Demon Lover (5 page)

“Very well, do so then.” She tried to sound as cool and haughty as if she really was a queen. “I don’t renege on my bargains.”

What was making him hesitate? Did he perhaps feel guilty about using her so? She certainly hoped so.

And then his hands were back, loosening the drawstring of her petticoat and the one on her drawers. In seconds they were pulled down her legs and her lower half was as naked as her upper. She stood with her arms straight down by her sides, fingers clenched into fists, refusing to give in to her natural urge to shield her breasts and sex from intruding eyes. Let him gaze all he liked and touch all he wanted. Copulation had not been part of their deal, and he would not rape her. Gwyneth didn’t know how she knew he’d adhere to the bargain, but she trusted he would.

Another long pause followed, long enough for her flesh to burn in anticipation of his touch. Long enough for her nipples to stiffen and her pussy to melt like candle wax. Long enough for her to leave shame at her nakedness behind and feel instead a strange thrill of pride, excitement, arousal and fear all combined in one heady brew. Long enough for her to begin to
want
him to touch her and to pine for it with every fiber of her being.

When at last he did, his light touch on the center of her belly was a jolt to her system. Her stomach muscles twitched and her shaky legs swayed. She sucked in a breath. And she realized at once that his hand was ungloved. His flesh touched her flesh.

“You are very beautiful.” His voice was so hushed it seemed more a sound in her head than in her ears. “And bright. Like sunlight.” His hand caressed her hair below the blindfold. Then his fingers traced her jaw line and touched her lips. “Soft.”

His skin against hers was feather light, but generated so much heat she felt her flesh would burn away. Her pussy felt slippery and kept clenching hard. She squeezed her thighs together to try to gain some relief as the delicate exploration of her body continued.

His warm hands slid down her throat and chest to her breasts, lifting and cupping them. He touched the pads of his thumbs to her nipples, and Gwyneth instinctively thrust toward him. She wanted more than that slight touch. She needed him to roll and pinch and then take each nipple into his mouth. Somewhere deep inside her, a little voice clamored that her reaction was shameful, but she couldn’t deny what her body was feeling, how he aroused her and made her long for more.

Crouching down now, her tormentor moved his hands down her sides to hold her hips. His big hands bracketed her sex, but didn’t touch it, which only made her crave his touch all the more. His journey continued down the length of her legs to her ankles. She knew he must be kneeling at her feet and tried to picture him that way—the large, imposing, almost threatening, dark figure humbled before her. He touched her feet and then his hands were replaced by something soft, warm and moist. Her heart nearly stopped. He was kissing the tops of her feet, first one then the other.

Before she had time to process that astonishing fact, the invisible hands moved on, sliding up the back of her calves and thighs to cup her buttocks. He let go for a moment, and she felt him move behind her, then he grasped her cheeks again, pulling them apart slightly. Her anus clenched in alarm. He was staring at it, studying this intimate part of her. She knew it as well as she knew the sky was blue. This very personal exposure shocked her, but after several moments, he let her fleshy cheeks go and continued gliding his palms all the way up her back.

Sweeping her hair aside—for it had long since tumbled down from its fancy arrangement—he bent to kiss her shoulder. Gwyneth held completely still, eyes closed even though she wore the blindfold, and felt his lips softly nuzzling the junction of her neck and shoulder. Another wave of absolute lust trembled through her. Her body burned.

“Do you want more?” he whispered.

She nodded mutely, not knowing exactly what she was agreeing to and not caring.

Once more the unseen presence moved to face her, and suddenly his mouth was at her breast, nuzzling the underside before sucking on the nipple. The sweet, aching tug made her moan. A fine silken thread like a strand of gold tightened between her breast and her sex. Another gush of buttery warmth swelled between her legs.

His mouth released her nipple, and Gwyneth pushed her chest forward, demanding equal treatment to its mate. Obligingly, he drew the other pebbled point between his lips and rolled his tongue around it.

She would have been happy to have him treat her breasts this way for many long minutes, but once more he pulled away. Then he tormented her with another period of silence and inactivity, making her wonder where he would touch her next…and with what part of his body.

He moved away from her. She could tell by the sound of his footsteps on the flagstone floor. What was he doing? Merely gazing at her pale, vulnerable body, or was he planning something else? Her imagination went down dark paths, considered possibilities of which her virginal mind should not be aware. A slap, a pinch, a spank, the sharp cut of a whip across her breasts or buttocks—all of these images sprang from vague, murky thoughts into sharp, bright pictures. Her desire raged like a bonfire. What was wrong with her?

But her nighttime visitor did none of these. Instead, he suddenly dropped down on his knees in front of her. She felt him doing so. He framed her pussy in his hands, pulled apart the swollen folds with his thumbs—she assumed—and abruptly pressed his mouth to the erect bud at the top of her slit.

Gwyneth cried out and jerked at the intense sensation. She unconsciously reached for the head at her crotch and grasped soft hair and a hard skull beneath. His cowl was off, possibly his robe as well. But she had no time for more thought than that before the tension inside her suddenly shimmered and exploded. Her hips arched forward and her head fell back. Her legs threatened to give way, but hard hands grabbed her waist and held her upright.

One kiss on her clitoris, that’s all he’d given her, and it had pushed her sensitized body right over the edge.

He helped her to sink to the ground where Gwyneth sprawled on the cool stone floor, heedless of the chaff getting in her hair or sticking to her moist skin. She groaned and arched her body once more as a last wave of pleasure throbbed through her.

As she came back to herself, her joy was replaced by anxiety again as she realized it was time for her to fulfill the other part of their bargain. He’d touched her. Now she must touch him.

She pushed herself up to a sitting position, reached up to the blindfold covering her eyes.

“No.” His command halted her hand. “You will not look at me. Follow my voice.”

She crawled across the floor toward him, stopped when her hand bumped against some part of his body—naked. Sitting back on her heels, she waited for him to give her further instruction.

He took her hand and held it, just held it for what seemed a very long time, rubbing his thumb lightly over the back. She wondered where he would place her hand, guessed it would be his cock. But when he finally brought it to his body, he set it against a firm, hard plane that could only be his chest. She felt his heart pumping madly beneath her palm. Was he merely aroused, or was he perhaps anxious, too? Impossible. A dark and dangerous devil like him could not be nervous.

But the thought that he might be gave her more courage. Gwyenth dared to begin to explore with her hands. She pressed them both to his chest then glided them up the hard plane to the curves of his shoulders and biceps—such bulging muscles! She stroked her hands up his neck, feeling the tendons and the pulse throbbing there. She encountered the sharp blade of his jaw and the light stubble on his cheeks. He breathed rapidly as her blind hands roamed over his face, exploring his features. His nose and the ridge of his brow, his cheekbones and jaw all felt very angular, but his lips were soft and warm. They parted as she touched them. She wondered if he was what one would consider handsome. His features seemed even and normal—no unexpected bumps or festering pustules. No horns on his head, either, she noted as she brushed her fingertips over his forehead and slipped them through the hair at his temples. What color was his hair? His eyes? Black as coal, she had no doubt.

Suddenly, he seized her wrists and pulled her hands away. “Enough. Touch me somewhere else.”

“Your arms or legs? Do you mean your hands?” She smiled as she teased, amazed at herself for having the temerity to joke. She could guess exactly what part of him craved her touch, but wanted to hear him ask for it.

“Here,” he said gruffly, sliding her hand down his belly—soft hair, warm flesh—to the mysterious area below a man’s waist, behind the buckle on his belt. He was naked there, too.

Gwyneth caught her breath as he wrapped her hand around something thick and rigid. His penis pulsed in her hand like a living entity, and the man attached to it groaned softly. A memory rose in her mind and her lips curved.

“Why do you smile?” His voice was harsh. Perhaps he was suspicious that she laughed at his expense.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m nervous, and this reminded me of something.”

“What?” he demanded still sounding distrustful.

“When I was a child, I used to love cats, but feared their tails. The way they’d twitch and lash like snakes, I was convinced they were a separate being from the cute, cuddly cats. This reminded me of that.”

“A cat tail,” he said flatly.

“Yes.” A fit of giggles nearly overtook her as she sat there naked and blindfolded with his hard shaft in the circle of her fist. It all suddenly seemed quite ludicrous. She bit down on her lower lip as she struggled not to laugh and felt the cock in her hand diminish slightly.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Why was she apologizing to the creature who’d forced her into a sexual situation in exchange for saving her? She should despise him for it, yet the sign of his insecurity touched her, and for the first time she felt a shift in the balance of power. He may have the ability to make magic and the authority to order her to strip nude, but she also had some control. She could make him feel small—quite literally.

The knowledge of her strength made her relax, and Gwyneth found she wanted to please him as he had so unexpectedly pleased her. She stroked the silky length of the shaft, slid her thumb over the moist head. She explored his member from tip to base, noting the pattern of ridged veins beneath the pads of her fingers.

There was a soft intake of breath, and his cock grew harder again. She continued to investigate below the shaft, finding the soft sac within which solid balls nestled like eggs in a velvet pouch. She forgot to be nervous at all, she was so fascinated at discovering the vast difference in anatomy between a man and a woman.

She wished she could see his cock, his entire body, for that matter, and most especially his face. Why had he insisted on a blindfold? Was he scarred and ugly, demonic in appearance, unbearably shy, or did he simply want to create mystique by not letting her see how average he was? Who or what was this man?

Her hand had stopped moving, and suddenly his hand surrounded hers, guiding her to grasp his cock more firmly. His smooth skin glided beneath her palm as her hand moved up and down.

Gwyneth’s experience of sex included only witnessing the brief and fervent copulation of farm animals. She didn’t know much about what happened between humans and was intrigued to find the pumping of her fist seemed to bring the dark man great pleasure. He moaned quietly and pushed into the circle of her hand.

He continued to guide her actions, showing her what he needed. Faster and faster he pumped and his low groans increased. The sound of his desire, the urgent need in it, excited Gwyneth. A new wave of arousal swept through her. Her pussy felt open and aching, yearning for something more than the pleasure she’d already received. She needed to be filled, wanted him inside her. But that wasn’t part of their agreement, and she shouldn’t desire such things anyway. It was wrong. Her virginity should be saved for her husband.

Heat grew between her hand and his cock as she rubbed him very quickly now. The man made a strangled sound in his throat, and suddenly, warm wetness spattered the back of her hand and wrist. He had come. She had
made
him come with only her touch, which seemed somehow as magical as spinning straw into gold. Although her sex still yawned and begged for fulfillment, Gwyneth was pleased.

He removed her hand from his cock, wiped it clean with a cloth, and set it back on her lap. Immediately, she missed the connection between their bodies. She was alone in the dark and felt dismissed. Soft, rustling sounds followed. She imagined him dressing and wanted to reach for her gown and cover her naked body.

“Are you still here?” She was ready to tear the blindfold from her eyes and find out.

“Yes. Keep the blindfold on.” More sounds came from her left as he, perhaps, put on his boots and cloak.

“Thank you for helping me tonight,” she said, shielding her breasts with one arm and her crotch with the other. “You’ve saved my life twice now.”

“Will the king demand more from you?”

“My father told him this magic ability would only occur during the full moon of the fifth month every eighteen years. What possessed him to say it, I have no idea.”

“The moon has not yet waned,” he remarked.

“So I may be here again tomorrow night.”
Will you be?

“Perhaps I shall see you again.”

“Perhaps you’ll allow me to see
you
next time we meet.” Gwyneth waited for a reply, but her comment was greeted with silence followed by a crack of thunder and the now familiar odor of sulphurous smoke. She pulled the scarf from her eyes to find herself alone in the room except for the rows of gold-filled spindles and the silent spinning wheel.

It took a huge effort to drag herself back to reality, to the possibility of the steward’s, or even the king’s, arrival at any moment. She dressed with clumsy haste, extremely difficult with the buttons up her back, then gazed at the alien cloth in her hand. The black silk scarf flowed between her fingers like water as she folded and tucked it down the neckline of her dress, deep into her bodice. She fancied the dark man himself—foreign, strange and unknowable—was pressed there against her heart.