Blood Fire (22 page)

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Authors: Sharon Page

Tags: #Romance

BOOK: Blood Fire
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“From Lord Sutcliffe, my lady.” The young maid, Alice, curtsied. “He has ordered a special private dinner for you, too.” The girl gave a shy smile. “An intimate dinner, he said.” Her voice dropped to a soft, girlish whisper, then she giggled. “The parlor’s been set aside. You are to come down as soon as you are ready, my lady.”
“Yes, he told me he planned to do that. Lord Sutcliffe is my husband.”
“Oh!” That news startled Alice.
“At the moment, we are estranged.”
Alice’s eyes enlarged to the size of dinner plates. “I beg yer pardon, my lady—”
“We are fighting.” It was on the tip of Octavia’s tongue to send a refusal by the maid. She didn’t know if she had the strength for a battle with Sutcliffe.
But the girl set a vase, one that was chipped and somewhat dirty but filled with water, on her vanity table, and Alice plunked the greenery in there. “His Lordship cut them himself. Mr. Jones—the innkeeper—wished to send one of the servants, but Lord Sutcliffe insisted he would do it. He scratched himself something fierce on the shrubs.”
He wanted to hide her away in a gloomy northern castle, yet he cut a bouquet for her himself. The man made no sense.
Alice fiddled with the bouquet of green until she had arranged them in a way that made her smile. “He was ever so fussy about what he selected.”
Octavia faced the girl with playful suspicion. “How would you know that, Alice?”
The maid went red. “I admit I did watch him, my lady. I had to dust the parlor, and the leaded windows look out over the garden. He blushed when he requested the dinner. I think—”
“What do you think, Alice?”
“He is sweet on you, my lady, and I would think he don’t want to fight anymore.”
“I am sure he doesn’t,” Octavia muttered, so softly the girl would not hear. “As long as he gets his own way.”
“I think,” Alice breathed, starry-eyed, “Lord Sutcliffe is like a knight in shining armor.”
Octavia twisted her lips in a wry grimace. A husband who wanted to lock his wife away was hardly a besotted and noble knight. . . .
Of course, he insisted he was doing it to protect her. He had searched England to find her. But was that out of love, or out of annoyance, possessiveness, and the male need to be always right? She knew that from dealing with gentlemen of the Royal Geographical Society.
Perhaps he was not bad, just dense, as men could tend to be.
Bother, she mustn’t weaken toward him. She was not going to be a prisoner—it was as simple as that.
She would have to meet him in the parlor and confront him. Either he had to bend to her wishes, or she had to leave him. And he had to stop pursuing her.
She stood, determined to do this, when she suddenly felt dizzy. It was as if all her blood had drained from her body. Her arms and legs shook, and she felt boneless. Spots of gray burst in front of her eyes.
She hadn’t felt like this for months. It had suddenly happened now, after seeing Sutcliffe again.
Octavia reached for the bedpost, but her fingers felt numb. She was holding it, but she couldn’t feel it. It wasn’t giving her any support. The room lurched about her, and she let her hand slide down the post. She sank to the edge of the bed and let out a small sob.
She hadn’t felt this sick even when expecting her baby.
What was wrong with her?
If she was getting sick again, would sex with Sutcliffe make her feel well?
“Are you all right, my lady?” Wide-eyed, Alice leaned over her. “Should I fetch smelling salts? Cold water on the wrists? . . . That always helped me mum when she felt faint—”
“I am all right, Alice. It was just a dizzy spell, and it will go away. But I will need your help. I must get ready for my dinner with Lord Sutcliffe.”
If she had to go to bed with Sutcliffe again to be well, she would. This time, she would not make the mistake she’d made months ago. His arrogance had made any love she’d had for him wither and die. This time, she was wiser, much wiser. She would not fall in love with him again.
She would just sleep with him.
 
Octavia’s decision had given her a small burst of strength—enough to propel her down the stairs and across to the private parlor. The inn appeared to have been built during the reign of the Tudors and had low ceilings of heavy beams, and a fireplace large enough to fit a boar inside.
She avoided the fireplace.
But she caught a glimpse of her hair, her face, her dress in an oval mirror above the mantelpiece.
She felt like an actress on the Drury Lane stage. She wore an elegant, low cut gown of sapphire silk. Her bosom almost spilled over the neckline, but her breasts weren’t full or sore anymore.
She knew it meant her breasts had given up hope of finding her baby, that
they
no longer expected to have an infant to feed. The first few days after her milk had come in had been excruciating with no baby. She hadn’t even been able to stand the pressure of her shift on her breasts. Any touch against her nipples had prompted her milk to flow.
But she was not giving up hope. She was going to find her baby. Then her breasts, she prayed, would make milk once more.
If they didn’t, she had no idea what to do—
There he was. Her husband. He lounged at a table set for two, but he rose from his chair as she reached the doorway. At least she had the strength to walk, to do so without looking weak. Even if she had clung to the banister to get downstairs, she looked strong now.
She refused to let him know she was ill again. She didn’t want him—her enemy—to know she had any weakness.
“Octavia.”
He came forward and she knew, in one heady glance, it was going to be very easy to sleep with him. She was furious with him, but her foolish body
wanted
him.
He looked even more handsome than he had before he’d left for the Carpathians.
In fact, Sutcliffe looked more handsome than he had an hour ago, when she had seen him in the inn’s yard. How was that possible?
His eyes were a stunning silvery blue, and they reflected firelight so intently, it looked like flames flickered in his eyes. His skin was paler, but his features seemed even more perfect. His lips were full but sensually masculine.
Looking at his lips made her heart beat faster. It made her ache between her thighs—an ache so strong she wasn’t sure if she could walk. She was so wet between her thighs.
He seemed to tip his head, as though he was scenting her.
Then he smiled. “I wanted to apologize to you.”
“Did you really? Or is this a trick?”At first Octavia’s question raised Matthew’s ire. Then he saw the way she hugged herself and the sad, downward curve of her mouth. She really didn’t believe him.
It wasn’t a trick. In this moment, he felt damnably sorry. “I shouldn’t have made it sound like I was going to imprison you.”
“Do you still intended to lock me away?”
“Of course not.” But he had intended to do exactly that to keep her safe and to keep her for himself. She thought he was selfish, arrogant, and possessive. Perhaps he was, but he knew he was right. With his brother, he’d made the mistake of being arrogant and selfish, and he had not been protective or possessive enough.
This time he intended to be very possessive with his wife . . . and with their child.
So she was correct—he was not really sorry about what he had done. He was sorry he hadn’t made her understand it was for the best. She turned toward him, frowning. The position sent warm firelight cascading over the swells of her breasts. “I don’t believe you.”
He was aroused and hard enough to bend iron with his cock. Right now, he wanted to lock her away. He wanted to keep her his prisoner in bed. He crossed the room, moving toward her.
De Wynter had warned him not to tell Octavia she was a succubus. And he had to begin to capture her heart. As he’d realized before, he had better stop talking and put his tongue to better use.
When he reached her, he put his finger to her lips. “Don’t speak. I want to seduce you. I want to make love to you for real tonight, not just in dreams. Give me the chance to try.”
14
Hunger
S
utcliffe walked around her and blew a soft, warm breath gently across her neck. Octavia shut her eyes and let her head fall back. That brush of heat and air made her bones melt. It made her tingle everywhere.
“You are sure our baby is safe?” he asked softly. He cradled her breasts as he spoke. It had been so long since she’d felt his hands on them—not in a dream, but in reality. It felt so good, she moaned.
Then she whispered, for she was too weak with desire to speak normally. “Yes. I know at least she is safe.”
“Then tomorrow we will find her.” He tongued her neck, from the base of her hairline to the top of her dress. Shivers rushed down her spine; heat raced through her blood.
“It’s better if we hunt during the day,” he said softly. “The monsters come out at night.”
She nodded. She had vowed she would not return to him. But the thought of having him with her, protecting her and their child, was tempting. So very, very tempting.
She had to remember the price for his protection.
“What did you call her?” he asked softly.
He kissed along the neckline of her dress in the back. Kisses that made her melt. But at the same time, she admired him for the controlled way he was asking questions.
He must be furious, but she couldn’t hear anger in his voice. Or even sorrow. She heard only . . . gentleness.
“I—I didn’t have a chance to give her a name. She—she was taken away from me.” Octavia tried to speak calmly. But her voice wobbled. It felt as if the words were scratching their way out of her throat. Then something hot and wet spattered to her cheeks.
Sutcliffe turned her, and he kissed her tears away. His lips brushed them from her face. He looked at her tenderly, when he should be furious.
Never had she dreamed she would have his sympathy. That he would understand. Then she was telling him everything: about the satyr that had attacked her, about Mrs. Darkwell and the house, about soul mates and escape, and losing their baby. “But I have the names of families she would use to keep a child. I am going to find our baby.”
“We are going to find her.”
“All right,” she breathed. “We will do this together.”
What was she doing? She wanted sex with him tonight to regain her strength. She didn’t want more than that.
He kissed her throat, making his way down to the hollow where her pulse pounded. It was good. She didn’t want words. Talking was making her tense.
He licked in that hollow. Her tension snapped. “Just seduce me,” she begged. “Just get on with it and seduce me.”
The first time she’d seduced him, she had needed the same thing she needed now: sex to make her well. She hadn’t
known
it, but a mysterious instinct must have guided her to get exactly what she’d needed. But she’d felt like a girl then. It had been romantic and daring and wonderful to seduce the man she’d dreamed of.
But it was different now. She felt lonely even with Sutcliffe. She felt empty.
Perhaps because she wasn’t a normal, starry-eyed girl anymore. She now knew the truth: She’d never been like other girls. She was a
witch,
one who didn’t belong anywhere, and one who might end up dead.
Sutcliffe didn’t love her. How could he, when she was a witch? How could any man love a witch? Even if he did, which she couldn’t believe, how could they have a normal family, a normal marriage, or happiness? She was a danger to their family.
Mrs. Darkwell had been right—
Her husband undid the fastenings of her dress. It snapped her out of her fears. In seconds, he lowered her gown and held her hand so she could step out of it.
Her arrogant husband gently laid her dress over a chair, then undid her corset. He didn’t say a word, as she’d asked, but he was breathing hard. Attentively, he undressed her. He got to one knee to do her slippers and stockings, a gesture that made her blush and feel awkward.
She was panting, and the room was becoming hot. Sultry, steamy, and hot from the fire, from their panting, from the heat of their skin.
“You. Naked.” It was all she could manage to say without using too many words.
He complied. She could see how aroused he was before he was naked. He had to struggle to open his trousers as his erection strained them so much. Watching him fight, she smiled. Until he undid the buttons and his cock sprang forward.
It was bigger than she’d remembered. Much bigger. How could she have forgotten it? It stood straight up, and the head grazed his flesh just above his navel. When he came to her, it barely moved, it was so stiff. She saw a mark on his chest. Gently, she put her fingers on it, but he captured them in his fingers and moved her hand away. “Just a scar. I got it . . . in the Carpathians.” He gazed at her intently. “It’s nothing. Octavia, I want us to trust each other.”
She nodded. She trusted him in bed. That much was true.
“I want to pleasure you every way I can. I want to teach you about some pleasures I know you’ve never dreamed of.”
“What exactly do you mean?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer. He lifted her into his arms, cradling her like a hero with a damsel in distress. But they were naked, so his erection brushed against her bottom.
“I want to show you pleasure that will make you scream.”
She wanted to be brought to screams. But at the same time, screaming sounded a bit . . . frightening.
“Don’t be frightened,” he said, as if he’d read her thoughts. “Be prepared for delight.”
 
He laid her on the small settee near the fire, so her naked bottom was in the air. The silky stitching of embroidery brushed her bare stomach and breasts.
Sutcliffe parted her legs.
From behind, his hand cupped her privates. His thumb swept back and forth, brushing her tingling clit.
“Oooh.”
“Shh,” he murmured. “We are in the parlor of a public inn.”
“But you said you wanted me to be screaming.”
“You can scream,” Sutcliffe said. “But around this.”
Something leathery and smooth slid across her cheek. She parted her lips in surprise, then a round ball slipped into her mouth. Leather straps were attached to it, and he tied them behind her neck. She shook her head and made sounds of protest. He was gagging her so she couldn’t make any noise! Was he going to kidnap her?
“It’s erotic play.” His deep voice brushed over her ear. “Just a game. You have nothing to fear. Did you once dream about tying me to the bed?”
She nodded. How could he know?
“I shared your dreams,” he murmured. “I suppose it is part of your powers. When you dreamed we were together, I dreamed it too. It was as if we were really together. Now, I’m going to tie you up, because I intend to do some naughty things, and since you are gently bred, you might feel embarrassed or bad. But it isn’t bad. Nothing we do in bed together is wrong.”
Now he had her terribly curious. What would she find bad—by which she gathered he meant scandalously naughty? So naughty, he had to tie her hands—which he was doing now—and gag her. He looped soft rope around her wrists, tying them together just over her tailbone.
It was rather erotic to have her arms bound, the backs of her fingers brushing her bottom.
“You look so sensual and beautiful,” he said hoarsely. “Seeing the black velvet ties against your ivory skin makes me want to come right now.”
She moaned around her gag, aroused by his words. Her tongue ran over the smooth ball in her mouth. It did feel . . . interesting. Her teeth brushed it. She bit lightly into it.
His finger slid between the cheeks of her bottom.
Her teeth sank hard into the ball.
What was he doing? Something touched her anus and stroked that opening. She was frozen with shock, even though the most amazing sensations were rushing through her.
She half turned, trying to ask him what he thought he was doing—
It was not his finger that was stroking in the valley.
It was his rock-hard erection. He was ruthlessly pushing it down to point between her cheeks.
Her cunny tightened and pulsed.
“I’m going to slide my cock up your derriere, my dear.”
She shook her head, stunned.
“I can fuck you that way. I promise you will enjoy it. Your ass is so tight and hot, it will be heaven for both of us.”
Could they do it? She thought of the courtesan at the duke’s orgy. Men had done it to her, and she had truly been screaming her pleasure.
It looked so scandalous, but it felt . . . so very good to have the tip of his cock teasing the entrance of her rear.
“But first, let’s ensure you are very aroused,” he said softly.
He left her. Turning her face and resting her cheek on the sofa cushion, she could watch him. He opened a velvet bag, and he drew out a long, white wand. It was carved in a phallic shape, and it was almost as big as his cock. Velvet ties dangled from its base. He took something else out, but she couldn’t see what.
“First, let’s fill your sweet cunny,” he said when he’d returned to the sofa.
Gently, he nudged the ivory cock between her nether lips. Slowly, he eased it in and out of her. “Are you sore at all, Octavia?”
She was just a bit, but then her juices were flowing, and it felt good. She ached to be filled.
“Do you want more?”
She nodded yes, vigorously.
Soon he had slid the cock all the way inside her. It filled her completely. It felt so good she was sobbing with delight around the gag. Softness brushed her legs. He tied the ropes around her thighs to secure the play toy inside her.
“Now for your nipples.”
Her nipples? What could he do—?
His hands slipped under her. Cool metal brushed her right nipple, making it stand up hard. A gentle pressure clamped onto it. He did the same to her left. It was a velvet-lined clamp, and the tug of them on her nipples made her cunny clench around the toy.
She was rocking on the sofa. She wanted to make love with him, but this felt so good she was beginning to pleasure herself.
Then he mounted her from behind. His cock pressed against her anus, gently opening her. She moaned fiercely around the ball.
As he pushed his cock in just a bit, she cried out at the sudden sensations. Intense. Good. Intense. Amazing. Too intense! The gag muffled her wild sounds.
He thrust farther, opening her, and she felt a soft pop as he pushed fully past her opening, and it widened for him.
Goodness, he was soooo large.
Yet it felt . . . incredible.
And she realized it meant he was fully inside her. His crisp nether curls brushed her bottom. Her rump was stretched, and it felt as slick and aroused as her cunny.
Instinct told her to move on him, to thrust her bottom along the amazing rod buried inside it.
Oooooh.
“Like that, do you?”
More nodding, this time fiercely.
“You move as you want. Pleasure yourself on me.” He reached round her, clasped her breasts, and teased her nipples. But he didn’t move his hips.
Caught by his questing fingers, she rocked her rump back. It felt amazing to draw back so just the head was inside her, then to surge her rump to his groin and take his cock deep.
She worked harder. Harder. He tugged and pulled at the clamps secured to her nipples. It should have been too harsh, but it wasn’t. It was perfect.
She banged her bottom against him, slammed him. Her clit was swollen and throbbing and she touched it, just for a little relief.
But just a brush launched her orgasm. It exploded in her.
Then he began to thrust into her, riding her bouncing ass as she climaxed. Her whimpers around the ball seemed to urge him to pound deep. She rubbed her clit madly.
Again, she climaxed, moaning and gasping around the ball in her mouth. Somehow being gagged made it more erotic.
A third brought sobs to her lips.
By orgasm number four, she was screaming around her restraining gag.
Sutcliffe groaned, thrust his hips forward to collide with her cheeks, then she felt a stream of heat squirt in her bottom.
He collapsed on her back, but caught himself with his taut arms. “Beautiful. You are more spectacular than any dream, love.”
Her heart ached to melt, and she was dizzy enough with pleasure to let it.
But she fought for control.
 
Matthew pressed a glass of sherry into Octavia’s hands. He had wrapped his robe around her, and she sat on the bed, the velvet dwarfing her. The hem spilled over her feet; the sleeves covered her hands to her fingertips.

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