Hellion (Seven Brides for Seven Bastards, 7) (13 page)

She slid her knees even further apart
on the bed, letting him see, as well as feel how wet she was
getting. He forced two fingers into her and kept them there while
he spanked her a third time with the cane.

Christ, she tightened on his fingers
so hard she almost cut the blood flow. He chuckled softly. "Naughty
wench."

His cock throbbed with the need to be
buried inside that moist haven.

Sal began to tease her clit while he
caned her again, harder. She didn't cry out this time for she'd
stuffed some of the fleece bed cover into her mouth to stifle the
sound. A fourth and a fifth strike followed. She lifted her hips,
her reddened bottom sticking up in the air while he worked her
pearl furiously with his fingertips. The mix of pain and pleasure
was already sending her over the edge. So he took his fingers out
of her cunt, not letting her finish.

She growled into the
fleece.

One more he thought. One more to make
six. One for every month she claimed to have been without a man's
cock. He still couldn't believe that, for she was so responsive,
such a sensual, passionate creature. She must have been up to
something since her husband died.

The skin of her arse looked sore, but
she simply spread her legs wider, up on her knees, presenting her
bottom high in the air for more.

The sixth smack hit her across the top
of her thighs and then he tossed his cane aside and put his mouth
on the scarlet marks that lined her flesh. He licked them gently,
felt their heat on his tongue.

She purred. The woman purred like a
cat. Or perhaps a tigress, he mused.

"Spank me some more," she gasped
out.

But he knew he might split her skin if
he did so with the cane, so he tapped her smartly with his hand. He
watched as her pussy bloomed almost as pink as those stripes on her
arse. It was slick and sticky.

Unable to wait longer, he pushed his
mouth at her cunt and ate it hungrily, while she was still on her
hands and knees across the bed. Her back arched as he thrust his
tongue into her, sucking and licking madly. Then, as he felt her
pussy walls constrict, he launched forward, covering her body like
a stallion with a mare. He looped one arm around her waist to keep
her in position and he rammed his rigid, swollen cock into her wet,
pulsing cunt. She was coming before he'd even begun fucking her,
and as he felt her body peaking he began thrusting, riding her
waves, driving her on to further heights.

She clasped the fleece in her fists,
pushing back, her caned bottom slapping into his groin as she
shuddered and trembled beneath him.

Sal fucked her with a hard and fast
rhythm, his red hot, bestial passion taking over. It was indeed
blissful inside that pussy, just as Dom had predicted.

And it was all his to enjoy
today.

"Don't come inside me," she groaned.
"I can't be pregnant."

Of course not, he thought with another
sudden flash of anger. Her new husband—about whom she still had not
thought him worthy of knowing— probably wouldn't appreciate it.He
ignored her. He would plant his seed in her womb. Gilbert de Vernon
would be a cuckold before he'd even married her.

In that moment, as he fucked her
deeper and deeper, he realized where his anger had come from that
day.

He was jealous. For the first time in
his thirty-one years. Jealous of another man.

She tried to get away as she felt him
coming, but he held her down on the bed, one hand gripping her
beautiful hair, the other arm still wrapped around her waist. He
held his groin tight to her body and let his seed fill her, his
dick jerking inside her tight sheath.

* * * *

"You defied me!" she groaned as he
collapsed his great weight all over her. "How dare you!"

"Worry not," he gasped into her hair,
breathless, "it's no guarantee you'll have a babe. It doesn't
always happen after one try. Not even with the seed of a
d'Anzeray." He laughed and it rumbled through his chest.

She wanted to shout at him again, to
rant and rail at his carelessness, but she was too pleasantly
exhausted after that bone-shattering orgasm and with his muscular
form pinning her to the bed she had the excuse of not being able to
move anyway, let alone berate him further.

The arrogance of the man! To spill
inside her without permission as if she was one of his servants to
be used as and when he chose.

But she liked the sensation of his
cock filling her, the strength of his body covering her, claiming
her. It sent shivers up and down her spine. No denying
it.

Robert had never mated with her like
that. He had preferred her on her back, not moving, while he rutted
quickly between her legs. Her mind detached from the process, her
body required only as a vessel, Helene used to count the notches in
the rafters overhead while he finished.

With Salvador, however, she was
present every moment, every thrust. She was not a bystander but a
participant. Even as he got everything his own way.

The scent of his sweat surrounded her,
mixing with the musk of their fucking. His cock was still within
her, but deflating slowly. Semen trickled out of her, but he had
spent so much that she was sure plenty yet remained. It was true,
as he said, that once was no guarantee of producing a babe. She
ought to know since Robert had tried many times to impregnate her
and failed.

Not that it was Robert's fault that
she didn't conceive, of course; it was hers. She'd been assured of
that so many times that she'd begun to believe it.

Finally Salvador rolled off her. But
he did not let go of Helene. He made her roll onto her side with
him and kept his arm around her. She felt his breath in her hair,
and the steady beat of his heart against her shoulder. Outside all
was quiet as people rested in the heat. Even the dogs were not
barking, but must be laid out in shady spots, too lazy even to
chase the hens.

"Kiss me," he muttered
suddenly.

They had never even kissed, she
realized. But did she want to? Would it not make this into
something more than it was meant to be? Frankly, she was shocked he
demanded a kiss. But demand he did, forcing her to turn in his arms
and face him. He cupped her chin in his hand and tipped it up for
his lips. Helene submitted to it, not knowing what to do, how to
respond. Robert's kisses had not been like this.

Nothing like this.

A soft growl crept up from Salvador's
throat and she drank it down as his hands stroked her spine, tugged
her closer. Oh, to have his strength surrounding her, his hard body
tight to hers. She might never have felt anything like it before in
life, but she had a damn good imagination and had often fallen
asleep lately thinking of how it would feel to be held in this
villain's arms.

Her imagination had fallen
short.

His firm lips pried hers apart and his
tongue pushed inside her mouth. She tasted her own sexual musk
combined with ale hops from the refreshment Elyce must have given
him earlier.

Her senses were full of him, of his
masculine heat. His hands were so large they seemed to cover her
entire back, crushing her to his steely body. Did the man not know
his own strength? Or did he plan to do away with her by squeezing
the blood out of her, so he could claim her land this
way?

Slowly their lips parted.

"You going to slap me again,
wench?"

She laughed. It came out of her
suddenly, as the happiness welled up inside and she could not
prevent the overflow. A dam broke. "Only if you want me to." Then
she added coyly, "Perhaps you like that."

"If it gives me a reason to spank
you." He grinned down at her, his hands stroking her back, fingers
tangling in her long hair.

"You seem to make reasons up well
enough," she replied.

"I made nothing up,
Hellion."

She liked it when he called her that.
But she did not care to be accused of lies. "I have had no other
man since Robert. How many times must I assure you of
this?"

He stared down at her, his lips tight
and sulky.

Helene licked his chin and nibbled it
playfully. "I've been waiting for you to make a move all this time.
In the end I gave up and came to you."

"Why? What changed?"

She shrugged one shoulder and avoided
his question. "You shaved today."

"I did."

"For me?"

He didn't answer but claimed her lips
again, his hand cupping the back of her head, his leg hooked around
both hers. Already she felt his cock rearing up again,
insatiable.

Naturally, she mused, he was a demon
not a normal man, so all his parts must work differently. It was
fascinating really and her eager curiosity for learning new things
was awoken. Helene reached for the warm beast nestled between them.
She stroked the heavy balls and ran her fingers along the veins to
the head.

"I thought you might want to wait a
while?" he muttered huskily.

"Why?"

"Other women would."

Oh, he had to remind her about all his
other women. That flattened her mood slightly. But then she felt
the crest of his cock bulging, his shaft arching
eagerly.

For now he was hers to enjoy. And
really, she could not be angry about his other women, since she
would all too soon be lying with another man. She wanted to erase
that thought from her mind and here before her was the perfect man
with whom to do that.

The thought of Gilbert de Vernon
fucking her was, quite frankly, nauseating, but d'Anzeray soothed
her, brought her the sort of contentment she'd never imagined could
be hers.

How odd it was that this man— for so
long the great thorn in her side— should now become her
lover.

It was madness to let him in. Sheer
and utter madness. Helene never wanted a man who would master her,
insist upon telling her what to do, how to dress, how to speak to
her servants, when to be silent— and Salvador d'Anzeray was a man
who would do exactly that. He expected his women obedient and
probably preferred them mute.

Yet the dark crow that had threatened
her borders for so long, was now coming inside, welcomed in. At
least temporarily.

He needn't get any ideas beyond this
sunny afternoon.

* * * *

His cock stretched tall again already,
showing off for this bossy woman. Sal had given up trying to make
sense of this. He was attracted to her, liked her company, enjoyed
her body. Why should it be made more complex than that?

"Turn over," he growled. "Spread your
arse for me."

"But you can't—"

"Yes, I can." He spat into his hand
and wiped it over his straining, engorged prick. "I want your arse,
Hellion."

Her eyes sparkled with wonder. "But it
will never fit there—"

He flipped her over, not prepared to
argue further. She was still protesting as he licked his fingers
and began working them between her cheeks. Then she was reduced to
gasps and moans while he readied her, stretching her
carefully.

At least he knew she'd never been had
here— didn't seem to know it was even possible. Robert Calledaux
must not have liked the sport, but then he could guess that
Calledaux was the sort who preferred a straight forward in and out
and the minimum of preparation. Something that didn't take too much
time or effort. Like anything else the man had done.

The way Helene kissed him was
surprisingly unsure, clumsy and innocent. He'd found it quite
charming. And very arousing.

* * * *

Dear God help me, she prayed silently,
as she felt his damp, sticky crest forcing its way into her anus.
He would surely split her in two.

But he went cautiously, not ramming
her as she'd expected. After the initial stinging burn, she managed
to let her muscles relax enough to grant him entrance. She felt
light-headed, dizzy.

Slowly he possessed her, half inch by
half inch, claiming virginal territory.

It was a different sensation to having
her pussy filled, but it was still enjoyable and when he reached
under her to tease her clitoris with his thumb she climaxed with
such intensity that she soaked his hand and the fleece beneath
her.

His teeth nibbled the nape of her neck
and he sucked gently, making his mark there too. Then she felt the
pulsing flood of his semen pumping into her body again, while he
slipped a finger into her clenching pussy and pressed a soft growl
into her hair.

He was, it seemed, intent in marking
her thoroughly with his scent, filling her with his
essence.

But their time together was not
infinite, was it? So she let him touch her in all the ways he
wanted, she welcomed it and tumbled over that precipice with him,
without fear, over and over.

Chapter
Twelve