The Warlord Wants Forever (11 page)

He was everything she could ever dream of physicaly. His scars alone…she stifled a moan but her claws were curling. He was a warrior, with a warrior’s mentality, which she appreciated. None of her lovers before had been warriors. No, they’d been the warlock, an immortal sultan and an architect. Perhaps that was why she was so attracted to Wroth.

She and Wroth were kindred.

“Speak to me,” he commanded, then immediately amended, “Wil you not speak to me?”

“I want my chain back. I want to choose.” If he gave it to her, she would stay awhile. Her sisters had already seen her screwing a vampire—she might as wel enjoy the pleasure for a time.

He moved to his side, pressing her to hers as wel. There they lay, gazes locked. Dawn was nearing and she didn’t want this to end for some reason. He put his hand on her shoulder and stroked her. His palm was rough from hardships and the grip of his sword, and she relished the feel of it. “I can’t lose you. The very thought makes me crazed. I can’t even alow myself to imagine you leaving me.” His hand squeezed her now.

“Are you so certain I would?”

“Yes. I am,” he rasped. His tone wasn’t blaming, but more like he was explaining something regrettable but inevitable.

She didn’t deny it, because he was probably right. He caled himself her husband, but she didn’t recognize him as such. She didn’t recognize him as the one whose arms she would forever run to get within. She might stay for a time, but in the end she would always go.

T he harsh light of day. Or night, Myst mused. The harsh light of waking was upon her.

Instead of the shame and disgust she should be feeling, she was treated to big, warm hands massaging her back until she was a boneless heap of bliss. She moaned, her mind dimly registering that vampire lovers might be vastly misunderstood. Perhaps she was in the know and enjoying early-adapter status.

“I have to go meet with my brother for a couple of hours. Can you content yourself here?”

“Uh-huh,” she mumbled.

“Don’t leave.”

Huh? She wasn’t going anywhere. She was too at home and relaxed here.

He bent down to murmur in her ear. “I’ve left clothes laid out. Wil you dress for me, milaya?” And then he disappeared.

Strangely lazy, it took her another hour before she finaly got up. She raised an eyebrow at what he’d set out for her—a stiff satin bustier fringed with transparent lace that just covered her nipples, intricate garters, fishnet hose and thong—al in jet black. She shivered. General Wroth had a wicked streak.

He wanted her to dress for him, and she didn’t have a problem with that—she was pleased that someone would finaly enjoy her fabulous silks and lace. And it made a huge difference that he’d asked when he could have commanded. But as she soaked in a bath, she mused that she was stil in a position where she had to depend that he would continue to show the same consideration. Which was intolerable for a creature like her.

She’d half-expected her sisters to have arrived already—Nïx often could find her—but knew if they hadn’t come by now, she would have to win her freedom with her own tools and talents. He’d said he would return the chain when he was confident she would never leave. How hard would it be to act as though she wanted to stay forever?

She dried off, tilting her head at the lingerie laid out. Why not use seduction to let him think she desired him above al others for al time? Play at love and act at surrender.

As she smoothed the hose up her legs, she wondered if deception had ever sounded so delicious.

She began trembling as she donned the bustier, and the material at the top skimmed over her hard nipples so sweetly. She was already wet with anticipation.

After dressing, she lay on the bed, fantasizing about him inside her as his big hands worked her body. Would he drink her? She pictured him driving into her from behind, the length of his body stretched over hers to take her neck as wel.

Her fingers found their way down her bely and into her panties. He was supposed to be back soon, but did she realy care if he caught her? She’d already done it for his pleasure, and what would he do if he found her like this and didn’t like it—break up with her?

A stroke on her clitoris had her back arching. Had she ever been so wet? No, not until she’d impatiently waited in a vampire’s lair in tight black satin to seduce a warlord.

Her eyes closed and her legs fel wide as she ran her finger lower. When she opened her eyes, half-lidded, she found Wroth staring at her from the foot of the bed.

“Couldn’t wait?” His voice was husky, his eyes dark. He was already ripping off his clothes, his shaft bulging against the material of his pants.

She shook her head.

Wroth had known his Myst was a pagan, but she’d never truly looked it until he found her pleasuring herself in his bed in black hose, garters and satin, legs spread with abandon. Her glorious red hair haloed out along the pilow and her hand was in her panties delicately stroking her sex.

She hadn’t stopped at his arrival.

“I couldn’t have dreamed you’d be like this. I believe I’m dreaming now.”

She arched her back.

“Were you thinking of me?” Say yes…. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted to hear anything so badly.

Her whiskey voice was as sexy as her body. “Yes, Wroth.”

He groaned. “What were you thinking of?”

“Of you drinking me while you were inside me,” she said, moaning the last words.

Craving his bite too? “A dream.”

She licked her lips. “In your dream do you make me wait for you much longer?”

“You want this freely?” He reached to unbuckle his belt, surprised to find how difficult it had become. Finaly, he just tore it apart. Her hips roled in reaction.

“Yes.”

“No games?”

“No,” she panted, “just need you inside me.”

“Your body wants to be fucked?”

She gasped, her fingers teasing quicker. “Yes.”

“By me?”

“Yes,” she moaned.

He’d anticipated it would take months of planning to wear her down, until she truly wanted him, and they wouldn’t have to play at commands and power.

Yet here she was stroking herself in his bed as she awaited his return. In his bed, waiting. It was too impossible, and he grew suspicious. “Convince me.”

Her gaze flickered over his face, her eyelids heavy as she slowly, sensuously drew her fingers away from herself. She rose, sauntered to the wal, then tugged aside the flimsy string of her wisp of underwear.

Without a word, she simply spread her legs and leaned forward until her forearms rested against the wal. When the position raised her ass and bared her lush sex, he rasped, “You make a compeling argument.” He was overwhelmed by the sight of her flesh waiting to be filed and by the fact that she began this, had masturbated to thoughts of him fucking her….

He kicked his boots off, ripping his clothing away, then stood behind her. He slipped his thumb into her tightness, briefly closing his eyes to find her so luscious and slick.

Her entire body was trembling, which affected him so much. With a groan he replaced his thumb with one, then two fingers. “In my dream I do fuck you. But I start slowly, feeding my cock into you inch by inch. When you’re dripping wet and ready, I fuck you with al the strength in my body.”

With a little cry, she bent down more, raising her ass up higher. “What do I do?” she breathed.

“You come again and again from no command, just from pleasure.”

He spread her, grasped himself, then fought not to plunge into her when the head touched her dewy heat. He shuddered violently from the battle, but wouldn’t reward this gift from her by hurting her tight little sheath.

Yet the head was barely inside her when lightning exploded outside—because she was already coming, clawing furrows into the wal, gasping, “Wroth, now…please!”

“I am…” he groaned, clutching her hips, straining his every muscle to enter her slowly, to make this good for her—

His eyes widened when he felt her claws sink into his ass to yank him into her.

“Hard,” she growled in a throaty voice.

“Don’t hurt,” he choked out, then with an answering growl, he thrust into her, forcing his cock through the squeezing spasms of her orgasm as though through a tightened fist. Even when he was seated deeply, she continued to climax around him. He could have stiled and let her body milk him.

But he wanted to fuck her. To take her so fiercely she would forget other men. To brand her as his own. He clenched her hips, withdrew, then rocked into her, hitting the end of her sex.

“Yes!” she cried.

“Can you know what that does to me?” he rasped, grinding his hips, stirring her. She moaned, hanging on to the wal. “To see you finger yourself to thoughts of me?” He withdrew completely then fel into her with another brutal thrust.

“Ah Wroth…yes, oh, God…” She came again suddenly, the manor shaking from the lightning. “Drink,” she sobbed to his disbelief. “Oh, God, please drink from me.”

He ripped the lace to bare her breasts, then covered them with his hands, fingers pinching and tugging her nipples as he puled her to his chest.

“You want my bite?”

“Yes,” she moaned.

“As much as you want my cock?”

“Yes! Wroth, put everything in me, yes, yes, yes,” she repeated, panting between her words, shoving and circling her hips back into him. His fangs pierced her skin just as he thrust.

She cupped his head to her neck hard so he wouldn’t stop—then came again, moaning his name so that he felt her words as he bit her. He didn’t stop, just snarled into her skin as he ejaculated, mindlessly grinding against her, hands squeezing her heavy breasts. Her blood scorched him inside as he pumped his come into her in wave after wave.

Afterward, when thought returned, he caught her up to his chest because she was unsteady, but then so was he. He withdrew slowly, then scooped her into his arms, crossing to the bed.

When he gazed down at her, he saw her eyes were silver and her lips were curling into a smile.

He stared, stil disbelieving. “Like that, did you?”

She nodded.

“Want more?” he asked as he tossed her on the bed.

In answer, she went to her knees, puled aside her hair and offered him the unbitten side of her neck.

His voice was ragged with lust. “That wasn’t quite what I meant, but we can work something out….”

The more hours toward dawn that they spent licking, fucking and both of them biting, the more overwhelming the mind-boggling pleasure—the less he could believe that this was his Bride, happily—no, aggressively—partaking.

And at the end of the night, he stared down at her in puzzlement. He didn’t know which facet of her he liked better. The siren in black satin that made his cock and fangs ache or this angel with her bright red hair spread across his pilow—who made his chest ache.

She brushed the backs of her fingers along his face. “Wroth, I want this to grow naturaly between us without the chain,” she whispered up to him. “Vow you’l give it back in two weeks time. Just give us a chance, give me a chance to want this freely.”

He wanted to believe in her—and in himself, that he could convince her to stay. He’d already wanted to command her to close her eyes and open her palms, and then see her face once he’d poured the chain into them.

Two weeks to win her. “Yes, milaya, I vow it.”

Nothing in his human life or his vampire existence had prepared him for living with a Valkyrie.

Myst had boundless energy, she was powerful, and she exuded an almost otherworldly sensuality that set his blood on fire. Each night he traced her to different locations to make love to her. He’d had her against the foot of a pyramid, gazed in awe as she rode him on a moonlit beach in Greece, licked her sex beneath a redwood until she begged for mercy….

Throughout those nights, once he and Myst had worked the edge off their need, they talked for hours and he learned more about her and her kind. He’d given her the cross she’d admired at Oblak, but when the jewels glinted in their room’s gaslight, she’d seemed to go into a trance. Finaly, he’d covered it, and once she’d shaken herself, she’d admitted, “We al inherited Freya’s acquisitiveness. Shining things, jewels and gems…We can’t tear our gaze away without training for years and sudden glittering is sometimes irresistible.”

Wroth had inwardly cursed that she had this vulnerability. He’d thought the Valkyrie were an almost perfect creature—no need to eat, immortal, strengthening with age

—but he’d since learned that they were one of the few species of the Lore that could die of sorrow. And if one was weakened the others suffered since they were al connected with a “colective” power.

He couldn’t always be there to protect her. Though he’d tried to use the chain as little as possible, he’d whispered to her as she slept that she would no longer have these weaknesses.

Wroth would have been content to hear only about her, but she’d been surprisingly curious about his past. He found himself revealing things he never had to anyone, yet feeling unburdened from it.

He’d told her of the pain he and Murdoch had felt to return home and see their other six siblings and their father dying of plague. Myst’s eyes had watered as he’d spoken of the gut-wrenching decision to make them drink. Then came the agonizing vigil as they wondered if their family would be reborn, any of them. In the end, they’d lost their father and sisters, but regained their two brothers.

The night he himself had “died” seemed to fascinate her, and she repeatedly asked him to tel her the story of how he’d made demands of Kristoff. She never failed to tel him how proud she was of him. That comment had made him feel particularly uneasy. These days there wasn’t much he was proud about. He avoided Kristoff, teling him little when they did meet. He was coercing his Bride to stay with him, and he suspected that if, at the end of the two weeks, she wanted to leave him, he’d break his vow to her in a heartbeat’s time.

He sought any hint that might tel him how she felt and what she might decide. At times he was optimistic. When they fought mock battles with a game based on military strategy, she seemed to enjoy herself—and to like the fact that he always beat her. She wasn’t a strategist, she’d explained to him. She was “front-line badassness” but she appreciated his talent. One time she had stood and sidled over to straddle him, placing his hands on her breasts. As she slid down his shaft, she whispered in his ear, “My wise warlord. You make my toes curl you’re so good.” He’d shuddered violently and had to fight not to come in an instant.