Spring Wind [Seasonal Winds Book 1] (5 page)

If she had to be married, she supposed being Joined to a

man as powerful and influential as a Modartha would have its

perks as he'd said. Without realizing it, she looked around her

cramped bedroom with its institutional beige walls she was

not allowed to paint, at the beige drapes she'd not been

allowed to change. The only true mark of her own personal

taste was in the vibrant mauve, teal green and rose coverlet

she had purchased to add a touch of color to the otherwise

bland room.

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Spring Wind [Seasonal Winds Book 1]

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

He saw where she was looking and reached out a hand to

cup her cheek. "Whatever you wish to do to my quarters, I

will allow for it will be your quarters, too. I will not gainsay

you, wench. I..."

"Bailey," she said softly, searching his handsome face for a

touch of gentleness. "My name is Bailey."

He almost smiled. "Bailey," he repeated and her name on

his lips sent a chill down her spine.

She knew she had no choice and what she did from that

moment forward would determine what her life with the

Modartha would be like. Dredging up all the courage she had,

resolved that she would be more than just his plaything, she

lifted her hand and laid her palm over his hand that still

cupped her cheek.

Her touch was like liquid lightning flowing up his arm and it

was all he could do not to throw himself upon her and claim

what was rightfully his. He had to stamp down the desire that

was raging at him to take her. He knew she was a virgin, had

never lain with a man, and he wanted her first time to be a

memory she would not regret. Along with that reflection was

the recollection of how he had shamed her in the alley.

"You hurt me,"
she had said.

"Forgive me," he whispered. "For humiliating you as I did."

It wasn't just shock at his words that made Bailey stop

breathing. It was the look on his face. His gaze was searching

hers for that absolution he sought. Men like him did not do

this. They did not seek pardon for their transgression. That he

did unnerved her. It somehow made him more human in her

eyes.

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Spring Wind [Seasonal Winds Book 1]

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

"We won't speak of it again," she said, not knowing what

else to say.

He nodded and his hand slid from her cheek to the top of

the towel tucked in at her breast but before he tugged at it,

he lifted his gaze to hers as though seeking permission. That,

too, completely astonished her and all she could do was nod.

She lowered her arm to her side—completely aware that his

right hand still clutched hers between them and that he was

half-lying on their arms.

Very gently he pulled at the terry-cloth material until the

tuck came undone. He tugged the material toward him then

carefully reached between her side and his to pluck at the

edge of the towel that hid her breasts from his view. He laid it

aside to entirely reveal her lush beauty.

Self-conscious at a man seeing her unclothed for the first

time in her life, Bailey turned her head away from him to

stare blindly at the drapery clad windows. She felt his fingers

tense on hers as he put his free hand to her neck, spanning it

with his warm, calloused palm. She tensed, going as rigid as

stone.

"Relax," he whispered. His hand was stroking the column

of her neck softly.

His attention was on her perfect breasts that were rising

and falling with each ragged intake of breath. When she still

lay there unyielding to his gentle touch, he bid her look at

him.

Bailey moved her head on the pillow to do as he ordered

and when their eyes met, she found herself drawn into the

silvery maelstrom swirling there. For just a split second she

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Spring Wind [Seasonal Winds Book 1]

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

had seen something dark and lethal then it had dissolved and

what she watched as his face came closer to hers was

something she could not identify.

It was desire—stark and driving and undeniable—as Van

lowered his lips to hers and took possession of her mouth. He

swept over her and pressed his chest upon her bare breasts.

The tickle of his chest hair abraded her nipples and sent wave

after wave of intense longing through her body. His tongue

was dueling with hers and pulling her down into the abyss

from which there would be no return. He nibbled on her lower

lip, swept his tongue across her upper teeth, and thrust that

wicked muscle deep into her mouth.

She could feel his knees nudging hers apart and she

obeyed his silent demand, shifting her thighs so his lower

body could rest heatedly between them. She shivered as he

casually threw one leg over hers and rubbed the hardness of

his male member against her inner thigh.

He lifted the hand he held above her head and took hold of

her other hand—lacing his fingers through hers to bring it up

to join its mate. His arms pinned her to the bed as he writhed

atop her, grounding himself upon her untried flesh. Releasing

her mouth, he asked if his kiss had been better than Doyle's.

"Yes, Milord," Bailey whispered. His kiss had been sheer

delight and her lips were still tingling from the taste of his.

Unhooking the fingers of his right hand from hers, he

trailed it down her upraised arm and shifted so he could mold

his palm to her left breast. At her gasp, he gently massaged

her, running the pad of his thumb over her suddenly hard and

straining nipple.

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Spring Wind [Seasonal Winds Book 1]

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

"You are so beautiful," he told her. "The most beautiful

woman I've ever known."

Bailey doubted that, but it was nice to hear and it helped

to ease the anxiety that was rippling through her system. She

knew what to expect. She knew him taking her would be

painful. She just didn't know what to expect when the pain

ended.

His hand left her breast and moved down her bare side

and along her hip. He felt her stiffen and knew she was

remembering his assault in the alley. Before she could dwell

too long on that bad time, he swooped down and captured

her lips again, thrusting his tongue between her soft lips to

taste the honey of her mouth.

The Modartha's hand had shifted between their bodies and

she was aware that he was holding his penis. She could feel a

slight dampness where the tip of it touched her between the

legs. She expected him to thrust into her but he was

apparently only moving himself to a more comfortable

position for he slid his hand over her hip to cup her buttock as

his lips left hers to trail hungry kisses down her neck and onto

the aching plain of her breast.

Bailey cried out as his mouth settled over her nipple and

he swirled his tongue over that rock-hard little pebble. Tingles

spread like fiery tentacles over her sides and down her legs

as he drew upon her breast—licking and grazing, suckling and

nibbling. She wriggled beneath him without conscious

thought, her panting breath sounding harsh in the still room.

She was aware that he had let go of her other hand and now

had both her buttocks clutched in his hands as he suckled

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Spring Wind [Seasonal Winds Book 1]

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

her. Not even realizing she did so, she lowered her hands

from beside her head and spiked her fingers through his dark

hair, anchoring his head to her as his lips drew upon her

flesh. She was vaguely aware of him shifting his body once

again and that something hard and warm was paused at the

entrance to her vagina.

Van knew she was lost in the unexpected pleasure he was

giving her. Her body was craving his. He didn't want to hurt

her, knew he would when he broached her membrane. In

counterpoint to doing just that, he clamped his teeth down a

bit harder on her nipple than he had before and she shrieked.

He took that moment to slide into her—stretching, filling,

going deep—and he didn't think she'd even noticed the slight

discomfort of his impalement.

It was the most delicious feeling in the world to feel him

seated within her. His cock was steel sheathed in velvet. His

weight upon her was sublime and she thrilled to that heavy

pressure, folding her arms around his shoulder, instinctively

arching her hips up to meet his slow and well-timed thrusts.

"That's it, baby," he whispered against her breast. He slid

his body upward so his lips were at her ear. "Feel me in you,

Bailey. Feel me wanting you." He swept his tongue into her

ear and felt her shudder.

Something truly strange was happening deep within her.

She felt an itch that,no matter how she moved, only seemed

to intensify. It was a feeling that was claiming her and

drawing her toward a sensation she could not name. Her

insides felt heated and there was a faint tickling, pulsing

awareness that had her body held in thrall to it. She squirmed

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Spring Wind [Seasonal Winds Book 1]

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beneath him and pushed herself harder on his stiff shaft. He

obliged by thrusting faster and deeper into her, his short nails

digging into the flesh of her buttocks.

Van felt her striving to reach that mysterious place,

rushing headlong toward the culmination she most likely had

never felt. She was writhing under him and her arms and legs

were clamped around him. She had abandoned all semblance

of fear for him and was taking what he offered and reveling in

it. When that first faint vibration spiraled through her sheath,

he pushed harder, faster, deeper until it mushroomed into a

vortex of feeling.

The pulsations that were ripping through her cunt

surprised Bailey and she grunted with the sheer force of their

stimulus. Quivering like a bowstring she pressed herself

tightly to the Modartha and offered him the sacrifice of her

body. She clashed against him as their bodies slapping

together, and clung to him as wave after wave of intense

pleasure shot through her.

His own climax was rising like magma in a volcano and he

didn't attempt to hold it back or delay it. He felt his cum spurt

and he held himself still within her so she could experience

the spilling of his seed intensely, completely. He ground his

teeth together to keep silent and simply poured himself into

her, gaining his own exquisite pleasure that threatened to rip

him apart.

Spent, he collapsed atop her. Their breathing was harsh

and in counterpoise to one another. Her hands were buried in

his thick hair and his fingernails were gripping her ass. He

shuddered one final time then rolled off her, pulling himself

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Spring Wind [Seasonal Winds Book 1]

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free of her tight sheath to crash to his back with one arm

thrown over his eyes as he gasped for breath.

Bailey could not have imagined what making love with a

man had held in store for her. Had she known such pleasure

existed, she would have given up her maidenhead long ago.

She lay there staring unblinkingly at the ceiling and basking

in the warm, delicious feeling that ached between her thighs.

Even though the Modartha's juices dripped down beneath her,

she could not move—would not move—to break the

enchantment under which she'd fallen.

"Did I hurt you?" she heard him ask.

"No, Milord," she replied.

"Van," he said. "My name is Van."

"V..van," she repeated.

He said nothing more and soon she realized he was

sleeping. She turned her head to look at him and was amazed

that she belonged to this gorgeous man. She was shocked to

realize her fear of him had all but gone and in its place had

come utter contentment at her situation.

Moving closer to him, she laid her head on his shoulder

and closed her eyes. Before too long, she, too, was sound

asleep.

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Spring Wind [Seasonal Winds Book 1]

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

They were waiting for him when he came out of her

apartment complex and they made the mistake of attacking

instead of leaving him be. It was a decision that cost both

men their lives and made one Modartha commander madder

than a sore-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. His roar

startled those who were out and about at that early time of

the morning and those who were still asleep in their beds

hastily dragged the covers over their heads and hid quivering

there.

"Sons of bitches!" Van snarled as he ripped the throat from

one man and pounced on the other to twist the assailant's

head almost all the way off. He stared down at the

destruction he had wrought and cursed the dead men again.

There was no doubt in his mind who had planned this little

foray into madness. He knew Doyle had thought the men who