A Wanton's Thief (4 page)

Oh, even though I hate you with a passion, please…
please
touch me…down there.

He chuckled a low, crazed laugh. The hand that had been at her breast now moved down over her quivering abdomen, down lower still to—oh, Lord God above, help her! That was when she realized his powers were not limited to mental control. They also encompassed reading of the mind.

“Ah, you’re a passionate one, love. I knew you wanted it,” he said huskily, his teeth nipping at her earlobe at the precise second his finger located her clitoris through the cloth of her nightrail. It nearly unseated her from her sidesaddle position across his lap, despite the hold his powers had over her movements. A bolt of lightning-like impact struck her between her legs, forcing her to yearn for more, for further torture.

But his pretentious words jolted her back into her indignant state of mentality as she struggled to save face against her own shocking surrender to this thieving warlock.

You bastard! You arrogant, pompous thief!

He shrugged. “Debatable point. But this…” he whispered, running that hot hand down her thigh, over her knee to the hem of her gown, “is a sure thing.”

She stiffened against the ascent of his palm, the callused texture of it now dragging the gown up and abrading over the flesh of her inner thigh. Sweet Mother Mary, but it made her gasp, made her hips tilt up and forward toward his hand.

“You want it, don’t you?”

How could she even coherently piece together an answer to the question he asked when his hand articulated its own distracting language?

“Salena, again, it’s your choice, but you must answer me
now
. No…or yes?” It came out gruff and insistent as if he held onto rigid restraint. His anxious demand came followed by a shiver of wanton fire centered in her passage. She was ashamed to realize she’d become clay in his hands. Something about him giving her the power of choice coupled with his almost chivalrous attempts at self-control endeared her heart a small measure to her captor. But she didn’t care to admit to such a ridiculous emotional defeat at the moment. She just wanted to focus on how good he was making her feel.

“Yes, yes,” she whimpered when the flames of his fingertips swirled higher and brushed her clitoris. And in spite of the power his spell had over her voice and her ability to cry out to others, she let out a torturous growl that echoed throughout the forest when his finger sank through her curls. “Oh yes, please touch me!”

“Look at me.”

The sharp command did little to lesson the magic of his touch. Fire shot through her abdomen when he swirled his finger over the large pebble. Still, she obeyed under the spell’s force, turning her head to look into those liquid eyes.

“I want to hear your voice when I bring you pleasure.” He said it with a strained tone, and with his words, he ground her hip into the hardened mass within his braies, a mass that now pressed enormous and threateningly against her. Even so, it somehow had the ability to make her long for its length to be within her wet passage. In her limited experience, mating had been painful and disappointing. She’d not felt that actual…supposed bliss before, but had heard whisperings of it from select maids at court. And suddenly, she’d never been so aware of the need to satisfy that particular curiosity and to know what those other women seemed to live for.

“Remember, you may not scream or bring attention in any way to us if we should encounter intruders.”

“You are the intruder,” she accused on a moan as he slowly and deliberately sank another long finger into her tightness, again something Thane had omitted from the act. Her eyelids fluttered and her vision blurred. She could barely see his masked face beneath the shadow of the woodsman’s cap. But she could clearly smell the scent of him mixed with that of her own arousal and the aroma of the horse that stood obediently still beneath them. And like a fire-tipped arrow, his fingers ignited within her, making her arch against her will and against the power of his spell, right into the source of throbbing heat.

“Again, a comment that warrants further consideration. Ah,” he said with a strained tone, his breath coming in sharp staccato spurts. “You’re so tight…but not still a virgin, I see.”

She could have sworn she saw the red, embarrassed glow of her face reflect upon his mask. “Don’t say such things, don’t talk. Please…I—”

With his fingers still inside her, he hoisted her up. Dragging her against the solid wall of his chest, he positioned her so that she faced forward, her back pressed into his chest. She no longer sat in sidesaddle fashion but astride the horse with one leg dangling on each side. As a proper lady, never before had she sat a horse in this manner. But she had to admit the chilly air was a godsend upon the burning flesh of her legs and pussy. Still unable to move her limbs voluntarily, something feral reared up inside her at the spread position with the warm solid girth of animal held between her legs. Falcon ground her rear against his erect shaft, and Salena thought she’d never experienced a more confusing thing in her life. While her mind screamed harlot, fighting the enthrall of his charms, her body shouted yes, driving toward its own end. It would not obey her commands to resist, to merely move and wrestle for her freedom as a proper woman should do. Nor would it stop with the incessant flood of desire. It was as if she were some court jester’s puppet on a string.

And this lack of control infuriated her, made her hate him all the more.

“Talk to me.” His hot breath filled her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “Tell me how it feels, how I make you feel.”

“I hate you,” she said on a gasp as he continued his torture upon her womanhood.

He merely chuckled and dug his heels into the steed’s sides. The horse pranced and darted forward upon the path ahead. The jarring sensation of the brisk trot caused his fingers to jolt in and out of her. He swirled the reins around his free hand and found her clit with a leather-wrapped finger.

“Oh, God help me!” Her head fell back against his shoulder. She gulped for air. White clouds puffed from her pursed lips as she panted.

No, it hadn’t felt like this before.

He snarled in her ear, his hot mouth buried in her hair, and sucked on the tender flesh of her nape. “He can’t help you, Salena. You can only help yourself. Let yourself over to the magic of it, my little dove.”

Falcon emphasized that magic by switching to his thumb and increasing the pressure and rhythm. The digit inside her pumped slow and sure, giving her flashes of that never-before-seen pinnacle ahead in the forest of her clogged mind. The hard length of his fingers slid in and out over wet, tight folds, sticky inner recesses. With each penetration, each waggle of his finger more hot juices flowed from inside her, trickling out into his hand, down onto the hide of the horse. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could do little else but surrender to this madness.

“Talk to me, milady. How does it feel?”

“It feels…” she gasped, “like sweet sin.” Salena couldn’t suppress the audible moan that echoed out across the quiet night forest. “I-I can almost taste the delicious desire of it!”

“I heard your thoughts. It’s never felt quite like this before, has it?”

“N-no, never.”

“Do you like it when I do this?” He flickered his thumb faster, further engorging her knot.

She arched toward his hand. “Yes…oh, yes, I… I
love
it when you do that! Oh,” she swallowed, longing to raise her hands up to hold onto him. “Please don’t stop. It—something’s about to happen, to…to… Oh heavens, please do it harder, quicker.”

He immediately obeyed, and the empowerment of that little bit of control soothed her buried ire one small measure. But she didn’t have time to think of that or anything else—not even of the spatters of cold rain that began to fall and sizzle upon her flesh. He tightened his hold on her and lifted her several inches so that his cock was positioned between the mounds of her ass. Pulling her back tighter, the globes—still covered by the fabric of her gown and cape—were forced apart by the thickness of his rod. He twisted and ground her against him, further spreading her ass until she could feel the shaft against her cloth-covered hole. The combined pleasure and shock of it seemed to slap her full-force across the face. She blinked, stiffening automatically at the extremity of such a personal position.

But she couldn’t protest for long. On a devil’s mission, Falcon whirled her in a dance of utter shame and delicious desire. He ground her hole against the length of him, awakening nerves she didn’t know existed. As if that weren’t enough, he picked up the cadence of those adept fingers, strumming her with one hand. The other rose to clutch at her breast, plucking the already hard nipple until bolts of pleasure shot down to meet with the inferno at her juncture. The horse trotted on, further jarring her against Falcon’s assault.

Breathless, she could no longer restrain herself. “Please, let me raise my arms to hold on to you,” she begged, now beyond humiliation, in desperate need of complete fulfillment. With every ounce of strength she possessed, she turned her head so that she could look into his eyes, so that he could transmit to her what she needed. They were but narrowed gems set within the slits of the mask, and she knew then, empowered further by the knowledge of it, that he too felt the loss of control, the euphoric edges of bliss.

“Permission granted. Raise your arms up and behind you, Salena. Hold onto my neck because you’re going to need the support when ecstasy claims you.”

With a sigh of relief, the tingly sensation in her arms accompanied that of the spell releasing them from its paralyzing hold. Overjoyed by the freedom of it, she shot her arms up behind her and clasped her hands behind his neck. That was all she needed. Now able to gain leverage and press her ass tighter into him, her hole began to twitch and tingle. She could hear the rasping of his breath, feel the hotness of it on her cheek, smell her own juices wafting up to mingle with that of his manly scent. Combined with the cool raindrops falling on her exposed legs, the aura of the mysterious and dark forest that surrounded them, and the fact that he pleasured her as they rode, nothing could have brought her to deeper depths of that unfamiliar bliss.

Except the daggers of hot passion that suddenly—blessedly—pierced her core. The sharp waves of it rippled through her deep center, into her rear, and out over every cell of her body.

“Holy knights of war!” she screamed on a shudder. “Oh, yes! Ah!” she added when one last swell washed through her.

Before she could shake her head and bring herself back to the mortifying reality of what had just occurred, he had her turned upon his lap, once again sitting sideways.

His hand raked through her hair until he held her behind the neck, forcing her to look into his glazed eyes. Salena could smell her own scent upon his hand. She watched, enchanted against her will as the rain dribbled from the brim of his hat and fell cold and spent onto the leather of his jerkin.

He panted, condensation swirling from his mouth and nostrils. “Woman, you tempt me beyond madness. If it weren’t for the fact that we must move on quickly, else risk discovery, I’d throw you to the wet earth and sink myself between your beautiful, creamy legs!”

The words had the very same effect on her as his fingers had. But she knew now was the perfect time to use what he’d given her back—free use of her limbs. Jerking her stare from his magnetic one, she made a sudden, rash decision, flung herself from the horse and tumbled to the ground. She heard him curse a profanity at the exact moment her breath was knocked from her.

Salena gasped for air, her chest on fire.
Fool! The bloody horse had to be at least seventeen hands high. And you just barely escaped suicide by daring to jump from the beast’s back!

And too late she realized he still had her legs under siege of his immobilizing spell in which she could only walk if he gave her permission. She could not get up and run! Fear now returning to grip her with the force of a mighty storm, she planted her hands on the soggy, fallen leaves. Salena dragged her inert lower body behind her and into the deep brush with frantic movements. She pulled herself, grimacing at the deadweight her upper body was forced to haul, while her shoulders and arms burned with the effort.

It was then, just when she thought she’d outwitted her captor that her head bumped into a solid trunk. The aroma of wet leather and soil filled her nostrils. Her eyes rounded with fear while her gaze slowly rose up the long length of a pair of legs clad in Lincoln-green braies and knee-high leather boots.

And her heart ceased beating in her chest. Her breath stilled and lodged somewhere inside her windpipe at the picture he made standing there in the drizzly night rain. This fearsome warrior couldn’t be the same as the tender man of moments ago who’d given her choices. But she had a feeling her days of options and controlling her own destiny were over.

His fists were planted on narrow hips as he looked down at her. Salena thought she’d never seen a more foreboding sight than that of her ruthless abductor, Falcon Montague, silhouetted against blackened gnarly branches and the fat silver ball of the moon. She couldn’t see his eyes through the mask or the shadows, but she knew they were there, felt them touch on her with scorching accuracy.

“Just where do you think you’re going?”

She choked on her words. Through gritted teeth, she replied, “Away from you, you—you ogre!”