coven liked to tease her.
He stumbled not from drink but from weakness, his build different because he’d lost weight. And that was his brother Murdoch helping him—helping Wroth find her.
Shaking, she crept along the roof, pressing herself around the dormers, hoping to get away before he saw her. He stopped, lifting his head above the miling crowd, then swung around to her direction.
His gaze fel directly on her, his eyes black, feral and riveted to her with a look of utter possession. When Murdoch’s gaze folowed Wroth’s, he gave her an almost pitying expression, then he slapped Wroth on the back before tracing away.
The blood left her face. She leapt to the roof of the adjoining building, gaining speed for the next—
She screamed as Wroth’s gaunt visage appeared directly in front of her. Traced. She sprinted in the other direction, but he snatched her around her chest, pinning her to him, making her feel his erection thick against her. She elbowed his throat, dropped from his arms, and dove over the edge of the roof. She tumbled into a high-waled courtyard, landing on hands and feet, then scrambled up to leap out of the darkened space. But her speed was no match for his tracing.
He snagged her again, and though she fought, he was somehow stronger even in his condition—maybe because of his condition. One of his hands yanked up her short skirt.
“Wroth! Don’t do this!”
“Five years of hel,” he sneered, palming her ass roughly. “You deserve to be fucked til you can’t walk.”
She gasped, trembling. “So the warlord claims his prize? It figures that you’d take your Bride whether she wants it or not. You’d make me remember being forced?”
After a pause he bit out, “No. God, no.” She heard him freeing himself. “Myst,” he groaned, “just feel me.” He took her hand and made her cup his heavy sack, then grip his shaft. Never had she felt such hardness. “Rub the head,” he rasped in her ear, making her shiver as she felt the moisture. “That’s as close as I can get without you. I need to fuck you so bad I’m sick with it.”
“Wroth, don’t…”
With a bitter curse, he lowered his head, forehead against her neck, but he only thrust against her ass. “Can’t stop,” he grated, and she knew then that he wasn’t going to take her body, just touch it, use it. Why would he refrain for her…?
His fingers strummed her nipple. Lightning. No, she couldn’t want this.
His breath was hot on her and made her body go liquid. She could want it, just as she did every night in her lonely bed. The air was sultry, redolent with the scent of jasmine and even more moist than usual from the pounding fountain in the corner. No one was home. He wouldn’t take her, so why not enjoy this for mere moments?
When she went soft in his grasp, lacing her arms back to lock behind his head, he growled and kicked his feet against hers, making her spread her legs. Shuddering, he ruthlessly shoved against her flesh, then threw back his head and yeled out just before he came. At the last minute he turned from her and began to spil his seed onto the ground.
She was frozen, unable to see, and for some reason it affected her more to only hear his reactions, the guttural groans erupting from deep in his chest. She felt the violent shaking, the strength in his wracked body as he clenched her through waves of pleasure.
It went on and on, each second that passed reminding her of how badly he’d needed this. Then he put his lips to her neck, clutched her ass and she knew he was stroking himself directly to ejaculate again. When she thought about how many nights he would have envisioned this, her head fel back against his shoulder.
The second time was impossibly even more powerful as he desperately kissed and licked her skin, squeezing one breast then the other, reminding her keenly of when he’d brought her to come that night in the dungeon. She wanted to join him—she wanted him to
He stumbled not from drink but from weakness, his build different because he’d lost weight. And that was his brother Murdoch helping him—helping Wroth find her.
Shaking, she crept along the roof, pressing herself around the dormers, hoping to get away before he saw her. He stopped, lifting his head above the miling crowd, then swung around to her direction.
His gaze fel directly on her, his eyes black, feral and riveted to her with a look of utter possession. When Murdoch’s gaze folowed Wroth’s, he gave her an almost pitying expression, then he slapped Wroth on the back before tracing away.
The blood left her face. She leapt to the roof of the adjoining building, gaining speed for the next—
She screamed as Wroth’s gaunt visage appeared directly in front of her. Traced. She sprinted in the other direction, but he snatched her around her chest, pinning her to him, making her feel his erection thick against her. She elbowed his throat, dropped from his arms, and dove over the edge of the roof. She tumbled into a high-waled courtyard, landing on hands and feet, then scrambled up to leap out of the darkened space. But her speed was no match for his tracing.
He snagged her again, and though she fought, he was somehow stronger even in his condition—maybe because of his condition. One of his hands yanked up her short skirt.
“Wroth! Don’t do this!”
“Five years of hel,” he sneered, palming her ass roughly. “You deserve to be fucked til you can’t walk.”
She gasped, trembling. “So the warlord claims his prize? It figures that you’d take your Bride whether she wants it or not. You’d make me remember being forced?”
After a pause he bit out, “No. God, no.” She heard him freeing himself. “Myst,” he groaned, “just feel me.” He took her hand and made her cup his heavy sack, then grip his shaft. Never had she felt such hardness. “Rub the head,” he rasped in her ear, making her shiver as she felt the moisture. “That’s as close as I can get without you. I need to fuck you so bad I’m sick with it.”
“Wroth, don’t…”
With a bitter curse, he lowered his head, forehead against her neck, but he only thrust against her ass. “Can’t stop,” he grated, and she knew then that he wasn’t going to take her body, just touch it, use it. Why would he refrain for her…?
His fingers strummed her nipple. Lightning. No, she couldn’t want this.
His breath was hot on her and made her body go liquid. She could want it, just as she did every night in her lonely bed. The air was sultry, redolent with the scent of jasmine and even more moist than usual from the pounding fountain in the corner. No one was home. He wouldn’t take her, so why not enjoy this for mere moments?
When she went soft in his grasp, lacing her arms back to lock behind his head, he growled and kicked his feet against hers, making her spread her legs. Shuddering, he ruthlessly shoved against her flesh, then threw back his head and yeled out just before he came. At the last minute he turned from her and began to spil his seed onto the ground.
She was frozen, unable to see, and for some reason it affected her more to only hear his reactions, the guttural groans erupting from deep in his chest. She felt the violent shaking, the strength in his wracked body as he clenched her through waves of pleasure.
It went on and on, each second that passed reminding her of how badly he’d needed this. Then he put his lips to her neck, clutched her ass and she knew he was stroking himself directly to ejaculate again. When she thought about how many nights he would have envisioned this, her head fel back against his shoulder.
The second time was impossibly even more powerful as he desperately kissed and licked her skin, squeezing one breast then the other, reminding her keenly of when he’d brought her to come that night in the dungeon. She wanted to join him—she wanted him to
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