Seized by the Vampire Lord (Dark Lords) (11 page)

When he was at her entrance, he pushed inside her again, and out, stroking slowly until her cream worked deep inside her.  “Hush, love,” he whispered as she gasped and arched, her thighs tight around his hips.

“Please, I need you.  Don’t stop, no matter my cries,” she begged, her soft pleading his undoing.

His heart thumped hard in his chest.  His cock seemed to swell with her words, with the aching tight suction of her vagina.  Daegon bit off a rough, violent curse, burying his mouth against her neck as he plunged to the hilt inside her and built a stroking tempo into her.

Tormented desire blazed in his groin.  His muscles felt ripped, burned with the need to come.  His heart ached, shredded with the pain he caused.  He wanted her first time to be good, more than she could ever imagine.

Her muscles clenched around him, spasming, sucking at his cock with each stroke.  He looked at her face, saw pleasure and pain mingled in her expression.  He felt his control slip, grow desperately weak.  The misery that had held him for eons slipped away, replaced by the molten fire melting him in her core.

He groaned as frantic need took hold, clouding his mind to anything but her wet tightness.  She cried out as his pace increased, gasping for breath, clutching his back and raking her nails across his flesh.

He arched, deepening the stroke, feeling her tighten and pull around him.  Fire lanced his groin muscles.  His blood boiled in his veins, rushing through his body as if he were dying.  His cock felt wounded by her heat, his shaft a great nerve rubbed raw by each thrust.

He drove inside her furiously, distantly recognizing the tremors in her muscles as her own orgasm rippled through her.  He slid and thrust, burning alive, his heart thundering in his ears.  His needs were ravenous, devouring his control, his mind.

She was his, forever and always.

She tossed her head, screaming, trembling, crying out in a desperate plea that shattered his insides.  The orgasm seized him, throbbed inside his cock as his seed erupted inside her womb.  He exploded inside, groaning as her greedy womb sucked the seed from his body with waves as powerful as an earthquake.  Her muscles bit into him, milking the agony and ecstasy through his veins until he collapsed, weak and spent against her.

He panted against her neck, tasting the salt of her skin, shuddering as her muscles quivered and eased with the force of her climax.

They lay there long moments, breathing each other’s scent and cooling from the heat of sensual parlay.

“That was beautiful,” Cerise whispered, stroking his wet hair away from his face.  “But you are crushing my poor breast with your head.”

“My apologies, my dear,” he growled, tugging at the nipple near his lips.

“Mmm.  Do not, else I would have that beast between your legs service me again.”

He grinned against her flesh, flicking his tongue over her nipple playfully.  “What would your father say to have such a wanton of a daughter?”

Cerise sat up abruptly.  “Oh!”

Daegon propped on an elbow, looking at her.  “What is the matter?”

She looked down at him, feeling her heart swell to see him smiling upon her.  But her thoughts detracted on the moment.  “A thought has just occurred to me.  You gave father such a fright, I am sure he will have my sister locked in the tower again by now.  Oh, poor Adriana!”

“You are so kind-hearted, my love.”

“I am serious, Daegon.  She must be rescued.  Father will keep her there forever, I am sure.”  She slanted her eyes at him, knowing he found the look incredibly provocative.  “She helped me escape, you know.”

Daegon rubbed her nipple between his fingers thoughtfully, ignoring how she slapped his hand away.  It never deterred him from touching her.  “I know of someone who can set her free.  I feel certain, however, that he is
precisely
the sort of man your father expected to protect your sister from.”

Cerise brightened.  “Oh, well, Adriana will probably love him then.  Bianca and I love
our
accursed husbands.”  She chuckled at the fierce look that came in his eyes.  He rose on his elbow, reaching behind her neck.

“Indeed,” he growled roughly, pulling her down for a hungry kiss.

The End

Here’s a special sneak peek at HEART OF DARKNESS, a full length paranormal/fantasy romance coming in January 2013:

Chapter Two

With her teeth gritted and her jaw tensed against the anger that had her blood boiling, Isabeau clung to Wolfe Sinclair’s body unwillingly as the thirteen horses tore through the forest at a speed that had her stomach churning nauseously. 

For what had felt like endless moments at the start of her journey atop the horse, Isabeau had shifted uncomfortably as she’d tried to absorb the jolting and swift canter of the horse’s gait.  Hating the feel of him against her, she had wanted nothing more than to put distance between them, but on a horse’s saddle, it was rather impossible to place any space between them at all.  As it was, she had been perched rather delicately against the leather seat.  The cantle had dug deep into the fleshy mounds of her buttocks and had caused an ache all of its very own. 

When he had first tossed her into the saddle, Wolfe had hoisted himself up and sat in front of her, with the pommel at the apex of his thighs.  As they had ripped through the woods with indecent haste, Isabeau had plotted and schemed as she attempted to find a way to escape the bastard, who was taking her to only the Goddess knew where!

Unfortunately, her only thought had been for that—escape. 

Not the injuries that would occur when she followed through with her mad plan, nor how she would manage to do so without causing a ruckus and garnering all their attention.  Nor did she contemplate how she would manage to run from them when she made her getaway. 

She had been willfully blind in not seeing the many problems with her plan, as a desperation to break free from this man’s imprisoning hold had taken her by the throat and caused her to act idiotically.

In the end, she had been left with an even sorer bottom, an aching spine and a severely jerked neck
and
all for naught. 

Isabeau had simply noticed a sudden decrease in speed and had stupidly taken her chance.  Releasing her arms from his waist, she had pressed her hands against the saddle and used that to give her momentum to jump off the back of it. 

She groaned to think of how painful a maneuver that had actually been and all of it pointless.  As soon as her buttocks had connected with the hard, packed earth, Wolfe’s horse and the rest of his troop had come to a halt.  They had instantly known she was attempting to escape and the worst part of the entire indignity, was the fact that had they not noticed, she would have had to rest upon the loamy floor for an unknown period of time, so painful had it been. 

The hellish man had laughed at her predicament from his seat in the saddle, then had dropped his heavy weight the six feet to the ground and tossed her back atop the horse. 

The moment her posterior had clashed with the hardened and worked leather was one she would never forget.  If sitting perched on the bouncing cantle was distressing, it was nothing in comparison to the pain that bolted through her bones after her failed escape plan.  Agony had rippled through her as almost every single part of her had jolted and shuddered with the strain. 

When he had hoisted himself back on to the horse, this time, he had settled behind her.  And so they had been seated for the last few hours. 

She was not entirely sure which position was worse.  The last had been difficult, simply because it had inspired sensations in her breast that she had no right or desire to feel.  Those rebellious and treacherous emotions had pushed her into her foolhardy plot. 

And even worse was the fact that she could not deny that the clasp of her soft, inner thighs to the hardened and muscled flesh of his outer thighs and hips, had stirred something inside her.  Something that she had never before experienced and it had only worsened, as she leaned forwards for more support and her breasts rubbed against the lean yet sinewy breadth of his back.  The peaks of her nipples had hardened and even as she had schemed to escape him, her cheeks had been tinted with the heavy rouge of embarrassment at the inappropriate emotions that had coursed through her. 

The man could have been behind the murder of her parents, for Goddess’ sake. 

Although the thought had shocked her, rather than diminishing the insidious sensations, she had merely pushed herself to switch focus and her resolve to escape the man, who was intent on holding her captive, had trebled in intensity. 

Now, she found herself surrounded by him on three sides and Isabeau, despite repeated attempts to combat those perfidious and creeping emotions, found that her body was reacting to his proximity in ways that made her feel flushed and entirely outside of the parameters of her personal comfort. 

Throughout the long and tedious ride, she had had little choice but to take company with her own thoughts and the more she pondered Wolfe’s reaction to her accusation, the more she believed that he wasn’t behind her parents’ murder. 

But then, that could simply be her subconscious trying to smooth over the fact that she found something about the beast attractive. 

Or it could be the truth. 

He had shown bitterness at her words.  No signs of deception or guilt.  Just a bitterness that he had been accused of something that he had not done.  Surely, that would not be the case, had he indeed killed her parents.  She bit her lip and wished that she was certain of the truth behind her parents’ murder. 

When she realized that she was starting to revel in his fierce hold, her stomach began to churn anxiously.  It was not normal to react this way, of that she was most definitely certain.  A captor should be treated with disdain and distrust and hatred.  Not a longing to taste his lips, or…She closed her eyes at the thought. 

Perhaps, she was far more disturbed than she had ever imagined.  Mayhap, she belonged in Bedlam.  Her reaction to this man surely proclaimed her as a bedlamite!

To react to the arm that was clamped about her waist, the pressure of her spine against the uncompromising hardness of his torso, with anything but disgust was abnormal.  Yet she did not feel disgusted.  She felt surrounded by his scent and powerless to resist.  As the horse jolted, the firmness of his manhood suddenly rubbed against her buttocks, yet she did not feel anxious or any repulsion.  No, indeed.  Her cheeks blossomed with color but for no
negative
reason.  Exhaling roughly, she tried to fight the sway his body had over hers, but it seemed like an impossible battle. 

He was not aroused. 

No, that was her cross to bear. 

But he was not entirely unaffected, thank the Goddess.  What was happening between them, the emotions developing between them, were shared, but rather frightening all the same.  Isabeau realized that she was entirely unaware of how to cope with them.  Of one thing she was certain, it would lead to bed and then to misery.  More than likely on her part.  Regardless of that, she found that she enjoyed hearing his reactions to her novice touch. 

Even in her innocent state, she recognized the changes in his body, when he inadvertently touched her or she him. 

His breathing became harsh and whistled past her ear, if she accidentally rubbed or clutched at his leg with her hand for support.  It would become shallow if he brushed her breast with an arm, as he lifted it to point to one of his men.  If her back and buttocks, aching from her fall, relaxed momentarily and she fell against him, he would tense and stiffen up. 

Even as unknowledgeable as she was, Isabeau recognized the signs and realized that perhaps, it was some atavistic instinct that all women possessed. 

It neither helped nor hindered her own dampened horror at reacting to her capturer in this primitive way. 

She jolted as his horse bucked slightly and her buttocks started to ache fiercely at this further bruising act.  Relaxing as Wolfe calmed the horse and continued the indecent haste in which they cantered, Isabeau rubbed the onyx stone of her ring with her left index finger.  As she did so, her mind focused on the pain in her hips and rear and slowly, a heat absorbed some of the ache. 

It was indeed a relief to be free from some of the pounding pain, but she wished for the morning to cure herself completely.  Her powers had never been overly strong during the night hours.  They were limited at best.  As soon as the dawn broke, she would be able to entirely heal her ankle and the bruising to her behind.  Had she taken her disguise of the old crone during the hours of light, then it would have been impenetrable.  The clasp of another’s hand to her ring would merely have strengthened the illusion of her disguise, not destroyed it as had occurred when Wolfe had touched the onyx stone. 

That still troubled her. 

She could explain it away with the truthful fact that her powers were diminished in strength during the night, but there was something else, something that eluded her at this moment in time. 

“Is there a reason I can feel your buttocks heating up as though you have taken a seat in a pile of glowing embers?”

His gravelly and textured voice sounded loud in her ear and she felt the small hairs there and at the back of her neck stand on edge.  She had to fight the urge to shiver and only managed to do so, because he would either believe it to be her body’s natural and unstudied reaction to him.  Or, he would believe her to be cold and perhaps would wrap her even tighter in his arms and she would be surrounded all the more with his scent!

And it was not something she needed at this exact moment in time.

Isabeau firmed her jaw and tried to ignore him, but the arm about her waist merely tightened until he released her entirely in response to her continued silence.  His free hand then came up to cup her throat and he forcibly tilted her face towards him.  “Do not ignore me, fair maid,” he ordered, his tone mild belying the command of his words.