Dark and Stormy Knight (11 page)

“I’m not going to hang you upside down,” he assured her. “I’m just going to raise your hindquarters a wee bit for better access.”

“Better access?”

“Relax, eh?” He forced a smile. “I’m going to have a bit of fun, but nothing that should hurt you.”

Damn her and damn his memory. He’d completely lost his focus, his erection, and his predatory playfulness. Now all he wanted to do was shift into a bloody cat and curl up in a corner somewhere.

The women he brought here got off on the whole Dom/sub gestalt. This one clearly didn’t, which aroused his compassion more than his passion, a perilous reaction for one who required indifference.

He secured the sturdy leather anklets and hoisted her up until her sex was level with his. He unbuckled the belt securing his kilt, and tartan puddled around his ankles. He stepped out of the pool of plaid and bent for a closer look at her labial folds, which the bar had opened the way time and sunshine opened a rose.

Desire promptly rekindling, he ran his fingers over her petals and teased her stamen until she hovered on the brink of climax. He then withdrew, leaving her unfulfilled apurpose, and returned to the wall for more props.

* * * *

Gwyn the Brave, playing the part of Miss Brown, watched with breathless apprehension as her wicked lord and master selected his instruments of punishment.

Gwyn the Meek, meanwhile, was kicking herself for allowing Sir Leith to string her up like a side of beef in a butcher’s window, rendering her utterly defenseless in the dark bowels of a remote castle when the rest of the world believed her dead.

Was she scared? Hell, yes. Scared shitless. He could beat her, cut off pieces of her, skin her alive. Her only consolation was he couldn’t rape her—but only because she’d more or less consented to whatever acts of sexual depravity he chose to subject her to.

Fear screamed warnings inside her brain, but all she could do at this point was listen—and beat herself up for being so incredibly stupid.

Men had always taken advantage, always treated her like a sex object instead of a person with feelings. Her stepmother’s barflies, the boys at school, the handful of hook-ups she’d so gullibly believed wanted more than a night of pleasure. They’d all been so enchanted with the pretty packaging, none had ever bothered to look inside the wrapping.

Sometimes, she wished she was ugly. Other women envied her beauty, but in lots of ways, it was a bane. Yes, her looks opened doors, but not for the right reasons. She had to work twice as hard to prove herself, to be taken seriously, and to be valued for more than her appearance.

Gwyn the Brave cleared her throat. Why did she believe Sir Leith was different? Well, for one thing, she’d read his book. The BDSM thing had to be window-dressing. No shallow sadist could’ve written anything half so poignant as
The Knight of Cups
. For another, she’d seen something in his eyes at times when he looked at her. Underneath the mask, she’d caught glimpses of the same deep longing for love and acceptance dwelling deep within herself.

His expression, his touch, and his choices all communicated that beneath the kinky armor beat the heart of a good knight—a man who yearned for tenderness, but denied himself for some reason.

Please let her not be wrong about him.

He was still across the room, still shopping the wall of tortures. A mixture of fear and anticipation buzzed in her veins. So did her thwarted orgasm. As weird as this was, she could come at the slightest touch.

He turned and started back. She couldn’t see what he held. Small things, mostly, and something long and thin. Small things were good. Whichever orifice they were meant for, they couldn’t hurt much.

Setting his selections on a table beside the chaise, he stepped between her wide-open legs. She could only feel what he did. But God, could she feel it. A finger traveled from pubic hair to anus, circled a few times, and headed back. When he reached her vagina, he slipped the digit inside and made a rotation.

“You’re very wet, Miss Brown,” he said, sounding pleased. “Were you this wet for the grooms?”

“No, my lord. It’s all for you.”

He made a guttural noise in his throat, pushed more fingers into her, and moved them about. In, out, and around, filling her pelvis with liquid fire.

A soft, vibrating whirr intruded on the silence. Something buzzed against her clit, jolting her. Holy shit. The sudden surge of euphoria was so powerful, so incredible, she couldn’t help but cry out.

The buzzing pushed her body to the breaking point. Her hands fisted overhead. Her nipples, still raw from his brutality, sprang to attention. Clenching her jaw, she strained for what promised to be the best climax of her life. Just as she was ready to explode, he withdrew all stimulation. The hindered orgasm retreated in a tingling backflow of warmth.

Just as she returned to earth, he pushed the vibrator into her vagina. Wow! The blissful vibrations reached all the way to her straining nipples. She gasped as his finger wagged against her swollen clit. Pleasure tremored through her body like an 8.5 earthquake.

Something pushed into her anus. She tensed, even though the invasion wasn’t painful. Just uncomfortable.

“Relax, Miss Brown.”

His burr was soft yet commanding. He stepped back, leaving the toys in her orifices. The next second, something snapped against her clit. She cried out as the shock reverberated through every cell.

“What the hell?”

“Be still, you wee whore.”

Snap.

Holy crap. He hit her again. The strike stung a little, but in an arousing way that wasn’t particularly painful. In fact, not unlike the nipple torture, the spanking was darkly exhilarating.

He ducked under one of her legs and came around to her side, giving her a startling view of both his erection and the object he’d struck her with. A riding crop.

Quick as a blink, he flicked the tongue of the whip against her right nipple, then her left. A bullet of erotic agony shot straight to her buzzing genitals.

“Pleasure and pain, Miss Brown. There’s a very fine line between the two, is there not?”

“Yes.”

He brought the crop down on her right nipple—the one he’d clamped. The sting made her wince. What the hell? That time, the blow didn’t feel so good. Her reproachful gaze found a mirror in his.

“Have you forgotten you’re addressing your lord and master?”

“No.” She forced the word through clenched teeth. “Forgive me, my lord.”

“Aye, well.” His stern expression softened some. “That’s more like it. Now turn your head to your right and open your mouth.”

As she obeyed his command, he came around and, without ceremony, pushed his hard cock into her mouth. Swallowing her surprise, she closed her lips around it and swirled her tongue about the head. The action was met by a sharp breath and a fractured groan. He pushed deeper, nearly gagging her.

“Suck my cock, Miss Brown. Like you sucked the groom’s.”

She gave the effort everything she had, reveling in the taste and feel of his solid-yet-pliable flesh and the accompanying soundtrack of breathy groans, vowels, and expletives. She sucked, swirled, flicked, and scraped with all the gusto she could muster. As she worked him, he worked her with small, sensual flicks of the crop on her nipples, navel, and clit.

Meanwhile, the vibrator hummed scrumptiously inside her and whatever he’d stuck up her ass was feeling remarkably erotic.

“Are you ready to be good and fucked, Miss Brown?”

He withdrew his cock from her mouth as he said the words.

She licked numb lips and moved her stiff jaw. “More than ready, my lord.”

He moved between her legs and removed the vibrating implement and whatever he’d stuck in her rectum. Both orifices wept for the loss. She heard something tear—a condom wrapper?—and then, with one well-aimed thrust, he claimed her pussy so completely her orgasm broke like the dawn of a new day.

Thank you, Jesus. Fulfillment at last!

He pulled back and thrust a second time, burying himself so deep she could feel him pushing on her cervix. As she moaned her profound enjoyment, he hit some magic spot on the wall of her vagina, making her come again.

“You feel so bloody good, Miss Brown,” he rasped. “I can see why all my ghillies are so eager to have their turn.”

“You feel good, too, my lord.”

Speaking took effort, given how breathless and depleted she felt.

He pulled back, hovered on the brink of withdrawal, and drove into her again. She bore down, squeezing her pelvic muscles as hard as she could. Pushing deeper, he groaned and shuddered, sending scrumptious quivers through her. He circled his hips, grinding their pubic nests together.

“Promise me you’ll never do it again,” he demanded with another rotating thrust.

“Never do what, my lord?”

“Fuck. The. Footman. Or. The. Grooms.”

“I shan’t, my lord. I promise.”

“Only me.”

“Only you.”

“Swear it, Miss Brown.”

“I swear, my lord.”

The bliss she felt melted away when she realized he was only role-playing. She’d never been one for casual sex. Yes, she had one-night stands now and then, but always with the naïve hope the trysts might develop into more.

He gripped the stretcher bar and, with each accelerating thrust, pulled to achieve more depth, pushing her toward the edge. Her insides, now molten, began to clasp for the building orgasm. He pulled out of her abruptly, denying her release once again.

“Please, my lord,” she whimpered.

“Oh, aye, Miss Brown,” he said, plunging into her. “Do beg for it. Tell me how good my cock feels, how this is the best fuck of your life, how I’ve ruined you for all future comers.”

“All true, my lord. And very cruel of you, too, I might add. Since you can never be mine.”

“Be glad of it.” His burr was husky and strained. “For my love is a plague.”

“In what way?”

“Because of my curse.”

Did he just say
curse
?

She was too close to orgasm to go there right now. He fingered her clit, allowing her release. As her sex spasmed around his, ecstasy she’d never known before radiated outward from the point of contact. He made a strangled sound, gave one last forceful push, and stilled as his cock unloaded inside her.

He pulled out of her, leaving her emptier than she’d ever felt before, and set about freeing her legs from the spreader.

“Is your curse the reason I will die if we get involved?”

“Aye.”

“Who put the curse on you and why?”

“The Queen of Avalon—and the why doesn’t matter.”

The why mattered to her, but she would shelve her inquiry until he felt more talkative.

As he removed the handcuffs, she sat up, rotating her wrists to ease the stiffness. “What now?”

“That depends,” he said with a lopsided grin. “Would you like to have a go?”

She scowled at him, unsure she understood. “You mean do what I want with
you
?”

“Aye. Unless you’d rather not.”

She couldn’t deny the suggestion appealed. No man, no person, had ever handed her the reins of control before. She’d only ever been equal or, more often, subservient. She cast a wary eye around at the chamber’s various torture devices. Hurting him didn’t interest her, but having power over him did.

“It would seem the wee mouse likes the idea of playing the cat for a change.”

The mouse did. Very much. She just didn’t know quite how to put the plan into play. She pictured him bound and blindfolded while she teased him into a sexual frenzy. Yes, that seemed like a splendid place to start. Breaking out of his hold, she got to her feet and started toward the wall of accessories.

“Wait here while I choose my props.”

Gwyn wilted in the face of her daunting choices. There were blindfolds, handcuffs, ropes, rolls of duct tape, gags, and assorted paddles and whips.

With a shaking hand, she liberated a riding crop from its peg and ran her fingers along the braided handle. Thrills swam through her as she pictured herself riding him like a pony. She found the bridle, but could find nothing to serve as a tail. In
Beauty’s Punishment
, the tails were attached to huge dildos the masters shoved up the asses of their sex slaves. She’d prefer something more modest in size. She liked the idea of putting something in his ass, but wasn’t out to make him suffer. As she went on looking for a tail, she could feel the cat’s eyes upon her.

“Are you looking for something in particular?”

“Yes, but telling you what will ruin the surprise.”

“I’m not big on surprises,” he said. “Tell me what you’re looking for and, if I have the item, I’ll tell you where it can be found.”

“What if you don’t want to wear what I’m looking for?”

“If I have it, I’ll wear it.”

She turned to find him still sitting on the chaise, looking so hot it was a miracle she didn’t melt where she stood.

“I’m looking for a tail so you can be my pony.”

“Oh, aye?” His mouth cocked into a devilish grin that activated a warm discharge of moisture. “Did you dream of having a pony to ride when you were a wee lassie?”

“I did, as a matter of fact.” Having a pony was one of many dreams that never came true.

“The tails are with the anal plugs.” He pointed toward the chest of drawers on the wall with the pegs. “Third drawer from the top.”

She opened the indicated drawer. Inside were several options. She selected a black one made from genuine horsehair before closing the drawer. Returning to the chaise, she set the items she’d chosen beside him.

He looked from them to her. “You’ll need a harness if you want me to pull you around in the cart.”

Tingling warmth flooded her pelvis as she pictured him down on all fours pulling her around as she snapped his buttocks with her crop. She spun, eyebrow raised. “You would do that?”

“Why not?” He shrugged as if it were nothing. “I told you I’d do anything you wanted. Just be prepared to return the favor.”

The image of pulling him around while he raised welts on her ass provoked a less enjoyable tingling. Maybe she should go back to Plan A. She picked up the fur-lined handcuffs. “How about we start with something I’m more comfortable reciprocating? Lay back and put your arms over your head.”