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His hips thrust wildly as he drives deeper, demanding everything that I can give. He fucks like a wild animal, but his kisses…those are the kisses of a man consumed by love, and they are for me…
Edward cradles me in his arms and picks me up off the bench. He strides across the cellar, his cock still nestled inside me, and presses my back against the wall. Bottles jangle in the niches on either side of me, but I don’t care. I am drunk already on his kisses and his caresses.
“My Brianna,” he whispers as he pushes inside me.
I lock my ankles together behind his back, pulling him deeper. My hands roam over the corded muscles on his back, as if I must map every inch of him with my fingers to make certain that he’s real. With one hand, Edward cups my breast, stroking it lovingly before pinching the nipple hard enough to make me moan.
“I know exactly what you like, my Brianna,” he whispers. “For we were made for this. For fucking. For pleasure. For beauty. For love.”
His hips buck against mine. My prince’s beautiful face twists into an expression of utter rapture. His eyes fix on mine, and those black orbs never waver from me as we fall apart together.
Fuck.
That was…
SCRAAAPE.
“What was that?” Edward asks sleepily, pulling his face from where it rested on my shoulder.
I drop my feet to the ground and stand up on shaky legs, one ear listening for the sound. There it is again, a harsh scraping sound from somewhere above our heads.
Is it rats? I didn’t even contemplate that there might be rats down here.
“Spiders?” Edward asks in a small voice.
I shudder and pull my shirt over my head, hating the idea of a rodent scampering over my naked skin. I pick up my mobile and swing the beam around the room, searching for rodents.
SCRAAAPE.
My blood runs cold.
No, it’s not rats or spiders.
“It’s someone moving the flagstones back into place!” I cry.
Edward and I bolt for the stairs at the same time. We crash into each other in the narrow tunnel entrance, our limbs tangling together. In the moments it takes us to untangle ourselves, another muffled scraping noise can be heard, this one much louder and heavier.
I reach the top of the staircase first. Sure enough, it’s been closed up. I lay my back against the stone and push with all my might, but it won’t budge. Above us, the heavy scraping noise has stopped. “I think he’s moved your sarcophagus on top of the entrance.”
Edward slumps against the wall. “It’s that poxy Roman playing a prank on us. It has to be. When I get out of here, I’m going to feedhimto a lion.”
In the pale beam of my mobile phone flashlight, I can see how huge his eyes are. He doesn’t believe this is Pax.
Especially not when I train the light on the stone, and notice a tendril of red smoke curling from between the seams.
Red smoke.
The Ripper.
We swap places. Edward makes a face as he braces his shoulders against the stone. He grunts and struggles and swears, but he can’t make the stone move, either.
As I watch him, I become aware of the musty taste in the back of my throat, and the exquisite preservation of all the bottles down here.
“Edward? When you had this cellar constructed, did you by chance include a handy window or ventilation shaft or secret tunnel leading to the house?”
“Of course not,” he replies. “Wine will remain in much better condition if the room is sealed tight. I would have instructed my men to make this room as airtight as…oh.”
Yes,oh.
“There’s no air down here,” I say. “And no one knows where we are. If we don’t get some help soon, we’re going to suffocate.”
TO BE CONTINUED
