Wicked Games (30 page)

“What do you think?” His voice sounded more husky than menacing.

Rose jerked, lifting her head and shoulders off the bed, but she couldn't free herself. “No! Alan, you can't!”

“And I won't.” He smiled. “All you have to do is tell me what I want to know.”

Her eyes flickered in search of an escape that was nowhere to be seen. “Alan, please. Don't you understand? It's not just me; people will die if I give you that information.”

“People will die if you don't.” Jaw tightening, he moved up behind her. “Union soldiers, betrayed into ambush by the spies you shield. I can't afford to ignore this, Rose. If I could, you wouldn't be here. You'd be free, or you'd be in jail.” He lifted the cat. “Now. Who is your spymaster, Rose?”

“Go to hell.”

“Not without company.” And he slashed the whip down hard across the curve of her rump. As the lashes of the cat bit into her smooth skin, she yelped, twisting.

For a moment he hesitated, eyeing her bottom anxiously. It had been a hard slash, but to Alan's relief, he saw no mark except a slight blush. His mouth curved into a grim smile.

He brought the whip down again, laying a diagonal slash across her pretty bottom. His next strokes were rapid and hard, one after the other until she writhed, the sweet uplifted bowls of her ass clenching and jiggling.

His breathing roughened as her struggles alternately displayed and hid her sex and puckered rosette. He'd probed that tiny hole earlier when he'd freed her, and he knew it was still oiled from the candle. Ready for his use.

For a moment he pictured her lying voluptuously vanquished in the aftermath of a long, slow buggering, her anus swollen from his hard thrusts, dewed in his sperm.

He grinned and snapped the whip down across her tempting cheeks again.

Rose yelped as the next cut fell on her bottom, slashing a line of fire across her skin. She couldn't believe he was doing this to her.

Yes, she'd known he would be dangerous if he ever found out. She'd even wondered a time or two if he would kill her. But this . . . She hadn't expected to be subjected to this kind of erotic torment, this sensuous humiliation.

Anxiously she twisted around until she could see Alan in the mirror across from the bed. His muscle-knit chest shone, sweat-burnished, rippling as his arm rose and fell with each merciless stroke. His face looked tight and feral with hunger, hot eyes locked on her bottom. She tried to suppress the bucking and twitching that seemed to incite him to flog her even harder, but each flaming stroke of the whip defeated her determination.

Alan flung the cat down and reached for her rump, only to arrest the movement in midgesture. Jaw tight, he strode around to sit on the bed in front of her. Slipping a hand under her chin, he lifted it and forced her to meet his eyes.

“This has to stop,” he growled. “Now. Your spymaster, Rose.”

“I can't!” she wailed.

“Damn you, you'd better!” He set his jaw, his eyes burning. “Don't you see what's happening to me?”

“Forgive me, but I'm more interested in what you're doing to
me
.”

“So am I.” His nostrils flared. “I'm utterly fascinated by every twitch of your ass, every gasp and moan and whimper. It makes me hard, Rose. It makes me want to fuck you.”

Staring up at him, she found she couldn't speak, couldn't move, half hypnotized by the dark lust she could see blazing in his eyes.

“It's almost beyond my control, my sweet,” he said, his voice low and growling. “If you keep resisting me, if you refuse to submit, I can't guarantee my actions.” He stood up in a rush of male power and reached for the buttons of his breeches. A second later, she was confronted by the hard thrust of his rod. “It's up to you.”

She looked up at him and licked her dry lips. “Oh, no. You can't escape responsibility by saying it's all my fault, that I drove you to it. If you're excited by torturing me, the fault lies with you.”

His head jerked up and a startled flicker of self-awareness pierced his lust. “You . . . have a point. No gentleman would do to you what I've done.”

Alan got up from the bed and moved around behind her. Rose took a deep breath, relieved that he'd come to his senses at last. She'd known the man she'd loved couldn't do such things to her. As for the flicker of disappointment she felt . . . well, she'd ignore that.

Suddenly his hard hands gripped her bottom, parting her cheeks. “I suppose,” Alan grated, “this means I'm no gentleman.” To Rose's shock, the broad head of his shaft pressed against her anus.

“ALAAAAAAAANNNNNNN!!!”

A tight, feral smile cut Alan's face as he leaned into her. Slowly the big head of his cock penetrated the muscular ring of her anus, sliding relentlessly inward despite her desperately clamping muscles. Her asshole was well-greased, and the power of his hips insured she couldn't keep him out.

Fighting every inch of the way, he drove the width of his organ deeper, then deeper still, breathing in harsh gasps. She babbled threats and pleas in a voice high with anxiety, but he ignored her protests and burrowed deeper.

Finally he was in to the balls. He stopped, eyes narrowed as he fought not to come on the spot, her conquered rectum massaging his massive cock with its oiled, silky walls. He'd known reaming her would be delicious. Why else had he been imagining this moment since he'd impaled her ass on the candle?

“You're hurting me,” she said breathlessly.

He grinned. “I know.” Slowly he began to withdraw, savoring the feeling of his cock sliding along the tight channel that felt so slick and hot. Rose sucked in a gasp.

Alan set his feet to gain purchase and pushed, biting his lip in delight. “If you submit to me, it will get better.”

She whimpered. “It . . . can't. You're too . . . big.”

He suspected his answering smile must have a demonic cast. “All the more reason to submit, then.” But the going was getting a little easier now, as if she had begun to adjust to the invasion despite herself. Sweating, he began to pick up the pace, stroking in and out.

“What if . . .” She hesitated and sobbed out a breath. “What if I agree to tell you what you want to know? Will you spare me?”

“No.” The word was out before he could reconsider it, but it was just as well. He was not going to abandon his conquest now. He wasn't going to stop until he'd come in the depths of her ass.

With a growl, he began to ride her faster.

Rose twisted at the fiery shaft bisecting her bottom. She knew she deserved it for her disloyal impulse to betray her country.

Each long, merciless thrust bounced her against the bed rail as his pelvis ground against her sex. Yet the pain no longer felt like a knife in her ass. He was right that surrendering to his phallus made the penetration easier.

Turning her head, she saw him in the mirror, hunched over her in his breeches and boots, reaming her, his face twisted in predatory hunger. She felt a curl of arousal as she watched him, a spurt of pleasure rising through the pain and shame of his invasion. A strange delight rose at each withdrawal as his big shaft slid from her, only to torment her again on its return.

Alan looked up and his eyes met her in the mirror. He smiled slowly. Reaching between her thighs, he found the hard bud of her clitoris. Slowly he stroked it as he buggered her. She caught her breath as the pleasure strengthened, swirling up from her pearl like a kindling fire. She whimpered.

“Why, darling,” he gritted, driving the next stroke with such power that her breath left her lungs, “is that desire rising in your eyes? Can it be that you enjoy having your ass reamed by a Yankee bastard?” She twisted and gasped.

“Well, I don't mind telling you, I love ramming your Rebel asshole. What a sweet, tight little butt you've got.”

Rose pressed her eyes closed. The fire aroused by his skillful fingers met the painful blaze of his buggering cock, and the two seared her with lust.

“Get used to it, darling,” he purred, leaning over her until his breath stirred her hair. His fingers swirled over her clitoris. “I'm going to be fucking you this way frequently. You're just too tight and tempting to resist.”

She squirmed. The desire she'd felt all day now leaped hot again, and the smooth, even strokes of his shaft drove it higher. “Thick,” she whimpered. “You're so cruelly thick.”

He growled. The pace of his hips had picked up, grown erratic and urgent as he buggered her. Her thighs quivered with each stroke of his fingers. She began to shiver in waves.

“That's it. Come on my Yankee cock. Let me feel that little asshole squeezing me.” His voice was a deep, velvet drawl. She shuddered helplessly.

Without warning, he shoved so brutally deep, she jumped. She could feel his phallus jerking deep in her bottom as he groaned in pleasure. “Take it,” he rumbled. “Take it all!”

Her orgasm crashed over her like a wave, washing away pain and shame and duty, leaving nothing but the raw delight of Alan's cock pulsing out his cream in the depths of her ass.

•   •   •

R
ose sat on the velvet seat of the closed carriage, wrapped in the folds of her cloak. She wore nothing more, and she squirmed at the feeling of the red silk lining rubbing over her breasts and thighs. Flexing her bound hands, she wondered what she'd do if the cloak slipped.

A silly concern, really. Considering the hard expression on Alan's face as he sat across from her, she might do better to worry about where he was taking her and what erotic torment he'd prepared for her tonight.

She'd been his captive for a week now. Seven endless days of exploring aspects of herself she'd never imagined—and would have rather remained ignorant about. The leap of her passions as his hard palm slammed down on her bottom, the way she grew shamelessly wet when he screwed tiny clamps onto her nipples, the excitement of wondering when he'd break, when he'd throw her down and ride her in a frenzy of hunger.

It was no wonder she'd been able to resist his torture, she thought, twisting her bound hands in her cloak. She loved what he was doing too much.

But tonight . . . tonight he'd stripped her and wrapped her in her cloak, slipped a feathered mask over her face, and hustled her out to his coach. And she had no idea where they were headed.

Had he decided to turn her over to the authorities? No, surely he'd have dressed her first . . .

The carriage lurched and stopped, rocking on its springs. Alan opened the door and stepped out, nodding the coachman away. As he reached in and helped her out, he wrapped one arm around her to make sure she stayed modestly concealed by the cloak. Rose felt perversely grateful for his consideration.

Stepping down, she found she stood in front of a huge, very stylish house with peaked gables and gingerbread fretwork. Alan put his hand to the small of her back, urging her forward. She approached the staircase on dragging feet.

As they climbed the steps, one of the house's double doors swung wide, revealing a tall, handsome blond in a Union uniform. The blond smiled and waved them inside.

“Alan, what . . . ?” Rose murmured as their host closed the door behind them, leaving them in a wide foyer.

“You're in no position to ask questions.”

“Up the stairs, Major,” the blond said, nodding toward the winding staircase off to the left. Alan tightened his grip on her waist and urged her toward it. She couldn't fight without giving the blond a tempting view, so she set her teeth and went where he directed.

On the third floor, they found a carpeted hallway lined with doors, all firmly closed. The blond moved around them and led the way to the third door on the left. Producing a key, he opened it and stepped inside.

Rose followed him in, her chin tilted to hide her fear.

It was only when the blond moved to relock the door from the inside that she realized Alan hadn't followed.

Rose took a step back as the big blond turned to her with an unholy smile. “What . . . what's going on? Where's Alan going?”

“He's left you to my care, sweet.” He began to move toward her slowly. “He believes he has taken too gentle a hand with you, and he's entrusted me with the task of bringing you to heel.”

Rose backed away, eyes widening. “Who are you?”

“You,” said the blond, reaching for her cloak, “may call me Master Taylor.”

•   •   •

A
lan watched through the hidden spy hole as Taylor bound Rose's hands and flipped the end of the rope through a hook in the ceiling. She was half bent over a padded bar, but the way her wrists were tied arched her so that her breasts and ass thrust out as if begging for attention. Attention Alan was quite sure they'd get, if he knew Taylor.

And he did, which was precisely why he'd insisted on watching. He wasn't sure he trusted the captain not to hurt Rose for the sheer pleasure of doing so.

And what a pleasure it was. That, Alan knew from his own experience.

A slight, cruel smile curving his mouth, Taylor walked over to a small japanned casket that sat on the mirrored vanity. He drew out a ceramic jar and Alan tensed in anticipation. Taylor had told him of the cream that jar held, described the effect it would have on Rose. And the idea filled Alan with a combination of lust and jealousy.

Slowly Taylor pulled on a pair of leather gloves and carried the jar back to Rose's stretched and helpless body.

“I imagine you must be pretty curious by now,” the captain said, dipping two fingers into the cream. “Perhaps you even feel a bit betrayed that the major would turn you over to me.”

Rose tossed her head and eyed him haughtily from behind the feathered mask. “I'm sure I'm no longer surprised by anything the major does. He takes a positive delight in cruelty.”

“Of course he does.” Taylor walked around behind her and paused, contemplating the white, delicately rounded curves of her bottom. “Nothing stiffens a man's cock quite like having a lovely, helpless woman at his mercy. His to torment. His to fuck.”