Bondslave (Seven Brides for Seven Bastards #1 ) (3 page)

"Now get some sleep," he said.

Too appalled for argument she lay down and soon so did he, his face turned to watch the fire. He had pulled the fleece-lined mantle over them both, but they also had body warmth to share. She wriggled closer and once she thought she heard him sleep, she felt carefully through the dark.

Somehow she would make him keep her with him. She would make herself indispensable to this handsome warrior who didn't think he needed a slave girl.

Chapter Three

Raul thought she was reaching for his knife. He rolled over, grabbing her cold fingers.

"What the devil...?"

Her wide eyes twinkled with the reflection of star light. Her lips were mere inches from his. "I am your slave now, your whore."

She was naked he realized. As soon as he turned his back she had removed her ugly sackcloth. Although he'd felt her wriggling, he thought she was merely trying to get warm. Although she must have been freezing now without clothes of any kind, she was not trembling.

Her hair was loose, the braid undone, and long, thick waves of buttery gold strayed over her shoulders, catching on the fleece underside of the mantle he shared with her. It was incredibly soft, scented with some sort of oil.

His cock reared up immediately. It had been too long since he enjoyed a woman, but his chastity was by choice for he did not want the distraction. He thought that by denying his body its natural release, he proved his self-control, honed his wits and his reflexes. A man too often sated and over-indulged was weakened, softened. But a man on the edge was wily and quick, sharpened like a knife's blade on the friction of a whetstone. So it was that for months now he'd abstained from the sport of rutting.

Yet when this young woman moved her naked body against his, he felt his resolve soften. Even as other parts hardened.

"Let me bring you ease tonight," she whispered.

A gentle hand stroked his shaft through his chausses and then began to work the leather laces undone. He groaned, tried to protest. Tried.

But when he looked down, silver moonlight caressed the smooth full breasts of his naked slave and he saw her taut, pink nipples pressed to his tunic. She was slender, but more generously curved than he'd assumed. That sackcloth must have hidden her shape. Slowly he reached for her hips and drew her an inch closer.

Oh, he didn't mean to do that. But he did. And then a hand between her thighs to touch the silky curls of her mound, the moist lips of her cunt. He could just put his hand there a moment, he assured himself. Just a moment. Just to touch that lush, warm softness...the treasure that he knew belonged to the Comte de Tourlaville.

She was fruit from another man's tree.

Oh yes, he knew who she was and what she ran from. It was his sheer good fortune to find her when he wasn't even looking. Now he had two prizes he could return to the Comte —not only the severed head of that man's greatest enemy, but his runaway whore too. This would give Raul even greater leverage in the trade he planned, for his scheme was to win the nobleman's daughter and her fat dowry for himself. That would please his father, he thought. The idea of being the first of his brothers to bring home a valuable bride and a marriage purse was certainly pleasing to his competitive spirit. As a middle-born son he had long sought to distinguish himself from the pack.

He'd heard about the huge ransom the Comte was offering for his escaped whore, but he came upon her quite by chance when he went looking for a replacement horse. As soon as he saw that scar on her chin he knew who she was. A woman that stunning with brilliant sheer gold hair was rare enough, but the scar marked her unmistakably as the Comte's property. Rumor had it she was a witch who had enchanted the Comte. Raul did not believe in witchcraft any more than he believed in luck or promises.

But now, before he could get to Canterbury and hand her over for the prize money, she tempted him to touch her. And he could not resist.

Witchcraft. It must be.

His brothers, he thought grimly, would not hesitate to use her to slake their lusts. In fact they would probably take delight in stealing from the notoriously tight-pursed Comte de Tourlaville.

Seed hung heavy in his balls. Her hand slipped inside his chausses, cupped his sac and massaged gently. Holy Christ, now everything tightened, aching with raw need.

She writhed sensuously, arching her back, lifting her leg over his hips and giving him greater access to her treasure. How could any red-blooded man push her away? Raul bent his head to her breasts and breathed in the sweet skin, faintly flavored with perspiration, but more so with her sexual musk. Her hardened, pert nipple rubbed his bristled cheek and he moaned, opening his lips just enough to let it slip between them. He might almost have claimed it was by accident.

But further resistance was futile. He felt her slippery dew coat his fingers and it spurred his own arousal to new heights, so he clamped down on her tit and sucked, passion ignited, need overflowing.

Tomorrow would be soon enough to think of his reward purse again and repent for this moment of sin and deception. If repentance was even necessary. He doubted his father would think so. In Guillaume d'Anzeray's opinion, oft stated, a man with a conscience in this world may as well be a man castrated. And he'd raised his sons to believe the same.

In fact, Raul wondered why the doubt had even crept in.

* * * *

His roughened fingertip pressed between her labia with the intent of a man who knew his way around a woman. Joy skipped through her. He was seeking out her hidden gem and meaning to play upon it. So she knew he wanted to make her come. Usually the Comte was content with his own release and did not care about hers. She'd been told by other whores in the Comte's fortress that this was usual for men; they were selfish creatures.

But this man must be different. Again he surprised her.

Tempting as it was to give herself up to the pleasure he could conjure out of her, if he had everything at once there would be nothing left with which to tease him. So she pushed his fingers away, wriggled down his body and took his proud, hard cock in her mouth.

Now his hands cupped her head, damp fingers tangled in her hair, and she felt them tense as he began to gasp and grunt with a steady rhythm. She dug her fingers into his buttocks and slowly worked every inch of his tall, warm shaft with her lips and tongue. She suckled on the broad head and then slid more of it into her throat, inch by inch. Back and forth she went, creating the wet friction that would make him lose any last shreds of control to which he clung. He was large and she almost choked, but somehow managed to relax her throat enough until he was buried deep and there was only an inch perhaps from her lips to his root that she could not take down. He did not seem to mind. He thrust in and out eagerly now, fucking her mouth and throat while she sucked devotedly like a babe at the teat.

If she could keep him enthralled, he would let her stay at his side, at least for a while, she thought. She might even be able to help this man somehow in return for him keeping her and letting her travel in his company. The sexual favors would be fair trade, and she had nothing else to offer.

She stroked the tight dark curls of his pubic hair and noted a small mark in the shape of a rampant lion just to the left of his penis on the groin area. It was a brand, burned into the skin. Suddenly she felt the thrusting grow more forceful, and she tightened her lips and throat as he came and a hot stream of his cum flooded her throat. That didn't take long, she mused. It must have been a while since he was last pleasured.

"
Princesa,
" he groaned, half-laughing, "pleasant as that was, indeed, it was not necessary to swallow my seed. I know it almost choked you."

"But I am your slave," she reminded him, sliding up on her side to face him.

He passed her the wineskin again and bade her drink. "Would you be an obedient slave, I wonder?" he muttered drily. "Somehow I doubt it, since almost every word from you so far has been defiant."

She drank thirstily and then passed it back to him. "I am the best slave you've ever owned."

"I've never owned a slave. I ride alone." His lean fingers swept hair away from her face. "Who was that old man? Not your lover, surely?" Slowly he drew a fingertip over her lips, tracing their shape. "Why was he giving you away?"

"He was not my lover, but he was kind. I had lived with him for many weeks. Alas he was ill and could not travel far. He said I needed someone younger and more vital to take me away."

"Take you away from what?"

"Troubles. My first master."

Fortunately he did not seem to want further details, for he was too busy examining her. He ran his fingertip over her teeth next.

Was he inspecting her as he would a horse? She was amused. He would find everything in order. She knew she had beauty, but her feelings on the matter were ambivalent at best. Her good looks had caused her only pain and misfortune until now, and there were many days when she wished herself ugly and bent as an old crone, for then the Comte would let her go gladly and no other man would try to bend her to his will. They would avoid her and she would be free.

But when Raul D'Anzeray touched her and she read the admiration in his strange, moonlit gaze, the slave girl felt, for the first time in her life, that there might be some value in capturing a man's attention with her looks after all. She wanted to please him and not to save herself from punishment, but because she liked that appreciative glow passing over her with every sweep of his black eyelashes.

The warrior stroked her neck, over the hectic pulse, along her shoulder and down to her breast. "You are a well made slave," he muttered, his eyes following the route of his hand, his breathing growing deeper again. "Exquisite, Princesa." It was almost a purr when he said that name. "Would you run away from
me
?"

"Not if you want me to stay," she whispered, hoping he would not hear the need and yearning in her voice.

His lips bent in a slow smile as he ran the pad of his thumb over her nipple. "I don't need a burden hanging around my neck. One that will slow me down."

"I would not!"

"But women travel poorly. They are always too cold or too hot. Always out of humor if they are not comfortable and well fed. And some," he tweaked her nipple, "are quarrelsome, despite their claim of being the best slave a man could have."

"Quarrelsome? I have not..." She clamped her lips shut.

Raul chuckled. "See?"

But suddenly he pressed her over onto her back and she felt his hand sweep lower to part her legs again.

"You did not even want me to bring you pleasure before when I fingered you. A good slave would not push her master's hand away and take over, as you did, Princesa. A good slave would not suck her master's cock until he commanded it. And she would let her master do as he wished with her body."

Oh, was this a test? She swallowed hard and made her limbs as still as they could be. "Then do to me as you will, master."

"Did I ask your permission?"

Her face felt hot. "No."

He nodded. "And I never would. If I kept you, slave, I'd have you when and where," kneeling between her legs her parted her labia with two fingers, "and how, I wanted."

She bit her lip and looked up at him as he knelt there, his form towering over her, his intense, molten-silver gaze leaving her in no doubt of his capabilities, his needs. If he meant to scare her off, he was in for a surprise. She was drawn to this strangely thoughtful, clever, silver-eyed man who had shared his supper with her. Although she'd feigned reluctance to go with him in the very beginning, she'd soon warmed to the idea. A girl could do a lot worse and this was her life now, her fate.

Somewhere in her childish dreams of the future she pictured herself with a husband and a family. It was a foolish yearning for a captive whore and a slave. She had nothing to give any man but her body. Who would want her for a respectable wife? As he'd already pointed out to her, she was ignorant—could not even count.

She was only good for rutting. It was all she knew.

The handsome warrior bent down between her spread thighs and examined her cunt closely. She felt his breath on her roused flesh and then two long fingers easing their way inside. Still sensitive from the excitement of sucking on his splendid penis, it did not take long for her own shuddering bliss to build again. He was skillful with those fingers. She was almost annoyed to think of other women upon whom he'd honed his talent.

With his other hand he pressed down on her mound in a circular motion and the glorious sensation multiplied.

"How sticky you are, slave," he murmured, his voice low and husky as he moved his fingers inside her, teasing her swelling pearl as he exerted that careful pressure on the outside. "Don't you dare come until I say you can."