Ensnared by the Dream Lord (Dark Lords) (8 page)

Resolutely, she left the bed chamber and crept down the stairs.  When she had reached the main hall, she peered inside.  Relieved when she saw that it was as empty as before, she hurried across the room and struggled with the great doors. 

“Going somewhere?”

Chapter Eight

Adriana let out a squeak of fright and whirled at the voice, her hand clutching at her painfully pounding heart.  After staring at him guiltily for a full minute, she blinked, forcing a smile to her lips.  “I—uh—I was looking for you,” she lied.

His brows rose.  His expression looked almost pleasant—like his voice.  Almost pleasant.  “Truly?”

Her smile wavered.  “Yes.  Truly.”

“Why?”

Adriana blinked.  “Why?” she echoed, dismayed.

“You had no particular reason?”

She sucked in her lower lip, thinking frantically.  “I thought that you might show me around,” she said on sudden inspiration.

His brows rose.  “I thought you had thoroughly explored the castle earlier.”

Adriana reddened.  There seemed little point in lying when it was obvious he knew everything that went on inside the castle.  On the other hand, the alternative of simply confessing did not particularly appeal to her.  As torturous as it was to play the game of cat and mouse with him, she could think of nothing to do but dig the hole a little deeper with another lie.  “Uh—I was looking for you.  But then when I didn’t find you I thought that you must be outside.”

His lips curled, but there was no amusement in his eyes.  Hunger gleamed in his eyes as he raked his gaze slowly over her.  “I was only waiting for you to rest so that we could resume our interesting little game.”

“Game?” Adriana asked doubtfully, feeling heat surge through her. 

“Mmm.”  He moved closer, caging her against the door with his body.  “I slake my lust on your sweet body and you pretend you don’t want me to.”

Adriana’s breath snagged in her chest, but embarrassment colored her cheeks, as well. “But—I don’t—not—not really,” she gasped a little breathlessly as he caught her waist, lifting her, and nuzzled his face into the valley between her breasts.

He lifted his head. “No?”

Adriana swallowed a little convulsively.

He pushed his knee between her legs, settling her on his thigh and dragged her skirts up.  She felt his hand skate lightly over her bare thigh and her heart began to hammer a little more frantically.  When he lifted her slightly and pushed his hand between her legs, dragging one finger along her damp cleft it was all she could do to keep from moaning at the pleasure that coursed through her.  Her fingers clenched spasmodically on his shoulders as he pushed his finger slowly into her body.  “This tells a different tale,” he murmured in satisfaction.

She closed her eyes, trying to close her mind to the way he made her feel.

Darkness settled over her.  When she opened her eyes again she discovered that she was no longer standing by the door.  Instead, she found herself standing before Morpheus’ throne.  He was sprawled comfortably, his eyes slumberous with desire as they moved over her. 

Confused, she glanced around and finally lifted her hands.  There were manacles on her wrist—just as there had been in the dream she’d had of Morpheus.

“Except this time, it is no dream,” Morpheus responded as if she’d spoken aloud.

She looked up at him when he spoke.  “You made me dream it before.”

“Yes.  You enjoyed it.”

He’d been with her.  He had to know that she had.  Instead of trying to lie, she said nothing at all. 

“I found it—interesting.  On the other hand, in the world of dreams it isn’t the same as the physical world.”  He untied his cod piece, pulling his engorged cock out.  With his other hand, he beckoned her.  “Pleasure me.”

Adriana’s mouth went completely dry.  She swallowed, trying to work wetness into the orifice, but all her body’s moisture seemed to have fled down to her nether regions.  She was stunned to stillness by his enormity, by the fact that he’d claimed her with that beast.  It seemed so much larger now, more real.

When she didn’t move, he twisted his hand and pulled her chain, forcing her down on her knees.  She stumbled forward until his cock was eye level, the weight of the chains making her awkward.

Incredibly, she hungered to taste him.  He wanted to dominate her, but she was eager for the experience without the unreal fog of slumber affecting her memory.  She gripped his cock, mimicking the clutch of her sex, flicking her tongue across the tip.

He tasted better than she remembered.  More intense, supremely male.  He tensed, his belly jerking as she sucked the mushroomed tip inside her mouth.  Rubbing her hand up and down his engorged length, barely moving his almost too tight skin, she lubricated him with her tongue.  Nibbling him like a confection, she knew she did as he wished when he groaned and clutched her head, fingers tangling in her hair.

She smiled against him, suckling, nibbling with lips, flicking her tongue, massaging him with her hand.  He went rigid, thighs flexing as his cock jerked violently in her mouth, gushing seed.  She swallowed it, not knowing what else to do, exulting at having brought him fulfillment, at having him vulnerable to the suckle of her mouth.

He groaned her name, tightening his hand in her hair to force her head back.  He moved on his knees, pushing her to the floor.

“I crave sustenance as you’ve begot from my loins,” he murmured, dragging himself down her body.

Her belly spasmed when he lifted her skirts, exposing her bare legs.  Her pantalettes had been ruined beyond repair.  He looked at her from above, his eyes glittering with dark, male intent as he dipped his head between her thighs.

She flushed with embarrassment, expecting disgust, repulsion by her nakedness.  She was far fallen from grace, a wanton in his eyes.

She was shocked to the core when his hot breath fanned over her mound.  Her heart lodged in her throat, threatening to choke her.  She strangled on a gasp, jerking as his lips closed over her clit with unerring accuracy.

“My lord, no!” she cried, trying to close her legs—too little, too late.

He pried her legs from his cheeks, splaying her wide, his fingers near bruising.  “Will you, nil you, I’ll taste the honey of your body.  Dare you deny your want of me?” he said, his voice harsh, breath hot.  He flicked his tongue down, down into her hole.

“Please!” she cried, writhing as he plunged that wet, rough spear of flesh into her opening.  She didn’t know whether she protested or encouraged.

He curled it inside her, striking a spot that erupted in instant pleasure.  She bucked against his mouth, wanting to writhe away but needing to get closer.

He moved inside her, spiking her need.  Just as she felt her orgasm closing in, he withdrew, nuzzling her swollen lips.

“Do you want me?” he said, rubbing her mound with his thumbs, massaging her thighs with his fingers.

She trembled all over, so close to climax.  She clawed her way up from the fog of arousal, until she could think of an answer to his question.  She couldn’t admit it.  She had to remember he was in danger.  “No,” she said past the thickness of her throat, her tongue and lips feeling swollen with want, the need to be kissed.

“Perhaps I should cease…,” he murmured before nibbling her clit.  Pulling at the bud, he plucked it with his lips, making the nerves ripple with impending release.

“No!” she cried, wanting to clutch him, admit her desire to cease the games and allow herself to love him and be loved.

He moved a hand, parting her lips to thrust one tapered digit inside her.  He pushed another in, curling them into that most sensitive spot, evoking a torrent of feeling.  “You want me.  You want this as much as I.”

She shook her head, trying to deny him, at least this once.  She had to stay strong.  She had to save him, save herself.

He buried his face in her cleft, consuming her with a ravenous hunger.  His lips and tongue and fingers seemed everywhere, deep inside her, teasingly across every surface.  He brought her to the edge again, until her hips rose from the floor, and then he backed off, cooling her with his breath.

He repeated the torture, asking the same questions again and again, until she was mindless with want.  She lost all sense of time.

Her womb and belly cramped with longing, muscles screaming in protest.  Every move was agony, ever touch mind-numbing. 

When she could take no more, she cried out, “Please, no more!”

He said something, but she couldn’t hear him.  Every sense focused on her loins.  When he finally allowed her release, it came in a painful gush.  Her muscles tensed to the point that they seized on his fingers.  She jerked against his mouth, gasping, crying as he wrung her pleasure out, leaving her emotionally and physically drained.  Exhaustion claimed her in a faint.

When she awoke, it was with dismay that she realized he’d taken her back to bed.  There was no satiating his hunger, and she was just as ravenous.  He made love to her again, fast, rough, heedless to anything but the pleasure they found in each other.

Adriana felt that she’d fallen into a dream world, a reality where pleasure reigned in a dizzying whirl of ecstasy.

* * * *

No matter how often he plundered her body, satisfaction eluded him.  As sated as he was from making love to Adriana a vague, unnamable emptiness still plagued him.  Restless, he rolled to the edge of the bed and dressed.  After staring down at her peacefully sleeping face for several moments, he leaned toward her and waved a hand over her.  “Sleep.”

Assured that he need have no concern that she would wake while he was gone and use the opportunity to leave, he left her and strode quickly from his castle, whistling for Despair.  Frowning when the night-mare did not appear at once, he whistled again.  With obvious reluctance, the mare answered his summons, galloping up to him in a rush that spattered his boots in a shower of pebbles and dirt and clods of grass.

Gritting his teeth, Morpheus grasped the night-mare’s fiery mane and flung himself onto the horse’s back, clouting the steed on the side of the head for her impertinence.  “Even the bloody mare defies me,” Morpheus muttered, giving the horse its head. 

Rearing, snorting with anger, Despair leapt skyward and raced across the heavens at a breakneck pace.  Morpheus paid little heed.  His mind was wrapped in the puzzle of his dissatisfaction, but turn it though he might he could not quite grasp the thing that teased at him. 

Dawn was approaching when at last he turned Despair homeward once more.  As the first rays of morning pinkened the horizon, he strode into the castle once more, climbed the stairs and sought the solitude of his own chamber.  It was there, in his dream world that the answer at last came to him.

She did not lift her eyes to him in desire as she had.  She did not smile in welcome, offering herself to him.  She desired him still.  He could wring cries of delight from her body, but she withheld a part of herself.  Each time he came to her, she fought the need for him.  She did not yield willingly and when she looked at him, there was sadness in her eyes.

He knew it was the answer to the emptiness that he had not understood, but he was baffled still, for he could not understand why such a thing would matter to him.  In truth, it only mattered that it
did
disturb him, though, that it left him feeling vaguely unsettled, disappointed, but he could not figure out a way to change it.

He pondered that problem for a time when he awoke, pacing the parapets of his castle and in time he found the answer to the riddle. 

She was mortal.  He had forgotten that mortal women liked to be wooed.  They wanted a tender lover.

He frowned at that thought, wondering if he could do such a thing.  He was not accustomed to tenderness.  In truth, he had not even enjoyed the passions of the flesh in so long that he had difficulty controlling himself at all when the fever came upon him.

She had not seemed to mind before.

That thought produced an uncomfortable one.  If he readily admitted that he had almost no control when he possessed her, how much might a mindless beast actually notice, he wondered?  He frowned, thinking back, and finally shook his head.

She had enjoyed it.  He was certain of that.  He might remember very little of the time when he had been mortal, but he knew the difference between screams of ecstasy and screams of pain or fear.

The one thing that still baffled him was why that had changed. 

He shook it off.  He could not understand.  Mayhap he never would, but it was not of any importance if he could have what he had lost.

He would woo her, he decided. 

Chapter Nine

Adriana woke with a wistful sigh.  Sadness filled her when she looked up at the drapery and realized that she was still in Morpheus’ castle.  She’d dreamed.  She could not recall the dream beyond the fact that she had been happy—and she had been with Morpheus.  But she did not need to recall it.  The dream would only make her sadder, because there could be no happiness for her with Morpheus.

When she threw off the covers and sat up at last, Adriana discovered a pleasant surprise.  Near the hearth sat a tub filled with steaming water.  Rose petals floated on the surface.  The scent of roses drifted lazily in the air.