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She pushed him to his back, hiked up her silks, and sat astride him, her hot slit greasing his cock
with slick juices as it lay erect across his belly. He arched under her as she bent to his right breast.
She licked at the half-healed gash there and opened it with her canines, dragging the furrow down
toward his nipple. Her tongue was soft, moist, amid the pain. She lapped the welling blood,
making small sounds of satisfaction. Then, taking his hands above his head, she made a fresh
gash in his right biceps, moving her body along his as she sucked at the wound.
Ian groaned his submission, unable to stop hating that he did it. Why could he not simply give in
to her? She sat up, raised herself, and placed his erect member inside her, then rocked against him
for several strokes before she bent to the other side of his throat. His hands stole to her waist as
she moved faster. His own need rose inside him, and he wondered that she did not contain it by
the force of will that had stoppered him so many times before. She usually did not allow him to
ejaculate so early in the night, if she allowed it at all. He careened down a narrowing tunnel to the
blinding light that always frightened and enticed him.
Still she did not prevent his rising urgency but increased her pace, grunting in her need as she
sucked, first at his throat, then at his breast, and then again at the biceps torn by her teeth. His
release overtook him in a shudder, the light engulfing him even as he felt her wrenching cry.
He almost swooned, he felt so empty. She hung above him, satisfaction in her eyes, still straddling
his hips.  So, slave, is your submission complete?
He took his hands from her waist. What did she mean ? His submission was complete the first time
her eyes went red. A nasty smile curved her lips.  You do not even know.
 Know what? he growled. Should he even be able to speak to her so coarsely?
 You think I used my powers on you? Not tonight, my most submissive slave. 1 drew the power
only to produce my teeth, the better to open you.
A feeling of sinking horror suffused him.  What? What do you mean?
 You serviced me all on your own. Again the chortling satisfaction.
Ian stared at her. It was not true! He would never pleasure her willingly. He searched her face, its
amusement and triumph a torment. Had he not felt her compulsion? He was not sure. He had
been able to tell her to finish it. That had never happened before. And she had made no attempt to
control his release.
Oh, God.
He pushed her off him.  Bitch, he hissed, and struggled to his knees.  Bitch! I should& 
Her eyes blinked crimson. He felt the compulsion shower over him, beating him back against the
cushions, almost preventing breath.  Should what? she said, rising upon her elbows, her face
furious.  I should tear you limb from limb!
Kill me, he thought. Kill me now. He had submitted to her willingly. The thought was almost
soul-destroying. But did that not mean that she would finally finish with him and release him from
his torment? Fedeyah thought so.
She mastered herself. Her eyes dimmed and he could breathe again. Her fury dissolved into that
throaty laughter. When she could speak, it was in French.  How delicious that you still rebel! And
how very, very satisfying that you hate yourself for servicing me. There is much yet to savor about
you. And we have not yet progressed to an affection for the phalluses, the submission, even the
whip. She chuckled, low in her throat.
Ian could not speak. He gasped for breath, chest heaving. He saw the whole. If he had mastered
his anger, she might have killed him and moved on to another. He might be free even now. His
shoulders sagged.
She sat up, in control again, and arranged her silks around her.  No, I would not have killed you,
 she said, answering his unspoken thought.  You are an important part of my offering. She
studied him, head cocked for a moment.  But I might not find you so attractive, or need your
services so often. Her eyes bored through to lan s soul.  Let me feel your rebellion again. She
beckoned with one golden-nailed finger.  Kneel, slave, with your knees wide.
Ian s remaining spirit fluttered inside him. He tried to suppress any struggle against the will that
showered over him. He labored to his knees. But as he felt his cock swell again and his thin blood
throb, it was against his will. Blackness trembled around the edges of his vision, but he knew from
experience that she could rouse him even from a swoon.
 Knees wider. Now, rub your fine English cock. I wish its service yet this night.
He could not help but obey, but it raked his soul to do it. That was what pleased her most.
Nine
P r e v i o u s T o p
N e x t
Beth swam up through layers of cotton that clogged her brain. She was warm. The sun was bright against
her closed eyelids, but it seemed much too much effort to open them. She had been dreaming. The
dream had been intense and& sensual. It dissipated like fog, even as she tried to make her way back
into its world.
A pounding on the door shook her senses. That was what had wakened her.
 Miss Rochewell! Jenny called.  Are you up yet?
 Miss Rochewell! Mrs. Pargutter s shrill voice called.  We are late. The shops await.
Beth opened her eyes and looked around, confused. Where was she? She pushed herself up to sit, but
blackness at the edge of her vision threatened to overwhelm her. She hung her head to gather her
senses.  Go& go on without me, Mrs. Pargutter. I have& the headache.
Much whispering outside the door.  Well, if you re sure, my dear. We shall return in time to take you up
before we go out to the ship. More muttering between Mrs. Pargutter and Jenny and the sound of
footsteps on the stairs.
Beth collapsed to her pillows. What was wrong with her?
The night came back to her in a rush: following Mr. Rufford, seeing him drink the Spanish harlot s blood,
the look of pain and shame on his face, the fear when he discovered her, the feel of his body against hers,
the press of his lips at her throat.
Her hands felt under her collar for the wounds he had made. Yes, there were the twin bumps. Was it loss
of blood that made her so weak? She remembered Rufford carrying her into the inn. How had she gotten
into bed? Who had changed her clothes? Jenny? Mrs. Pargutter?
Rufford!
The little blood she had left went careening around her body. He must have seen her naked. He must
have rifled through her things. And then, even more tenuous in her memory, was the feeling of him
bending over her, a brush of lips that made her throb, and then& Had she offered herself to him? She felt
her face flush, and then the dark, floating circles spread around her field of vision. This time they would
not be denied. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]