Her nipples were taut, straining against the snug fit of her tunic as she arched back, her hands reaching behind her to course up his inner thighs, run her nails over the sensitive flesh there.
She loved the way he felt inside of her. The first time she'd taken him this way, restrained merely by her command, was in her pool at the Atlanta estate.
She'd fed from him and taken her own pleasure, but had not given herself the gift of intimacy with him.
She regretted that now. Regretted every moment she spent holding herself away from him. The relationship had become so much more, once she learned to trust him as much as she demanded that he trust her. Bending down, she teased his throat with her tongue and teeth, moved down to lick at his nipple as she tightened her muscles on him, sliding down, then back up.
“Fuck, you're wet,” he managed. “Let me touch you.”
She shook her head. It was easier here, to pul magic from the energy between them, from the earth itself. His gaze snapped up as the posts of the bed became thick, rootlike branches that curved around his wrists, his forearms, reminiscent of what she'd done to him at the trel is at Mason's home. Only this time her magic was even stronger. The roots held him fast no matter how his biceps bunched, straining against them. The growth continued, over his chest, under, arching him up off the bed so when she came back down, scored his nipple with sharp teeth, drawing a tiny drop of blood, he let out a strangled sound, fingers flexing.
Behind her, the posts at the end of the bed were sprouting roots as well , roots that wound around his bare legs, then up and up, until she felt the rough texture of them slide against her inner thighs. He made a startled noise as one of those roots snaked underneath his testicles, putting pressure there as it insinuated itself between his buttocks, stopping as it reached the smal of his back. Then it swel ed to a thickness that parted the cheeks, held him open so that his jerks against the stimulation only increased its friction against his anus.
The only area left unbound was where she was mounted upon him. Bending forward, she let her hair trail over his bare skin in that way she knew he loved, that made him want her more. Wherever bare skin showed, she teased him with mouth, tongue, teeth and fingers, until he was surging up against her as much as he was able, fighting to fuck her with the ful passion she was unleashing in him. Like his blood, this had a power and energy all its own. She was safe from his bite, because no matter how savage that desire became, he wouldn't take blood from her now, nothing to drain her energy. Leaning down, she nipped his lips, even as he growled against her.
“Bring your pussy up to my mouth. Let me taste you, eat your cream. Let me pleasure you.” She all owed that, straddling his head. A guttural sound of contented lust vibrated in her throat as he used that knowledgeable tongue, the delicate play of fangs and teeth, to work her clit, to emulate the act of fucking her, to make up for the temporary loss of his cock. “Love eating your pussy . . . making me so fucking hard . . .”
The words of raw male want, an additional stimulation, made her tremble. She wanted to come that way, and she did, stiffening and arching up, crying out the pleasure as he kept up the fast thrust of his tongue, the worrying of her clit in the firm press of his lips, the slide of his jaw along the inside of her thighs. His voice was in her mind, fully focused.
Come for me . . . give me your come, let me have the taste of you on my mouth, inside of me.
Fuck me, my lady. Fuck me now while your cunt is still quivering. Let me feel it.
She wanted that, too. Pul ing away from his mouth, she shifted down and slammed onto his cock with force, giving herself the excruciating pleasure of his enormous thickness shoving deep into her. The nearly unbearable aftershocks mounted as she pumped him, gripping him, rising and fal ing along his length. She watched all those delicious muscles constrict against the torment she was inflicting upon him. He was exercising his ful strength against the enchantment, and that was what she wanted. She wanted it tested. She reinforced several places when she saw movement in the bindings, though the focus it required was astronomical, her body stil captured in the grip of the pleasure he'd given it.
“Come for me, Jacob. Come for your Mistress.” He let go, her muscles milking him, giving him no choice in the matter whatsoever. He groaned out the release, cal ed out to her. Bending down, she fastened her lips over his in a desperate, needy, everything-she-felt kiss. He answered the hunger and need, everything in his response a demand to her to release him, to let him hold her.
But she couldn't do that. As he finished, she kept riding him until he was jerking at the sensitivity. It made her lips curve in that feline smile that exasperated him, her delight in torturing him. When she at last lifted off of him, it was with reluctance.
Time was passing, though, the parameter Rhoswen had set.
She didn't clean herself. She wanted his seed inside of her, wanted his scent on her body. So she put the leggings back on, slid the strap of the pack on her shoulder, making sure the waterproof flask with the blood was placed careful y in it. Then she moved to the window, making sure the curtain was secure to protect him from the sun that had crested the horizon in early morning mel ow pinks and yel ows. Turning, she gazed at him through the sudden darkness. His eyes glowed at her.
“Having you bound won't make it easier, but I know you won't fight and lose against your fledgling bloodlust to fol ow me, despite the sunlight. At nightfal , the enchantment will fade, and you'l be able to move. Be here for me, Jacob. Be here for me when I come back.”
“I will always be here for you, my lady.” His voice was hoarse, his body stil tight, the muscles tense. It would have been a tempting display, if not for the sense of parting. “You will do it. I know you will . If anyone can do this, it's you.”
Moving back to his side, she feathered his hair from his forehead. “I love you,” she said.
Then, steeling herself from giving him anything further, from relenting to all the things she could see fighting within him, she moved to the doorway, let herself out. She wasn't surprised to see the herald waiting, a few discreet steps from their door. His job was to lead her to the proper portal. At least Rhoswen had given her that, though she was sure it was not a favor.
As she fol owed him down the winding stairs, the compulsion of a knight, the savagery of a vampire, kicked in, just as she knew it would. She heard the banging, the foot rests of the heavy bed shifting, slamming down on the stone floor as he tried to get free. The animal roar of rage and frustration came on its heels, driving her to move even faster around that winding staircase, so her heart wouldn't break for his pain.
As she'd said, she didn't accept that being a queen meant being lonely. However, some things a queen had to do alone. Else she wasn't a queen at all.
The place the herald took her wasn't far. She rode the same gentle palfrey, but when they ducked into the forest, she noticed the mare started to act nervous. This was a dark portion of the wood, and not just because of a lack of dawn light. There was a feeling of forboding here. The tree spirits, if any were present, were watchful and stil . She saw no activity by solitary Fae, not even a scattering of the insect kind. Rhoswen had described the desert as a prison for Fae offenders, and she wondered if this was like approaching a prison in the mortal world, the surrounding area tailored to discourage the idle traveler. A warning that this was not a place to linger.
The herald pul ed up before a pair of trees that formed an archway. Several paces into that archway, all became pitch blackness. Terror and horror emanated from it, such that the herald had to speak twice to snap her attention from it. “Hold out your hand for the entry seal.”
When she did, he positioned the silver pestle on the top of her hand. A burning smel warned her a moment before the excruciating agony of the brand.
The herald had tightened his grip, anticipating her withdrawal, but she steeled herself to immobility. As she held his gaze, she was mildly satisfied to see him flinch and look away. She knew Jacob had registered her pain, and did her best to send him a brief reassurance. He was staying as close as he could to her for as long as he could, and she didn't mind that. Knowing her as he did, he was staying quiet, watchful, though the helpless rage stil simmered in him at how she'd left him bound. But it was for the best, at least until she was where she needed to be. She'd deal with the repercussions later. Actual y, she'd look forward to them, if she survived this.
The herald released her, nodded. “Leave the horse behind. Fol ow the path ahead, no matter how dark it gets. The seal will open the portal.” She held up the brand. “This tel s it I'm a prisoner of the desert world, doesn't it?”
“It's the only way you can gain entry. It also keeps anyone from wandering in there uninvited.”
“Once there, it's what keeps me locked in. So how do I return?”
He shook his head. “Her Majesty did not give me those details.”
Of course she didn't. But Rhoswen wanted that gemstone, so Lyssa expected that was her return passport. She wondered why the queen hadn't sent someone for this long before, but perhaps, once again, it had to do with those rules. Just as Keldwyn had been blocked from being Catriona's rescuer, maybe only one of family blood had any chance of finding and retrieving their father's soul essence.
Perhaps Rhoswen had tried before, unsuccessful y.
She was beginning to understand what Keldwyn had said, back at Mason's estate. Though the Fae world operated in apparent capricious chaos, there was a rhythm to it Lyssa was starting to anticipate.
She gave the herald a courteous nod. “Your escort is appreciated.”
He looked surprised, but after a hesitation, he responded, “Good luck, Lady Lyssa.”
Since she was likely to die here, he probably assumed no one would ever tel the queen he'd cal ed her by the honorific. But she stil respected his reckless abandon. Giving him a tight smile, she turned and faced that darkness.
She could see in the dark, but even this was a stretch for her mixed race abilities. As she moved into that black corridor, a cold gripped her. Deep, bone-aching, desolate cold, reminding her of the Gaoth Shee. If the desert was as scorching as deserts went, she'd be happy for the air-conditioning in a few moments. At least that was what she told herself. She steeled herself against webs brushing her face, their scuttling inhabitants passing over her hair, shoulders. Then there was a moan, a series of howls, desolate, savage.
