
her throat where he had left his mark. “Shh, Delilah, shh…”
Tears flooded her eyes
and her nose ran. The warm, disgusting, thick liquid seeped down her throat, no
matter how she tried to reject it. His arm blocked the only exit. She sobbed.
She hated him, but she hated herself more for trusting a stranger and
consenting like only a slut would to fuck him after just meeting him.
His fingers softly
petted her throat and the liquid he forced her to drink settled like tar into
her stomach. The revolting sensation made her sway with queasiness. Her vision
blurred and her breathing slowed. The room turned on end. He’d poisoned her.
Why?
She was too young to
die.
Her thoughts fragmented
into mere words, her mind too weak to string them together, and soon only hums
of syllables whispered in the dark shadows of her quickly fading conscience.
Eyes open, yet mostly shut, she was floating high on whatever drug he’d given
her. There was no pain, only…nothingness. Her sense of mass left her, as though
she were filled with helium. The only thing holding her to this world were the
hands that had just shortened her life.
No…
her mind sang in a soft
whisper without conviction. It was pleasant and tempting to simply give over to
the all-consuming rest. Her breath slowed. Her limbs grew numb. She was cold.
She may have shivered
.
Her muscles gave out one
by one and she sensed him holding her, cradling her in his arms, whispering
softly, as her very last organ gave way, and everything settled into…peace.
Chapter Two
Breath sucked through
Delilah’s nose and tore into her lungs like an avalanche of life ripping over a
silent mountain that touched the heavens. Air never tasted so good. Slowly,
Delilah’s mind came into play and she wondered how much she’d had to drink. She
must’ve blacked out, but her body felt surprisingly good.
Her fingers flexed and
her shoulders rotated. That pinched nerve in her back—for once—didn’t stab at
her first thing in the morning. Damn, did someone slip something into her
drink? She sighed and wiggled her toes.
“You are awake.”
She stilled.
Who the
fuck was that?
Cracking an eyelid, she
peeked through her lashes. The first thing that sent her heart racing was the
bareness of the room. Totally not home. What had her bolting upright was the
sight of the sick fuck who’d killed her—
wait…what?
She screamed and bolted
upright to stand on the mattress, her legs wobbling like she was walking on a
moon bounce. She gripped the headboard and frantically touched her face, arms,
hips, stomach, thighs, vagina, toes—
“
Am I fucking dead?
”
He scowled at her. “Your
language is something we must work on, Delilah.” He sighed and moved to a
dresser in the corner.
She quickly looked
around the room. There wasn’t much—plain windows, green blinds, some pegs on
the wall with a few shirts and a hat,
a door
. The sound of trickling
water obscured her frantic breathing. He was pouring something from a pitcher.
Poison?
He turned and held out a
clear glass that looked to be filled with water. She went into her best praying
mantis slash Daniel son
Karate Kid
pose. “Stay back!”
He shook his head. “I am
only bringing you water—”
“Ha! You think I’m
stupid?”
His eyebrow arched close
to his brown hairline as if he were suggesting her intelligence were still up
for debate. “Perhaps I should remind you that you are naked.”
Delilah looked down,
gasped, twisted her legs to hide the goods and she went with more of a Whoopi
slash Celie pose from when she goes fierce at the end of
The Color Purple.
It
wasn’t as threatening, but still had that
I’m a crazy bitch who will fuck
you up
thing going.
He sighed and placed the
glass on the nightstand. She hissed when he came close and she frowned.
Hissing,
Delilah, really?
He opened a drawer and
pulled out something black. Offering his back, he extended his arm to her,
holding out the garment. “Take this.”
Hesitantly, she snatched
it out of his hand with more force than she intended. He kept his back to her
as she unraveled the fabric and held it up. It was a dress, a hideous, plain,
frock like dress.
That’s the first thing
they do before they brainwash you, strip you down, take away all signs of
individuality.
Li wasn’t totally sure who she thought
they
were, but she
was leaning toward some sort of cult. Whatever. She wasn’t going down without a
fight, but to fight she needed clothes.
“How about some pants?”
He laughed. “Pants? I
think not, Delilah.”
Oh, somebody likes to be
a smart ass.
“Oh, do you? Do you
think not?
We aren’t in bloody London!”
She frowned. Or were they?
He turned slowly, eyes
narrowed and threatening. Her bravado abandoned, she forced herself not to show
fear. Huffing, she yanked the drab sack he was trying to pass off as clothing
over her head. There was no way she was giving the prick a free peep show.
Whatever happened before was
never
happening again.
His mouth formed a flat
line. “We need to speak, Delilah.”
“Yeah, okay, let’s start
with where the hell am I? What the fuck did you do to me? How the hell am I
alive?”
“I’m going to have to
ask you to control your tongue. My patience wears thin.”
“Your patience?
Hello...” She shoved a thumb against her chest. “Here against my will. And for
the record, I have no patience. You’re probably gonna wanna start answering my
questions right about yesterday before I freak—the fuck—out.”
Was that a growl? Those
eyes were back on her again. She locked her jaw so her teeth didn’t chatter.
“Last warning,
pintura.
Mind your tongue.”
That’s the second thing
they do, take away your name.
She was about to tell
him to go fuck himself, but thought better of it, all kinds of Hannibal Lector
crap filling her head. Who knew? If she cursed enough he might end up actually
cutting out her tongue? She said nothing.
“May we speak now?”
He was asking? She
tipped up her shoulder with indifference. “Go ahead and talk.”
He drew in a deep breath
and sighed. There was a chair in the corner. He dragged it close to the bed and
he straddled it. Her eyes went to his strong arms crossed one over the other
and his broad shoulders.
Jeeze, Li, how about
some self-control? The bastard kidnapped you. He’s probably gonna sell you into
some American slave trade ring.
“Are you planning on
standing up there through our entire discussion?”
She didn’t want to sit
on the bed. It put her at a disadvantage. Here she was taller than him. “Yes.”
He pinched the bridge of
his nose. “I can see this is going to be a trial,” he mumbled. “We are in
Lancaster, Pennsylvania.”
“Lancaster! How did we
get here from Cincinnati?”
“I carried you.”
It must be some sort of
language barrier. He must have meant that he drove her. “I don’t understand.”
“You are on my farm.”
Great. This again.
If they were on a farm
he probably had a whole cartel out in the barn. “Uh-huh. And tell me, Old
McDonald, what exactly are you harvesting on this farm you speak of?”
“My name is Christian.
Use it.”
Her legs were getting
tired and hunger pains were cutting through her empty stomach. Cautiously she
sat at the farthest corner of the bed. She chanced a glance out the window.
Corn. Holy shit they
were
on a farm.
Christian cleared his
throat. “I expect you to be mindful of your language at all times and dress
appropriately now that you are here. I will have a bonnet and apron brought to
you as soon as I can. You will not address other men on the farm when out of my
presence and I expect you to learn to be a modest and docile creature.”
Annnnnd that was the
straw that choked the chauvinistic camel.
“Are you freaking nuts?
I’m not staying on some farm. I’m certainly not going to conform to whatever
compound shit you have going on here and twitter amongst the gentle women folk
and act demure to the men. And as far as creature…you get that one for
free…refer to me that way again and I’ll show you just how animal I can be.”
She jumped off the bed. “This is bullshit. I’m outta here—”
She screamed as she was
suddenly hauled back to the bed and thrown onto her back. Okay, fun time over.
“I will not be spoken to that way in my home,” he growled.
Terror gripped her and
rendered her mute.
“Tell me you understand,
Delilah
,
because I do not intend to have this negativity between us. We
must deal with what has happened and move on.”
Frightened beyond
measure, she nodded, recalling what happened the last time he’d been this
close. She’d thought he was killing her and feared she’d never wake up.
She mentally gagged over
the thought of letting him actually have sex with her. Gorgeous or not, he was
clearly insane. All that mattered now was that she was alive. She needed to
stay that way so she could get the fuck out of Dodge.
His weight eased off.
She didn’t move as he slowly stood, brushing off the front of his shirt. “My
apologies,
pintura.
But you may not leave. This is your home now. You
need to adapt to that reality. It is not like the English world here. We are
much simpler. We are Amish.”
Amish? Like buggies and
bibles and shit? Oh, hell no.
“Christian, I think you have the wrong girl here.”
“You are who I should
have. There is no mistaking that. You are my mate.”
He paced. His long legs
ate up the length of the room in only a few strides. His fingers irritably
forked through his wavy brown hair, his arm cording with muscle, and shoulders
bunching under his neatly pressed shirt.
“I cannot have a
disobedient wife.”
“Whoa,” she held up her
hands. “
Wife
?”
He stilled and faced
her. “You are my mate. Of course we will marry.”
No matter how afraid she
was a minute ago, he was jacking up her annoyance again and she sometimes had a
problem filtering her attitude. Calmly, she batted her eyes, “Uh, Christian
darling, you have to ask.”
He frowned at her, but
didn’t question her sugary tone. “Will you be my wife?”
Her lashes fluttered. On
a long sigh she said, “No.”
His look of surprise was
almost comical. “But you are my mate.”
“See, you say mate and I
think dog. Not so good with the lady talk, Christian.”
“Mates are predestined
partners. We have but one for all eternity. I have waited lifetimes to find
you. You are my mate, Delilah, and I am not letting you go.”
She tried to remember
that article she read in the last issue of
Tat
about how to deal with
crazy, stalker ex’s. Her head hurt. For a farm it was ungodly loud. There was
some sort of incessant chirping going on outside. Animals brayed and leaves
rustled at an almost roar like volume. Her stomach was really starting to ache
too. She jammed her fist into her side and rubbed her brow.
Huh, that pimple finally
went away.
“You are hungry,” he
said, watching her closely.
Maybe if she ate she
would be able to think a bit more clearly. “Yes. Do you have any crackers or
something?”
“I do not think crackers
are what you want.”
“Fine, how about an
apple? Pop-tart? Something quick and small. I’m a vegetarian so I try not to be
too picky.”
“Delilah, sweet—”
“Unless you want me to
call you one nut, you will refrain from addressing me with cutesy pet names,”
she said tartly with feigned syrupiness.
His jaw ticked.
“Delilah, I believe you will find your tastes adapting here on the farm. Your
needs will not be met by vegetables alone.”
“I eat carbs.”
He began to pace again.
“Please sit down, Delilah.”
Only because she was
growing weaker by the second did she do as he requested. As soon as she sat a
cramp grabbed hold of her stomach and she doubled over in pain. Christian was
by her side in a second, rubbing her back.
“Delilah, you must
feed.”
“Don’t touch me,” she
groaned. She could smell him. He was too close. He ignored her and continued to
rub her back.
“You are not listening
to me. Your body has been through a lot in the last eight hours. You will need
to feed in order to sustain your energy.”
She gritted her teeth
and breathed through the overwhelming pain. “What did you give me?” she
growled. There was an incessant thumping coming from him.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
“This is all part of it.
You need to feed—”
She rolled to her side
and moaned in agony. Her hand clamped over her mouth. “Why does my mouth ache?”
“It is your teeth.”
She swatted his hand
away and he swatted her back, pulling her onto his lap.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Her hands covered her
ears and mouth, as she grumbled in pain.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Her vision blurred as
though she were looking through someone else’s prescription glasses.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
God, he smelled good.
Unable to take anymore,
she finally screamed, “What the fuck is that thumping?”
Christian sat up and
drew back. Her eyes zeroed in on the tiniest flutter below his jaw.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Her head tilted as she studied his pulse,
mesmerized. It seemed to pick up pace as she stared at him.
Thump. Thump.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
In a gravelly voice,
Christian whispered, “That’s it,
pintura,
take what you need from your
mate.”
He cupped the back of
her head and she slowly leaned in toward his neck. Her tongue licked her dry
lips, stretching them over her teeth as her mouth yawned wide. Her jaw shifted
and there was a snap, the incredible pressure in her gums somehow lessened. A
strange purring sound came from deep within her chest.