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“Yes, what?” He nudged forward, touching her slit with it, the physical embodiment of his vitality.
“Please. Yes, please. My lord.” She panted the words, stuttering over their formation.
“How much do you want it?” He seemed intent on teasing her, breaking every last bastion of dignity.
She stared at his eyes, the blue enamel irises that circled the bottomless pits of blackness. Two opaque dishes and in them, she witnessed something indescribable, primitive and inhuman, but not deadly. She wanted to know more.
“As much as you do. Sir.” She licked her lips.
His lips twitched. He appreciated some wit. “Ha.” He settled back on his haunches, the grip loosening further. “It is true, I do want you more than words can say.” His gaze roved, from her dainty toes dangling in the air, down her long legs and crooked knees, into the flat of her belly, over the generous curvature of her breasts and finally, he focused on her throat. She tensed—he’d parted his lips and revealed his sharp teeth.
Tales had been told for eons; enduring legends handed from household to household. Things that nursemaids fed their young charges to make them fearful, to ensure they did not wander too far from the nest of home and venture into dangerous places. Tilda recalled them now, lying beneath the man with a long past boyhood, who had probably forgotten such stories, and she wondered, fleetingly, if they weren’t fairy tales, but real. Monsters that tore apart their foes or ate them whole. Fire-breathing dragons with razor talons. Men who turned into wolves... She had seen so little of life.
He loomed over her, casting a shadow that blocked out his face and features.
“You’re so small,” he said softly.
She was typical in stature, hardly tiny.
“Fragile.” He lowered his face down toward her neck. “I hunger for it, the virgin with no virginity. The maid who sacrificed her sex for one so undeserving. The woman I punished for weakening when she should resist such pathetic predators. I am your true huntsman. Do you know that is what you are to me? My perfect prey.”
He spoke so quietly, she thought that he had not meant for her to hear the words. By the time he’d finished speaking, his lips were grazing the vein in her neck. She closed her eyes and waited for him to unfurl some cruel purpose, skewer her below while his teeth devoured her... and she would moan beneath him... yearn for completion.
The kiss was purposeful and firm, his lips sucked and drew in the softer parts of her skin, but she felt no sharp teeth. She opened her eyes and stared over the crown of his head at the flickering candles on the other side of the room. He trailed more kisses along her collarbone and down between her breasts, he circled her erect nipples with a flurry of tiny ones, and she tingled from scalp to toe with each.
There was nothing unnatural in the caresses of his lips. Even when he sucked one of her buoyant nipples into his mouth and toyed with the pebble using his tongue, she felt no discomfort. The angst she’d created faded away. Whatever he had planned, and maybe his intention had been less gentle, he had changed his mind. The fairy tales were just that and she should have trusted him.
She lifted her heavy arms from where they lay useless and draped them across his broad shoulders. While he explored her with his mouth and hands, she skated her fingers up and down his back, noting the puckered scars, the thickened muscles, the narrow waist.
The lack of haste and mellow tone continued until the tapers were burnt out and the wicks gone. Only the fire provided illumination in the form of dancing shadows and amber glows. She sighed, enjoying the touch of his skin moving over hers, the kindness of his hands as they skirted around her poor bottom and down the backs of her legs. She was in this state of unsuspecting surrender, when without a word, he thrust his cock forward and penetrated her channel in one swing of his hips.
The entire length of his shaft disappeared inside her. She gaped, speechless, unable to cry out or even breathe. He planted his hands on either side of her head, tipped back his head and released a long groan of delight.
She might not have been a virgin, but the volume of him combined with the weight of his manhood filling her was substantial, and nothing the priest had done to her was comparable.
He held himself there, offering her no relief from the tight pinch. Her arms fell away, unable to keep a grip on his back as he arched higher, then ground forward, sinking deeper inside her. She held her shaking legs, clutching them, aware that if he grasped them, she would be pinned down under his body and helpless.
“Wait,” he said sombrely. “Relax.”
A hard task, for every inch of her was tightly coiled around his point of entry. But the strictures were fast diminishing. Something was released, a pulse, a beat of her heart. It was the prelude to sudden arousal, one that allowed her at last to stretch and accommodate his mighty intrusion.
“There.” He’d sensed it too. He shifted over her, using his arms to hold his body off her, and without withdrawing, he straightened his legs and laid them flat behind him. He was a long dart between her thighs, his elbows tucked next to her ears and his chin nearly resting on her forehead.
He kissed her hair, a final act of preparation, one that signalled he was ready. He lifted his hips up, retrieving his cock from inside her pussy, and hovering there for a minute pause, he stared down and curled his lips.
“Now.”
He plunged himself to the hilt of his cock and she absorbed the impact of him ramming into her upturned bottom with a silent scream of shock. Her lungs refused to expel the air within them, leaving her dizzy and soft-focused. He repeated the upward and downward swing of his pelvis, re-entering accurately and firmly. The stroke of his inward approach was glazed with friction, the kind that rubbed painlessly. The retreat merely reminded her of her wetness, which spilt out with him.
He picked up the pace of his thrusts and exerted himself with quiet pants and the occasional leisurely groan.
And what of her, his newly betrothed, lying under him? She was melting, and not with the heat of his energetic body, but with the pulverising assault of his flesh striking her clitoris. The angle he’d chosen was perfect for rubbing it. He knew what he was doing. This was no accident of design, for as much as his cock hammered her, the excitement of her clitoris was taking all of her attention.
“My lord!” She clawed restlessly at the bedcovers, her hair, his bulging biceps, and anywhere that her fingers might try to anchor themselves. She failed to grip or hang onto anything. The tingling in her fingers was the first sign she was close to a climax. She clenched his cock, hoping to slow him, bide her time, and not erupt into a premature moment of selfish pleasure.
“Wait,” he commanded. “I feel it.”
She was uncertain of his intentions. Could he sense her readiness, or was he going to bring about his own fulfilment?
