Demon Lover (11 page)

As she moved down his body, kissing the path her hand had traced from chest to belly, he gazed at her golden hair shrouding her face. So bright. So sunny. Not that he’d ever seen the sun except at an oblique angle. His kind couldn’t bear its bright rays.

Her soft, silken hair trailed over his skin, tickling softly, making his stomach muscles twitch. Gwyneth pushed the curtain impatiently over one shoulder so he could see her lovely face as she lowered her mouth to the tip of his cock.

Ragnorak bit his lip and held his breath.

She looked up at him, met his gaze as she drew his foreskin back and wrapped her lips around his flushed head. Heat and warmth surrounded him. Her tongue slipped around the shaft, stroking, soothing, firing him up.

He gasped and thrust toward her.

Control. She had it. He was losing it more and more with every tug of her hand and slurp of her tongue. And now she was drawing him deep. His head bumped the back of her throat and she moaned, the vibration shooting up his shaft. He felt like his groin was on fire. His balls drew tight. He trembled with the need to come. And she’d barely begun. No way could he hold out for another hour. If he couldn’t bear a simple blow job, how would he fare if she decided to straddle him and slip that velvet pussy onto his cock?

He reached out and touched her head, combed his fingers into the smooth, cool strands of her hair. Her scalp was hot underneath and her head moved up and down as she swallowed his cock.

Lose it and she’ll be gone, he reminded himself. A couple of hours is nothing against a lifetime of having your heart’s desire—a wife and child of your own.

The reprimand helped a little. Very little. For now she was cupping his sac, fondling his rock-hard balls and teasing one finger along the path to his anus. His opening clenched in anticipation of her touch. But she never reached that far.

Abruptly, Ragnorak, clenched his fingers in her hair and pulled her off him. “Enough!” He wasn’t rough, didn’t pull her hair, but tugged gently. Was he breaking the deal by not allowing her to finish the job? He didn’t care.

The only way he could win would be to concentrate on her pleasure, her body, not his. Everything depended on his being in control. And so he pulled her up beside him and flipped her onto her back. He lay on top of her, his cock nudging insistently at her entrance, and he kissed her.

Hot and deep he probed her mouth, tasting a trace of the wine from dinner and the indefinable something that belonged to Gwyneth alone. He wasn’t inexperienced at kissing, but with her it felt completely different—new and amazing. What was it about this woman whom he barely knew that stirred him so? Was he as shallow as Midas, merely coveting her great beauty? But no, there was something more. Something inexpressible about his feeling for her.

After several moments of deep kissing, he abandoned her mouth and moved to her throat, lapping the precious salt from the dip between her collarbones. He kissed her chest, nuzzled the underside of each breast but ignored the nipples this time and moved lower. Her belly was taut, but still somewhat curved from having carried a child. He swirled his tongue into her navel, and her stomach flinched.

He spread his hands over her hips, pinning her to the bed, and he moved lower, skirting around her pussy, bestowing nibbling kisses to the soft junction of her legs and abdomen. Lower still, he roamed. Between her legs now, tickling her inner thighs with his tongue.

Gwyneth moaned and shifted beneath his hands and mouth. A surge of triumph rolled through him. He was back in control. Sure his dick was as hard as hematite as he pressed it into the mattress, but although it might be leaking a little, he wasn’t coming.

However, he would make certain Gwyneth did.

He slid his tongue lightly up her seam, sampling her musky juice. She squirmed beneath his restraining hands on her hips. He took a moment to simply view the erotic sight of her plump pink folds, open before him. Then he dipped his head and flicked the tip of his tongue over her clitoris. This time she didn’t just wiggle, she jerked.

Ragnorak pulled away, giving her time to consider the intense pleasure he could give her. He returned to kissing her smooth inner thighs all the way down to the backs of her knees. Oh, yes, he could keep this up for the rest of their time together. Teasing her, bringing her to the edge of climax then backing off. He was a master at that.

And so he began his torture. He lapped at her clit until she shuddered then abandoned it again, leaving her whimpering. He slid his fingers into her entrance, testing the tightness of her slippery channel with slow thrusts. Just as she fell into a rhythm, rising to his thrusts, he stopped that and moved on to a different stimulation. He nipped her swollen pussy lips, sharp little bites intended to give just enough pain to make her gasp and writhe. Then he licked the tender flesh, soothing it with laps of his tongue.

Back to her clitoris again. He swirled his tongue around the erect bud then gave her an unexpected nip. She yelped and her hips arched off the bed. Reaching beneath her, he grabbed hold of her buttocks and held her firm while he went to work on her, licking insistently over her clit until he could tell from her panting and thrusting that she was on the very edge.

Once more he left her there, teetering at the precipice. He moved his face lower, slipped his tongue inside her and lapped her cream. His poor, aching cock was weeping in earnest. He rubbed against the silken sheets, trying to relieve himself with a bit of friction, but not too much. Time was speeding past and soon the top of the hour glass would be emptied. He’d distracted Gwyneth from her mission, made her so hot and aroused she’d lost track of time.

Again he returned to treating her clit. A quick glance at the glass assured him it was safe to let her come at last. He grasped her hips and bent to his task again. Her skin was moist beneath his hands and trembling from tension. He would give her the release she craved.

Gwyneth whined and moved beneath him as he lapped her once more. He felt powerful as he drove her to her conclusion, bringing her once more to the edge and pushing her over. He knew when she’d taken the plunge because she cried out, a wonderful, full-bodied wail of delight. The sound thrilled him and filled him with pride. He’d made his angel soar.

He tensed his thighs, dug his cock harder into the mattress and kept his mouth latched onto Gwyneth’s clit until he felt the last spasm pass through her. Only then did he pull away, pausing to wipe his mouth on her thigh.

Ragnorak regarded the expression of ecstasy on her beautiful face—open and vulnerable and alive. He’d given her that. It was what he wanted for her always. Pure joy. He dreaded her return to her senses, when she’d open her eyes and regard him again with dread and mistrust, but he couldn’t fault her for that. He’d earned her suspicion and fear.

He pushed himself upright, resting on one arm and still watching her face. And just as he’d predicted, Gwyneth’s eyes opened and her expression closed like a house with shuttered windows. The delight was doused and wariness returned.

Her gaze flew to the timepiece in which the last grains had long since fallen. Then she looked at him. Despair bloomed in her eyes. “You tricked me.”

“No, I didn’t.” The fact that he spoke the truth didn’t relieve his sense of guilt. She’d allowed herself to be distracted. The blame was hers, but still he felt like a criminal. It didn’t make sense.

“No. You didn’t,” she agreed dully. “I was a fool.”

“You have two more chances,” he reminded her, trying to appease. “Better luck next time.”

She narrowed her eyes and rose from the bed to gather her clothing. In moments she was dressed. “May I return to my room now?”

Ragnorak had risen, too, and he rang the bell to summon Karnak.

“I’m sorry things didn’t work out as you wished.” He heard his cool, distant tone but couldn’t seem to do anything to warm it. No wonder she hated him. He was as approachable as a block of marble.

He pulled on his dressing gown and stood in silence with arms folded until Karnak arrived to escort her to her chamber.

“I will see you tomorrow at breakfast and explain more about my intentions for you and your daughter.”

She nodded curtly, not deigning to answer, and turned on her heel to follow Karnak from the chamber.

The moment the door closed behind them, Ragnorak collapsed onto the bed. He threw himself back, allowing his robe to fall open. Before their footsteps had faded, he had his cock in his hand and was rubbing himself to climax with hard, rough pulls. It only took a few moments and it was as unsatisfying as it was brief.

His tension was relieved, but his desire remained unabated, swirling inside him like a whirlpool. He wanted her more than ever, needed to win her over, and with two more engagements to go he despaired of making it through another such session without coming.

Ragnorak wiped the spunk off his stomach and lay there with an arm covering his eyes. The worst of it was that even if he won the bet, he might not win the lady. In the next few days he must convince her that he was a kind, decent, honorable man and not a demon. But how could he convince her when he wasn’t even sure of it himself?

Chapter Eleven

She’d failed to make her captor come. Now she had only two more chances. What was the matter with her? How hard was it to bring a man to orgasm? She’d managed easily enough with Midas. He’d quickly finished every time they’d lain together and had been on his way almost before she was aware he’d released.

As Karnak escorted her back to her chamber, her body still glowed with energy from her orgasm and residual sparkles of delight like the facets of a gem catching the light. The problem was she’d allowed Svartan to shift the focus to giving her pleasure. She’d allowed him to take control, flip her onto her back and bring her to glorious fruition. Gwyneth would not make the same mistake again. Next time she would be the one in control even if she had to tie him to the bed to achieve it.

“Was your evening satisfactory, madam?” Karnak’s pale eyes twinkled, creasing at the corners, and she wanted to slap the smile from his face.

Holding her head high, she adopted her most frosty, queenly tone. “Whether my evening was satisfactory or not is not your concern.”

“Of course, madam.” He paused then added, “I only ask because I care for your well being. It must be very difficult to be whisked away from all you know and brought to a strange place. But His Majesty is a good man and a wise and just king, although he does tend to possess a somewhat gloomy nature. I believe if you give him the opportunity to show his brighter side, you might find you are quite happy living here.”

She didn’t respond, although she listened intently.

Karnak strode alongside her for a few more paces before he resumed talking. “The master is rather like a gem in the rough. He simply wants for a little polishing to make him shine.”

Again, Gwyneth mulled over what he’d said, but when she spoke, she changed the subject. “How is it that you speak the same language as we do above? I noticed the signs above the shops are written with foreign characters. Surely you have a native language.”

“Naturally.” Karnak released a rapid-fire spate of words that sounded like pebbles being flung at a granite wall. The language was rough and guttural and sounded angry. He resumed speaking in fluid tones. “We have had enough interaction with the topside world that we can speak your language fluently. Over many generations the upper class has practically adopted your language as its own. Only the lowest peasants speak only Elohimese.

“And here you are, madam. Delivered safely to your own room.” He stopped in front of the sapphire studded door.

“Thank you.”

Inside the room, Agnet was trying to calm a fussy Brea. She walked the child to and fro while humming a tune. Gwyneth was transfixed for a moment by the music, which was so different from any ballads or lullabies she knew. The rise and fall of the notes was exotic and foreign as if these underdwellers had invented an entirely different musical scale.

Agnet turned to her and smiled as she crooned to Brea, “Here’s Mummy now, sweetness.”

“Has she been crying long?” Gwyneth hastened across the room and took her child from the other woman. She felt ashamed and vile for surrendering to their captor and indulging in ecstasy while Brea cried for her. For those brief moments, every thought of her daughter, of everything, had flown from her mind. All the while she should have been concentrating solely on her goal of bringing Svartan to climax. What kind of a mother was she, what kind of a person?

“Not long. Don’t worry. Babies cry and it doesn’t hurt them one bit.” Agnet smoothed Brea’s fair hair with her pallid hand. “Trust me, I’ve several older children as well as my little one and not one of them has been ruined by having to wait for a meal.”

Gwyneth loosened the front of her garment which she’d so recently laced and freed her breast.

“I’ve just changed her,” Agnet added. “Is there anything else I can get for you, madam, before I bid you goodnight?”

“Is it night? How can you tell night from day down here?” Gwyneth sat in the chair near the bedside—fashioned of wrought iron, not wood, she noted—with the baby to her breast and looked up at the housekeeper. “There is so much I want to know about this place. Perhaps you can answer some of my questions.”

Agnet paused, pursing her lips. “I can certainly understand your dismay at being torn away from all that’s familiar and brought to a foreign world, and I will help you adjust whenever I can. But some of the answers you seek should only come from the master himself. You should ask him what you wish to know tomorrow. For now…well, it’s been a momentous day for you. I suggest you rest. Goodnight, madam.”

With that, she left the room.

Gwyneth was left alone in the silent room with only the quiet crackling of the fire on the hearth and Brea’s sucking disturbing the silence. She gazed at her darling child and brushed a finger over her soft cheek. Brea reached out and grabbed it.

“I will do better next time, I promise,” she swore. “A child can’t live underground. I will free you from this place if it’s the last thing I do.”

When Gwyneth woke, she had no idea how long she’d slept or what time it might be. How could one tell in a windowless room with no sunlight streaming in to mark the hour of the day? Her body felt soft and pliant, comfortable and relaxed in a way she had not felt for a long time.

For the entire time of her pregnancy and following Brea’s birth she’d been able to think of little but the impending doom threatening her child. That coupled with the added burden of keeping her horrible secret from her husband had worn her out. Her scouts had come and gone from her chamber secretly with their reports of finding no one to match her description of Svartan, and she had fretted and worried every day and night.

Honestly, it was a relief to have the worst come to pass at last, especially since the situation hadn’t turned out nearly as badly as it might have. Brea hadn’t been taken from her. They were still together. And there was still a chance for Gwyneth to win their freedom. She didn’t feel nearly the sense of dread she’d felt when faced with a roomful of straw to spin into gold.

Whatever else he might be, Svartan was an honorable man…or demon. He would not go back on his word once he’d given it. She truly believed he would release them if she could fulfill her part of the bargain. And now, fully rested, Gwyneth felt more cheerful and confident that she could manage the task. The way he’d cried, “enough,” and thrust her away from his cock last night was surely proof that she’d almost achieved her goal.

Next time, she would not be distracted. And in the mean time, she’d learn all she could about the world in which she’d landed. In case she didn’t succeed in her mission, it was possible some little detail would supply the knowledge she needed to find another way out.

A soft gurgle came from the cradle. Brea had slept deeply, too, not waking Gwyneth for a night feeding for the first time since she’d been born. Gwyneth’s breasts were hard and throbbing. She got Brea from her crib, changed her diaper, then sat in the chair and opened the front of her nightgown to allow the baby to nurse.

She sang a soft lullaby and cradled the infant. Her father’s claim that Gwyneth was an incomparable singer was yet another of his fabrications, but she could carry a tune all right and she sang softly about fireflies and night birds flying on a summer evening.

A soft knock on the door stopped her song. She called out “Come in,” expecting to see Agnet again, and froze when Svartan stood framed in the doorway. He was every bit as commanding and arresting as he’d appeared last night. The contrast between his white skin and raven hair was striking, and his eyes were like fiery coals fringed in soot-black lashes. Today he wore black breeches and waistcoat and polished black boots, no surprise, but his shirt was a deep wine-red.

For a moment, they both remained transfixed, Gwyneth staring at him, his gaze fixed on the baby at her breast. Then he walked slowly across the room toward them.

He made her nervous, towering over her. After the extreme intimacies they’d shared last night, how could she still feel so awkward around him? She would refuse to let him know he intimidated her. Gwyneth looked up—way up—to his face and saw he was looking at Brea. His eyes were wide and unguarded for the first time. An expression of…was it awe?…softened the harsh angles of his face.

Svartan reached out a hand as if he would touch Brea’s wildly waving arm, but he pulled it back without touching her.

He stood watching for several more moments while Gwyneth’s skin flushed pink. “She’s very small,” he finally said.

“Yes. She’s a baby.”

“I haven’t been around them much. I didn’t realize she would be so small.”

Just then Brea’s attention was finally dragged away from her prime objective—drinking as much as she could possibly hold—by the intrusion of Svartan’s deep voice. She broke free of Gwyneth’s nipple and stared at him, unblinking. What Gwyneth called her “wise owl” stare.

“Hello,” the demon said.

Brea snorted and turned her attention back to eating.

“How often does she need to eat?”

“When she was first born, about every two hours. Less now.” Gwyneth wondered if he even knew how old Brea was. He’d let five months slip by after her birth before sending an anonymous note announcing the date he would come to claim her. For that matter, how had he learned she even had a child? It was general knowledge throughout the kingdom, of course, but how did he get his information in his underground lair?

“Can you leave her long enough to take a tour of the house and grounds? Agnet would watch her.” He paused then added, “Or we could take her with us.”

“I would prefer to keep her with me. I’m not fond of nannies or nursemaids looking after my own daughter.”

He dipped his head. “Very well. We shall go down to breakfast before beginning our tour. Perhaps later I could show you around the city as well.”

Gwyneth boldly stripped her other breast bare and moved Brea to it, quite aware that Svartan was having a hard time keeping his gaze from her chest. Good. She would prepare him for round two throughout the day, teasing and taunting and flaunting her body at every opportunity. He would not best her again tonight.

She lifted her gaze to him again, one eyebrow lifted. “Would you kindly give me a moment to dress? I’m not prepared to go down to a meal.”

“Of course. I’ll, uh, wait for you outside.” Was that a slight falter she heard in his arrogant voice? He bowed and turned sharply to stride from the room, the militaristic precision of his turn somewhat ruined by his boot heel skidding on the floor.

Gwyneth smiled as the door closed behind him and she looked down at Brea. “This contest of wills is not over yet.”

Breakfast was as delicious a meal as dinner had been, although the spices and combination of foods was foreign to Gwyneth’s palate. She considered the ingenuity it must take to feed an entire population of people living underground and was quite impressed that they managed at all.

She regarded a strawberry as red as any she’d ever eaten. “What did your people eat before you started growing vegetables and fruit?”

“Fish, grubs and various kinds of lichens. Our diet was simple.” He sipped a glass of water but ate nothing. “We are not the same species as you. Our physiology is a little different and doesn’t require much sustenance, so we don’t eat nearly as often as topsiders do. But we do enjoy the flavors of more varied fare. I’ll admit I’m quite fond of peaches, myself. They taste like I imagine sunshine would feel.”

He smiled and Gwyneth’s heart beat faster at the harsh beauty of his face.

“So, you’ve never felt sunlight? What happens if you’re exposed to it?”

“The rays burn and blind, which is why Elohimese only go to the upper world at night.” Svartan regarded his own pale hand. “Being a hybrid, I can lurk in shadowy woods at midday. I’ve seen the sun, but I certainly can’t stand in an open field beneath it.”

She looked at his long-fingered hand and a frisson of pleasure tickled her belly at the thought of what pleasure those fingers had given her last night. How odd to be sitting across from him now, chatting as if none of that had happened. And how strange to imagine a life lived in shadow and darkness, fearing the sun’s rays.

She looked around the room, which was lit exactly as it had been the night before—no morning light streaming in the window to mark a new day. Only the presence of eggs to tell her this was breakfast and not dinner again. Did they have underground fowl, too?

Brea stirred on her lap, whimpering and flailing her arms. Gwyneth set aside her fork and shifted the baby to her shoulder, rubbing her back.

“Are you certain you won’t have Agnet care for the child?”

“No, thank you. I can manage.” She’d been through this before, Midas having made it clear to her how unqueenly it was for Gwyneth to go around the castle carrying the child in a sling that bound Brea to her.

Svartan nodded acknowledgment. “She is precious. I can understand why you don’t wish to let her out of your sight.”

Here was her opportunity. “And precious to you, too, evidently. You say you need an heir, but why my child? Why not any other baby in your kingdom? There must be thousands of your subjects who would be happy to give their child a better life by surrendering it into your care. Or orphans? Aren’t there orphans you could adopt as your own?”

He didn’t answer. His gaze dropped from hers as he rose from the table. “Come. We will walk now.”

And with his refusal to answer, breakfast was over.

The tour of the house was brief. It was spacious and large, but no palace fit for a king. The furnishings were crafted of metal: iron, copper, gold or silver, and inlaid with gems that would’ve made Midas salivate with desire. But Gwyneth understood that down here the value of these polished metals and rocks was no greater than wood, marble or granite was in the world above. The silken cushions and carpets were probably worth more because the element from which they were crafted was rarer.

Without the sling to support her weight, Brea’s sleeping body grew quite heavy. After a while, Gwyneth shifted the infant to her other arm.