Thief of Light (30 page)

Even worse, she had no idea of the dark desires surging within him, battering at his resolve, making nonsense of the code he’d worked out for himself, the oaths he’d sworn. He’d be better not to speak at all, not a solitary word, because if the Voice broke through his control, he’d terrify her, straitlaced Mistress McGuire. Hell, what he needed was a gag, away to keep them both safe. He clamped his lips together with grim resolution.

There must be a storm brewing outside, because the sound of the wind banged around inside his skull, making coherent thought impossible.

At his first fumble with the godsbedamned breeches, his cock leaped forward as if it were spring-loaded, seed thickening in his balls, seething at the root. Insisting. Erik abandoned the breeches, threw himself into the single chair and attacked the buckles on the tall boots. To a litany of breathless curses, he hauled them off, all the time conscious of a blue green gaze so intense it scorched his skin.

The talisman swung out and back, bumping his breastbone, reminding him of what he mustn’t do.

Lord’s balls, he had it! The perfect solution.

Ripping off the breeches, he stood before her, one hand cradling the pulling weight of his rampant shaft. “Sweetheart,” he said, panting a little. “We need to slow down. I don’t want to frighten you.”

Her chin went up, bless her. “You don’t.”

Leaning forward, he ran his tongue over the soft swirl of that fascinating dimple. Kissed it. “You’ve had men like me before?”

“No! I mean . . . I don’t know. How could I?” Her breath was coming so hard, her breasts quivered with the force of her respiration. Inside him, the beast raged.

Softly, softly.

“Sweetheart,” he said, “I’m giving you control. Come down here, lie on me.” Slowly, he sank down to the rug, drawing her with him, arranging her small, supple body over his, her nipples brushing his chest, his erection prodding shamelessly into her belly. Everywhere they touched, energy sparked as if lightning lurked in the room, waiting. His head was filled with a rushing noise.

Prue’s fingers dug into his shoulders. Erik stroked his palms down either side of her spine, relishing the satin of her skin, the resilience of the healthy muscle beneath. He finished by shaping his palms to the high curves of her glorious bottom, tracing the dimples there with his fingertips. Oh, the things he could do with that ass!

With a sigh, he lifted his arms over his head and wrapped his fingers around the leg of the couch. “I’m at your disposal,” he rumbled. “Do whatever you like. Fuck me however you want, just fuck me.”

Did she have any idea how expressive her face was?

First the flicker of shock, then the speculation as she sank her teeth into that delectable lower lip. After that . . . her eyes flared with a woman’s lust. But it was the tremble of the small, strong hands braced on his shoulders that made him say, “Believe me, there’s no way to get this wrong. Please yourself and you’ll please me.”

But he couldn’t help rolling his hips up as a hint.

Slowly, she sat up, walking her hands down his chest to his stomach. When she rose and settled across his hips, his cock split the lips of her sex perfectly, dragging his burning length through her folds. Erik groaned at the blissful slipperiness lubricating his sensitive skin.

Peripherally, he was aware of the low vibration of thunder, the wind rising, so close it seemed almost in the room. But that was impossible.

“Whatever I want?” Apparently fascinated, she swirled a fingertip around his navel. But simultaneously, she shifted her hips, working herself over him again, from back to front. When his bare crown nudged her clitoris at the top of the stroke, she gasped aloud, a flush sweeping up all the way from her breasts to her cheeks.

Erik’s fists clenched so hard on the leg of the couch he heard the wood creak. He should have realized it would be more than he could bear. Either he’d spurt all over himself like a green boy or he’d rise up in a storm surge of domination, bearing her down to the floor, shoving his thick, hungry cock inside, deep, deep, where his beast longed to be.

“Ah, that’s good.” Prue came forward, her hands braced on his chest, her hair swinging down in a swathe that brushed his ribs with a cool, tantalizing caress. Slowly at first, then more frantically, she shifted her hips, sliding their intimate flesh together, gasping at the top of every stroke.

Gods, she was sensitive! Erik squeezed his eyes shut and hung on grimly.
C’mon, c’mon
, chanted a swelling chorus in his brain.
Put it in, for the gods’ sake.
A few words, that was all. A simple command. The Voice rumbled in his chest, fighting to be free.

Blessedly, Prue rose, fumbling her fingers around him, fitting him to the soft narrow opening of heaven.

Every cell in his body cried out with relief and anticipation. He loved fucking, no question of it—what man didn’t?—but this was very nearly his favorite part, the first inch, the push past that initial resistance into slick, resilient walls of flesh.

Erik released his death grip on the couch to clasp Prue’s curvy waist. “That better?”

Her sweet tits bobbed with the force of her breath. “Yes. Sister, you’re so, so . . . Nngh.” She sank down a little and his head reeled with the heat, the tight, creamy glove of her.

Reflexively, he arched up with his hips and she took another inch, gasping.

“Fuck it, Prue,” he panted. “How long has it been?”

“Five, no—six—years.” She shot him a glinting look. “But I haven’t forgotten—
gods
—how.”

It took them several agonizing, glorious minutes to work him all the way in, an inch at a time, her sex fluttering around him in panic and arousal.

Luxuriously, Erik ran his palms over her flanks, up over her ribs, to her breasts. Without a word, he buried his fingers in her hair and pulled her down, sealing her small body all along his. His cock thumping with the strut of his blood, he opened his mouth to devour hers, sinking into the kiss.

“Now,” she whispered into his mouth. “Now.”

“Yes.
Fuck me
.” More than a little of the Voice had escaped that time, he knew, but it hardly mattered, because she was already rising cautiously, using the support of his big hands around her waist.

She shivered, gooseflesh breaking out on her arms, her chest, ruch ing her nipples to tight, velvety points of desire. “Oh, you feel so good.” She slid down, releasing a small shriek. The sleek muscles in her thighs flexed. Back up, faster. Down. “I can feel you in my throat.”

Erik huffed out a laugh, punching up into the escalating rhythm, meeting her with the firm slap of his thighs against her buttocks. “That’s for later.” Fuck, he could see it all so clearly, Prue on her knees, suckling, licking, crooning in her throat, glorying in the erotic torture she dealt him. His hands deep in her hair, her sweet tongue moving over his flesh, loving him. The mistress of his pleasure, as much as he was the master of hers.

Impossibly, he swelled, thickening. Prue cried out, her back arching in a beautiful bow, her inner walls clamping on his girth. He’d never heard music sweeter than the formless, breathy noises she made in extremis, his prim and proper Prue. He wanted more, whole choruses of them, rising above the clamor of the storm. She must be close. As for him—he had only seconds left, the seed boiling against the tender skin of his balls.

Ruthlessly, he tightened his grip, increasing the pace, thrusting his whole brutal length in and out, to the root. “C’mon,” he panted. “Go over, love. Go over.”

“Nearly . . .” Prue keened. “Can’t, can’t.” She writhed, tears sheen ing her extraordinary eyes. The wind tossed her hair about in dark, silky skeins.

Erik slid one hand over the soft curve of her belly and furrowed down into her pubic hair. He paused, choking. Godsdammit. Her choice.

“Shall I touch?”

“Yes,
yes
!” She leaned back, opening herself to him, spreading that pretty pink cleft so he could help her.

When he rubbed, as gently as he knew how, Prue stiffened. A split second later, she was bouncing so vigorously, he had to steady her with the other hand. The pad of his forefinger slid over the small prow of her clitoris, thrillingly fast.

Mistress Prue McGuire threw her head back and screamed her pleasure, loud and long. Her sex clamped down on him so hard he saw stars.

He was gone, an extended rush from his swollen scrotum, flooding the length of his rapturous cock, spurting hot jets of relief. Fuck, so good, so good. It unraveled him, this mind-numbing pleasure. The air crackled with thunder. Every muscle in his body went slack and his head rolled on the rug. Ah, the aftershocks were exquisite, a series of delicious, pointy-tongued licks deep in his loins.

Prue had subsided on top of him in a boneless bundle. Erik stroked her shoulder, trailed his fingers down to her hip. Still breathing.

Gods, he’d got through it. No mistakes. Good for him. Contentedly, he drew wobbly circles over the cheeks of her luscious ass.
Later
, he thought muzzily.

Without opening his eyes, he said, “You screamed.”

A light touch traced his collarbones, soft lips nuzzled the pit of his throat. “You bellowed.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.” A yawn.

Erik opened one eye and chuckled. “It’s pretty quiet out there. We’ve got the place to ourselves, I think. And the wind’s dropped.”

No reply.

Sweat stung in the scratches on his arms and chest. The rug was rucked up under his ass in prickly ridges, the floor cold and unyielding. From where he lay, all he need do was turn his head for a clear view of the dust clumps under the couch. A sneeze tickled his nose.

But none of that was important.

Prue McGuire lay sprawled over the top of him, completely limp. Her head was snuggled under his chin, where it fit perfectly. Every so often, a ladylike snuffle escaped her.

Erik’s lips curved in a tired smile.
How’ d I do today on the task You gave me, Horned Lord
?
Great Lady
?
I’ve been such a busy boy. Swimming with creatures straight out of a fairy tale, making Prue happy, making her come, breaking her heart. Oh, let’s not forget the public ridicule, that was . . . interesting. And the excellent performance of a nursery rhyme
.

But of course, They didn’t answer. They never did unless it pleased Them and then only in his dreams.

He’d slipped at the end there.
Fuck me
. Luckily, it had made no difference because that’s where they’d been headed anyway. Wistfully, he relived the moments she’d writhed beneath him, the feel of her slim wrists in his grip, the knowledge of her willing helplessness spearing through him. Fuck, it had been sublime, despite the fact it had only been the start of what he could teach her—if she’d trust him. His balls contracted, his cock giving a hard, hungry twitch.

Looked at dispassionately, fucking Prue McGuire had still been the best sex of his life, the very best. Why was that? She’d been hot and sweet, nowhere near as conventional as he’d expected, but she wasn’t the most experienced woman he’d had, not by a long way.

How pretty she’d look, bound in silken ropes while he painted her lush tits with strokes of his tongue. His breath came a little faster. The taut, pale curves of her buttocks begged for the flat of his hand. Perhaps she’d defy him so he’d have no choice but to put her over his knee. A rueful grin quirked his lips. She’d be good at defiance, his Prue. Not too much, he’d get it just right, enough to warm, make her tingle, have her wet and pleading. He knew beyond any doubt her skin would color delightfully.

Ah, she’d love it.

Perhaps he could talk her into it—slowly, softly. She was already part of the way there, sleeping trustfully in his arms. He stroked a wayward curl with his forefinger, drawing the sweet smell of her deep into his lungs. But all she’d given him was her body. Despite the way she confronted life head-on, she was too frightened to risk more. Lord’s balls, human existence was complicated. After whatever it was that bastard had done to her . . . Erik’s fists clenched.

Prue murmured into his skin, her breath warm and moist. Her palm slipped over his chest, her fingers brushing over the talisman on its chain. Erik drew his fingertips along her spine, feeling the bumps of her vertebrae.

Reaching out a long arm, he snagged the shawl from where it lay on the floor in a tumble of jade silk. As always, he was acutely conscious of his breath, of the steady power of his lungs, pumping. Such a precious commodity, air. He’d nearly died for the lack of it as a boy, more than once.

One-handed, he spread the shawl over Prue’s body. There. His other arm was going to sleep and the floor hadn’t got any bloody softer, but what the hell—he’d pay the price, be her mattress for a while, keep her warm and safe.

She sighed in her sleep and her fingers curled loosely over the talisman.

Everything has a cost
, the Horned Lord had said, all those years ago. And then He’d reached up into the vast antlers branching above His head.
Snap!

At the brutal sound, Erik had flinched and fallen to his knees. He knew he was dead. He had to be. Lungspasm was an evil thing. No healer had the cure, not even the Technomages with all their Science. Only seventeen and his lungs had squeezed tight shut. No amount of gasping, of hideous, frantic struggling, would pry them open again. He’d been able to
feel
the life leaking out of him with the last trickle of air. Even now, he shuddered at the memory. The pain had been blinding, incredible, the terror all-encompassing.

Poor Ma. If he glanced over his shoulder, he could see her down there at the bedside, shaking his unresponsive body, weeping, crying out. “Erik!
Erik!
” His heart ached for her.

Are you listening to Me, boy
? A mountain might speak like that, in a vast, subterranean rumble. When the god had called to him from down that long, bright tunnel, his soul had risen from his body and followed like an eager puppy.