“Shhh, it’s all right,” he murmured as he settled between her thighs again. His penis was naked and big. “I’ve got what you want and need, if not love.”
She shook her head, no longer sure, no longer able to decide what was real and what was sexual excitement. “I don’t—”
“Hush.” The head of his cock nudged her entrance, and she felt the delicious stretch. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
A rough edge lined his voice now. He entered her, one slow inch at a time, and it was torture. She made to arch up, to embed him all at once, but he shifted one hand, holding her hips firmly down.
“Take it,” he growled. “Let me give you this at least.”
He withdrew a bit, and she mewled in protest; then he was crowding into her again, his length endless and rock hard. He shoved and shoved again, and she felt his pubis meet her mound.
He paused, and she could hear his breath coming in quick pants, but when he spoke, his voice was even and smooth. “There. That’s better, isn’t it? That’s what you want—good, hard cock.”
On the last word, he reared and withdrew his length to the very tip before slamming his hot flesh back into hers. And he was right: It was what she wanted. It was perfect, in fact. Him moving on her like a stallion, all muscle and sweat, intent on their mutual pleasure.
He grabbed her knees and raised them higher, spreading her wide for his pleasure as he hitched himself up her. He pounded into her in a strong, insistent rhythm. With every thrust, he shoved her up the bed until her head was buried into her pillow, the pillow hard against the spindles of her bed. She gasped helplessly, glorying in his savagery. She loved this, wanted it to continue forever, wanted him to thrust into her until she forgot who he was. Who she was.
Until time itself stopped.
But neither of them could continue indefinitely. His thrusts were becoming jerky and hard, and she felt herself at the edge of her own release. She arched beneath him, her hands scrabbling at his shoulders. He slammed his mouth over hers just as she opened it to scream. Hot flashes of lights were going off behind her eyes. His cock was rubbing, rubbing, rubbing over that one delicious spot, and she was going to die from the endless pleasure.
He thrust his tongue into her mouth, and she sucked it helplessly. He ground his hips into her and shuddered. She felt the tremors wrack his big shoulders. He tore his mouth from hers and groaned, long and low, his body shaking as it poured life into hers.
He dropped like a stone onto her and lay unmoving for a moment while she tried to catch her breath.
Finally he turned his head toward her face and brushed a kiss over her cheek. “I love you and I believe with all my heart that you love me as well. Why can’t you say it, Hero?”
Chapter Sixteen
Queen Ravenhair looked at the answers to her question and nodded in acknowledgment. “I shall see you on the morrow, gentlemen.”
But as she rose to leave the throne room, Prince Eastsun spoke. “What is your decision, Your Majesty?”
She looked and saw that all three princes were staring at her rather sternly.
“Yes, which of us have you chosen?” Prince Northwind demanded. “We have answered each of your questions, yet you have said nothing.”
“You must decide,” Prince Westmoon said. “You must decide and tell us on the morrow which of us you will marry….”
—from Queen Ravenhair
Griffin got up and lit a candle from the banked embers in her fireplace. He walked back to the bed, arrogantly nude, the candlelight shining on his smooth stomach. He set the single candle on her bedside and climbed in beside her again, large and male and demanding.
“Well? Why can’t you say it?”
Hero looked at Griffin and felt her heart begin to crumble. “Does it matter so much, three little words?”
“You know it does.”
But she shook her head. “I can’t. You want me to give up my family, all that I know, and you won’t even give up your awful still. Can’t you see that what you’re asking is impossible?”
She expected anger and harsh words. Instead, he merely closed his eyes as if too weary to keep them open. “I need but a little time with the still. After I take down the Vicar. After—”
“How long, Griffin?” Her voice rasped in her throat. “Days? Weeks? Years? I cannot wait that long. Maximus and your brother will not let me.”
He opened his eyes, and his gaze was hard now. “So it comes down to this: You will choose marriage to my brother over marriage to me?”
“Yes.”
“How can you do this to me? To us?”
She bit her lip, trying to find the words. “I’ve spent my life obeying the rules set before me by society and my brother. Maximus has decided that Thomas is the better man for me.”
“You accuse me of not giving up my still for you,” he said quietly. “But I think you are the greater coward. You will not give up your brother’s approval for me.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” she answered. “I cannot go against Maximus now. I cannot. He has the power to ban me from my family. Besides, he’s made the right choice. Thomas is reliable. He’s safe.”
“And I’m not?”
“No.” The word dropped between them like a leaden weight. Hero felt tears fill her eyes, though she wasn’t sure for what she mourned.
The bed shook and suddenly Griffin was atop her, his weight pressing her into the mattress, his breath hot and angry against her cheek. “He might be safe, but do you love him, Hero?”
“No,” she sobbed.
“Does he make you blush with anger and then with want?” He kicked apart her legs, settling hot and heavy between them. “Does he know how sensitive your nipples are? That you can come just by me sucking them?”
“God, no.”
“Does he watch you like I do? Does he know that your eyes turn to diamonds when you’re aroused?” He nipped along her neck, his kisses insistent and hard. “Does he know that you like to read in Greek but loathe drawing? Does he wait with bated breath for you to arch your left eyebrow so prissily—and then grow hard when you do?” He thumbed both her nipples at once, bringing a surge of heat between her thighs. “Tell me, Hero, goddamn it to bloody hell, tell me: Does he make you feel like I do?”
“No!” Her answer was a despairing wail.
His thumbs were between them, spreading her folds as if he had every right, as if she was his, now and forever, until the end of time, amen. And then he was in her. Hard and hot, moving so exquisitely she began to cry.
She wrapped her legs tightly around his narrow hips, her arms about his shoulders, holding on to him with her entire body as he rode her.
His big penis slid in and out of her slick folds. She was already sensitive from their previous lovemaking. She was gasping, hardly able to keep up, his pace rough and fast. It was too much; she couldn’t hold herself together anymore. She wanted to push him away. To flee this room and him and his too-strong lovemaking. He wasn’t giving her time to yield to him, to hide or assimilate his angry urgency. He was simply pushing her to experience what they shared—what they made—here and now.
He bent and caught her mouth, kissing her possessively even as his cock worked in and out of her. She moaned, opening her mouth, accepting the invasion of his tongue, tasting her own tears on his lips.
“Hero,” he murmured. “Hero. Hero. Hero.”
He punctuated each utterance of her name with a hard thrust of his hips as if to brand her as his. Sweat was dripping from his body, his breath was coming in hard gasps, and the bed was quaking.
She shook her head against the pillow—in denial of him or their lovemaking or of her own urges, she was no longer sure. But he pursued her, catching her head between his hands, holding her and making her look at him as he thrust himself into her body.
“Do you love me, Hero?” His pale green eyes were full of torment. “Do you love me like I love you?”
And she cracked apart on his words, a stream of liquid heat pouring forth from her center. She trembled beneath him, trying to tear her gaze from his as her passion exploded within her. As rivers of sweet pleasure spread through her thighs and belly. As her heart fractured and re-formed.
But he wouldn’t let her look away. He held her gaze as his own eyes half closed and the muscles of his face, neck, and chest tightened. She watched helplessly as he convulsed above her, his big, strong shoulders gleaming with sweat.
He thrust into her once, twice, three times more and held himself there, tight against her, their bodies locked, as he orgasmed. His eyes pled silently with hers, defiant and proud.
Her vision blurred.
He slumped onto her, his chest heaving.
Hero closed her eyes, running her hands over his slick shoulders. She wanted to imprint this memory on her mind: the musk of their lovemaking, the weight of him on her, the sound of his harsh breaths in her ear. Someday, perhaps soon, she would want to draw upon this memory, to cherish and hold it in her heart.
He suddenly rolled off her, and her hands clutched after him, but he wasn’t leaving her bed. Not yet at least.
He gathered her close, nestling her bottom into his groin, surrounding her back with his wide shoulders. He brushed the hair from her nape and kissed her there.
“Sleep,” he said.
And so she did.
THE DAY WAS gray, but then every day seemed gray now, Silence thought as she gazed out the grubby kitchen window.
“Mamoo!” Mary Darling cried, clutching fretfully at the front of Silence’s dress with grubby hands. “Mamoo!”
“Oh, Mary Darling,” Silence sighed.
She’d forgotten to don an apron before sitting down to a late breakfast with the toddler. Now there were two smears of grease across her black bodice. She stared down at herself, feeling helpless and blank. She ought to rise and wash herself off—or at least find an apron—but she didn’t seem to have the energy.
“Give the child to me, sister.” Winter hung his round black hat by the door as he entered the kitchen, then placed a plain wooden box on the table. He plucked Mary Darling from her arms and flung the child in the air, catching her easily as she squealed and giggled.
Why must men fling babies about? Even Winter, the most staid of her brothers, was prone to the disease. “I’m always afraid you’ll drop her when you do that.”
“But I never do,” he replied.
“What are you doing home in the middle of the morning?”
“Half the boys were absent, sick from some type of fever, and the other half could not concentrate.” Winter shrugged. “I sent the remaining boys home. Where is everyone?”
“The children have already eaten. Nell has taken them for a morning walk.”
Winter glanced over the baby’s shoulder, eyebrows raised. “All of the children?”
“The ones big enough to walk anyway,” Silence said, feeling guilty. “I should have gone with her.”
“No, no,” Winter said hastily. He tucked the baby against his side and took down a plate from the cupboard. “We all must take a respite from work now and again.”
“You don’t.”
“I haven’t lost a dear one recently,” he replied softly.
She pressed her lips together for a moment, then rose and took the plate from her brother. Silence crossed to the hearth and filled the plate with porridge from a pot hanging there. She brought the plate back to the table and set it in front of him.
“Let me take Mary. She’ll have the porridge all over your coat in no time.”
“Thank you,” Winter said. He spooned up a mouthful of the thick porridge and murmured in contentment as he ate it. “That’s very good.”
“Nell made it,” Silence said drily. Her own cooking left much to be desired.
