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“Leave me.” The baron turned away from her, and new pain blazed across his back. He let out a grunt and clutched the edge of the bench.
“Do not resist the pain, young lord. Embrace it.” The tickle of his shoulder shot his attention to the woman who had moved in too close. “Enjoy it.” She ran her finger over his skin, and the baron shivered, the blood running straight to his cock.
“Do not touch me!”
The soft caress of her finger hardened into the vicious bite of her nails, as she scored her finger across one of his wounds. The baron cried out, and as he turned to smack her hand away, she gripped his wrist. Eyes on his, she guided his hands down past the laces of his breeches and forced his hand over his cock.
In his mind, he wanted to tell her to stop. To push her away. His voice wouldn’t produce a single sound. His muscles locked into a painful state of paralysis, as she guided his hand up and down the erect flesh. He had never been touched by a woman her age, and his chest tightened with a cold, hollow feeling.
“Pain can be beautiful when mixed with pleasure,” she whispered. “Do not deny your darkness. Embrace it.”
Tears formed in his eyes, the anger rising inside of him while his body responded to her touch in a way that made him want to vomit. His whole body shook with both fear and disgust, as he remained bent over the bench, his hand limp to her will. Just as he had back in his room, he succumbed to the orgasm that sprung forth on their joined hands. Humiliation burned inside of him, as he buried his face in his arm.
“How was it, young lord?” When he dared to glance over at her, she had begun to lick his release from her own palm, and, the sight of her turning his stomach, he looked away again.
What had he done?
Why had he allowed such a thing?
Worst of all, why had he climaxed?
His body shook with rage and shame.
“My Lord?” At the first brush of her finger across his arm, he leaped toward the woman, knocking her back against the dirt.Wounds across his back screamed in angry protest, but he ignored the agony burning across his skin for the rage that seethed in his blood.
“Do not touch me! Do not ever lay your hands on me again!” A red haze clouded his vision. He wrapped his hands around her throat, tears slipping down his cheek.
Eyes wide, she stared up at him, and he could feel her tremble beneath his palm. “Would you hurt me, as your father does?”
Every muscle in his body shook with the urge to throttle her neck until the life drained from her eyes. Instead, he released her and sat back on his heels, his mind agonizing over the last few minutes. “I am nothing like my father.”
She reached to touch her neck and flinched, before her lips stretched to a smile. “Liar,” she whispered.
38
JERICHO
Head pounding, I pressed a palm to my temple and opened my eye to Vaszhago standing over me.
“Welcome back.”
Confused, I sat up from my bed and noticed the chains broken, lying in a heap. Mind rewinding to what I could remember, I stared off, sketching mental images of Farryn being ill, summoning the woman, Kezhura. Vespyr chaining me for the night. Everything afterward was a blackness I couldn’t see past, but as I peered down at the broken chains, a sickening thought came to mind.
“Farryn?”
“Is fine. The vixen came looking for attention, and it seems she received it tenfold.”
“I didn’t hurt her?”
“No. I stopped it.”
My muscles sagged with relief, and I fell back against the pillows behind me. “I’m surprised you didn’t steal the opportunity to end me right then.”
“Thought about it.” He held up a vial in which a red film, flecked in sparkles, clung to the glass.
“Vitaeilem?” I asked.
“Had to cut your angel friend. If he is a friend, I’m sure he’ll forgive.”
