Her Reaper's Arms (9 page)

of Beldyn Coure, the patriarch of our family. He had it inked on his cheek to denote that

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he had fallen prey to the wiles of a designing woman by the name of Justine Crowe. She

all but destroyed the clan before he besieged her keep and took her captive, later

strangling her with his bare hands. To me, the tat symbolizes a man thinking with the

part of his anatomy that is the least wise of his organs.”

“I’ve heard each Reaper has his own facial tattoo,” she said. “What…?”

“Enough talk of other men, wench,” he said, dragging his body up hers, grinding

his hard cock against her pubic mound. “You need only think on one man and that is

the one about to make you a woman.” His amber eyes turned dark gold. “His woman.”

Lea gasped as he plucked at her nipples—first one then the other—with his teeth. It

was a heady sensation that held no hurt within it but sheer, mindful pleasure that sent

chills down her sides and made her belly clench. The sweep of his tongue swirling over

and over, around and around her swollen buds made her slam her hands to the sheets

to keep from brutally grabbing his hair. She grabbed handfuls of the rough cotton and

twisted.

“Ah, wench, that is nothing,” he drawled, and moved down her until he could flick

his tongue into the concavity of her navel. That too brought waves of shivering to her

body.

She could not have stopped him even if she had been of a mind to as he slid lower

still and his hot breath fanned across her nether curls. She raised her head to look down

at him as he buried his face against wiry hair, rubbing his whiskers against it as though

he were a cat marking his scent.

“You like that?” she asked.

“Shush,” he said.

He didn’t want to think. He wanted to act. He didn’t want to consider consequences

or penalties or what it was going to cost him to do what he had set his mind to. He

simply wanted to feel.

Lea Walsh would have been astounded to learn that the man whose hands were

molding her breasts so expertly as his breath mingled with her pubic hair was as much

a virgin as she. Though his staff had been suckled by many a woman, had been handled

by even more as they eased him—and at times jerked him—to pleasure, he had not once

slid that steely cock into a feminine sheath.

“You must never touch your staff except to hold it to relieve your bladder,”
the brothers

had warned him when he had taken his vows of poverty, chastity and obedience in that

lifetime before he had been reborn a Reaper.
“To spill your seed is a wasteful sin and

punishable by being thrust into the fires of the Abyss.”

“Do not stroke your cock when you are in Reaper form!”
Morrigunia had sternly told

him.
“If you do, you will suffer My displeasure!”

While the Triune Goddess had implied it was all right to relieve his need if he were

in Transition, Bevyn had never once done as he’d seen animals do. He had never licked

that part of him when he was in wolf form. He thought it a disgusting thing and

morally wrong. That, Morrigunia had told him, was what whores were for.

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“But never stick your cock into a female unless you want her as your lifelong mate!”
the

goddess had also warned.

With Lea’s warm, spicy scent in his nostrils, he knew this female was his. She had

been born to belong to him. He knew it as surely as he knew his heart was beating in

synchronized rhythm to hers. He needed no permission to take what was—by rights—

his, though there was no doubt in his mind that a price would be exacted.

He stroked his thumbs over her nipples—back and forth, back and forth and smiled

when she arched her hips up against his chin. Trailing his fingers down her chest, over

the sweet indention of her belly, across the soft flange of her hips, he molded his fingers

around her upper thighs, caressing her as he rubbed his chin against her mound.

“You smell so good,” he told her, once more finding her eyes locked on his. “I could

lie here all day.”

“We’d never get anything done like that,” she teased.

He smiled lazily and slid his hands to the insides of her thighs, feeling her shiver

delicately as he touched the sensitive flesh, kneading the smooth muscles. He nudged

her thighs farther apart until he could see the dark pink creases of her sex.

“That,” he said, easing a finger to her softness, “is what I want to devour.”

Lea gasped as he touched a part of her that sent goose bumps prickling all over her

skin. She writhed beneath that contact, feeling to the very marrow of her bones. “WWhat did you do?” she asked.

“This?” he asked, and began a slow, rhythmic circling with his thumb around

whatever it was he was touching.

“Aye!” she said with a hitching breath.

“So soft,” he whispered. “So supple.”

He stroked his thumb between one slick fold and then the other—slowly,

methodically, whisperlike, his nail grazing her flesh, bringing scent and moisture from

between her legs.

“Milord, please,” she said, her head whipping back and forth on the pillow. She

had no notion of what it was he was doing but it was pleasure-pain that was fast

controlling her every breath.

“Lie still, wench,” he ordered, and turned his hand palm up to slowly drag his

index and middle finger upward along the valley of her sex.

She wriggled, arching her hips up, seeking something she did not understand,

wanting something for which she had no name.

He stroked her until she was moaning and undulating her hips, mercilessly

tormenting her with his strong fingers, his well-groomed nails. By the time he put his

mouth to her clit, she was nearly mindless with need.

Her hands plowed through his hair and she held him where he was, her neck

arched back as he lapped at her dewy flesh, tasted her, making soft, smacking sounds

that only added to her arousal. Her heels were digging into the mattress, her legs

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splayed as far apart as her bones would allow, her hips arching up to his seeking

mouth.

She tasted of honey—warm and spicy—and the scent of her reminded him vividly

of peaches fresh from the vine, cut open in the hot sun to seep their juices from the slit.

He spiraled his tongue over and around her clit and nibbled it, pushing the hood back

to gain the very most of that receptive nub. He dragged it over her folds and stabbed

with lightning forays into the creases, keeping well away from that dark, sensuous dell

into which he wished to plunge.

He felt her tugging on his hair and yet it felt good to him. It gave wildness to the

moment that did nothing save spur him on as he flashed the tip of his tongue at her

opening then moved a finger to that creamy entrance where her juices were freely

flowing.

“Bevyn!” she cried out, and he knew that minute touch, that small sortie into her

folds had brought about her first sexual release.

He lifted his head and looked up at her wide eyes as she stared at him with her lips

parted, her tongue sweeping across the full lower flesh to make his loins burn with

need.

“What was that?” she asked, her body quivering as the last spasm faded away.

“The beginning, my love,” he whispered. “Only the beginning.”

He eased his finger deeper inside her until the first joint and then the second

disappeared from view. She tensed around him, her vaginal muscles locking on to him

with fervor.

“Relax,” he said, putting his free hand to her belly and pressing lightly. “Relax and

let your man pleasure you.”

Lea’s heart soared at the name he had called himself. He was indeed her man and

she was without a moment’s hesitation his lady. She was reveling in his touch, was

mesmerized by it, and as his finger moved inside her—circling and slightly

withdrawing, going a bit deeper until she could feel his folded fingers on the entrance

to her opening, she moaned, grazing his scalp with her nails.

“That’s my woman,” he said. “Pull if you want to.”

She could not imagine herself ever hurting him but when he thrust a second finger

inside her, her hand jerked spasmodically in his curls and she heard him grunt then

release a low chuckle.

“Leave some up there, wench,” he teased.

He was slowly rotating his fingers inside her cunt and Lea was lost in a rush of

pleasure so great she could only close her eyes and enjoy it. She felt a third finger join

the other two and wondered if his cock would be as wide, would stretch her as his

fingers did.

“That is what I am doing, wench,” he said as though reading her mind. “I am

preparing you for him.”

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Her Reaper’s Arms

She was slick, her juices coating his fingers. He knew she was but a hair’s breadth

away from another orgasm so pushed his fingers deep and held them there, his other

hand pressing down on her belly to send the blood flooding into her groin.

“Oh god!” she cried out, and the wave of squeezes that clutched at his fingers

nearly made him come. His cock was steel-hard and burning with desire, his balls so

tight he thought they well might burst from their fleshy sacs. He had to tamp down his

building release until he was sure she was primed for his entry.

“Easy, milady,” he said, soothing her as he would a stallion he was readying for the

saddle. “Easy.”

The last tremors faded inside her and yet Lea knew there was something extra for

which he was preparing her, something more that would bring the stars down from the

heavens.

With her eyes on his, he withdrew his fingers from her body—puckering his lips at

her groan of protest as though he were reprimanding her—then opened his mouth to

lick her juices from his flesh.

“Ah Bevyn!” she sighed, shuddering. She was nearly beside herself wanting him to

slide his body over hers, to press her down, to capture her. She ached to know what it

felt like to have him inside her, his rigid cock—the cock that pressed so hard against her

thigh—seated deep.

Her taste was unlike anything he had ever known and it felt right. It tasted right. It

was
right but he wanted more so he went to the source, journeyed to the well to take his

next sip.

His mouth on her nearly sent Lea up in flames. He was suckling her opening,

drinking from her, slipping his tongue inside, lapping at her folds and then lifting her

hips to flick that wicked muscle around her anus, pressing it into the tiny opening.

Another hard wave of spasms shot through her and she raked her nails across his

shoulders, unable to keep herself from doing so. She trembled as he dragged the broad

plane of his tongue over and over and over her slit as she came, the flood of her juices

coating him.

She was well primed, he thought as her arms fell to her sides, and then he was up

and over her, shifting one hand under her delectable little rump, lifting her for his

penetration. His other hand went to the base of his cock and he positioned himself,

readied his shaft to impale her.

“Look at me, sweeting,” he ordered, and watched her eyelids flutter open. “Watch

my eyes while I take you.”

She knew there would be pain. Mable and the other women had warned her, but

there was no pain when he slid into her, only the most remarkable pleasure, the most

intoxicating gratification she could ever have imagined. He went slowly but firmly into

her and pressed as deep as his large rod would go then he stilled, allowing her body to

adjust around him.

“It didn’t hurt,” she said.

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“I would never hurt you, milady,” he said.

He waited until she moved her tight ass before he eased out of her a little then

drove back in slowly. His jaw was clamped tightly shut to control the urge to pound

into her, to relieve the hot ache, the brutal tension that was racking his body.

“I love you,” she said.

It was those three little words—words he had never expected to hear ever said to

him—that were Bevyn Coure’s undoing. He lost all sense of gentleness and what little

restraint he had.

“Put your legs around me,” he grated out between clenched teeth. “Lock your heels

together.”

She didn’t question his instructions but lifted her legs and clamped them around

his waist, her eyes going wide at the exquisite pleasure that brought between her legs.

He was so big, so full inside her, yet as he began pumping into her, there was no

discomfort, only the most delicious sensation that caused her nails to arch and dig into

his back.

He knew she had meant the words she had spoken to him. He had already seen the

growing affection for him in her mind, but to know she trusted him, wanted him, ached

for him as he did for her was a glorious feeling that flooded his entire being. His

thrusting sped up, went deeper, until they were both grunting and striving for that

culmination he was gods-be-damned sure might well blow the top of his fucking head

off.

Lea was clinging to him, riding out the storm of passion that had erupted from his

body. His fingers were digging into the soft flesh of her rump as he pistoned his hard,