Uncaged (7 page)

             
He hesitated only because of the captain though he seemed near death only two days before. He tried the front door. It clicked open and he smiled. Wren had given him full access to her home and her bedroom. He tiptoed through the parlor, heading for the stairs when something caught his eye. A rectangular shadow fell across the landing where the moonlight streamed across the marble floors from a high window. Bruce peered into the darkness, looking for whatever was causing such a black out. The parlor was practically bare. He wondered for a moment if Wr
en had acquired a pianoforte.
She’d talked of doing so and of her love for music. The prospect suddenly excited him. He had become quite skilled with the i
vory keys as a boy
. How he’d love to play a duet with her. He felt like a lad on Christmas morn as he strolled into the parlor. He hit his shin on a low lying coffee table, hissing out a curse as he made his way to the object. Black shadows enveloped him. If he could only remember where the damn lamp was located. He reached for the object, hoping to hear a tinkling of the keys, but instead he felt clothing. His eyes had adjusted some. He blinked and blinked again and then knelt down closer. A hideous odor assaulted his senses and he snapped his head back. Ever so slowly he reached out again and this time felt a hand.

             
“Bloody hell!” he hissed.

             
It was a dead body, lying in waiting for the wake perhaps. Bruce fumbled around the tables and chairs, looking for the lamp. He nearly knocked it off the table before lighting it. A golden glow illuminated the casket across from him. White, unruly hair shot off of the pillow. Even in death, the man looked insane. The captain lay across from him. Relief flooded him. It could have been Wren. He had been afraid she’d been exposed. The captain had developed scurvy on the ship and later acquired tuberculosis. 

             
“Wren,” he breathed, forgetting the dead captain as he bolted upstairs and flung open her door.

             
She lay curled on her side, hugging a pillow. He let out a shuddering, ragged breath as he shut the door behind him, making a small clicking noise. Wren sighed in her sleep, smiled sweetly and then rolled to her other side. Bruce thought his heart would burst from his chest. He was no longer exhausted from the long trip, only excited and relieved that she was safe. He decided right then and there, he would not leave her again. If he had to devour all the local hogs in order to stay near her, he would. Anything could have happened. He couldn’t bear losing her like he’d lost his lioness. He crossed to the other side of the bed and sat down, stripping down to nothing before lying down. He pulled her to him. She moaned softly. Bruce couldn’t wait until dawn. He’d have her now and she’d love every moment of it.

             
She sighed when he caressed her breasts, pulling up on the sheer batiste that separated his hand from her warm skin.

             
“Bruce?” she whispered, her voice still hoarse from sleep.

             
“Yes, darling, I’m home.”

             
“Mmm.”

             
Bruce chuckled, scattering hot breath across the back of her neck. Her scent drove him mad. She smelled of lavender, her hair like fresh cut gardenias. His hand shook with anticipation as he palmed her knee, her thigh a
nd moved upward, cupping her.
She was already damp for him.

             
“Oh how I missed you,” he growled, rolling her onto her back and straddling her.

             
Wren reached up and touched his cheek. Her eyes gleamed in the moonlight as she stared up at him, her face awash with tenderness.

             
“I missed you far more, I assure you, sir.”

             
He kissed the tip of her nose and then each velvety eye lid with u
tter care before he answered.
“You are wrong, my love. I rode all night to see you.”

             
Wren sat half way up. “Darling! You must be utterly exhausted. Are you hungry? I can call the cook.”

             
Bruce shook his head and then pushed her back onto the pillows. “The cook cannot make me what a crave.”

             
“Oh, I assure you he can, sir. It’s but yet an hour till he rises. Would you rather him prepare breakfast or stew?”

             
Bruce only laughed. Her play at innocence delighted him. She was no innocent but her desire to comfort him and please him only made him more randy.

             
“Bird,” he replied flatly.

             
“Bird? A nice pheasant then?” Wren sat up again, determined to throw on her dressing gown and order the cook to work.

             
He let out a raucous belly laugh. Wren’s eyebrows snapped together. He laughed again at the concern in her face. He knew she was only trying to please him, but there was only one thing that could whet his appetite.

             
“I detest pheasant.”

             
“Oh. You do? I find it delightful and rather . . .”

             
Bruce silenced her by grabbing a fistful of ebony curls, covering her mouth with his own and guiding back onto to the bed. With his other hand he pulled the thin batiste up over her hips and above her flat belly. His cock laid fat and throbbing on her smooth thigh. Wren gasped when his warm hand covered her, teasing her with his fingertips. She rose in answer. Bruce kissed his way to her ear, blowing softly, nibbling on her tender earlobe, licking the concave flesh behind
her ear .

             
“Ahh, Bruce.”

             
“My love,” he whispered as he worked his way down her elegant neck. He stopped to suck at the pulsing where twirls of flowery scented skin wafted into the most savage corners of his being. He could smell her rich blood beneath. Sweet and smooth, ripe and warm. He longed for a taste. To bite her, sink his teeth into her heated flesh and drink her in. It was a common practice among lions during mating. Many times he had sunk his canines into the sandy, musty fur of his lover’s neck and shoulders while riding her. The scent of her sex coupled with the tangy, melon flavor of her warm blood only added to his arousal. He longed to bite Wren and taste all that her lust held for him. He couldn’t help himself. Once it became his desire, he could not stop himself. He kissed and licked the vein throbbing in her neck, sucking it to numb the pain. Wren writhed beneath him, begging and moaning. She wrapped both legs around his torso. He could feel her dripping with wicked want, panting quick puffs of scalding breath into the tepid air around them.

             
Bruce wanted her seduced, numb, on the edge of swooning.

             
“Please, darling, now. I beg of you, sir.”

             
“Soon my sweet, soon,” he whispered between more licks, more nips at her ears and neck.

             
Even Bruce could hear her heart beating beneath him, thumping like a scared jack rabbit, pumping for him, anxious and excited. He loved how this woman wanted him. How she begged for him, pleading as if she’d lose her mind if he didn’t satisfy her immediately.

             
Bruce had seduced dozens of women before choosing to live as an animal in the wilds of
Afri
ca
, but none thrilled him more than
this beauty. One smile from her sent his heart reeling and he had never possessed such sexual prowess. He was trapped by his lust for this delectable vixen. One night away from her was worse than a week without red meat.
             

             
He could sustain himself no longer. His lover was close to the edge. Intoxication was written in her smoldering eyes. She was close to swooning, gasping for air, clawing at his head, her voice ragged and raw from begging. Bruce licked the trickle of sweat that wound beneath her breasts, catching a new scent, something a bit sweeter and richer. He licked the moisture that gathered beneath them. She rose off the bed, clawing at his shoulder, ripping stripes into his overheated skin. He suckled her breast and growled.

             
He was right. She was with child.

             
Sweet, creamy milk bubbled within. He could smell it swirling and churning inside, more delicate than lion’s milk. His lioness bred three cubs for him and all of them had grown into glorious cats. None of them carried the human gene and he’d been relieved.

             
Now Bruce grunted with pleasure, suckling her breast, sending her to another world where only the two of them existed. They were lost in one another and their terrible, excruciating need. He intended to bring blood on her neck. A mere taste of lust was what he craved. Now that the pride of knowing she was carrying his child had registered, he wanted more. He knew of no way to tear himself from her luscious breast, from the soft, sweet, delicate scent of her mother’s milk. Bruce’s eyes snapped open. He now looked at her through nocturnal cat eyes. Every detail, every feature of his lover was outlined. Every inch of her excruciating beauty was vivid in the darkened room.

             
He growled, devouring her, taking the tanned nipple, all of it into his mouth. Without thinking, he sank his canines fully into her. Warm, rich milk flowed into dark, rich blood, mixing and mingling, creating an erotic delicacy. Wren screamed, flailing on the bed as he entered her. He sliced into her fully as he reached beneath her, pulling her ass into him with both hands. She rose off the bed and then collapsed, moaning softly as she began to move with each heavy thrust of his swollen cock. Bruce let go, afraid he’d taken too much blood. Afraid he’d frightened her. He hadn’t planned on it. He licked the milky blood from his lips as he watched her face, now relaxed and smiling in the white moonlight. She mimicked his actions, licking her own lips. Blood dripped from four black holes, staining her gown, ruining the bed sheets.

             
“Bloody fucking Christ!” Bruce hissed, when he saw what he’d done.

             
“Again, Bruce! Again!” Wren whispered.

             
Bruce withdrew himself with great regret. Gasping, he applied pressure to her bleeding breast, fully aware that the entire length of his canines had pierced her tender flesh. He wanted to pummel himself.

             
“What have I done? Bloody hell!”

             
Wren sat up and looked down upon her blood stained gown. More blood spilled from her breasts, dripping on her leg and sliding down her thigh t
o puddle on the white sheets.
She only smiled and pulled him closer, kissing his bloodied mouth. She stopped and licked her lips. Bruce watched in horror. He wondered if she was in shock.

             
“So sweet. I never guessed it,” she whispered.

             
Bruce stared her, open mouthed. Blood dripped from his chin, onto his broad chest. He’d practically skewered the woman and she seemed fascinated.

             
“Wren… I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, my love. I got carried away. I swear to you I will never do that again. I vow to never
….
”

             
Wren flung her arms around him, kissing him with a force he’d never known. His cock rose again, engorged now, fueled by the taste of his mate’s life blood. Pride swelled within him as a trickle of milk flowed from her breast. And she was loving it, wanting him, reveling in his carnal, animalistic lovemaking. 

             
“Please, darling. I am not hurt. What is a little blood? It felt glorious. Please, I beg of you. I cannot wait much longer,”
she whimpered between kisses.

             
Wren wrapped her legs around his torso, locking her feet behind him. She grabbed his cock with one hand and teased herself with t
he smooth head. “Oooh, Bruce.
I love that. Will you do this for me? Pleasure me?”

             
Bruce took his cock from her hand and teased her pearl, tapping on the tender nub. Wren released her arms from his neck, falling backwards, her spine forming a perfect “U” as he pleasured her, sinking his cock a bit before withdrawing, dipping and teasing her again with his dampened erection. Reaching back, he unlocked her feet and laid her legs beside her. Startled, she looked up at him, her hair a mess of black curls. A stray wisp stuck to her li
p as she begged him for more.

             
“Please, darling! Please! Make me suffer no more!”

             
“Shhh. Lie back. I told you I was hungry.”

             
“You said you were hungry for bird, sir.”

             
“Yes, my love. For wren, the tastiest of all birds.”

             
Wren giggled as she stretched out fully, raising her arms above her head. Bruce sucked in a breath at the sight of her bloody nakedness. She was a mess. The sexiest mess he’d ever seen. Her gown and the sheets were horrific. She looked a murderous nightmare to a mere man, but to him, she was his sex starved mate, giving herself to him fully, allowing him to taste her life’s blood. She’d already made him a father, though she knew it not. He smiled down at her. His one crooked tooth caught on his bloody lip and she laughed out loud.