Castle of the Wolf (24 page)

She took a deep breath and, as she slowly expelled the air, she cast away the last remains of her maidenly shyness. Between them, there was no room for it. Not here. Not now. Not when she needed to teach him how well he was desired.

Slowly, she lifted her free hand to cradle his cheek. “Pity?” she repeated, her voice strong and steady. Her thumb caressed his stubbly skin. “There is no pity.”

For a long time, he simply stared at her, his expression so lost that her heart ached for him. Then he shook his head, dislodging her hand. “
No!
” he said wildly. “No!”

“No pity, Fenris,” she insisted, and again laid her fingers against his cheek.

“No!” It was as if he could not understand that he could be desired.

“Never pity.” Slowly, very slowly, she leaned forward and kissed him. This time the kiss was tender and sweet, just the merest brush of her lips. “No pity, Fenris,” she repeated against his cheek, and rained butterfly kisses against his temple, his brow, his eyelids. When she lifted her head a little, he gazed at her, his heart in his eyes. He looked like a small boy, yearning for something unreachable.

She smiled a little. “Don’t you know that?” Her fingers played with the hair over his ear, while her thumb drew soothing circles on his temple. The intensity with which he hung on her every word was endearing—and heartbreaking. “Don’t you know, my wolf?” she whispered against the corner of his mouth, blinking away sudden tears. Her hand glided around his head, her fingers sinking deep into his thick, wavy hair when she tenderly cupped the back of his skull.

“Your hair is black and shiny like raven wings.” She pressed her lips to his temple before she kissed the crown of his head. “Softer than silk,” she murmured throatily and let her mouth slide to his ear. “Mmm.” Gently, she closed her teeth over his earlobe. “Your skin is like velvet here. Like the skin of a peach.”

She kissed her way down the strong column of his throat, deeply inhaling the scent of him: sandalwood and woodsmoke, overlaid by a hint of muskiness. She licked the little hollow at the base of his throat, smiling against his skin when she heard his sharp intake of breath. “You taste like the sea, wild and salty.”

“Celia…”

“
Cissy
,” she murmured, and pressed a kiss to his throat. “Look at you. Your shoulders are so wide.” She eased her hand under his shirt and over his shoulder, digging her fingers into the beautifully rounded muscle. “As wide as the wings of an eagle.” She pushed the shirt down his arm and admired the elegant shape of this part of his body. His upper arm was hairless, leaving the lovely bulge of muscle fully revealed to her view. “I like this,” she told him, and rubbed her fingertips in little circles over his biceps. “A sign of your strength and power.” His arm flexed, and she threw him a mischievous smile. “Of course, I also like your chest.” She splayed her hand over one of his pectorals. “It’s so wide and broad. Like a horse’s.”

“A horse’s?” His voice sounded rusty, as if he hadn’t used it in years.

“All right.” With a little laugh, she pressed a quick kiss on his chin. “Like a bear’s. It’s hairy like a bear’s, too. Silky soft hair.” She ruffled the black curls. “And these.” With her forefinger she nudged one of his nipples. “They remind me of small copper coins.” She watched his nipple pebble under her touch.

He groaned, as if she were wrenching his heart out. “What exactly are you doing?” he asked in a strangled voice. A muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth. His eyes flashed. Yes, this was the ferocious wolf Fenris, whom only dwarves’ chains could bind. But Cissy would make sure that this wolf’s fetters would be unlocked.

She rained playful, tiny kisses on the hard line of his jaw. “Why, I’m only keeping my promise.”

“Promise?” His grip around her wrist tightened.

“Yes, my promise.” She chuckled at his question. “I promised to seduce you, don’t you remember?”

She managed not to wince as his fingers spasmed around her wrist. Instead, she placed a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Could you let go of my wrist? You’re hurting me.”

Immediately contrite, he hastily released her. “I…I apologize.” His eyes flickered, as if with panic. “This is madness. I…I shouldn’t have come. I’m not… You’re not…”

“Shhh.” She put her finger over his lips. He looked up at her, and again he wore that lost expression, which once more brought tears to her eyes. “Shhh, sweeting, shhh.” She replaced her finger with her mouth, opening his lips with hers because she knew how everything else became unimportant when they kissed. How the world fell away and left them in a small cocoon of desire.

Her hands moved up to cup his face, and she felt his arms come around her, drawing her against him. “Don’t think, Fenris,” she whispered against his lips. “Don’t think. Just feel.” She smoothed her hands over his shoulders. “
Feel.
”

And again, desire exploded between them. She cherished him with hands and lips, placed kisses on his shoulders and his chest, while his hands roamed over her back and kneaded her bottom. He groaned against her neck when he pressed her tighter against his body, so that the bulge of his erection came to rest between her legs. This time, when her hand wandered down his belly, he did not stop her. Teasingly, she slipped a finger under the waistband of his trousers and ran it over his hips. His gasp and the quivering of his muscles made her chuckle in delight.

“Vixen!” he rasped, and captured her mouth with his, chewing on her lower lip until she felt giddy with wanting him.

Quickly and boldly, she opened the fastening of his trousers. She looked down and, somewhere between shock and awe, saw his penis spring free. “You’re not wearing any drawers!”

Fenris licked the side of her neck, causing her to shiver with pleasure. They had switched positions again: now he was the bold one. “Of course not. They have the habit of getting in the way of seduction.” He sucked her soft skin between his teeth, and with a small moan she leaned against him.

She cupped him tentatively. “Oooh, your skin is even softer here,” she murmured with appreciation. “But it’s also hard. Hard and soft, like a shaft of velvet over a rod of steel.” And against her palm he became even harder.

With a groan, he closed his fingers over hers, showing her how to grip and stroke him. “Do you want me to lose my mind?” he asked.

“Yes, exactly.” She smiled and caressed him, loving the feel of him in her hand, how he grew longer, how the blood pulsed against her palm. “Am I succeeding?”

“God, yes.
Yes!
” he panted. His eyes closed. His head fell back.

With wonder and tenderness Cissy watched him, saw his gleaming chest heave with each breath and the expression of blissful rapture that appeared on his face. She loved the heavy, lusty smell of him, and the little sounds he made at the back of his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed so endearingly when he swallowed that she couldn’t resist leaning forward and running the tip of her tongue over it.

It was then that Fenris snapped.

~*~

The feel of her small, soft hands on him—fondling him, playing with him—was torture and heaven at once. Each caress tugged at his heart and soul until Fenris thought he would go mad with wanting her, needing her.

The last woman who had touched him like this had been a common whore—one who had lusted after his money and not his body. She hadn’t been able to hide her grimace of distaste when he had shed his trousers. He had already been too far gone by then, lost in a haze of need and lust, but he had shagged her hard in retribution. Left marks on her body. Rode her like a wild stallion, brutally bucking into her. He had departed feeling sullied.

He had been sick in the bushes on his way home, later had scrubbed his skin raw to wash the smell and touch of the woman off his body, to expurgate his own violent lust. After the episode he had never given in to his lust again. He hadn’t touched a woman in years, hadn’t even touched himself, had felt only disgust—the same disgust he knew women must feel at the sight of him.

Except for his wife, it seemed.

Still,
a voice whispered in his head,
what right does the King of Dwarves have to—

But the thought was lost as he gasped under another particularly crafty caress. His wife’s answering chuckle seemed sweeter than any music. Her flowery perfume wafted around him, mingled with the scent of arousal, his and hers. He remembered the feeling of her treasure trove in his hand this afternoon, how hot and wet she had been for him. God, so wet! A shudder of delight ran through his body, and the memory combined with the reality of her hands on his body dried out his mouth. He swallowed convulsively, and then—

Dear God!

He felt her warm damp breath against his throat, followed by her tongue licking over his Adam’s apple.

Fenris groaned. His body jerked. The shaft of lust running through him was so intense he thought his heart would pop right out of his chest. Like a dark wave, passion and desire engulfed him and drew him under, erased all rational thought but one: to possess this woman in every way possible for man.

His eyes snapped open. He grabbed her arms, stopped her caresses. His mouth devoured hers. As she met him boldly, he felt his lust surge up even more. Their tongues intertwined while he ran his hands over her body.

He dimly registered the sound of ripping material, but foremost in his mind was the feeling of her naked flesh against him, dewy with wanting him, desiring him. He groaned into her mouth, swallowed in turn her little pants and moans.

It was no effort at all to hoist her up and lay her on the bed. The sight of her pale flesh against the white linen was enough to bring his blood to the point of boiling. And her eyes—dear heaven! Her eyes when she watched him get rid of his clothes: hot and hungry eyes, they devoured him whole. Even when he snapped the straps around his stump loose. Even then. Dear God, even then.

But what right does the King of Dwarves have to—

He fell into the bed beside her, into the arms she yearningly held out. Her hands ran over his body, her fingers dancing over its hard ridges while he lost himself in her softness. “I need you,” he growled, his voice barely recognizable even to himself. “So much. You don’t know how much. I can’t wait, I—”

Her teeth nipping at his earlobe made him shudder. “Then come to me,” she whispered throatily. “Come to me, my wolf.”

“I…” His trembling fingers found the secret haven between her legs, overflowing for him, welcoming him, sucking his finger into that searingly hot sheath. Panting, she bucked against his hand.

“Come to me, Fenris, come to me now,” she begged him. “Come, my wolf. Come.” Her hips moved sinuously against him, urging him on, and with something akin to a sob, he complied.

He rolled her onto her back and came up between her legs, spread wide for him, leaving her open and vulnerable. Her trust and acceptance humbled him and made his eyes prick. God, he had no right, no right whatsoever.

Yet the next moment her fingers dug into his buttocks. “Now, Fenris,
now
!” she commanded, her voice rough with urgency.

Need ran like a firestorm through his body. Her obvious desire for him erased all thought and reason. He gripped her hips, tilted them up and, with one sure, long stroke slid home.

Underneath him, she winced and held her breath.

“Sweetheart?” His arms trembled as he held himself above her, trying to be still, trying not to hurt her. “Cissy?”

But then she smiled a little and reached up to draw him down, down, into her, her hands moving over his back while he moved inside her. Her legs locked around his waist, drawing him in, making them one, their bodies blurred. She moved with him, around him, once, twice, he rocked against the cradle of her hips. Once, twice; her nails scraped over his buttocks, her whispered endearments tickled in his ear, and deep inside her, his world fractured. He exploded.

He gasped and shuddered, safely cradled in her arms. Her hands stroked his shoulder, his hair, while she pressed her lips to his temple, his cheek, his throat, crooning to him, praising him.

Fenris felt as if he had been catapulted out of his body right into Heaven.

But when slowly—so slowly—he came back to himself, he was still in her arms, hot and sweaty, his heart a large drum in his ears. He dimly registered that he was crushing his wife into the mattress and tried to roll off her. But his body was slow to obey. His limbs moved only sluggishly, as if he were drugged. His mind was befuddled, yet somehow he seemed to remember that his wife, his sweet, brave wife, had not cried out in pleasure as she had done this afternoon. She had not finished.

He tried to open his eyes and focus on her. “I…” He licked his lips, wanted to apologize, yet it was all a daze. His mind did not seem to function well, for all thoughts slipped through his fingers like nimble little fish, much too fast for him. “I…”

“Shh, my wolf.” Her sweet voice. She petted his hair. “Shhh. Come here.” She helped him to roll over and tugged the bedcovers up over them both. Blissful warmth enveloped him and his mind slipped away a little bit further. His wife’s voice seemed to come from a great distance, hovering in the air. “Come here, my wolf. Come.” She drew his head down to her soft breasts, and with the sound of her voice in his ears and the sweet scent of her in his nose, he fell asleep in her arms.

Chapter 18

Cissy woke in the gray hours of the morning, the time between night and day when the world was bleached of all color. Her husband’s eyes were just two dark shadows, yet his teeth flashed white in a smile. Leaning on one elbow, he lounged beside her, sleek and gray in the waning night.

When she languidly stretched the sleep from her limbs, her thigh brushed against his. The feeling of his hairy male skin rasping against her made her shudder delicately.

“Have you been awake for long?” she whispered.

“Not long.” Another smile quirked his lips. He reached out and trailed his forefinger over her naked shoulder. “I enjoy watching you when you sleep.” His finger traced the upper slopes of her breasts and lazily slipped into the valley between.