The Pleasure in Surrender (an erotic historical short story) (3 page)

When his teeth bit her lower lip, she gasped and his tongued entered her, surprising her. His tongue slid along the meat of hers, lashing it, rimming her teeth.

They kissed with their eyes wide open—her eyes crossing from the nearness, his smoldering. Without thought, she tightened her lips and suctioned on his tongue.

A groan passed from his mouth into hers, and she gave it back, at last closing her eyes and simply feeling the way he patiently prodded and licked, awakening something inside her—a curl of heat, deep inside her womb.

He was large and brutal, this she knew from the stories she’d heard, but he was also terribly insistent—and he would make sure she enjoyed this, whether she wanted to or not.

And suddenly…
she wanted
. Desperately. Again, she remembered him breaking from the line astride his warhorse, his body frighteningly large, his dark hair fluttering from beneath his conical helm. She’d felt a shiver of unwanted attraction and tamped it down. He’d looked like a Norse god come to life, but she’d feared he’d be every bit as brutish. And yet, here he was, set on seducing her.

By the time he drew back, breaking the kiss, she was breathing hard, her nipples hard points catching in the fur of his chest. She wanted to rub against him, to chafe in the silky curls.

His hands framed her face; his thumbs caressed her bottom lip. “Tonight, we find our pleasure, Edwina. Tomorrow, we can war.”

She felt as though a great weight had lifted—the weight of her responsibility to herself to resist. As though something broke inside her, warmth rushed through her. The promise in his eyes was seductive. He made pleasure seem possible. Even inevitable. She swallowed and gave him a nod.

His reaction was swift, a one-sided smile, an even more smoldering gaze. He scooted down the bed until his head hovered over one small breast. She slid her hand between them, covering it. He tugged her hand away then lowered, sticking out his tongue to stroke the nipple.

She gasped as her areola dimpled and the tip tightened. He aimed breath in a narrow stream, cooling the wet bud, then kissed it, sucking it into his mouth where he teased it with his tongue.

Heat swept over her skin. Gooseflesh prickled. Her legs moved restlessly, trapped by his weight as he moved to the other breast and renewed the sweet torture.

Her head thrashed, so many sensations bombarding her—the rasp of his beard, the pull of his lips, the liquid spilling from inside her… How had he brought her to arousal so quickly?

Again, he moved downward, his tongue tracing her ribs, dipping into her navel, then lower still. When his face was above her mound, she bowed upward in alarm. “What are you doing?”

“What I must,” he said, his voice rasping.

“’Tis sinful,” she gasped as his tongue stroked her outer folds. Sinful, but oh so pleasurable.

He raised his head to give her a narrow stare. “You would not have barred your gates against your husband if you feared Hell.”

“I barred my gates against a barbarian, knowing God would understand.”

He grunted and bent over her again, parting her with his fingers.

Good Lord, why was he looking there? She slipped her hand between them to cup her sex. “I am already wet. You have accomplished what you sought. You can enter me now.”

His head shook, as did his chest. Was he laughing at her? With her free hand, she sank her fingers in his hair and pulled. But he would not be dislodged. He pulled away her hand, and his mouth burrowed between her folds; his tongue stroked her entrance.

“Sinful,” she whispered. But, oh, it was also glorious. Her hips bucked when his thumb rasped across the sensitive knot at the top of her folds. “Oh, please, please stop.” But her hands clutched his hair, pulling her to him, anchoring him there, because now, she was desperate for the release his efforts promised.

When his lips latched around her hard knot, she whimpered. When two of his thick fingers entered her, she bucked. But he held her still, drawing hard on her knot, fingers pumping inside her. Her back arched and she cried out, darkness closing around her vision.

When she came back to herself, he was kneeling between her thighs.

She waited, spellbound, as he came over her and began to push inside her.

Although she was wet, her quim burned as he stretched her, shallow thrusts breaching her then sinking deeper with each steady forward push. She slid her heels up the mattress, curving her hips to accept his thrusts. Glancing between them, she watched, fascinated with the sight of his thick shaft disappearing inside her. Tension built inside her womb again.

He made a growling sound, and she glanced up. Passion tightened his cheeks. A deep flush was spreading there. His eyes were losing their focus, becoming smokier, his lids falling. He was finding pleasure, intense pleasure, if the quivering of his arms and shoulders was any indication.

And suddenly she felt powerful, no longer the conquered one. Her own motives began to disintegrate beneath the blistering heat they built. There was pleasure in surrender, but it went both ways.

“Stop,” she whispered.

He went still, his gaze falling to her face. Slowly he pulled free of her. His chest billowed around deep breaths, and he held himself on his arms above her. “Did I cause you pain?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

She shook her head. Then without saying a word, she reached down and slid her fingers around the base of his cock, all the while marveling at the thickness, the steel-like firmness wrapped in warm, supple skin. She pulled him forward, fit his head against her entrance, then glanced up to meet his gaze. “I am not sorry I barred my gates to you.”

He held still, his gaze studying her face.

“Had we met in a normal fashion, I would have dismissed you as I have a dozen suitors before you. I have had little respect or need for a man. And I suppose my first husband spoiled something inside me.”

His eyes closed for a moment, and then he speared her with a hot look. “I will never dishonor your trust in me. I will never strike you. You know these lands and your people. I will listen to your counsel.”

Her eyes filled, knowing they were speaking their private vows. That this was the true consummation of their union. “I will honor you. I will
try
never to disagree with you in public, and I will trust you with my property as I will trust you with my body.” And then she offered him a smile. Her first.

His smile was warm and beautiful as he entered her. And this time, there was no discomfort, no burning, just a luscious fullness that spread upward, filling her chest with hope for their shared future. This burly knight, this dark barbarian, was only a man who wished a home. A place of his own. Well, perhaps he only wanted the respect and stature being lord of the keep would bring, but wasn’t it her role to make him appreciate the other things she brought?

Starting now. She raised her head and bit his shoulder, hoping she hadn’t read him wrongly.

His swift, tight smile was followed by a blazing glare. He captured her hands, drawing them up and together, holding them easily as she writhed beneath him, her movements seeming to incite him. His own measured thrusts grew harsher, deeper, and she reveled in the violence, meeting his darkening gaze with a narrowed one of her own.

“Our passions are well matched,” he growled.

She jutted her chin, unwilling to bend enough to agree.

Abruptly, he pulled free. In an instant, he rolled her, forcing her with his hard hands to her knees. His cock nudged her entrance then thrust, impaling her, and she groaned, coming up on her arms and twisting to give him a quelling stare.

His laughter filled the air, and she turned toward the wall to hide her own grin. Their lovemaking was becoming a contest. One she found she relished.

A smack landed on her backside, and her quim tightened around him even as a fresh wash of fluid drenched his cock. With a glide of his finger on her small nubbin, she went rigid, pleasure exploding.

Moments later, he gave a shout. His motions slowed then stopped. They both hung there, their bodies still connected, ragged breaths punctuating the air.

A kiss landed on her shoulder. His face nuzzled into the corner of her neck. “Well played, milady.”

She shook her head, no dismay creeping in to sour the moment. “You have won, it seems.”

A chuckle shook her. Rather than withdraw, he held her hips as he brought them to the mattress then spooned his body around hers. She rested on his thick upper arm, inhaling the scent of sex, his musk, surrounded by the man. Captured. In his thrall. And happily so.

*

The next morning,
Grimvarr held her hand as they entered the hall. Lord Alred was already seated on the dais breaking his fast. Everyone stared as the couple crossed to take their places at the head table.

She knew what they saw. Her cheeks were still rosy from having awakened with him hard and sliding inside her. His face bore the expression of a man who had been well pleasured. Together, they exuded an aura of sensual ease. They were lovers.

Geade glanced up from his table and raised his glass, a silent toast. Relief was apparent in his smile.

Grimvarr made of show of helping her take her seat then lifted her hand from her lap, turned it, and kissed her palm. Edwina’s eyes filled at the tender gesture. Still bent over her hand, Grimvarr offered her a smile, one filled with wicked promise.

Beside her, Lord Alred lifted his beaker of mulled wine. “To a glorious siege!”

Delilah Devlin is a
New York Times
and
USA TODAY
bestselling author of erotica and erotic romance with a rapidly expanding reputation for writing deliciously edgy stories with complex characters. She has published over a hundred forty erotic stories in multiple genres and lengths, and she is published by Atria/Strebor, Avon, Berkley, Black Lace, Cleis Press, Ellora’s Cave, Grand Central, Harlequin Spice, HarperCollins: Mischief, Kensington, Montlake Romance, Running Press, and Samhain Publishing.

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C
allie Murphy had
never been one to moon over a man. Fairytale romances were best left to novels. After all, she’d seen firsthand how transitory love could be after watching her mother drift in and out of three marriages, only to be left disappointed when “true love” faded. However, the video Callie watched for the thousandth time stirred a wistfulness inside that left her feeling restless and thinking about what might have been.

Just the sight of that steady gaze enveloped her in warmth. The deep timbre of his voice as he sang raised the fine hairs on her arms and caused her nipples to tauten, because she remembered that same voice murmuring in her ear in the darkness.

Knowing she’d never get his approval for security’s sake, she’d snuck this recording of their Skype session using a plug-in installed on her computer because she’d wanted something of him to linger after they’d said their goodbyes. This recording had been made before their final breakup. Now, watching and listening to him was a form of self-torture. Wearing desert camouflage pants and a brown tee stretching across a well-muscled chest, his dark hair a little shaggy and his beard scruffy, he was all man. All complication. Those piercing blue eyes stared into the camera at her, steady and determined, and Callie couldn’t help the tears welling in her eyes.

Prickles of dismay swept over her as she imagined some other woman, someone not her, on the receiving end of one of his calls, being serenaded with that husky, smooth-as-silk voice. The last time he’d proposed, she’d been firm, making it clear she had no interest in leaving behind the life she’d built in Two Mule, Texas, while he was set on a career in the Navy. Rightfully, he should have moved on. No one here in Two Mule would ever fault him. No one really understood why she kept refusing him, but then they hadn’t walked in her shoes through her childhood.

Her mother had followed that “broken road,” uprooting Callie three times, from the friends she’d made, from the roots she’d tried so desperately to sink deep into every place she’d lived. She’d never make that same mistake. Love faded, turned bitter and dark. When love ended, good people drifted apart, or worse, struck out at each other. She’d lived it, firsthand.

So when Derek had stood on her doorstep that last day before heading back to Little Creek, where no doubt his team would be deployed on more dangerous secret missions in the Middle East, Africa, or whatever foreign hellhole the powers that be scrambled a SEAL team for, she’d shut the door on everything he’d offered, despite the fact he’d been sincere—and despite the fact her own heart had twisted inside her chest at the disappointment darkening his eyes.