Dark and Stormy Knight (9 page)

Emitting a breathy moan, she pushed back and rotated her ass. His cock pulsed and his balls clenched, ready to unload.

“Be still,” he barked, giving her lovely bum a gentle swat.

She tensed under him, squeezing his length provocatively. “You promised not to hit me.”

“I promised not to hurt you. And if that mere tap put you off, you’ll be of little use to me.”

He waited for her to defy him, but she didn’t. Meanwhile, his groin throbbed with erotic agony. Biting his bottom lip for control, he pulled out of her slowly, delighting in the view as her swollen pink sheath fought to hang on.

“Sweet Mother of God,” he groaned. “Your cunt’s so fucking tight.”

She tensed again, squeezing him mercilessly.

“I don’t care for that word.”

It took him a moment to realize what she meant. “Is there another you prefer?”

“I don’t know. Pussy, maybe.”

Smiling at the irony, he pulled back, hovered on the brink of withdrawal, and drove in again. Christ, she felt good. Too fucking good. He wouldn’t last long. Bending lower, he parted her furry lips and wiggled his finger against her clit.

She circled her hips and pushed back, swallowing him to the hilt. His balls drew up, eager to unload. He bit back the urge as he worked her sweet spot like a madman. Her breathing grew ragged, her body rigid, her grip on his cock as tight as a milkmaid’s.

“That’s it, lassie. Come for your footman.”

When she shattered around him, he pounded her with zeal. Within seconds, his seed cannoned forth in ecstatic pulses. When the rush passed, he pulled out of her, patted her bottom, and pulled down her skirts.

Grimacing, he peeled the condom off his flagging erection and tied a knot in the middle. He cast around for somewhere to dispose of the nasty thing. The fireplace seemed the only viable option.

Moving toward the mantle, he tossed the condom on the flames and watched the latex disintegrate. Turning back to the table, he started when he found her right in front of him. Stiffening, he met her insistent gaze.

What was she about?

The exertion of fucking coupled with the alcohol had left him fuzzy-headed. Before he knew what was happening, she had him by the hair and was pulling his mouth down to hers. When their lips met, he started to kiss her back. Then, recovering his wits, he pulled away.

“None of that now.”

She blinked up at him with those beguiling liquid eyes of hers. “But, I like kissing.”

He turned away, set his fists on the mantle, and looked into the fire. “You wouldn’t if you knew what kissing could cost you.”

* * * *

Gwyn and Leith were back at the table, eating the actual dessert—a traditional Scottish dish made with raspberries, honey, toasted oats, cream, and soft cheese. Mr. Brody brought the pudding in just after the footman finished having his way with Miss Brown.

Clearly, Sir Leith’s feelings were as conflicted as hers. She did not relish being used, but neither was she prepared to go back to playing it safe. Faery magic had given her a second chance at life and, now more than ever, she was determined to make the most of it.

She put a spoonful of the pudding in her mouth. Sweet-tart flavors burst on her tongue, mirroring the disparity in her heart. It was hard to believe the man who refused to kiss her had written
The Knight of Cups
. The book was so full of feeling. She couldn’t accept its author lacked the capacity for tender emotion.

“A penny for your thoughts, Miss Morland.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know what I’m thinking.”

He gave her a wink and an adorable crooked grin. “Why am I not surprised?”

They went back to their desserts. She stole glances at him while he ate. He had such a beautiful mouth. How badly she wanted a taste. The sex had been good. A little detached, perhaps, though he’d given her an orgasm, so she could hardly complain. Still, a little passionate necking would have made the experience that much better.

“I’m the footman no more.” With a declaratory wave of his hands, he pushed his half-eaten pudding aside. Setting his elbows on the table, he rubbed his hands together as he fixed her with an indomitable stare. “I’m now a messenger sent to escort you to the dungeon, where his lordship waits impatiently to discuss your transgressions. Needless to say, he is most displeased.”

He rose from his chair, moved behind hers, and pulled it out. As she stood, he grabbed a candlestick off the mantle, clasped her arm, and led her to a dark corner of the room. With his boot, he swiped the Persian carpet aside to reveal a trap door. Letting her go, he handed her the candle and crouched down to pull the hatch open. As the hinges creaked, musty air rushed out.

Swallowing her uneasiness, she passed the candle over the opening. Steps cut from the bedrock descended into the darkness.

“You won’t hurt me, right?”

Smiling wryly, he looked up at her. “There’s a fine line between pleasure and pain, Miss Morland. And we’re going to walk that line together.”

Dread tightened her stomach. She’d rather not walk that line. Was it too late to back out?

Taking the candle from her clammy hand, he started down the stairs, his boots heavy on the chiseled treads.

She followed, despite feeling like the too-stupid-to-live heroine in a slasher movie. Was she really going into the BDSM dungeon of a blood-drinking faery? Yes, she was, albeit with more than a little trepidation. Part of her wanted to run for her life—the old, cowardly part her stepmother used to push around like a mop. Another part, the new seize-the-moment self, told her to have courage. He was her Beast, her enchanted prince, her knight in shining armor. Okay, so his armor was more tarnished than gleaming, but so what? Last time she checked, armor could be scrubbed and polished by the right woman. And she was determined to be the one who restored his shine.

Carpe diem. Carpe diem. Carpe diem.

All the way down the stairs and through the dark and spooky corridors, Gwyn chanted her new mantra to herself.

Carpe diem. Carpe diem. Carpe diem.

She could do this, damn it. And if she couldn’t, she had a safe word. Just, please God, don’t let her first real adventure turn into a disaster she’d regret for the rest of her life.

Assuming she lived long enough to harbor regrets.

No, don’t think like that. If you don’t step outside your comfort zone, how will you ever know what you’re made of?

Yes, she was afraid. She’d have to be crazy not to be. The dungeon was dark, dank, and beyond creepy. She swallowed hard as her mind conjured a picture of her hanging from the ceiling in a dog collar and handcuffs. The air grew danker. The limestone walls closed in. The only sounds were the thud of his boots, the rustle of her skirts, and the echoing clack of her heels.

The ghost of past abuses rose from her memory. “My stepmother used to beat me,” she told him, not really sure why. “And I didn’t enjoy being beaten in the least.”

“My father used to take the belt to my backside till I couldn’t sit down,” he returned. “Because he loved me enough to teach me right from wrong.”

“My stepmother didn’t beat me out of love. She beat me out of jealousy and meanness.”

“Why did you stay with her?”

“Because I had no other choice.”

Farther on, they came to an ornate wrought-iron standing candelabrum. When he stopped, she hoped he might touch her or kiss her or make some other kind of intimate overture to ease her trepidation, but he didn’t. He merely flamed the wicks with the candle he carried, giving her a momentary glimpse of his handsome face.

Her pulse quickened and her stomach tightened. She stepped back, losing a slipper in the process.

He must have sensed her unease, because he stepped toward her and, in a low, soothing voice, said, “Don’t be afraid, my wee mouse. The cat won’t hurt you. He only wants to play. If you truly cannot bear the experience, invoke your safe word—and I promise, I will cease whatever I am doing at once.”

“What if I can’t speak, because there’s something in my mouth?”

He got down on one knee, picked up her shoe, and wrapped a hand around the ankle of her naked foot. She set a hand on his head for balance as he guided her foot into the shoe. When finished, he ran his big, warm hand up the back of her leg and over her bare buttocks.

“The only thing I plan to put in your mouth is my cock,” he said with a hint of humor. “Anything else would deny me the joy of hearing you beg me to end your agony and fuck you senseless.”

Sparks sizzled between her thighs. She imagined herself handcuffed to a headboard while he fucked her mouth. She could do that. She liked sucking cock, liked the feeling of power it gave her. Well, maybe not so much when the guy was on top, but still. She would never know her limits until she tested them. Plus, she’d always been fascinated with the darker shades of desire.

And
carpe diem
, right?

“I wish it could be different,” he whispered, sweeping his fingers between her legs. “Believe me, I do.”

His touch was as thrilling as his words were bewildering.

“Why can’t it be? I don’t understand. Why can’t you kiss me? Why can’t you make love to me in a normal way?”

He swept his hand back down her leg and got to his feet. Taking her face between his hands, he lifted her gaze to his. His eyes were glossy with desire. Her hope spiked. For one breathless moment, she felt sure he would kiss her.

“Because if I do, you will die.”

Her mouth fell open. Holy smokes.

“How? Why?”

“It doesn’t matter. Because it isn’t going to happen.”

He let her go and moved on. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she followed, her mind turning like the reels on a movie projector. Try as she might, she couldn’t connect the dots, couldn’t see how a kiss could be fatal. He had to be making it up to scare her into doing what he wanted. Or, rather, into
not
doing what she wanted.

* * * *

The clack of heels on the stones told Leith his wee mouse was staying close as they wended their way through the dungeon maze. He didn’t blame her. The passage was as dark as a coalmine and the only source of light was the candle in his hand.

Were he the man he’d been, he’d be showing her the door instead of leading her into temptation. But he wasn’t that man anymore. He was a shade who’d been condemned to a loveless existence for betraying a queen who’d extracted his fealty against his will.

Now, he was forced to objectify his lovers to keep from falling for them. Like always, when he grew bored with her, he’d send her back where she came from. In the meantime, he was six million pounds richer and had a willing playmate.“Are you certain about this, Miss Morland?”

“Certain, no,” she said, her voice pinched. “But I’m willing to at least see what it’s all about.”

* * * *

Gwyn’s insides churned with a mixture of anticipation and dread when Leith stopped before a door constructed of heavy wooden planks. Iron strap hinges held the wood to the arched limestone threshold. “What should I call you?”

“My lord.” He pulled an old key from his sporran and inserted the end into the lock. The latch clicked and the door swung open with a spine-chilling groan. “And you are Betty Brown, the errant abigail who’s thrown herself upon the mercy of her employer, a man with the power to indulge the wickedness that dwells in the hearts of most. Play the part as you see fit, but don’t break character without first invoking the safe word.” He looked at her as he added, “Are you clear on the parameters?”

“Yes.”

Moths the size of those in
Silence of the Lambs
fluttered in her stomach.

“You have my word.”

When he stepped across the threshold, she started to follow. Rounding on her abruptly, he held up his hands.

“Wait here while I set the stage, so to speak.”

He shut the door on her. Alone in the spooky corridor, fear whispered in her ear:
Run, Gwyn. Run as fast as your legs will carry you and never look back.

Turning a deaf ear, she stayed put and started the inner monologue exercise she’d learned in her acting classes at UCLA. Yes, she was anxious, but she could channel her angst into a deeper understanding of Miss Brown’s motivations.

Perhaps the poor maid wasn’t the unfeeling nymphomaniac everybody supposed. Perhaps her promiscuity was a misguided search for acceptance and affection. If so, she wouldn’t be the first female in history to mistake desire for love.

Gwyn knew only too well how easy it was to confuse the two, especially when a girl wanted to be loved so badly she’d believe anything a guy told her. Perhaps Miss Brown hadn’t yet figured out that a man with a hard-on was about as trustworthy as a used car salesman.

Caveat emptor.

Maybe that should be her new motto. Let the buyer beware instead of seize the day. At least Sir Leith wasn’t a liar. He’d made no bones about what he wanted from her.

The squeal of the opening door gave her a start. When she spun around, her jaw almost hit the floor. Gone were the frockcoat, waistcoat, breeches, and boots. He wore nothing more than yards and yards of tartan belted low on his waist.

“Wow.”

Heat flushed through her system as her gaze drank in every glorious detail. His torso was a monument to manliness. Muscular and rippled in all the right places with the perfect amount of dark hair sprinkled across his chest. There was a ring in his left nipple and tattooed bands of Celtic knots encircling his muscular biceps.

Holy smokes. He looked like a Celtic god.

She swallowed to moisten her mouth, which felt as dry as Death Valley. “You wished to see me, my lord?”

“Aye, Miss Brown.” His tone matched the sternness of his expression. “And I believe you know why.”

“I do, my lord.” She lowered her head in deference. His legs were long, strong, and peppered with the same soft, dark hair as his chest. Her insides went molten and she started to perspire. She gave everything she had to stay in character. “Please, my lord. I know I’ve displeased you, but my poor mother depends on my wages to feed my brothers and sisters.”