AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She all but melted on the spot, crying aloud. His tongue roved back and forth and then plunged deep into her hole, before returning again to stroke her into a frenzy of anticipation. The more she moaned, the more he probed, as if trying to tip her into madness, his face bathing in her juices. She lost herself momentarily, her body bucking as if to free some inner demon, and then he pulled away and climbed over her.
"I cannot wait.” His voice was a desperate murmur as he freed his erect phallus from his breeches. He pulled her body nearer with a jolt, positioning her hips, one large hand stroking up and down the length of his shaft, squeezing a drop of dew from its tip.
She swore and closed her eyes when she caught sight of its size, her body clenching. It was too large, too hard. She couldn't take that in; it would surely injure her. Her eyes flashed open moments later, when he lay over her and began to ease inside her. The sudden heat and fullness at her entrance captured her senses fully, her ability to respond with words gone. In his expression she saw a myriad of emotions. Time seemed to stop. Power welled within him, its intensity threatening to overwhelm her.
"It may hurt,” he whispered. “This must be done so that we can move beyond it."
She nodded, helpless to deny it. She wanted it, too. If he stopped then, she knew in her heart she would beg him not to.
He lifted her hips in his hands, rising up and nudging his knees beneath her bottom, lifting her. Slowly, inexorably slowly, he worked his length inside her.
Blinding pain flashed through her and she felt hot fluids running onto the bed. She cried out. Her innermost flesh contracted as if to push him away, her wrists tugging within their restraints.
He paused but did not withdraw. Instead, his jaw turned to granite and he held her still, his hands unflinching on her hips as she struggled against him. Stretched to capacity, his rigid manhood was plundering her in ways she could not have imagined. Her vision blurred, tears on her cheek. He held himself inside her still, the rigid column of his phallus throbbing against the moist walls of her enclosing flesh. Then, through the pain, a pang of deep rapture sprang from the place where they met, surmounting the hurt. As it ebbed away, another wave of rapture crept up behind it, and she surfaced. Inside her, pleasure and something fiercer pounded out—need.
Looking up at him, she saw a man on fire—a man holding back, waiting for her. He had made her his woman. A wild cry escaped her open mouth. She shook her head, shook away the tears, her hair lashing her face. She clasped his hardness, welcoming him, her fluids running. “Please,” she whispered, her hips struggling up beneath his hands. The desire for more was like torture now. “Please,” she begged, again.
He moved.
"Bron,” she whispered, her voice low, desperate. She wanted to hold yet release the feverish need he had stirred deep inside her.
The muscles in his neck were rigid with restraint. He moved again, his eyes gleaming. “Yes, my beauty.” Lifting her again, he lowered her bottom to the bed and moved so that he lay over her. The muscles in his arms flexed as he rose up and drove into her with fierce determination. “We are joined now,” he breathed, between thrusts. “You will see that it is meant to be. This is just the beginning."
In his eyes, she saw an ocean of pleasure, of possibility, and her soul reached out for it, her body arching beneath him, willing it on. Each time he thrust she moaned aloud, the force of their joining swamping her. She anchored herself where she was tethered and her knees moved higher at his sides, her body lifting from the surface of the bed as he moved them both with his mighty lunges. Each time his phallus crushed against her soft center, deep inside, sheer delirium soared through her.
He pushed his face into the mane of her hair, slid his other hand across her belly and then down. His fingers were moving against them both where they joined. She whimpered. Her breath came ever quicker with each stroke. Her body was bowed against his, arched in suspense.
"Tell me,” he whispered, his mouth at her neck, his teeth grazing her flesh. “I want to know that you will believe and trust me ... say you will offer your trust to me, Maerose."
"Yes, yes.” She tried to say more, but words would not form. She opened her mouth wide and rode the blaze of sensation he had unleashed. A wild cry rose in her throat. As the heat flamed out, it melted her flesh to his.
"Maerose...” He stilled. The power drained from his eyes. She felt it rise inside her, his seed spurting at her core, freeing another ecstatic cry from her lips.
Moments later, when he reached and untied her, she clung to him. He kissed her face and held her safe, stroking her gently as they calmed, molding them together. She sensed only that, only their twin heartbeats settling. The world fell away from them for those precious moments.
[Back to Table of Contents]
CHAPTER FIVE
Veldor drew up his mount and lifted a hand to halt the men following in his wake. He looked up at the night sky, watching as clouds scudded across the moon. Just two more days and it would be a full moon. Samhain.
On the horizon he could make out the distant shape of the settle, and Western Tor itself. The massive stone was stark on the hillside. He dismounted, gesturing to the men that followed, indicating they should do the same. “From here we go on foot. I do not want to wake them, merely take back what is mine."
He began to move on, leading his horse, when the wind lifted. He heard a sound. A quiet laugh? Wary, he paused and closed his eyes. Reaching within himself, he cast his vision high above, viewing the area below. He quickly scanned around the place where he and his men stood. Nothing. It was merely the wind in the trees overhead.
As he walked on, he heard another sound. His temper flared. He looked at his men with suspicion. “Did you hear something?"
The men shook their heads.
He pressed on, shaking off the niggling feeling that someone watched them. Now was not the time to let delusions capture his imagination. Who would be stalking them? Not Bron the just, that much was certain. He'd be within the supposed safety of the elders, after his actions of the evening before. His mouth twisted wryly, anger over what had taken place corrupting his clarity of thought.
He pressed on but as he did, he saw a figure moving between the trees, a bright outline against the darkness of the forest, hovering as it came toward them.
"Who goes there?"
The figure shimmered and came into focus. As it emerged fully from the trees and into the moonlight, Veldor scowled. Egremont.
"You will not find Maerose here, Veldor,” the old man said, his eyes passing quickly over the assembled men.
