Captured by the Dark Lord (12 page)

She moaned into his mouth,
her tongue finding his.  Rough, slick, she tasted sweeter than ambrosia,
intoxicating his senses.  He ran his hands down her smooth back, cupping her
buttocks as she wrapped her legs around him.

Bianca tensed as his shaft
nudged her belly.  Her body slick with soap, she lifted her hips with his
guidance until his cockhead rested at the opening of her womb.

She wanted to be one with him
so badly, no matter the pain or pleasure, only he mattered now.  Bianca
returned his kiss and groaned as he jerked his hips and sank inside her.  She
cried out as he burst through her seal.

He broke from her mouth,
breathing heavily, eyes heavy lidded with lust.  “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head and
tightened her thighs around his hips, rocking against him.  He groaned hoarsely
and squeezed her buttocks, pulling her against him, drawing his cock out of her
to plunge inside again.

She clutched his shoulders,
clinging to him as her nerves danced with pleasure, the spasm of her body
building upon itself.  Bianca locked her gaze with his, riding with him.  He
filled her completely, stretching her nearly to her limit.  She could feel him
consuming her, touching every pore of her body with the force of his thrust and
the heat of his love.

Her thoughts raced
chaotically as feelings of joy and satisfaction flooded her being.  Her heart
beat a rapid tattoo, her blood singeing her veins.  Sweat beaded her brow and
between her breasts, and she clung to him for the strength to go on.  He felt
right inside her, a welcome intrusion that she’d sought for so long.

The pleasure reached a
crescendo suddenly, blinding her with a wave of bliss she felt through every
part of her body, culminating in a wave of pleasure that made her mind nearly
black out from the intensity.  Her body clutched him, milking the seed from his
body as he jerked inside her.  She cried out and his voice joined hers in a
chorus of ecstasy, and then he collapsed back, holding her in his arms.

He kissed her damp forehead,
stroking her back.

“That was beautiful,” she
breathed, kissing his neck.

“I am sorry I was so rough,”
he said, pushing her wet, clinging hair away from her face.

“You will not apologize for
that.  Besides, I enjoy pushing you over the edge.”  Bianca grinned and looked
up at him.

He pinched a buttock cheek
and kissed her nose.  “What happened to the lady healer, pure of heart?”

Bianca returned the pinch,
then groped his firm behind.  “She is in here ... along with the bold wench who
demands a repeat performance.”  His shaft hardened inside her as she squeezed
his cheeks, and she squirmed enticingly, loving the feel of him in her tight
passage.

He growled playfully. 
“You’ll get what you wished for, my sweet lady.”

Aye, that she would.  She
smiled as he reversed their positions, rolling on top of her as he descended
for a kiss.

The End

Here’s a special sneak peek at HEART OF DARKNESS, a
full length paranormal/fantasy romance coming in January 2013:

Chapter One

            Bolting into an
upright position, Isabeau Hart's ears perked up as she listened to the sounds
of the night around her.  The fingers of her left hand automatically wrapped
around the onyx, gold encircled ring, which bound the index finger of her right
hand.  She clung to the golden circle with a fierce need, seeking unconscious
comfort from one of the last remaining items that had once belonged to her
mother. 

            She licked her
lips as she analyzed the different sounds in an attempt to discover what had
awoken her, but could discern nothing in the silence outside of the ale house
in which she was staying.  Her ears were literally pricked up as she attempted
to sift through the noises of the other inhabitants, but she could hear
nothing. 

            Something must
have caused her to awaken though....

            Realizing that
she hadn't taken in a breath of air for the last few moments, she gulped and
attempted to once more, calm her breathing.  Slowly, she inhaled and exhaled
then sank back down on to the cot beneath her.  She thought of the feather bed
that had once sucked her into its comfort and the pleasant sleeping chamber
that had been hers since birth and longed for it with an ache that had tears
stinging against the sensitive flesh of her eyelids. 

            Perhaps it wasn't
the superficial comforts of home she missed, but the security of her parents'
love and care, which had forever cushioned her from the harsher aspects of
life. 

            Isabeau sighed as
she realized that perhaps that cushion had caused the last four years alone to
be even more difficult, but still, she could not and would never regret the
secure upbringing she'd been fortunate to have. 

            Wriggling against
the cot that was a makeshift bed for the night, she grimaced as the wooden
spine seemed to scrape each nodule of bone that sat along the slender expanse
of her back.  In comparison to the down mattress she had once slept upon, it
was akin to torture, but after four solid nights of sleeping on the loamy
ground of varying woods throughout the realm, it was a welcome change.  It was
no wonder she was so fatigued, when night after night amongst the scurrying
insects and rodents kept her from the deep slumber she needed after covering so
much distance throughout the day!

            Although Isabeau
was once more lying against the cot, she hadn't relaxed.  Her senses were such
that very little disturbed her, so when something did, when it actually woke
her up from a deep slumber, she knew to trust her instincts.  Over the last
years alone, they had been her sole defense and she had come to rely upon
them.  Whilst at this moment in time, she could hear no particular reason to be
agitated, her senses and instincts rarely lied. 

            Something was out
there. 

            Waiting silently
for her. 

            Isabeau lifted a
tired arm and scrubbed her fiery red hair back from her forehead.  Using her
thumb and index finger, she rubbed her eyes and tried to evaluate what her next
move should be. 

            Was it safer to
remain here until daylight? 

            Or sneak out now
and attempt to dissolve into the woods and forests that surrounded this quiet
village? 

            Biting her lip,
she realized that she was tempted to stay here and hide away for a few hours
longer, but as the skin at the back of her nape persistently tingled, Isabeau
knew that she had to move.  A part of her longed for the blessed relief of
sleep, but that tenacious tingling had her on edge and as far from the arms of
Morpheus as was physically possible.

            Suffering from a
severe lack of sleep as she was, Isabeau's movements were slow and dulled and
her reactions were not exactly swift as she climbed from the cot and stood
beside it.  Her shining violet eyes were dazed with somnolence.

            Rising to her
feet, she stifled a groan as her bones settled and she swept her hands along
the length of her skirt to free it from the dust and lint that it had collected
during her slumber.  Isabeau gathered her few possessions, a square swatch of
material which acted as a carrying bag when gathered together and currently
contained a stale hunk of bread and a block of cheese. 

            She had soon
learned that any possessions she wished to keep had to stay on her person.  The
six guineas she had were sewn into the skirts of her petticoats.  A miniature
painting of her beloved mama and papa were tucked down the bodice of her
chemise and the ring they'd bestowed upon her, never left her finger.  In
company, she often hid her right hand in her skirts so as not to attract
attention to it.  For even though she could change her appearance at will, for
some reason, the ring stayed no matter what form she took. 

            Having gathered
all her things together, Isabeau quietly crept out of the ale house in which
she had paid over the odds to sleep in a single chamber.  It seemed a shame to
depart so early in the night and a waste of good money to boot, but she had
little choice.  Her instincts were screaming at her and to ignore them could
mean...

            She pursed her
lips together and closed her eyes to deny what she knew to be fact.  That
whoever had murdered her parents, whoever had set their house alight and
allowed them to burn to their deaths, was now on her tail and had been for the
last four years.

            Exhaling roughly,
Isabeau grimly exited the ale house as silently as she possibly could.  The
less attention she garnered the better.  For even though it was the early hours
of the night, her senses told her that of the twenty inhabitants, at least five
of them were in a state of wakefulness.  Any abrupt and strange noises could
bring about an investigation on their parts and that would never do.  For the
last few years, discretion had been her watchword and she was certain, that
that was the reason for her continued safety. 

            How she knew
there were twenty people staying in the inn and how she knew that five of them
were awake, was simply one of those things that she had soon learned to
accept.  It was added to the fact that if she was injured, she could heal
herself.  And if she wanted to, then she could change her appearance. 

            Her abilities
were a mystery to her but with the life she led, they were her only security. 
Without them, she would more than likely have died days after her parents'
death.  Sixteen, she had been.  Old enough to be wed in the eyes of the law,
but she had been raised differently than other girls.  She had been a young
sixteen and the aftermath of losing her parents had been the most difficult
time of her life. 

            To this day, she
was unsure as to how she'd coped.  How she had survived.  She could believe
that she was, just that, a survivor.  Someone, who despite the odds, despite
the fact that everything was against her, wanted to live and would do anything
physically and magically possible to do so. 

            The ring ...was
something she kept close at all times as it was her mother's.  A part of her
was unsure of its power, yet another part was certain that something inside her
soul triggered its magic.  Once, a few terrible months after the death of her
mama and papa, a beggar had attempted to rip it from her hand.  As soon as the
gold and onyx had touched the man's flesh, terrible screams had escaped his
throat and he had grabbed his hand back and nursed it against his chest, like a
mother would a suckling babe.  He had soon run off and left her to herself. 

            That experience
made her believe that while the ring reacted in unnerving and miraculous ways
whilst sat upon her hand, it couldn't on another's. 

            What that made
her, she didn't know.

            A part of her
wondered if that was why she was constantly running from place to place. 
Attempting to outrun the knowledge of what she actually was. 

            Perhaps she was
wrong, perchance her constant flight from danger was for some other reason, but
the simple villagers of her home town had never treated witches with any
kindness.  There were documented papers, which explored the dunking of
countless, simple women and the burning of supposedly evil sorceresses, who
were in league with the devil. 

            Mayhap, the
villagers had been behind her parents' deaths and she simply had to count
herself blessed that she had not been in the house that day.  Had been sent out
on an errand for a ribbon for one of her mother's new hats. 

            Or conceivably,
it was something more sinister and something that was completely beyond her
cognizance. 

            Again, and not
for the first time, she wished that her mother had explained these...talents to
her.  Isabeau wished that she wasn't so in the dark as to what she was able to
do.  But it was simply a waste of time to wish for things that were impossible
and Isabeau had no other choice but to wait to learn all that she could do. 

            Patience was not,
however, one of her virtues. 

            Closing the door
to the ale house as gently as she could, Isabeau sighed out in relief as she
finally entered the yard.  A horse neighed and she froze at the sound, but
relaxed moments later as she realized that it came from the inn's own stables. 

            Not from men
seeking her.

            The heels of her
worn boots clipped and clattered against the cobbled, stone floor and the
slight sound rang out loudly in the courtyard.  It wasn't enough to cause any
alarm to the inhabitants of the inn, but it instantly betrayed her position and
opened her to danger from those who were hunting her.