Hellion (Seven Brides for Seven Bastards, 7) (9 page)

Her eyes widened. "I'll do as I
please."

How young she looked. Beautiful. He
raised a hand to touch her hair, but she stepped back, her shoulder
to the stone wall of the forge. "You said you wanted to taste," she
reminded him.

Sal chewed on his tongue, a ripple of
anger seizing him suddenly. She was the first woman he'd ever
wanted who recoiled from his touch that way. Usually they succumbed
easily. Not this wench, however. "What will it cost me to put my
filthy, unworthy hands upon you, Lady de Leon?" he
growled.

"You just did so," she glanced down at
her arm, "without my permission."

"Oh, I mean touch more than that, my
fine lady."

She laughed softly. "Then I require a
vast deal more than two oxen and some shifty-eyed farm laborers,
d'Anzeray."

He frowned. "Shifty-eyed?"

She raised her chin, tipping her head
back to look up at him, her glorious hair swaying and gleaming in
the light of the torch, tempting him intolerably. "Your workers
would not even look me in the eye. It was most
disconcerting."

Sal felt his frown and his anger
melting away. He smirked. "Good."

They stood a while in the gently
puttering torch light, just looking at one another.

"How long has it been since a man
touched you?" he muttered, watching her mouth, longing to feel it
on him.

"Since my husband died, of course."
She looked away as if remembering and then her eyes returned to
meet his. "Well before that, in fact. He was too
sick..."

Sal felt warm relief gushing through
his veins. "And no man since?"

"Certainly not."

It was too easy to forget what he was
meant to be doing while he studied her features and all the
luscious colors he could find in her hair. But then he remembered
the proximity of his brothers.

"Make haste then, Lady de Leon. I want
my taste of your honey."

Chapter
Eight

Helene looked around to be sure they
were in a spot that could not be overlooked, then she opened her
cloak to show her nakedness beneath it. She heard d'Anzeray make a
soft, low sound and she warned him again that he could not put his
hands on her.

Those dark eyes narrowed. "I can make
you moan without using my hands," he assured her
cockily.

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance,
but her pulse was ticking madly, her blood speeding around her
veins. "Get on with it then."

The man knelt before her and she felt
his breath on her bare stomach. "If you would be so kind as to lift
your leg, my lady," he muttered. "Rest your foot on my shoulder and
lean back against that barrel."

She did not like being given commands
by him, but she was extremely aroused already, so although part of
her— the good part— obeyed slowly, reluctantly, the wicked part of
Helene de Leon, wanted to thrust her hips at him and give a few
commands of her own.

The barrel behind her was sturdy,
fortunately, for when his tongue touched her pussy she jumped and
trembled. If the barrel had been empty she would have pushed it
over and lost her balance.

But after that first touch, his tongue
passed over her sensitive flesh with the gentleness of a feather.
She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, her back arching,
her left foot pressing down on his shoulder so that only the toes
of her other foot touched the earth. He moved the tip of his tongue
back and forth slowly and then up and down. Her breathing grew
heavy and haphazard as the arousal deepened and her carefully
tended pussy began to blossom. She moved her hips, gasping, felt
herself moisten with that honey he wanted.

And then he plunged his viper's tongue
between her folds. It went deep. He curled it and thrust again. In
and out.

She bit down on her lip to keep from
crying out.

As his tongue caressed the tight walls
of her neglected pussy, she felt her climax coming too fast. Oh,
no, not yet. She tried to hold it back, fighting the red hot desire
to grind her cunt into his face, and he must have felt her
struggling, for he slipped his tongue back out and began a slow,
more tentative licking motion, barely touching her this
time.

She exhaled a harsh breath and pushed
her lower body forward, urging him on, but he teased her— one
moment wriggling his tongue against her pink pearl quite savagely,
then lapping around it with only light dabs. He expertly knew how
to keep her hovering on the precipice. He legs trembled and her
sticky honey flowed for his clever, cruel tongue. She clenched her
buttocks, riding wave after wave, but holding back from going over
the edge.

Just when she thought she would
explode, he leaned back and blew a soft breath over her wet cunt.
Helene wanted to howl. Now she lifted her other foot off the ground
and as he hitched closer to her, she let both her legs slide over
his shoulders.

Salvador opened his mouth wide enough
to take her entire pussy in and then, with a fierce grunt that
vibrated through her body, he feasted on her, working his tongue
against her clitoris and then stabbing it inside while he sucked.
And sucked.

His lips clamped hard on her hot,
quivering flesh and she could not breath. Did not want to. Ever
again.

She came in a rush, her buttocks
pushed against the rim of the barrel in a way she knew would leave
her marked. She did not care. Her thighs squeezed around his face
and his sharp bristles scraped her skin.

Again, she did not care.

His tongue plundered roughly,
rapaciously.

He forced her to another peak and
another climax before she had barely calmed from the first. And
then, against her rules, he grabbed her bottom, holding her there
with a strong, determined grip while his tongue slid down and began
to work its way into her anus.

Helene was shocked. She knew he was a
beast, of course, but to put his tongue there? Good God! She
gripped the barrel on either side of her hips and felt her face
flush hot, but she could not stop him. He nuzzled her cunt and dug
his tongue in and out of her anus until she came yet again, biting
her tongue so hard she tasted blood.

Finally he released her and she came
back to earth. With both feet. He stood, wiping his mouth and
grinning at her.

Her wits and her stability regained
she slapped that grin off his face. "I did not give you permission
to put your tongue there."

Hands on his hips, he glared down at
her, eyes fierce, almost black. "Mayhap I'll fuck the quarrelsome
attitude right out of you, wench. As your husband should have
done." He grabbed her around the waist, dragging her up against his
hard body. She felt his cock pushing through his breeches, forceful
and demanding. For a split second she considered letting him do
what he wanted, but then her common sense prevailed. If she gave
him everything now, she would have nothing left with which to
barter. The simple truth was that she didn't want their game to be
over yet. Not yet.

So she writhed to get free and slapped
him again. His other cheek this time and even harder. "Don't think
I'm one of your usual hussies, d'Anzeray."

Lips pressed in a firm line, he stared
down at her.

* * * *

Sal wanted to laugh. Even
with his cheeks stinging. One of his usual hussies? Didn't she know
that he would have fucked her by now if she was one of
those
women? Apparently
she had no idea how different she was.

Helene de Leon was an anomaly in his
life, he realized. She was a woman he admired so much that he
hadn't fucked her. It was more than desire and lust. He even felt
respect for her, the way she had managed her property and survived
without a man at her side. It was never good, as his father would
say, to think too much of a woman, or to let her know how often one
thought of her, for then she would think to get the upper
hand.

Now she'd gone and slapped him, and he
ought to punish her for that. No woman had ever dared raise a hand
to him in anger. He knew how he ought to handle this. He knew what
his father would advise.

She stood before him with her cloak
still open, her body exposed for his hungry gaze.

"What?" she whispered harshly. "Don't
you dare think of touching—"

Sal bent his head to kiss her exposed
nipple. It was like velvet on his tongue, and he closed his eyes,
sucking gently. The heat of the evening drove her soft, sweet scent
of herbs and flowers up in a gentle wave to his nostrils and
increased his appetite. Her skin was very fine and clean, like some
precious cloth he would have to steal because it was too expensive
even for his well-filled coffers.

Her hands had moved, as if to push him
back, but instead they settled on his shoulders like skittish
sparrows. Then as her breathing quickened again, he felt those
fingers regaining strength, digging into his shoulders. Slowly they
began to explore, making their way down to his breeches, where she
laid a palm against his hardened length. She ran her hand up and
down as if measuring his cock, and he groaned, pushing himself at
her hand while he flicked his tongue over her extended
nipple.

He heard her gasp. "You're too
big."

Sal took his mouth off her nipple and
chuckled softly. "There's no such thing." Just thinking of it, of
forcefully penetrating her high and mighty pussy— possibly while
she fought to slap his face again— made him swell another good
inch.

She took her hand away as if he'd
burned her venturing palm. Suddenly she closed her cloak, hiding
her body. "This has gone far enough," she muttered. "I gave you
more than the taste you wanted."

"Touch comes next." He stepped toward
her again, but she slipped out of his clutches, pulling up the hood
of her cloak and backing away from him as she moved toward the
corner of the forge.

"I must return home. It's
late."

Now only her face was visible for his
admiration. The light of the torch caressed it gently for there was
little breeze tonight and the flames were barely
disturbed.

But his heartbeat was another
matter.

Sal felt the strange temptation of
asking her to stay. Asking.

What the devil was she doing to him?
This small woman with the odd violet eyes and the strong hands that
slapped without fear?

Although she had claimed to be leaving
now in haste, she stood still, staring back at him, her full lips
pursed as if she was puzzling over something too.

Suddenly a man's voice was heard loud
and clear in the yard. "Where is my brother? His supper gets
cold."

The guards must have pointed him to
the forge, for the sound of Dominigo's clumsy, big feet grew
louder. Sal swore. Her saw her eyes flare in panic, so he signaled
for her to be silent. He shouted back, "Dom, I'll be in presently.
Go back."

"What are you doing out here?" the
other man's voice shouted.

"Naught. Go inside."

"Aha! Now I see." Dom's face loomed
into sight around the corner of the forge, appearing right behind
Helene, who was frozen to the spot. "What's this? A naughty
midnight tryst, eh, brother?"

Thank Christ she'd put her hood up,
thought Sal, feeling again that unusual possessiveness when it came
to her stunning hair. "Aye, 'tis just a little...milkmaid. No one
important. Only a woman. The usual hussy." That would get her back
for the slapped face, he mused.

She glared at him and her lips parted,
but she kept her back to the other man and didn't speak. Now her
expression was haughty and proud again, as it usually was when it
faced him through a gate, or over a wall. Quarrelsome woman. Sal
knew he had let her absorb too many of his thoughts these past few
days. Perhaps it was the summer heat affecting him.

"It's not like you not to share, Sal."
Dom grinned broadly. "Bring her inside. Is the wench
shy?"

He realized his brother would be
doubly suspicious if he kept this "milkmaid" all to himself.
Besides, he had to prove to himself — and to her—that he was not
being turned into her fool. No woman had ever confused him as she
did and he needed to regain control of the situation as best he
could.

So he swallowed hard and said. "She
protests I'm too big for her pussy. Come help me persuade her that
I'll fit, brother."

* * * *

Helene had no escape. She was trapped
between the two men against the back wall of the forge and no one
would come to her aid. If she shouted for her escort it would give
her identity away and at least, naked under her simple hooded cloak
of rough wool, she was anonymous.

If her guard came around the corner
and saw her with two men she would be desperately ashamed. And
fearful of rumors reaching her new husband's ears the moment he
arrived.

She had no choice but to play mute and
meek.

His brother had backed her to the wall
and raised his hands to her hood, but Salvador distracted the man
by swiftly opening the front of her cloak instead, exposing her
body again to the light of the rush torch. Showing her off, it
seemed, for his brother's approval. "She's a pretty one, eh? Look
at these, Dom." Salvador cupped her right breast and offered it
casually to his brother, who quickly bent his head to take the
nipple in his mouth. Too shocked to speak, Helene merely stood
there, trying to breathe.