Brigand (9 page)

It was cold and desperate need.

Not just a need for her body, although there was that. Even
as he watched her sleep, so innocent and pure, his cock stirred.

No. It was something more.

He yearned to be hers in every sense of the word. He
wanted—nae, demanded—her complete adoration. He found it difficult to breathe
without it.

She had run today because he’d hurt her, disappointed her.
He knew it.

Her discontent with him was like bile in his throat.

He ached to be a man of whom she could be proud.

And he was not.

That only added fuel to his simmering rage.

Her eyes fluttered open. She blinked. Then gasped and sprang
up. She probably would have run but her legs were tangled in the blanket.

It didn’t matter if she did. He would have caught her.
Claimed her.

He always would.

Violet stared at the hulk of a man lounging in the chair by
the fire. Her heart skittered in her throat. He was so…ominous. So angry.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find you?” His voice, a low thrum,
echoed through the small room. “Did you think I would just let you go?”

“Ewan.” She swallowed. “How did you—”

“How did I find you? It hardly signifies.” He stood, tall
and menacing, and approached the bed. “I did. I always will.” He glared down at
her. “Do you have any idea how dangerous these woods can be?”

She tipped up her chin. “I can take care of myself.”

He snorted. “The hell you can. Goddamn it, Violet. You could
have been injured. Or raped. Or worse.” His eyes took on an unholy glow.

“The risk was worth it. Better than being held captive,
being used by you.”

His lip curled at her choice of words. “Used?”

“As a means to an end,” she spat. Then she hunkered back
because he leaned toward her, nostrils flared, ferocity flowing from him in
waves.

“You know it isn’t like that. It wasn’t like that.”

“I don’t know.” She flinched as he seized her shoulders in a
crushing grip. Shook her. Just a tiny bit.

“It wasn’t like that. And you enjoyed it.”

She put out a lip. “I did not.” A complete and utter
falsehood but she let it slip out because she was still tender, still wounded
by his words. The denunciation of her true feelings helped dam up the pain.

Her denial infuriated him. He yanked her up and into his
arms. His mouth closed on hers.

It was not a gentle kiss. There was something of a beast in
it. He mashed his lips against hers and forced his tongue into her mouth and
took what he wanted.

She resisted, thrashing and fighting and attempting to
wrench away. He did not allow it. But then something changed. He softened. Or
perhaps she did. The kiss became something else altogether. Seductive,
tantalizing, irresistible.

Oh, she tried to resist. She didn’t want to want him. Didn’t
like the rising passion coiling in her belly. But his scent, his taste, the
masterful way in which he possessed her lips set a fire raging within her.

Against her will, she responded, pressed against him. Gave
as good as she got.

He growled low and deep in his throat and pressed her back
onto the bed, yanking up her skirts. She murmured her dissent but he swallowed
the peep and delved deeper, finding the curls, the tender nerves at the crux of
her being.

He stroked her hard, rough, and shudders raced through her.

“You’re wet,” he muttered, and then he plunged his fingers
inside. Everything in her seized. He hissed in a breath. “So…tight.”

He fumbled with the ties to his braes, yanked them down with
short, desperate tugs, fisted his cock and drove it home.

Violet wailed as bliss plowed through her. The invasion was
an assault of sensation. Delight screamed on every nerve as he filled her,
stroked her her inner walls.

His passion was not gentle. It was not slow or tame.

It was as though that wild creature within him had awoken
and was intent upon feasting on her soul, determined to own her, possess her,
command her every breath. Every ort of her being trained on the delicious
thrusts, the agonizing withdrawals, the magnificent filling of an aching void
as he entered her again and again in a frantic flurry.

Passion flooded her, easing his passage.

He looped his forearms around her thighs and lifted her up
and took her from another angle, hitting another spot deep within her.
White-hot heat scalded her, a bliss so intense it curled her toes.

Her crisis threatened. Her body began to quake, to flutter,
to spasm. She clenched him hard to hold it off, or to coax it closer. She
wasn’t sure which. Her thoughts had shattered and spiraled off into the night.
She could only feel. Barely breathe. Only be.

And then she peaked. Bliss claimed her and took her and
sucked her down into a miasma, a churning whirlpool of spinning emotion and
sensation and rapture.

But he was not done.

He thrust again and again, pressing hard into her channel,
near whimpering when her muscles melted and he sank deep—deeper than he’d ever
been before. Another wash of sharp pleasure raked her.

His pace increased. Became shorter, harder, faster. “Never,”
he panted. “Never.”

“Ah! Never?”

His nostrils flared. His member swelled. He erupted,
flooding her with his hot seed. It burned through her. Warmed her. Body and
soul.

“Never run from me again,” he growled. And then he took her
mouth with his, repeating the words against her lips. Making her taste them.

His hips slowed but still continued that exquisite motion,
now easing in and out as they both recovered from this sprint of passion. He
drew out and lowered himself to her side. His pulse was visible in his temple,
throbbing at a manic pace. He blew out a breath and scrubbed his face with a
palm.

They lay there in silence, side by side, breathing heavily.

Violet struggled to calm her heart. She didn’t know what was
wrong with her. How could she have enjoyed that? How could she already be
yearning for more?

He was a beast and a brute and to him she was nothing but a
vessel.

She longed for a man who would love her. Truly, deeply love
her…not just make glorious love to her.

She wanted to matter to him. But she didn’t.

She turned her head away from him so he couldn’t see her
tears. Not that he was paying attention. He’d finished with her after all. At
least for now.

After a while, when his breathing calmed, she rolled over on
her side and stared at the wall. He curled up behind her and wrapped his arms
around her, tugging her against the wall of his chest. His heart thumped,
resonating in the echoes of her soul. Why couldn’t he love her?

Why couldn’t he love her the way she loved him?

With all his heart?

Because he wasn’t that kind of man.

And he never would be.

“I meant what I said.” His voice rumbled sleepily in her
ear. “Never run from me, Violet. I won’t allow it. I cannot allow it.”

She didn’t answer, other than a soft grunt. He seemed to
accept that as an assent and tightened his hold. His warmth seeped into her.
His breath was a tender comfort on her cheek. She could lie like this forever.

She would not, of course.

As soon as he fell asleep, she would slip away.

And this time, he wouldn’t catch her.

* * * * *

Something woke him deep in the night. He’d been in the arms
of a delicious dream so it took him a moment to come fully awake and recall
where he was. Violet had rolled away so he reached for her…and found nothing
but warm blankets.

Ewan shot up and glared at the empty spot on the bed. He
raked the cabin with a furious gaze. There was little light, only a slight glow
from the embers of the fire, but he could tell she wasn’t here. She’d gone.

With a plaintive roar, he sprang from the bed and pulled on
his braes. He saw at once that the lamp was gone as well. Fuck.

He’d told her in no uncertain terms. She was not to run from
him.

He hoped to God she hadn’t been gone long, that the sound of
the door was what had awoken him.

He ran outside and scanned the tree line, his heart thudding
painfully in his throat. He’d only just found her. He couldn’t bear to lose her
again. He couldn’t.

And that terror raging in his breast? A panic far beyond
that of a captor defied. He didn’t dare scrutinize that.

He saw the light in the distance, flickering like a bobbing
star. He set off toward it at a dead run. How dare she. How dare she? Fury and
exhilaration and the bitter aftertaste of dread twined together in his gut.

It did not take him long to catch up with her. His night
vision was good. He skirted the fallen logs and leapt over gullies and ruts
with ease. Wayward branches were no match for his resolve.

She was in sight within seconds.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw him coming. She let
out a little cry and started to scamper away, in another direction. There was
no hope for her. No way she could outrun him. Not with her short legs, the
hampering of her skirts.

He captured her easily, looping an arm around her waist. He
hefted her off her feet, turned around and, pausing only to pick up the lamp,
which she’d dropped in that headlong fruitless flight, towed her back to the
cabin.

She kicked and squirmed and pummeled him with tiny fists.
“Beast!” she bellowed more than once. As though it was the only word she could
think of.

When they came to the door, she hooked it with her grip and
tried to stop him from taking her farther. He pulled her free with ease and
dumped her onto the bed and glowered at her.

She was a sight. A glorious sight with her hair all a’muss,
her bosom heaving, her lips parted, her eyes ablaze. She perched on the
mattress, clearly poised to run again, glaring at him.

“I told you.” A gruff, feral snarl. “I told you not to run
from me.”

“Go to hell, McCloud!”

He wasn’t sure what infuriated him more, her defiant
expression or her words. Or his blood was simply running high. But the
provocation she presented was more than he could resist.

He took hold of her arm and yanked her to her feet, then sat
on the bed himself and flung her over his lap. His palm landed on her upturned
bottom. The smack resonated.

“Noooo!” She writhed and thrashed on his lap.

She shouldn’t have. She really shouldn’t have.

This resistance enflamed his ire.

He smacked her again, and again. But spanking her through
the muffling folds of her skirts was not nearly satisfying enough. He yanked
them up.

She warbled a shrill, incomprehensible howl.

He ignored it.

When his hand fell again, it was with the satisfying splat
of flesh to flesh. Even more satisfying was watching his handprint rise in
glowing red on her alabaster ass. She stilled. The sound emanating from her
throat was something very different. A low, wild cry. One he’d heard on several
occasions.

His burning anger curled in upon itself and became a
different kind of burn altogether. His cock rose, throbbed in tandem with his
thrumming pulse.

He smacked her bottom again, several times in succession,
then swept his palm over the flesh. She murmured something he couldn’t make out
and rubbed against him—ostensibly an attempt to escape but Ewan knew better.

He’d had her many times now. He’d brought her to bliss more
than once. He knew, could tell, she was aroused. He didn’t need her to turn
just then and glance up at him with that simmering expression.

He clenched his teeth and smacked her once more, this time
following it with a swipe between her legs. And ah, yes. She was dripping wet.

“You like this.” An accusation. A jubilant crow.

“No.”

“Admit it.” He toyed with her pearl, that hard, slick little
button bathed in cream.

“No. No!”

“Violet,” he tsked. “A man can tell. Admit it.” He eased his
palm over the glowing globes of her ass, teasing her with occasional forays
between them. Her dampness swelled. She squirmed on his lap as he teased,
bucking and sighing each time he brushed her clitoris. “You want this,” he
hissed. “You want more. Say it.”

She growled as he came close then danced away. It was a
petulant growl.

“Say it. Admit it.”

“Yes.” A whisper, spat out like bile.

He circled her nub. “What? I couldn’t make that out.”

“Yes!”

Elation slashed through him in harsh, hot shards. His pulse
kicked up a notch. His cock lurched. A prickle rose at the nape of his neck.
Hunger howled in his soul. Unable to resist, unable to think, really, he jammed
his fingers into her cunt.

She stiffened, bellowed, came around him.

Yes. Yes. Complete and utter satisfaction whipped through
him. She was so wet, so tight, so incredibly hot, he nearly came himself. But
he didn’t. He fought back the urge.

It was difficult.

He did not let her orgasm trickle away. Oh no. He reached
deeper, stroked her harder, worked away inside of her, keeping her there in the
taut grip of bliss—coming again and again and again—until she was a panting,
sobbing, limp mass dangling over his thighs.

Then like the beast she claimed he was, he laid her on the
bed, on her belly. He undid the ties of his braes and hunched behind her,
lifting her boneless body into position, covered her…and he drove home.

She engulfed him with a warm, wet heat. The sweetest
embrace. The walls of her cunt fluttered around him. The intimate clench made
him mindless. She was exquisite.

He plunged into her body again and again from every
conceivable angle, reveling in her low moan, the way she braced herself and
pressed back, taking him deeper, urging him on.

She thought him an animal? He would show her how an animal
fucked his mate.

Wildly. With no restraint. He took command of her body.
Complete domination. Violet was his and he would prove his claim like this.

Semen burned at the base of his cock, clamoring for release.
He hissed a breath between his teeth as she came again, squeezing his cock in
an agonizing grip. Passion possessed him. His thrusts went from long, hard
plunges to short, deep, desperate lunges. Because the beast howled, because
need clawed, because he burned to underscore who held dominion here, he smacked
her bottom once more.

And because with that smack she seized around him in a way
that sent knives of pleasure into his belly, he did it again and again.

And then he could do nothing. Nothing but sink his fingers
into the flesh of her hips and hold her in place as his body, his mind,
exploded with sensation. He flooded her as jet after scorching jet flowed from
his body into hers.