Gift of the Goddess (12 page)

Her heart beat slow and thick, her sex quivered with empty desperation and all she could think was
sweet
,
unbearably sweet
.

After what seemed like an age, Brin raised his head. His chest rose and fell with his hard breaths. “Lean back.” One brawny arm tightened behind her, holding her rock steady.

His tanned fingers trailed over her belly, dark against her satiny skin. Mesmerized, Anje watched as they reached his cock and fondled. It thrust boldly from her cleft, as if her clit had blossomed into a rosy-red, heart-shaped head, glossy with its own clear fluid.

Around and around Brin stroked, until his fingers were wet and shiny. Then he placed a broad, slippery thumb over her clit and began to slide it back and forth, building an inexorable rhythm, working with the rocking stride of the vran. His forefingers pressed the bulk of his shaft hard into her folds.

Anje squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out the sight of the small frown that creased his brow as he concentrated on her pleasure. So when his mouth engulfed her breast, she cried out with the shock of it, the heated, suckling pressure. The tension in her clit exploded, all of a piece, and she shook so hard, Brin had to clamp her against him so she wouldn’t fall. At his murmured command, the vran halted.

The wave still had her panting in its grip, when he lifted her clean off him and brought her down, arching his hips, thrusting into her with his rigid length.

60 Gift of the Goddess

He groaned, a sound of relief, but Anje shrieked. With her hands tied behind her, she was utterly helpless. She clenched her buttocks, trying to raise herself, but without the use of her arms it near impossible. Relentlessly, he filled her, inch by inch, while her sheath fluttered around his girth in involuntary welcome.

“Now we play, you and I,” Brin growled as he let her slide down another fraction.

“You…you
bastard
!” She bared her teeth and he swayed back out of the way.

“Bite and you get my hand on that juicy little ass.”

He lifted her legs, one at a time, and placed them around his waist. Then he urged her forward, wrapping his arms around her back, so that they were plastered together from groin to belly to chest. His skin was like a furnace against hers.

He stared deep into her furious eyes and smiled benignly. “I’d like to keep you like this forever.” Long fingers loosened her braids, sifting the soft strands, fluffing the hair over her shoulders, her breasts.

Seduced by so much sumptuous pleasure, she fought. Pride came to her rescue. She set her jaw. “Mother, how I hate you!” He wasn’t going to win.

He nudged Twink and the vran lurched forward with a jerk that made them both gasp. Brin recovered first. “I should spank you for telling lies, scout.”

“No,” she gasped, shaking.

“Lucky your gorgeous little cunt tells the truth.” He tilted his pelvis the slightest bit and her internal muscles bit down hard in reflex. “Uh-huh, like that. And Lufra’s fire burns so hot in your eyes, you scorch me with it.”

“No.” It was almost soundless. She couldn’t look at him, she
mustn’t
, or she would be the one begging for the flames. It didn’t matter if it looked like surrender, she had to rest, regain her equilibrium. Wearily, she laid her head on his chest and inhaled. Gods, he smelled wonderful, like pure sin spiced with honey and male musk. She let herself snuggle, just a little bit. If she could relax…

“Good girl.” His fingertips wandered over her ribs, the sides of her breasts. “Only another hour or so.”

Mother of Mercy, give me strength.

61 Denise Rossetti

Chapter Nine

Decorative Arts—Bond Torques:

Bond torques are not common even in their Feolin culture of origin, the majority of couples choosing a less binding form of marriage. Whether jeweled or plain, a matched pair of torques will be made of the braided hair of the Bondmates and their immediate ancestors. The torques are said to create a psychic connection between the partners.

Excerpt from the Great Encyclopedia, compiled by Miriliel the Burnished.

Fifteen minutes later, neither of them had said a word and Anje was convinced all the nerves in her body had relocated to her sexual organs. Every pulse of Brin’s cock was greeted with quivering acclamation. With each step, the vran massaged him against her sheath. The occasional stumble shoved the meaty strut of him against her womb or pressed his rock hardness into her clit.

Her nipples actually ached and her loins were engorged and tender, like a storm cloud full to bursting with rain. Slow tears of frustration slipped down her cheeks and her jaw hurt because she’d been clenching it so hard.

She’d tried milking him with her internal muscles, working with the gait of the vran. She knew she was strong, but the gorgeous, masculine solidity of him, the feel of him crammed into her, spreading her helpless flesh wide, had defeated her.

Where her cheek was pillowed on the heavy bands of muscle across his chest, his heart beat, strong and steady. The regular thump of it was echoed in his cock, as though a second heart beat there. It reverberated like a great temple bell through her screamingly sensitive flesh.

Anje sniffed and wiped her damp cheeks against his skin. Gritting her teeth, she reminded herself of who she was. A Child of the Mother. She was strong enough to push.

Delicately, she extended her tongue and flicked one tight, brown nipple. Brin’s cock jerked inside her. Encouraged, she took the tiny, blood-filled peak between her lips and nibbled, keeping the touch excruciatingly light.

“Good?” she whispered.

“Of course.” The shaman’s voice remained calm. “Don’t forget to keep me balanced.”

Sighing, she switched sides, redoubling her efforts, knowing it was useless, wanting to lick and mouth every inch of his glorious chest, the dragon on his belly, his ass…

Brin cupped her buttocks, massaging, kneading, pressing her enveloping flesh around his shaft. He slid one finger up and down the crease between her taut cheeks,

62 Gift of the Goddess

spreading her own moisture, making it satiny and slick, teasing the rosette of her anus with a light, circling touch. The sensation forced a moan from her and he dropped a kiss on her temple. “Like that?”

Holy Mother!

Anje discovered sheer desperation could be inspiring.

She snugged her head into the curve of his neck, bit the inside of her cheek and humbled herself. “Please.”

His hands stilled, his breath stirring her hair. “Yes, scout?”

“Take the torque off and I’ll do whatever you want.”

She thought he sighed. “No.”

Avoiding the braided circlet around his neck, she dragged her open mouth across his pulse, barely resisting the impulse to sink her teeth into the firm flesh. “I hate knowing—” Her voice cracked.

“That you have no choice?”

Her nod was almost imperceptible.

Brin’s hand speared into her hair. “Neither do I. Has it occurred to you that your torque is one of a pair, Anje?”

She thought it over, frowning. “Then why did you do it?”

He tugged against her scalp, so that she was forced to meet his eyes. “I can’t afford to have you run. Lufra gave you to me for a reason.”

“Yes, as a pleasure slave!”

His molten gaze was brooding. “The owner of a pleasure slave cares only for his own gratification.”

“And you don’t?”

“This isn’t about ownership.” He hesitated and she had the sense he was making a decision. “It’s about Bonding.”

“Bonding?”

“Can’t you feel it?”

She almost laughed. He had her bound and spread, at the mercy of his mouth, his hands, his hard cock. “I’d have to be dead not to,” she said dryly.

Brin watched the smile tug at her beautiful mouth, swollen with his kisses. A primitive brand of possession, his beard burn marked the soft skin of her cheek, her neck. His soul exulted and he circled his hips, savoring her wet, warm clasp. Like a beast in rut, the hunger roared inside him, almost out of control. But if he let the leash slip now, the firestorm of Lufra might well consume them both.

Anje sank her teeth into that lush lower lip. She was planning another move, he knew it. He waited, almost shuddering with anticipation.

By Lufra, he admired her nerve!

63 Denise Rossetti

Her wide, violet eyes met his, strangely shy despite the goddess flame flickering silver-hot in her pupils. As a shaman, he’d played these games of sensual torment with temple women whose skills made his sweet warrior appear a complete innocent, yet never before had he doubted that eventually he would be sated, satisfied.

Now he wondered if it was possible to get enough of her.

As if she caught the echo of his thought, Anje dragged in a breath and clenched the powerful muscles of her thighs and buttocks, developed by years of scouting on foot. The action took him unawares, raising her half off his shaft in a glistening ride. His balls tightened agonizingly and he groaned.

She managed three exquisite strokes before he recovered sufficiently to stop her and by then it was nearly too late. The hot blast of his seed boiled from his balls, erupting into his cock. He had to resort to a hard, strangling pinch at his base. The effort was killing, the effect excruciating. His breath came in short gasps.

Lufra, she was
untutored
!

Anje dropped her forehead to his chest, panting. He could feel the ripples surging through the walls of her sheath. A measure of his masculine pride returned. She suffered too.

“Do I win?” she husked into the hollow of his throat.

From somewhere, he found the strength to dredge up a low chuckle. “No, scout.”

“But I came close?”

Honesty compelled him. “You play well.”

She licked the sweat from his collarbone. “Do I get a reward?”

Lufra’s tits, she was something!

He raised her chin and kissed her eyelids, one after the other. “Yes, scout, but no offerings. Not yet.” She kept her gaze lowered, concealing her thoughts from him, the lashes lying against the golden skin of her cheek in a delicate fan. He had a sudden vision of her bending over a child, using them to brush fluttering kisses against a bare, round tummy. Delicious baby giggles, deep-throated and full of joy.

The pang that ran through him was pain-bright with hope and longing. “You’re burning with questions. Ask.”

“Bastard.” She set her jaw. “Tell me…” She paused to swallow a whimper as Twink ambled up a slope, forcing her harder on to Brin’s impaling shaft. “Tell me about the torques. Everything. I want to know—
sweet Mother, Twink
!” Breathing hard, she sank her teeth into the cushion of her lower lip. He could see her gathering her scattered thoughts. “Tell me what you left out.”

He temporized. “You may not like the answers.”

“The truth, Brin, all of it.”

Honor whispered that he owed her something, if only for her guts and determination, but the whole truth was an unacceptable gamble and it pricked at him

64 Gift of the Goddess

like a burr beneath the saddle. All the future generations of his people depended on his control of this woman, his finesse in handling her.

He concentrated, picking his way through a morass of half-facts. “The torques are woven of braided hair.” He twined one of her long curls around his fingers then made a brush of it to stroke her cleavage. “Mine has been in my family for generations. I had only to add a lock of your hair and my own.”

He kept his head bent and his eyes down, concentrating on producing goose bumps of lust on tender breast flesh. “If the blessing of Lufra is given, the torques create a Bond.” A Feolin warrior could not be a coward—by definition—but he had to fight to keep his face impassive. If she had even the slightest inkling of the way he really felt…of the way she tempted him almost beyond endurance, not only with her magnificent natural sensuality, but with the well of sweetness buried beneath the tough façade… Even her dry humor delighted him.

Ay, she’d have him wrapped around her smallest finger in an instant, his control shredded, his soul exposed. He’d be escorting her back to Mother’s Hearth before he knew it. It galled him to have her think he’d use something as precious, as fine, as a Bond torque for a crude shackle. He’d Bonded her because he’d had no choice. Everything he was, everything he ever would be, reared up and growled
Mine
! whenever he looked at her.

With exquisite gentleness, he ran the rope of her hair through his fingers, testing his control, a hairsbreadth away from seizing her shoulders and showing her the depth of his desperation, his need.

Her straight, silky brows drew together. “Then there’s magic in them? Truly?”

“Only if the Goddess approves.”

“But what does it
mean
?” Her eyes snapped with frustration.