Iloria (3 page)

His words evoked irresistible images of his hand around his erection, his naked body sheened with sweat and his head thrown back in helpless pleasure. “Oh. You—of course you are.”

Another low noise. “Are you imagining it, wife?”

A curious excitement edged his voice, and Iloria couldn’t help but respond to it. “I think…I should like to watch that.”

Rough fingers twisted in her gown, tearing it a little. His breath hissed out between his teeth, teeth that closed on her jaw a moment later in a sharp bite he immediately soothed with his tongue. “I’m going to give you release. Then I’ll take mine with my hand, and you will watch how I do it so you will know what pleases me.”

Iloria bit back a whimper, and all she managed was a quick nod and a breathless, “Please.” She ached with an emptiness only he could fill, and sheer willpower alone stopped her from urging his movements.

Farran smiled at her. “Lie back, my lady, and let me taste you.”

How was it that she could be so shameless? She was a virgin, as befitted her status and upbringing, but even the occasional sexual urges she’d steadfastly ignored had been nothing compared to this. Farran was about to put his mouth on her, lick and stroke her to orgasm, and instead of wanting to blush at the intimacy of it, she wanted more. She wanted to taste herself on his tongue as he thrust into her, as he drove deep and gave her his passion.

His hands were gentle, and he coaxed her robe up, leaving her bare to the heat of his breath. He stroked the sensitive insides of her thighs and hummed in something that sounded like approval. “How curious are you, wife? Do you wish to lift yourself on your elbows and watch me?”

Instead of answering, she propped up, bracing her elbows behind her on the bed. “Part of me wishes to torment you like this. Kneel at your feet and make you yearn for
my
mouth.”

“As if I could yearn any more.” He swept his thumbs higher until he was almost stroking sensitive flesh. “You’re wet. Aroused.”

Her hips jerked. “Did you wonder if I would be?”

He didn’t answer. Instead he slid his fingers over her folds and groaned when she choked out another moan.

It felt better than she’d dreamed, so different from her own explorations. Of course he would know how to do this. He’d had women, knew how to bring them to exquisite heights of sensation. At any other time, it might have made her feel inadequate, even jealous.

For now, she was only glad that he would find satisfaction in teaching her.

Farran looked up and met her gaze as one finger parted her and edged inside. “Does this please you?”

“Yes.” The word sounded impossibly strained, and Iloria realized she was panting. “Farran?”

“Yes, Iloria?”

He liked having her at his mercy, she could hear it in his voice. It made her want to push him, test his self-control. “Fuck me with your fingers.” Naughty words her courtesan tutor had taught her, and she used them now the way Farran used his hands—to tease. “Make me come.”

A sharp growl tore through the room, and he closed his hand on her thigh and pushed it wide. “Do you even know what the words mean, or were you educated in all the things to say to make a man wild?”

“One does not preclude the other.” His eyes were stormy, but she could feel he wasn’t angry. “I know what the words mean. I could show you, if you like.”

Farran caught her hand and lifted it to his mouth. Dragging his tongue over her fingers, he licked two of them until they glistened, then guided her hand down her body. “Show me.”

Yes, if there was anything that might convince him she could handle his demands, this was it. She could show him that she knew physical pleasure, lonely though it had been. And then, perhaps, he would make love to her.

Iloria shuddered and slipped her hand between her spread thighs.

Overconfidence had led him into many an ill-advised battle in his youth, but none so foolish as this. Farran rocked back on his heels and watched his demure, well-bred wife slide her fingers into her cunt.

Sweet goddess, forgive him for encouraging her.

She arched her back with a sigh and pushed her fingers deeper. “Is this what you need to see?” she asked in a whisper. “I may be a virgin, but that doesn’t make me shy or fragile. It only means no other man has touched me.”

The little witch had to know how the words would stir him. How instinct would roar its pleasure at knowing the mate he intended to take would know bliss from no male but him.

He was being managed already, by a scrap of a girl who should have cowered in terror from him. It should have been infuriating, maddening...and all he could do was press the heel of his palm to the front of his breeches and wish he was in private so he could deal with the painful arousal.

Or perhaps dealing with it here was the answer. She might not be so eager when she saw how tiny her fingers were compared to his cock. “You needn’t be fragile to be unprepared for the demands of a mating.”

Iloria’s dark eyes flashed, but she didn’t argue. “Shall I continue, then?” Her hand moved, slowly at first, until she broke her silence with a whimper and began to rock her hips to meet each hard thrust of her fingers.

Just that quickly, the beast snapped his leash. Feral possessiveness roared up, and he closed his fingers around her wrist and dragged her hand from her body. “Mine.” It came out as a snarl. He had to close his eyes to fight back the urge to drive deep into her body and revel in being the one who made her whimper in pleasure.

She didn’t pull away, but she did hum soothingly. “Touch me,” she pleaded. “Bring me the release you promised, and show me yours.”

His fingers were so much wider than hers. He pushed two inside her and groaned at the tightness of her body, as hot and wet as she was. “Too much?”

“It’s...different.” She clenched her hands in the covers. “Don’t stop.”

He wouldn’t, not until she panted and begged for the pleasure to end. “Tell me what else your courtesan taught you.”

“M-many things.” Iloria writhed under his touch. “But one intrigued me.”

A wise man wouldn’t ask. “What was that?”

“She said that pleasure dulls even the greatest pain. I wonder...” She lifted her hand to her breast and pinched the nipple standing hard under the diaphanous silk. “
Oh
. I—I think—” The words dissolved in a sharp cry.

She was beautiful when she came. Free, her head thrown back, her slim throat working as she made sweet, needy noises—and if he focused on those things, he might be able to ignore the heat of her cunt rippling around his fingers.

But he couldn’t ignore the way she rolled away, struggled upright, and stared at him with glazed eyes as she shivered. “Abrupt, I know,” she panted, “but I fear I may start to beg if you continue touching me.”

Begging would please him well enough. “You wish for me to stop?”

“You said you cannot take me, not yet.” Her voice dropped as her gaze slid over his body. “That is what I would beg for. Instead, I shall content myself with watching your release.”

With his control so fragile, he didn’t dare. “Tomorrow,” he promised gruffly. “I will let you watch then. Tonight, you should rest.”

She froze. Her brows drew together in a stormy frown, but she only said, “I thought…”

Farran sighed and rocked to his feet. She was angry with him now, but in time she’d understand. “Sleep well, my wife.”

“I shall.” Her gaze dipped to the front of his pants, and a blush warred with her fervent disappointment. “Good night.”

It would not be a good night, not in the least. Farran took his leave, every step an act of willpower. At least there were not so many to reach the heavy oak doors leading to his suite.

His empty, cold suite. He slammed through the sitting room, boots scraping over carpet worn down by years of abuse from wolves who cared little for appearances. The ladies of this particular castle rarely ventured into their husbands’ domains, and the lack of gentle comforts showed.

It had never bothered him before. Of course, the lady in question had never been
his
, a wife he’d taken in a moment of weakness. He growled as he shouldered through the door and stormed into his bedroom.

No moonlight. No lights at all, since he’d forgotten to bring a candle. It didn’t matter. He didn’t need the lamp, not for this. Nothing but his own hand, rough enough to tear his breeches. When he curled his fist around his cock, his imagination provided ample fantasy, building on memory until he could almost see Iloria on her knees before him. Begging. Eager.

Pleasure twisted, sharpened, and another growl escaped as he jerked his hand roughly over his erection. When he spilled, it was with a moan of release, her name caught in his throat.

He would be begging, soon enough.

After a restless night spent alternating between cursing herself and damning her new husband, Iloria forced herself downstairs for breakfast. Farran could humiliate her if he chose, but if he expected her to cower in her bedchamber for a week afterward, he would be disappointed.

She was no shrinking flower. She wouldn’t hide.

So she plastered a bland look on her face and breezed into the room. “Good morning.”

He barely looked at her before his gaze skittered away, landing somewhere near her elbow. “My lady. I trust you rested well?”

“Very well.” Was that what he wanted to hear, that she hadn’t lain awake and wondered what she’d done to drive him away? “You?”

“Well enough.” Farran cleared his throat and turned his attention back to his plate. “The kitchen staff hadn’t the time to prepare a celebratory meal, but they brought up cheese and fresh fruit from the village.”

A guilty, helpless confession, and a reminder. He hadn’t meant to bring her here. He hadn’t
wanted
her here. She sat. “It will be fine, I’m sure.”

“Yes.” Belatedly, he half rose, as if he’d only just remembered he should have offered to hold her chair. After an awkward, frozen moment, he sat again. “The cook will be glad to have you to deal with.”

Iloria unfolded her napkin in her lap and sipped her water. “I was hesitant to disrupt her routine today, but tomorrow I shall begin consulting her about the weekly menus. If that’s all right with you, of course.”

The noise he made sounded like approval. Mostly. “You should plan to dine with me every night.”

Iloria lifted a berry to her lips. “If that is your preference.”

He stared at her mouth like a man starved, as if he might fall on her at any moment. His words, when he spoke, came out rough. “It is.”

He was afraid of her.

The thought startled her even as she discarded it. Afraid of himself, perhaps, of his lack of control. And why wouldn’t he be, with the moon fast approaching its heaviest phase? She hadn’t helped matters by pushing him the night before, by donning those ridiculous robes and demanding his attention.

She chewed slowly, considering her possible courses of action. If she asked to leave, he would no doubt return her to the palace. He would explain to the High Lord that he’d made a terrible mistake, that she was untouched, and that their union should be immediately undone.

Or...she could stay. Make an effort.

Iloria ate in silence for several minutes, then pushed away her plate. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night.”

If anything, the words seemed to appall him. “You most certainly may not.”

She ignored the command. “I should have left the robes in my trunk. You said that you mean to give me time, and I’ve decided that’s best. For both of us.”

Silence. He took a long sip from his cup, then grunted. “It’s best.”

“The next few days will be very busy for both of us, but dining together is a splendid idea. It will give us a chance to get to know one another.”

Another grunt, and he finally lifted his gaze to hers. “I will dine with you every night except for that of the full moon. I prefer to be alone.”

Yes, afraid of himself, of the curse that twisted inside him. “I understand. It would be best not to take chances.”

“For your safety.”

There was something almost desperate about the statement, and Iloria stared at him. “Farran, if you need me with you then, all you have to do is say—”

“No.” It came out sharp enough to cut, and he winced. “I should have waited and brought you home during the new moon.”

She bit her tongue. “I’m afraid I’ll have to rely on your instruction,” she whispered helplessly. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”

He moved so fast his chair was still clattering to the floor when he reached her side, looming over her. He curled his hands around the arms of her chair and leaned low. “You have done everything right,” he whispered hoarsely. “I want you to not blame yourself for my faults.”

She couldn’t think with him this close, much less act as though she wasn’t hungry for his touch. “This isn’t about blame. It’s about the way we spend the rest of our lives.”

“No. This is about how we reach the rest of our lives.” His breath spilled over her cheek as he bent to her ear. “First, we must reach the end of the week.”

She shivered and nodded. “You’re right, of course.”