Prisoner of My Desire by Johanna Lindsey Page B

intent sealed her fate.
    But she was a stupid wench to think it was even possible to rape a man. Had she kept her mouth shut and merely offered herself to him, she could have had what she sought. His flesh would have responded instantly to the invitation, as it had nearly done at the mere sight of her. But now he did not even have to fight to remain unmoved beneath her, for his killing rage continued to leave him soft and uninterested in her warm flesh.
    She did not just sit there atop him and expect miracles. He could feel her fingers handling him, yet in a way that he had never been caressed by a female before. But when he became aware that she was trying to stuff his soft flesh inside her, his eyes opened incredulously. He saw that hers were closed now. She was biting her lower lip, and concentrating so deeply on what she was about, her features were scrunched together. He flinched when one of her nails poked him, but he realized she was not even aware she had done it.
    He wondered how long she would continue to attempt the impossible. Not long. She finally released a sob of frustration, and without meeting his eyes again, she gave up her seat and nearly ran from the room in defeat.
    Warrick felt such fierce satisfaction, he wanted to shout with it. To have thwarted her so easily, with no effort on his part. He had won. She had failed.
    But she returned.
    He had not thought she would. And her face was now flame-bright, but also filled with such a look of determination, he felt his first stirrings of wariness, and rightly so. She slowly shrugged off her bedrobe and let it drop to the floor. When she reached for the hem of her shift, he closed his eyes tight.
    Her voice came softly to him. “You can fight me, sirrah, but I have it on good authority ’twill do you no good.”
    He would not have answered that even if he could, but he would like to cut the throat of whoever had just given her the courage to try again. He strained to hear if she approached. Her small hand lighting on his chest told him she had.
    “You must have realized I am a virgin.”
    He did not know it, but the word had the desired effect on him, even though he did not believe it. But so, too, did her hand, tracing a slow path down his chest to his belly. He expected his rage to distract him, but her voice continued to distract him instead.
    “In my ignorance, I did not even know you were not ready for me—that you needed encouragement of a certain kind. I did not even know that this soft flesh of yours would change and grow to a hardness like the rest of you.” She touched him, there, as she said it. “I find it hardto believe, for ’tis already large, yet did Mildred assure me ’tis so. I am eager to see this strange happening for myself.”
    Did she know that what she was saying was as stimulating as her touch? Damn her and her advisor to perdition! Sweat broke out on his brow. He would not succumb to this seduction.
    “I am to kiss you and—and lick you, everywhere, even as a last resort—there. Mildred said you would have to be dead do you not respond if I kiss you there.”
    He was already responding. His mind screamed his rage, but his flesh was a betrayer of the worst sort, with a mind of its own, tantalized by her promise. He strained at his bonds. He went wild, trying to dislodge her hand. But she stood beside the bed, undisturbed by his thrashing, and her fingers closed around him, holding on tight. He stilled when he realized all he did was aid her.
    “I would not have believed it did I not see it,” she gasped.
    There was awe in her voice. And she was petting him now, giving that worthless piece of flesh praise for obeying her instead of him. She did not even know he had not reached his full size, that he still fought with every particle of his being.
    “I suppose now I need not kiss you.”
    Was that disappointment in her voice? Oh, God, he could not stand much more. What he had thought impossible was not. She could have what she