Wicked Pleasures (12 page)

Without a look his way, she brushed past him and
started down the hall. He smiled. She twirled and stared him down.
“Do you think it’s possible that just once I can go somewhere
without you following?”

He sighed. He hated babysitting, especially someone
who he couldn’t trust not to stick a foot into his balls if given a
chance. However, because she was a feisty nymph, he had to keep a
close eye on her. Danger lurked outside the walls of his home, and
she wasn’t prepared for those perils. “Absolutely not,” he said,
ready for an argument, but Miss Deveraux approached him.

“Mr. Roark. You have a phone call.”

“Who is it?” he asked.

“It’s Mr. Shelby, sir. He says it’s urgent.”

“Thank you. I’ll take the call in the den.” Waiting
on Miss Deveraux to disappear down the stairs, he said to Bronte,
“Is it possible you can be a good girl long enough for me to take
this call?”

“Where am I going to go in this locked-down
fortress?”

There were plenty of places she could wander to, but
she didn’t need to know—not yet. However, she couldn’t go anywhere
without him knowing, or getting there first. “Alright then. Get
dressed and come downstairs, please.”

“Wow, the man does have manners.”

Roark shook his head as she vanished into the
bedroom. He laughed. He’d even surprised himself by using
please
. Was he getting soft?
Oh hell no
. That
couldn’t be possible. He was a leader, and his strength kept him on
top.

With one last glance at the closed bedroom door
where Bronte had gone, he turned and started down the stairs. The
woman would be the death of him—literally.

****

Bronte closed the door and leaned against the solid
wood. Her brain wasn’t as fuzzy and she was absorbing the facts.
Pushing her fingers through her hair, she realized the wound on her
hand no longer hurt. The cut, the stitches, everything was gone.
She couldn’t even see a scar from the deep gash. Was it magic?

She didn’t believe in magic.
She trusted in
facts. Yet, she believed Roark.

There were things she needed to know, and within the
story there were clues. She took a notepad and pen from the drawer
and began jotting her thoughts down. If she could figure out the
missing hints, maybe she could—

What?
Solve the mystery? Why did it matter
what was hidden in Azelda’s message? Or what Roark was keeping
secret? What she should focus on was getting the hell out of the
dungeon.

Why did getting away from Roark not seem as
important?

She sat down on the chair. Her emotions were
different, but couldn’t understand why. As she looked out of the
window and across the yard to the edge of the woods, she had an
overwhelming urge to cry. Why did she feel a connection with Roark?
She wanted so badly to dislike him, but she didn’t. As hard as she
tried to use anger for protection against her feelings, the sad
fact remained, she couldn’t loathe him.

On the paper, she wrote
Wolves and
humans.

Could there be such a thing as packs of wolves?
Humans during the day and creatures at night. A cold chill swept
over her, not from fear. Roark was a wolf, or a human, a mix… She
didn’t know how that worked.

Then she wrote,
a one-hundred year old curse
.
The lovely young woman she’d seen in her dream wanted revenge on
the wolves. Bronte could understand such deep resentment. After her
mother had passed away, she’d found herself full of anger. She
hadn’t cared about anything, not even her father. She blamed him
for disappearing when Bronte’s mother, his wife, needed him the
most. Her relationship with her father had never been close.

The witch’s words lingered.
Anger comes with a
price.

Bronte rubbed her eyes as frustration coursed
through her. What was the curse that changed lives? And how did it
involve her? Roark wouldn’t have brought her here and taken her to
the witch’s shack for no reason. Why couldn’t he tell her? He’d
said that he didn’t know everything…He even blamed her for the
curse…

Roark was right, the brain would only absorb as much
information as it could handle. She was stuck inside a realm of
lunacy.

In the distance thunder rolled. The sky was turning
dark and the clouds moved fast. A storm was coming, and not just in
the sky.

Getting up, she dropped the notepad and pen on the
chair and went into the bathroom. Rummaging through the basket of
toiletries, she found shampoo, conditioner, soap and a soft sponge.
She guessed it was time to clean up. Another option was to stay
dirty and repel Roark. As much as that idea entertained her,
cleanliness trumped revenge.

While the water ran in the bathtub, she stripped
from her gown and panties. A wandering thought made her heart skip
a beat. Roark had undressed her from her riding clothes. His touch
lingered on her skin and she should be disgusted, but she felt
anything but revulsion. Giving him the benefit of doubt irked her,
but she believed, instinct maybe, that he’d not taken advantage.
Anyway, if she’d slept that long in her tight breeches and stuffy
shirt, she’d have awoke with more problems than a headache.

Sliding into the water, she sighed as tension melted
from her tight muscles. Tranquility allowed her mind to drift to
places she shouldn’t go but every woman needed a fantasy.

One memory clung to her nerve endings like molasses…
Roark had brought her to completion with his fingers. Hands down,
that moment, along with his kiss, had been the most powerful,
extraordinary time she’d ever experienced. Her toes still tingled.
She was no expert, but she’d been kissed a few times and nothing
could compare.

Gage had been the only man she’d been with for
years. He wasn’t a bad kisser, but he’d never made inner thighs
quiver and pulsate. The relationship between her and Gage was
different in the intimacy department, but they were good together.
He’d never been rude, short-tempered, or egotistical like Roark.
It’s possible she was missing something though because Fallon had
never liked Gage and she trusted Fallon’s instincts.

Why had Roark’s kiss and touch left her wanting
more? And how could she get so much enjoyment in simply looking at
him? The man did have a spectacular physique. Any woman, or man,
would appreciate his body.

She had to stop!

Flicking thoughts of Roark outside of her mind, she
refused him occupancy another second. She should be thinking of
Gage, and the dilemma she was in when it came to their
association.

Strangely, she didn’t miss Gage. She hadn’t thought
of him more than twice since she’d been here. If she truly loved
him, wouldn’t she want to see him? She didn’t. In fact, she was
starting to realize she never wanted to see him again.

Relaxing her head, she closed her eyes and cleared
her mind. No harm could come of enjoying her time alone…

“You’re beautiful.”

Hearing her name, she opened her eyes and jerked,
splashing water all over the floor. Roark stood above the bathtub,
his heated gaze was like an electrical charge. “Roark!” She sat up
further and covered her breasts. “What are you doing in here?’

“I heard you call for me,” he said as one corner of
his mouth lifted.

Every nerve in her body awakened as he continued to
watch her with man-hungry eyes. “I didn’t. You need to go!”

“Is that what you really want, Bronte? For me to
leave?” he asked.

She wanted to lie, but when she opened her mouth the
truth spilled out. “No, I don’t.”

“Okay.” He lowered to his knees and bent over the
side of the tub, their faces were close and she got a scent of musk
and mint. Her heartbeat went into a frenzy and she thought it would
burst inside her chest. Her breaths became raspy as the core of her
body blazed alive. “I want to touch you, sweetheart. I want to put
my mouth all over you, to sample your love. I remember your
taste—sweet and addictive.”

Inhibition dwindled and she moved her arms to her
sides. His gaze smoothed over her breasts and her nipples tingled,
aching for his lips. He rewarded her by dropping his head and
rolling his tongue along the areola and flicking the tip. She
moaned as her insides trembled. Water spattered as he dipped his
hand between her thighs to the part of her that screamed for
attention. His large hand pressed her nether lips, spreading her
legs, as he slipped one finger inside her. She laid back and closed
her eyes, falling into the sensational madness. She quaked when he
found her G-spot, overcome with prickles of hunger. He continued to
pump her knuckle deep and rub her clit in circular motions,
blanketing her with delicious sensations.

Rolling her hips against his palm, she felt herself
drawing nearer to her peak. She’d never wanted anyone like she did
him. “I need you.” The words tumbled from her lips.

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Yes, Roark! I want to feel you inside of me.”
Opening her eyes, her breath caught. His eyes appeared yellow. She
blinked, but they remained intense. He removed his finger, brought
both of his arms underneath her and lifted her from the water.
Standing up from the floor, he held her against his broad chest.
She could feel the thumping of his heart against her arm.

He carried her into the bedroom and lowered her onto
the middle of the bed. Naked and wet, she shivered, but not for
long. As their gazes connected, her body grew warm. Where he’d held
her his clothes were damp and his erect nipples were visible under
his thin shirt. He lifted the material from his torso and over his
head. The man was beautiful. From smooth, broad chest, six-pack abs
to tapered waist, he was masculinity in its truest form. There was
no holding back from touching him any longer.

Climbing to her knees and hands, she crawled over to
him, and with shaking fingers, she helped in undoing and unzipping
his jeans. She tugged the waist down his hips and pushed them to
his knees. His large, thick cock stood erect. A pearl of pre-cum
glistened on his tip, inviting her to taste his virility. Wrapping
her fingers around his silken girth, she brought her lips to him
and licked the moisture. A groan escaped from deep in his throat
and his muscles tightened. Sliding her mouth around him, she
suckled and smoothed her tongue over his iron muscle as his fingers
entwined in her hair, as if he held on for dear life. She took as
much of him in her mouth as she could, feeling him in her throat.
Gently, she slid her teeth along his skin as she moved her
lips.

“Damn!” He grabbed her shoulders and tossed her back
onto the bed. “You naughty nymph. I could fuck you until daybreak,
but tonight, my love, I’m going to make love to you.”

Bronte stretched her arms high above her head,
thrusting her breasts forward and opened her legs in a wide V.
“Take me. I’ve waited too long for this. I won’t wait another
second to have you!”

“I’m here to please you. That’s what I live for.” He
moved onto the bed and hovered above her. Emotion overcame her,
almost bringing her to tears. “Don’t cry, my love. We were made for
this—you and I, created to love one another. Once we come together,
no man or death can tear us apart. Bronte, you are the wife of my
heart—always!”

She lifted her arms around his neck and tugged him
closer. “And you, Roark, are the husband of my heart. I belong with
you.” He guided his cock between her thighs and she felt him
against her. With great compassion and caring, he gently pressed
himself inside of her, allowing her muscles to accommodate his
size. When he filled her, she gyrated her hips, wanting him to bury
himself deeper.

“Slow, baby. I don’t want to hurt you, and dear
sweet mother earth, I don’t know if I can control myself. Your
tight pussy will be my undoing.”

Clinging to his broad shoulders, digging her nails
into his back, she swathed her legs around his waist as he impelled
her. The world around them disappeared as they became one. Nothing
mattered…not their separate lives, not the curse, not the
future…only satisfaction spinning around them.

With each thrust, his muscles tightened. Sweat
beaded between their bodies and they flowed together. His fingers
bit into her thighs as he rode her.

“Roark! Roark!” His name fell from her tongue.

****

Roark opened the door to Bronte’s bedroom and
listened.
Nothing.

He made his way in, glancing around the space.
She wasn’t there
. “Damn!” he cursed. If she’d attempted to
get away again he had no choice but to lock her bedroom door.

Marching inside the bathroom, he stopped dead in his
tracks. There she was, relaxing in the tub. He swiftly turned. “I
didn’t know you were in here.” He half expected a bar of soap to
come careering by his head. When she didn’t respond, he knew
something was up. He spun back around and saw that her eyes were
closed and her mouth was slightly open. She was sleeping. He
debated whether to wake her, but when her hand dropped to the apex
of her inner thighs and she touched herself, he knew the answer. He
didn’t need the torture, and his hard cock was painful against his
zipper. “Bronte?”

She moaned, her tongue came out and moistened her
bottom lip, and he almost lost his sanity.
Damn!
A
beautiful, naked woman touching her pussy in the bathtub would be
enough to make any man cry for release. He growled and her eyes
fluttered open, followed by a squeal as she covered her breasts
with her arms.

A mark on one breast caught his attention. He moved
closer and a pain ripped through his chest.
A birthmark
—in
the shape of a bird.

“You ogre!” The sudden shout came, followed by a
shampoo bottle being hurtled at him.

“Damn, woman. I’m lucky that you’re a bad shot!”

“Who do you think you are? Get the hell out of
here!”