Blood Curse (12 page)

One swift motion of his hand shoved his trousers down. Underneath, he wore nothing. His muscled, taut bottom was bared to her.

He planted his hands on the bed, spread his legs with his trousers bunched around the top of his boots. He hung his head, his straight black hair falling around his face.

She was supposed to smack him. With the paddle.

She couldn’t use her hand without really hurting him.

All right. He wanted it. It was like a dare—and she’d never had the chance to do daring things. She’d been locked up for so long.

Curling her fingers around the smooth, varnished handle, she lifted the paddle. Held it above his bottom.

Oh heavens, she didn’t want to hit anything so perfect. Pale, firm, and defined by the muscles beneath his smooth skin, his rump was a work of art.

Wouldn’t smacking it be like a desecration?

“Come on, Ophelia,” he groaned. “Do it.”

She closed her eyes. Swung. But lost her courage at the end of the arc and arrested it, so the paddle only lightly tapped him.

Ravenhunt’s breath came out in a fast, harsh stream. She couldn’t see his face, but his back was tense and he made a growling sound. Then he groaned, “Excellent. But you can do it harder next time.”

“It doesn’t hurt?”

“It hurts in a good way. That’s part of the—of the pleasure.” She tried again, being more firm. A quick slap to his hard right cheek. It barely jiggled, since his bottom was so taut.

His head bucked, his long, lean body braced on arms locked straight. So straight, the muscles bulged and his veins were like cords looped around his forearms. “God, that was good.”

“You liked that?” Was there something to this she didn’t quite understand? She would assume it wasn’t pleasurable at all. But he twisted to face her, and there was such an intense expression on his face. Harsh lines ringed his mouth. His eyes were bright and intense. “Spank me again. You can’t leave me hanging now.”

She obliged, trying with a bit more force.

His deep, throaty moan vibrated through her. Goodness, he did like this. A thrill ran down her spine, a sensation that shot down between her legs and throbbed there, aching and demanding.

Instead of hitting him, she ran the flat of the paddle over the curve of his rump. If only it could be her hand touching him. Feeling how soft his skin was, even over that hard, solid muscle. She noticed the dusting of dark hair. She longed to coast her hand all over him, even down between his legs from the back and touch the fascinating large ballocks that dangled there.

She couldn’t touch him. Certainly not there. Smoke rose when they touched. Contact with her obviously burned him, and she couldn’t inflict that on tender places.

Oh, but she wished she could touch him.

“You do?” he asked softly.

Had she said it out loud? She must have. “Yes,” she cried. “I want to grope your backside, and fondle the muscles on your arms, and put my arms around you, and—and—”

“Then do it,” he said.

She smacked his bottom lightly with the paddle. “I can’t. I’d hurt you.”

“You know, love, I really don’t care. It would be worth it to be touched by you.”

Crazily, madly, she put the palm of her hand against his rump. Against the red mark the paddle had made.

But Ravenhunt flinched and smoke rose, and she snatched her hand away.

“Spank me,” he urged, and she heard the note of laughter in his voice. Turning, he winked at her, his long lashes flashing over his dark eye. She giggled.

When had she last giggled? She couldn’t remember. Never had she thought it would be over a bare bottom and a session of spanking. This was utterly surprising. It was fun.

“Come on, love, you’re killing me with suspense. I’m on the brink of a colossal erotic explosion. It hurts.”

Goodness, she was not doing her duty here. She lifted the paddle and swacked him. She paddled his bottom lightly, then firmly, then gave one daring, hard smack.

“God,” he muttered. His hips moved back and forth rhythmically, in time to her spanking.

“I had no idea,” he growled, “it could feel so good—”

He broke off and shifted, so he was sideways across the bed. Her eyes went huge. From here, she could see his private parts. Huge and straight and thick and sticking straight out.

He wrapped his hand around the enormous shaft. Between moans, he gasped, “You are amazing. The most erotic woman with a paddle I could dream of.”

Ophelia giggled shyly, then gasped herself. His hand ran along the length of his erection. He gripped tight, pulling at it.

How stunning. How marvelous. How strange. He was so rough with it. Surely those strokes, in that fearsome grip, must hurt.

And his moans . . . so loud, so intense, they made shivers go down her spine.

She spanked him again, and suddenly his head jerked, his body bucked, and he let out a cry of agony. His shaft seemed to swell to incredible proportions before her eyes. He jerked his hips up at the same moment a white fluid shot forth from his erection and spattered over his hand.

She gaped at him, the paddle dangling from her hand.

He straightened, and he cleaned his hand on a corner of the disordered bedsheet.

“Spectacular,” he murmured.

Before she could think of a thing to say, he moved with his amazing speed. Next thing she knew he had the paddle in his hand and he grinned rakishly at her.

“Your turn,” he said.

B
eneath her skirts, her bottom was round, plump, and quivering.

Raven had swiftly changed positions, tossing her gently on the bed so she lay on her tummy, and he stood beside the bed with his trousers hanging off his hips and the paddle in his hand.

He brought it down, stopping just before the flat of the paddle struck her rump. Coming that close, anticipating the way her generous arse would jiggle when he struck, he was rock-hard again. Even though he’d just climaxed so hard he’d thought his brains would melt.

“No,” she cried. “I can’t do this.”

“You can,” he murmured. He gave her a light tap with the paddle.

Hell, if he could do it, she could. With Jade, he had been whipped regularly, flayed all over his body. The idea of being hit again had made him darkly angry. But having Ophelia spank him had surprised him.

It had been playful. Fun. Erotic.

But she was tense with fear, and he had to make her melt.

He gently caressed her curves with the paddle. Having her spank his rear had kept him from going mad for the scent of her blood. It had also given him a reason to keep his face away from her curious gaze, so Lady Ophelia couldn’t see how his fangs had launched out when he got aroused again.

With her, now, he was more than just sexually excited, more than hot and aching to pummel her sweet little ass. The tempting aroma was stronger than ever.

“You aren’t spanking me,” she whispered. She was twisting to see behind.

“I’m touching you without my hands. Fondling your lovely arse with the paddle.”

She quivered at his words.

“Like it?” he murmured. He gave the lightest tap with the wood, making her bottom tremble under her gown.

“It—it tickles.” She giggled.

He tried a firmer spank. This was what he enjoyed. Being in charge.

“No, I’m not ready to be spanked yet. I’m not. I’m just not. Please, please don’t?”

He needed to command her, but not frighten her. “More caresses,” he promised, and he ran the paddle over the globes of her bottom.

She giggled. The sound of her delight rang in his ears. If he closed his eyes, he could remember the sweetly desperate way she had protested that she was not ready to be spanked yet. It touched his heart, brought a smile to his lips.

Savoring the soft, silvery sound of her laughter, he set down the paddle. He laughed, too, and that made hers go on, until she hugged herself, smiling beautifully.

He was a man who no longer had any reason to smile, yet it was impossible not to laugh with Ophelia.

Their game had to end for the night. Dawn was close and she was tired. As much as he hungered for the chance to apply the paddle to her luscious derriere, he had to wait. He had to let her sleep. And he had a pressing reason to stop now.

Hunger.

He had to satisfy it. Now.

Lifting the paddle from her bottom, he said softly, “That’s enough for tonight. You need to sleep.” Grasping her wrist, he quickly helped her sit up, then released her. Shirtless, he had his trousers pushed to his thighs, revealing his enormous erection. He saw how she tried to look away from his cock, but her gaze always riveted back to it.

He ruthlessly pushed his hard prick down and struggled with his trousers until he fastened them over the bulge. “Let me take you to your bedroom and tuck you into your bed.”

She erupted into giggles again. “How can you say that—offer to tuck me into bed so sweetly—after you were going to spank my bottom?” But she finished her laughter with a yawn, which set her giggling again.

He held out the paddle for her, so she could grasp the handle. Pulling on it, he whisked her to her feet. She swayed on her slender legs, obviously exhausted. Yawning again, she put her hand over her mouth.

Not caring about the pain that went through him, Raven lifted her into his arms and carried sleepy Lady Ophelia to her bed. There he helped her undo her dress, and gave her privacy to slip on a nightgown he had acquired for her. He had gotten it from a madam who ran a brothel for vampires.

As he drew the covers over Ophelia, she gave him a smile that speared his heart. Her smile was so adorable it touched him. She glowed like a woman in love.

He was supposed to win her love. Why should it feel like he’d been kicked in the gut?

Returning to his room, Raven noticed the cobwebs at the ceiling, the coldness of the room since he never needed a fire, and the sense of emptiness in it even though it was filled with furniture. It was as if the room had no soul either.

He pulled on his shirt, swiftly fastened it at the collar, and shoved its tails into the waistband of his trousers. He had no time to worry about the lonely feeling of his room. He could not go back to Ophelia and watch her sleep. He couldn’t stay with her.

Another wave of hunger hit him, so fast and hard he had to grab the bedpost. His fingers gouged into the wood. Inside, he seethed with hunger and lust.

He wanted her neck. Wanted to sink his fangs into it. Wanted it now.

Cursing, Raven ran down the corridor, passing the door to Ophelia’s room. He forced his legs to keep moving. Launching over the banister, he jumped off the stairs and landed on the tiled ground floor at the foot of the staircase.

Raven pulled on a cape, grasped a silver-tipped walking stick, and headed out the door, locking it behind him. His destination was the docks. He would reach them just before the first glow of daylight touched the sky. Many people would be out, beginning their working day. He had little time until full daylight came, and he ran the risk of being burned to ash by the sun’s rays.

He had to satisfy his hunger as quickly as he could.

Ophelia couldn’t sleep. Snuggled beneath her soft sheets and warm counterpane, in a new silk nightgown that Ravenhunt had given her, she felt utterly exhausted. Truly, she couldn’t even keep her eyes open. But even when her lids dropped and shut tight, she couldn’t fall into sleep. Her wits whirled.

She had
spanked
Ravenhunt’s bare bottom. She could still hear the soft
thwacks
in her head and the hoarse, rough rasp of his groans. His aroused groans would stay with her forever. She’d never heard a man sound like that—

Well, she had, at that naughty club or brothel, or whatever it was.

She had never
made
a man sound like that. Moaning, groaning, with excitement. She had never made a man feel pleasure. When Raven had climaxed, with his face showing such agony and his hand gripping his erection hard as his hips jerked . . .

Oooh. It had been a stunning sight.

She had made this beautiful, strong, sensual man come, as he had called it. She had made him laugh with delight, and when he’d done so, he was breathtakingly handsome. Deep lines had ringed his wide mouth, and crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes, and his laugh had been throaty and masculine.

She’d giggled in earnest, soft helpless giggles, until she was consumed with mirth, with a warm happiness in her heart.

She was laughing with joy. Those moments of sexual play had given her true joy. She’d forgotten that he’d kidnapped her; forgotten she was required to do something against her upbringing and her breeding: give up her innocence to a man she would not marry.

Though, in a way, she already had given up her innocence. She still had her maidenhead—but she was hardly naïve and unknowing anymore.

As he’d tucked her into bed—such a sweet thing to do—she’d asked, “How can I make love to you without killing you?”

“You don’t have to worry,” he’d answered. “You will be free.”

But how could she not worry when she hurt him each time she touched him—?

Ophelia’s eyes suddenly opened wide in her shadowy bedchamber. She sat up, her covers tumbling down. Ravenhunt didn’t say
he
wouldn’t die. Heavens, surely he wasn’t willing to sacrifice his
life
to save her?

That would be insane. He barely knew her. It wasn’t as if he could actually care about her. How could he? Love was something that built. That took time to grow.

Why would Ravenhunt be willing to give his life for hers, when he barely knew her? What sort of man did that?

A hero. A noble knight of old.

He had saved her life once already. He had been struck with two pistol balls for her. As amazing and strange and improbable as it sounded, the man who had kidnapped her had become a hero to her. More of a champion for her than anyone had ever been.