Thief of Light (29 page)

“We can’t make too much noise,” he said. “These walls are as thin as paper. No screaming.”

“
Screaming?
What makes you think—?”

“Sshh.” He laid a finger against the cushion of her lower lip. “Gods, you have a gorgeous mouth.”

“I do?” she mumbled.

“Mm.” Bending his head, he kissed her. Endlessly, softly, with plenty of tongue, taking his time, savoring her mouth with little flicks and wet swipes. Prue curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt and hung on, allowing her head to fall back against the unyielding surface of the door, letting Erik take the lead. On the very periphery of her consciousness, she heard voices outside in the passage, the thud of boots, a distant door closing.

When her legs went out from under her, he caught her up in his arms, lifting her clean off the floor and placing her on the couch in a billow of skirts. He came down over her, just the way she’d imagined, his big body blanketing hers in heat, one knee pinning her gown, his hands hard on her shoulders. He was crooning, deep in his throat, a kind of purr-growl that told her he was flying. Tender nips, soothing licks, all down the sensitive spots on her neck, nibbles on her collarbones that made her want to squirm with pleasure.

But she couldn’t, because she was helpless, overwhelmed by his strength, the weight of his possession.

Gods, it was good!

Small undignified sounds escaped her and she didn’t care.

But Erik drew back, his eyes dancing. “Quiet,” he said. A smile so brilliant she forgot to breathe. “Naughty girl.”

Immediately, his golden brown brows drew together and his lips tightened as if he’d bitten back the words he was about to say. “You all right?” The strange little breeze came back from nowhere, teasing his hair so it flopped over his forehead.

If you’re going to give in to temptation, the least you can do is be thorough about it,
she told herself. For answer, Prue locked her arms around his neck and tugged him down again, caught between wanting to laugh and amazement at her own daring. She’d never been demanding in bed, but then she’d never had a lover like Erik Thorensen. It was beyond belief, what her body was doing to her. Such driving urgency, an absolute conviction that if she couldn’t have him wedged high and hard inside her, preferably in the next few seconds, she’d die of the wanting. How was it even possible to experience this degree of desire, so acute she’d be babbling like a fool any second?

Sweet Sister, if she did beg, what would it matter? He’d take care of her. She knew he would because he’d promised. Surreptitiously, she raised her hips, the lightest press against the glorious bulge beneath the skintight breeches. It wasn’t just that he was long, he was thick. She’d tried so hard not to notice. Prue licked her lips. What would he do if she took him in her mouth, suckled him right through the fabric? Would he ask her to do that? It wasn’t something she’d particularly enjoyed in the past, but to give Erik pleasure . . . Her clitoris flexed, suffusing her belly with a warmth so sweet and fierce she bit back a moan.

Panting, she came up on her elbows, watching Erik’s busy fingers on her laces, first the gown, then the chemise beneath. As each inch of swelling breast flesh was exposed, he bent his shining head and kissed it. Then he licked it. Then he kissed it again.

When she groaned, he looked up, his cheeks flushed with ruddy color. “You’re so beautiful, Prue,” he said hoarsely, and she couldn’t doubt he meant it. Spreading her bodice open, he filled his hands with her breasts. They both sighed.

“Take your hair down.” He paused, his chest rising and falling. Some of the color left his face. “Sorry. Will you undo your hair? Please?”

He helped her to sit up and together they untied the tapes of her gown and drew it off, leaving her clad in only brief, silky drawers and her best chemise, the one embroidered with silvery touchme blossoms. Fresh from the bath, she’d simply decided she needed to look her best and slipped it over her head with a frisson of pleasure. Now she knew why she’d chosen it.

“Ah. Pretty.” Erik hooked a finger under one strap and then the other, slipping them off her shoulders. The chemise fell to her waist. “
Yes
,” he rumbled, his voice very deep. “Gods.” A sharp inhalation. “What would you like next, sweetheart?”

Prue pulled the last hairpin free. A sheaf of glossy brown hair slipped down over her shoulders, dark locks tumbling over the paleness of his sleeve. “What?” she said stupidly. Why ask her opinion when he was supposed to be sweeping her away?

Erik’s jaw tightened. “I can’t—
won’t
—tell you what to do. You set the pace.” But even as he spoke, he was spearing his fingers into her hair, pulling her closer. The breeze picked up, the costumes swinging to and fro on their rack.

“Off,” she mumbled against his mouth, plucking at his shirt. “
Off
. ”

He reared back, ripping at his laces. That accomplished, he held out a wrist. “The cuff’s tight.” His eyes glinted. “Help me?”

It should have been simple, but her fingers trembled so badly, the small buttons kept slipping from her grasp. Erik hummed happily, rasping her nipples with his free hand, stroking her belly through the silk, making her giggle, silly as a giddy girl.

The shirt floated, billowing in the air before it sank to the floor. She swallowed. Merciful Sister. Acres of tawny skin over slabs of hard muscle, a deliciously raspy sprinkling of hair arrowing down over a cobbled stomach. The strange talisman on its chain, the half-healed scratches. She couldn’t breathe. Prue laid her palm over his heart, rubbing in a gentle circle. The small disk of his nipple peaked sharply and he hissed.

“Stop.” He clapped a big hand over hers. “I can’t think straight when you do that.”

“Really?” She laughed out loud, fizzing with joy. “What about this?” Leaning forward, she took his nipple delicately between her lips and suckled. Then harder.

Erik bucked and swore. Sinking his fingers in her hair, he exerted a gentle, but steady pressure. With a final, regretful lick, Prue released him. “You make me greedy,” he said, his voice thick. “Gods, I have to see you. Take—” He broke off, swallowed hard and started again. “Will you take off the rest?”

“Maybe.” Loving this, Prue slanted him a teasing glance. “Let me go.” When he did, she sank back and raised her arms over her head, arching her pelvis, gazing at his tense face from under her lashes. His stare followed every movement, as weighty as a touch, traveling up her arms to lock on her crossed wrists. It might be shameless, but gods, this was a whole new power, a game she’d never felt safe enough to play. Where his body touched hers, she could feel tremors coursing through him, bone-deep. His control was costing him dear, and it went to her head like spiced wine.

Kicking off her evening slippers, she ran a bare foot up his booted calf. “You do it,” she murmured.

Long fingers sank into silk and gripped. “Are you sure?”

Prue stared, a little puzzled. “Yes.”

The word had barely left her lips before Erik had ripped the garments off and tossed them over his shoulder. With a sort of formless growl, he launched himself at her body, his big warm hands everywhere, sliding up her thighs, pushing them wide, one finger sliding easily into her depths, then two.

Prue gave herself over to sensation, some small, still-rational corner of her mind astonished at her own abandon. Her body bowed up off the couch, clenching on his fingers. He grunted, setting up a rhythm of gentle thrusts, twisting his wrist, hitting the spot inside that was so sweet and wicked she sobbed with pleasure.

With his other hand, he reached over her head and gripped both her wrists, holding her with easy strength. Dipping his head, he sealed his lips over hers and stole her soul, along with her breath. His tongue was strong and deft in her mouth, his clever fingers agile, massaging her clitoris from deep inside.

She was comprehensively pinned, lost under his big body. She hadn’t even realized how she’d yearned for it. No responsibility, no burdens or expectations. All she had to do was follow Erik’s lead and unimaginable pleasure would be hers. It made her dizzy to think of it.

From the moment Chavis had stalked out the door of their tum bledown lodgings, she’d had no one but herself to depend on. When she and Rosarina had arrived at The Garden of Nocturnal Delights early that same bright morning, both had been desperate for work—Rose’s only commodity her fierce dark beauty, Prue’s her gift for numbers and the skills she’d learned in Master Ando’s dusty counting-house.

Work she’d been given—plenty of it, every day, many nights past midnight. Busy, conscientious Mistress Prue. Until she and Rose amassed sufficient funds to risk everything and buy The Garden.

All those lives—and her daughter’s future—dependent on Prue’s business acumen, her ability to get things done. She hadn’t failed them yet, but if she allowed herself to think of it too much, too often, her belly roiled with apprehension.

But now—for this short time—she could relax into Erik’s effortless mastery of her responses, give herself to him to be thoroughly and delightfully debauched. She wouldn’t have to make a single decision, think a single logical thought. All that existed was the giving and receiving of physical pleasure, nothing more.

When he was gone, there’d be the knowledge that once, just once, she’d done this crazy, beautiful thing. She, sensible Prue McGuire. Real life could wait in the wings until she was ready to pick it up again.

Prue squirmed, resisting his grip, loving the way he held her with such ease, not hurting, not crushing, just enough and no more.

Gradually, his movements slowed. He lifted his head, his hair brushing her cheek. “I’m rushing you.”

“No, no.” Prue squeezed her thighs on his hand, but he slid his fingers free nonetheless. Prue’s jaw dropped, her arousal cooling a little.

“What do you want me to do?” he said.

“
Do?
” It came out perilously close to a squeak. “You don’t know?”

Erik’s jaw set in that obstinate line she already knew so well. “Tell me what you want and I’ll do it. Anything. I swear.” Slowly, he rose and backed away, giving her space, room to breathe, to think.

Prue’s whole body resounded to the beat of her blood, as if her heart were a temple gong and he’d struck it.
Boom, boom
.
Boom, boom
.

“This isn’t quite . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut. Then she looked at him, really looked.

He stood foursquare on the tattered rug, quivering with tension, his pupils so expanded his eyes appeared almost black with lust. A pulse ticked madly at the base of his throat and his wide chest rose and fell as if he’d been running. His hair lifted away from his shoulders, the fair, shining locks blown back by an unseen wind.

Erik Thorensen was the most erotic thing she’d seen in her life, the muscle in his long thighs beautifully framed by those absurd boots, his cock straining the demon king’s breeches.

Prue wet her lips. “Fuck me,” she whispered.

Lord’s balls,
yes
! Erik had never heard anything as enticing in his life as her soft, carnal mouth shaping the wicked words, her voice, gone all husky, saying them out loud.

Fuck me
.

But what he really loved was the sheer abandon of her, so far gone already she was splayed delightfully over the shabby couch, all pink-tinted, honeyed curves, topped with stiff, velvety nipples that made his mouth water. His proper Mistress McGuire, showing him everything. Erik’s ravenous gaze zeroed in on the dark, springy curls between her smooth thighs, the shy, ruffled folds all pink and puffy and slick.

The taste of her from this morning, so female, earthy and tart and sweet on his tongue. Holding her eye, he lifted his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean, while his cock reared like a beast. When she gasped, her pretty eyes opening wide, the Voice bubbled in his throat, the instinct fighting to be free, to damn him forever.
Touch yourself, Prue. Show me what you like
.

He bit it back, swallowing hard. Fuck it all to hell, the strength of the temptation was incredible, ruthless, worse than ever before. Because from the moment she’d raised her lips to his, he’d known she was withholding something. A growl rumbled in his chest. Damn the perversity of his soul, because he wanted it, whatever the hell it was, with a wicked, driving need.

Command Prue and he’d have that elusive something, he’d possess her utterly. Each time, she succumbed more quickly than the time before. But if he did it, overwhelmed her with the Voice, he’d never know the difference between true and false, given and compelled.
Never
. . . Doubt—it was a poison worse than prettydeath, the favorite instrument of assassins on every known world. In the end, it’d destroy whatever it was they had together. He couldn’t do it to her, to his brave, clever Prue, couldn’t take the choice from her.