Bloodlust Denied (13 page)

But she didn’t want him to hold back. She wanted him wild and masterful, the way he had been in the carriage.

Her hands slid up his thighs. She grasped his root, felt him pulse beneath her fingers. Her uneven breath drifted across his thick shaft and his fingers raked through her hair.

Slowly she undulated against him and the tips of her aching nipples teased the tops of his thighs. She dragged her free hand along the back of his leg and caressed his taut calf. Her breath became ragged as she slid up his body so her breasts cradled his cock.

“Are you bewitching me now, Morana?” He twisted her hair around his fist and forced her to stand upright. “Should I discover your tricks before it’s too late?”

She wound her arms around his neck and gyrated to a sensual rhythm that thudded through her mind.

“Perhaps it is already too late.” She flattened her breasts against him, her nipples digging into his hard chest. Once again, she raked her fingers through his black hair and the diamond bracelets glittered at her wrists. The reminder that she was naked except for the duke’s exquisite diamonds and her stockings caused another wave of heat to bathe her pussy.

Alexius inhaled the addictive scent of Morana’s arousal. The musky fragrance wove into his blood, the most potent aphrodisiac he had ever encountered. And he had encountered them all.

With one hand buried in her luxuriant hair, his other trailed along the silken curves of her body. He palmed her rounded arse. Her body was slender and voluptuous, an irresistible combination and with a flare of raw possessiveness, he gripped her succulent flesh. She gave a breathy sigh and wriggled against him, her nipples burning his chest, her belly rubbing over his erection.

“Turn around.” He pulled her head back so he could look into her eyes. “Bend over the arm of the sofa.”

Desire darkened her eyes until he had the heady sensation that he could drown in those fathomless depths.

“Anything else, Your Grace?” Her voice was a sultry purr of pure provocation. She tugged one hand from his hair and traced her fingernails along the length of his throat and chest, before pinching his nipple.

Lust arrowed from his nipple to groin and twisted through his throbbing cock. His grip on her hair tightened.

“I’ll be sure to let you know.”

She gave him a wicked smile, her dark eyes glittering with passion. She was the siren from the London back alley who had haunted him for the last three years. And she was the refined lady of the
ton
who attended Assemblies and blushed at his insults.

She was an enigma. The most intriguing creature he had discovered in centuries. And she was in his arms and willing to obey his every command.

With reluctance, he released her hair and she tossed her head, her black curls cascading over her shoulders. With mesmeric languor, she stretched her arms above her head, her breasts thrusting forward at her action. Then she slowly turned her back on him and did exactly as he had bid her to.

He ripped off his breeches before drinking in the vision before him. Her pale skin gleamed in the candlelight. She leaned over the arm of the sofa, her hands bracing her weight on the upholstered cushion. Her back arched and her bottom swayed provocatively.

He leaned over her, melding his chest against her back. The crease of her arse nestled against his erection, and he swallowed a groan. Despite all the women he’d taken over the years, none but Morana had possessed the power to drive him to the edge.

He pushed her hair over her shoulder, exposing her nape. With anyone else, he would be compelled to sink his fangs into the vulnerable flesh. But all he wanted to do with Morana was sink his cock deep into her wet pussy.

She looked back at him, her hair framing her face, her breath erratic from between her parted lips. He splayed his hand between her shoulder blades and forced her down, until her cheek rested against her folded arms.

“You could have just told me what you wanted.” Her voice was breathless.

“This way is more fun.”
Fun?
He couldn’t recall the last time a quick fuck had been fun. But then, this was no simple fuck anymore. Had it ever been, even three years ago?

He traced the length of her spine with his forefinger, gradually easing up from her body. She sighed and moved restlessly, her arse rubbing over his cock. He gritted his teeth and stepped back from her.

Silken stockings clad her long, shapely legs, held up by blue ribbon garters. He nudged one of her slender ankles with his foot.

“Open your legs.”

She did not instantly obey, but instead wriggled her behind. Her skin was so smooth and firm. When she wriggled again, his palm connected with a satisfying crack across her delectable derriere.

“Fuck!” Her coarse language, as befit a gutter whore yet screamed in the tones of an educated noble, was as arousing as the pink flush across the cheek of her arse. He rubbed his hand over her abused flesh and she squirmed again, flinging him a glance of outrage over her shoulder.

“Do you have something to say, Miss Craven?” He flashed her a mocking smile as he pushed his hand between her clenched thighs. Her pussy was wet and he slid his finger along her slit, enjoying the way she tried not to react to his touch.

“No.” She gritted her teeth and glared at him again. But her thighs parted and her bottom rose in supplication.

He nudged her swollen clitoris and a strangled moan slid from her tempting lips.

“Do you want me to stop?” He circled her bud, and her legs shook. He slid his other hand along the length of her body and cupped her breast. “Are you unable to fulfill our wager, Morana?”

Even though she had won.
But that was something she would never discover.

“I won’t go back on my word.” Some of the tension eased from her shoulders and she quivered beneath his relentless touch. “Even if I wanted to.”

His middle finger probed the slick folds of her pussy. His cock throbbed to possess her. The need was as powerful and all-consuming as the lust that had plagued him for the last two thousand years. Except this lust had nothing to do with blood.

Once again, he leaned over her back, his cock jammed against the mound of her flushed buttock. His lips grazed the curve of her ear.

“Then obey my command.”

She squirmed in frustration, but couldn’t prevent the fragranced cream that trickled from her pussy and soaked his probing fingers.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

He didn’t move and after a moment, she appeared to realize he expected her to obey him despite his weight upon her. Slowly she eased her legs farther apart and he shifted to accommodate her.

“Does that please you?” Her breathless voice pleased him as much as her spread legs.

“Next time,” he whispered against her heated cheek. “Do not make me tell you twice.”

Her pink lips curved into a smile of pure decadence. “I’m sure you
will
have to, Your Grace.”

He smiled against her scented skin and this time did not even wonder that she could amuse him so easily. It was, after all, one of the reasons she was still in his arms.

“Then your beautiful bottom will become intimately acquainted with my hand.”

Her silken slit twitched around his finger and she pressed her breast more securely into his hand. The weight of her breast, the hard peak of her nipple burning his palm, stretched his control to its outmost limits.

He rose abruptly and her smoky sigh of protest fueled his lust higher. Her buttocks were displayed for his pleasure, her legs spread wide at his command. Peeking between her thighs, her pouting pussy lips were pink and glistening with her juices.

For a moment, he envisioned falling to his knees and eating her luscious cunt. But his cock was so hard. He needed to be inside her. Needed to make her his.

He rubbed his palms over her arse cheeks, massaging her perfect flesh. Her musky scent cocooned them and with a primitive growl, he gripped his cock and thrust into her silken folds.

Her throaty cry stoked his lust. Her wet pussy sucked him into a tight embrace. He grasped her hips and slid farther inside and her slick channel rippled around his shaft.

Gods. It had never felt this good.

He rammed into her again, pushing her into the sofa. His balls slammed against her tender flesh and her gasps of impending climax filled his mind.

Her damp body gleamed in the candlelight. He gazed down at her naked back, the perfect curve of her arse, the way his cock was buried inside her quim. He wound one arm around her and his questing fingers found her sensitive clitoris.

“Come for me, Morana.” The words were guttural, torn from the depth of his being. “Let me feel your sweet pussy milk my cock.”

She convulsed around him, her tight sheath squeezing his shaft. His thigh muscles clenched and he rode her, his groin slapping against the round globes of her buttocks. Morana’s frantic gasps and breathless moans mingled with the scent of sex, and the subtle hint of crushed rose petals drifted in the air.

He thrust into her with such force he pushed her up onto her toes. He wound his arm around her waist, held her close, and his hot seed flooded her welcoming core.

Morana’s erratic gasps hurt her chest but she couldn’t move. Didn’t want to move. Her cheek was pressed into the sofa cushion; her arse was in the air. The duke held her around her waist, his body covering her back. His tortured breathing, in the aftermath of his violent climax, caused her pussy to spasm in exhausted response.

She was too sated to move. A strange peace filled her and she didn’t want to shatter it. She knew this was only a fleeting moment out of time. Knew that only too soon circumstances would wrench her from her lover’s side.

He pressed his lips against her shoulder. A tender kiss that touched her soul and an overwhelming sensation of rightness washed through her. She tried to ignore it. It could bring her nothing but heartache but the certainty refused to die.

The certainty that, despite the despised wager, this joining had always meant to be.

Morana trailed her fingers across the elegant harp and as the haunting notes echoed around the music room she wondered where the duke was.

In the ten days since he’d brought her to his estate, she’d not once seen him during daylight hours. But as dusk fell he would appear, and the sun would rise.

She smothered a yawn and resisted the urge to curl up on one of the many sofas. No matter how late in the afternoon she slept—and each day she woke later—she could never quite extinguish the lingering sense of exhaustion that hovered like an ominous cloud beyond her reach.

Her soul was slowly dying.

For the first few days after the duke had brought her to his estate, her health had been unaffected. She convinced herself Thanatos had to be close by—perhaps even deliberately staying out of sight to allow her this moment of uninhibited pleasure. But as the week ended, so did her illusions.

As if a lifeline had been severed, her vitality diminished, a phantom vampire draining her veins and terror whispered through her soul.

Thanatos hadn’t been able to follow her. And while she enjoyed the novelty of living like a mortal woman with a man she was perilously close to falling in love with, her beloved was out in the world, alone, unprotected, and she had done nothing to save him.

And now, when the truth was so clear to her, she was physically unable to search for him.

She would have to ask for the duke’s indulgence. Soon, tonight, before it was too late. Before, because of her selfish desires, she was responsible for Thanatos’ death.

She needed to occupy her mind, needed something to distract the overwhelming dread consuming her senses that she’d never see Thanatos again. The duke had left her a dozen books in their bedroom but she had read them all. Surely he wouldn’t mind if she explored his library?

It was a massive dark-paneled room, and as servants lit countless candles, she admired the soaring arches, the impressive columns and magnificent fireplace. It was a masculine room and she could easily imagine him lounging on one of the sofas, enjoying cigars and brandy. Not that she’d seen him drink a great deal, which made him something of an oddity for a gentleman, and now she thought about it he scarcely seemed to drink at
all
.

She pushed the thought aside. It hardly mattered, and she wandered the length of the library, breathless with awe at the vast collection of rare first editions and numerous volumes he possessed written in Latin and—a delicious shiver raced along her spine—Greek.

If only Thanatos was here to share in this indulgent pleasure.

A corner alcove beckoned her. A sofa faced away from the room, angled toward the wall and above the credenza a life-size elaborately framed portrait hung.

Morana clutched the back of the sofa, fingers digging into the fabric, heart thundering in her chest as she stared at the portrait in disbelief.

The same golden-haired woman from the reception hall laughed in joyful abandonment. She arched against a Corinthian column, her Grecian inspired gown an exquisite shade of pale emerald.