My Lady Gambled (30 page)

“Ooh! Ooh! Mm! Bry! Ooh, yes!” Her buttocks rolled as his teeth nibbled her nipple point and she dug her fingers into his shoulders.

“So hot,” he uttered.

Kit felt him separating the lips of her sex, exposing her clitoris more, then rubbing it with increased vigor. Her cries were short, rapid, and shrill as her hips bounced and her vagina picked up starving aches for his cock to fill it, mindless within the small outbursts Brynmore flicked over her clitoris. Kit grappled for his cock, lifting it to her need, as Brynmore hissed his answering passion to her. He never stopped smearing the hard surface of his fingers over her clitoris as she fitted the head of his cock to her longing sheath. The feel of that lance at her opening caused the needy walls of her womb to ripple.

Suddenly, the carriage bounced heavily, lifting, then hitting the road again with a jolt and a loud clatter. Kit squealed with long `ohs’ at the end, while Brynmore bellowed once as the jolt embedded his cock with a hard thrust inside her.

“Blimey,” Brynmore managed, rubbing her sides where he had caught her to steady her.

“Blimey is right,” Kit gasped. She was already moving, propelled by urges the hard thrust had excited.

“Easy,” Brynmore said, guiding her with his hands clasped around her bare waist because the way was not completely slick.

Oh yes, Kit thought, feeling the slight abrasion as she worked herself on and off Brynmore’s male rod, her nails chiseled into his shoulders holding her in place. With his head fallen back, eyes crimped shut, Brynmore was creative, using his hands to rotate her in varying direction as his rigid organ took opposing paths, until he found one motion and direction that! “Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! That feels, ahhh, wonderful, so good, Bry. Mate me! Mate me!”

Her body vigorously took care of the up and down motions, while Brynmore found the spot and kept thrusting to it. “Fuck it, Kit,” Brynmore hissed through his gritted teeth. “Say fuck.”

“Fuck!” Kit cried, panting with exertion and building climax. “Oh, fuck me, fuck me!”

“Aye!” Brynmore charged hoarsely. “So fucking good!”

Brynmore unclenched his eyelids to watch Kit in the flickering moonlight. God, she was magnificent, with her breasts lurching as they were captured in the frenzy of fucking. He listened to the direction of her rising orgasm in her shriller moans. His prick heard it too with his seed beginning to burn ecstasy up the shaft. He did not catch Kit’s moment of climax exactly, yet her cunty convulsing around his prick, sucked his ejaculation to gut wrenching bliss moments later. Through the explosion going on in his brain and body, he heard Kit careen with the sound of another orgasm following right behind the first. Just the act of his seed filling her had sent her over the top again.

Inappropriate or appropriate, he laughed with pure pleasure between the bellows his lungs used to try and catch his breath. Kit’s breasts piled into his chest as she sank onto him. “By all the saints, I love you, Kit lass,” Brynmore managed between breaths.

He could barely believe he had said it. It shocked him that it came tumbling out of him like that. He knew it was true. It was a moment of pure honesty, however he never clearly intended to just say it. Then out of the blue, of the little world they had shaped in the last few moments, they came jolting back to reality as the carriage came to a bouncing halt.  

“Oh lord!” Kit exclaimed, rising from his chest.

Brynmore could see the beginnings of sudden panic setting in. He felt it too, but then abruptly it came to him. “Dinna get riled, lass,” he said. “That is what they do here. They have unbridled sex all over the place!”

Kit’s eyes blinked at him, the moment suspended, then she laughed. He picked it up with her laughing too. They gazed at each other like mischievous children. Their startled, nervous energy loosening with mirth. Then, Kit sobered a bit, lifting her hand to his cheek. “Bry, I just need you to know that I love you, too.”

They had no time to explore these new revelations. They both knew it, but he had to say, “Tell me that whatever we do in the future, we do it together.” Urgency filled his voice, “Say it, love.”

“Yes, Bry, yes,” she exclaimed softly, then she kissed him soundly, sealing the vow.

Their lips parted and he said with more confidence than he had felt since the beginning of all of this. “Let’s finish this, lass.”

Kit noticed right away that the temple `the great God Bacchus had built here on earth for Lord Hellion,’ as one of the inductees called it, was nothing like The Satyr Whip Club. The entire ambiance and attitude of the assembled members was completely different. Their’s was one of intense worshiping as opposed to the freedom of sexual frenzy that The Satyr Club had contained. Although the trappings of the old church had been turned to pagan devices that were overtly sexual and lewd actually violent the attendees were cloaked in robes and reverently silent with an aura of great anticipation.

Kit held small hopes that no public sexual display by her or Brynmore would be needed tonight as they filed in with others moving to gather in the dimly lit pagan temple.

“Greetings. You’re Lord Duneagan and his pet?”

Kit turned to the strangely accented voice. Her gaze met only a chest covered in a brown robe. She looked up, then up again, finally lighting on a man’s black face. He was huge and he had a gold pin through his nose.

“Aye, we are,” Brynmore nodded, even he had to crane his neck.

“My master requests you watch the ceremony from a privileged place and will speak to you afterward. Please follow me.” The soft quality of the black man’s voice, belied his size.

They followed Hellion’s mammoth black servant to an enclosed place in front of the stage which held the dais. Right next to a phallus jutting from a two-story high statue of a black onyx satyr. There were no seats, people stood and Kit noticed the people hidden in their hooded robes were swaying. The black servant left them there and moved off toward the back of the temple. Next came a hooded person with a tray of small silver goblets. Each cult member took one, drinking the contents down in one gulp, then setting the empty goblet back on the tray.

Kit peeked from beneath the hood of her robe, up at Brynmore. She did not want to drink, being suspicious of the contents and she knew he did not either. She watched Brynmore take a goblet, lifting it in his hand as she hesitated reaching for one.  

“We will keep them,” Brynmore said curtly, nodding arrogantly to the servant. Silence met this, with only the hint of a chin seen from the depth of the hood on the servant’s bowed head. Kit held her breath, but then the servant moved on without a word.

“I’ll no be drinking this,” Brynmore proclaimed under his breath. “Find a way to get rid of it with no one noticing.”

Kit made a small sound of agreement as she lifted the goblet to her lips pretending to take a sip. She glanced around trying to figure out a way to secretly get rid of the liquid. Kit felt a movement beside her, turning her gaze she saw Brynmore bending forward slightly and she looked lower. She saw the liquid hit the stone flooring, spreading out slightly. Then, Brynmore stepped over it. His robes encompassed the wet spot and he winked at her from beneath his hood.

Kit held back her smile, remembering some of Nia and Radford’s instructions that the best deceptions were the simplest ones. Kit wished that were so with Hellion however, she knew, the elaborate scheme they were trying to set up to stop him was anything but simple. It was going to take daring, perfect timing, and a great deal of acting to accomplish. Another thing Radford had told her was she had to remember the difference between the fact she was aware of hidden schemes, while the victim was unaware. He said that ninety percent of the time they never knew what had hit them.

A gong sounded, lifting Kit’s gaze to the stage where torches washed its central expanse in light. Unlike the audience arena which was cast in dimness. Kit took up swaying with the rest of the cult members as her insides tightened. None of them really knew what to expect. This would be the first cult ceremony any of them had seen, besides the one Joelle and Saxon had been in. The Archangels had speculated and agreed that ceremony had been unique with Hellion’s intentions of madly ascending to become a god. Now, none of them could imagine fully what type of ceremony Hellion might perform with the intentions of binding the masses under his spell. An orgy, a virginal sacrifice or Hellion spouting his mad ravings had all been bandied forth and speculated upon but no one knew for certain.

Kit nearly jumped backward when Hellion rushed out onto the stage, nearly as though he flew, with his arms outstretched and his white cloak billowing outward like wings on either side of his. Immediately behind him, Kit saw two big black male attendants pushing out a large cross set on a square base with wheels.

What happened in the next interminable hour or longer was a series of traumatic events to Kit’s mind. She saw it all clutching Brynmore’s hand, hearing all Hellion’s insane, but hypnotizing diatribes of his convoluted visions of godly rhapsodies. For Kit, the entire events unfolding seemed to collect like a nightmare. Horrors blinking in and out of her mind. Perhaps in the only way she could accept it and still stay standing. In between her careening thoughts, she fought with everything she possessed not to think about the fact that this could have happened to Clay. No! She could not allow herself to believe that, she could not go there as she and Brynmore witnessed the true abominations of Hellion for the first time.

Brynmore clenched his fist, gritting his teeth, wondering whether he could actually stand by and watch Hellion kill the young man on stage. The images seemed to come in short epochs, blinking one after the other, always with Hellion’s voice booming its blasphemous filth.

First an obviously unwilling and naked young man was forced, struggling onto the stage. He was forced to the cross and tied there, begging to be let go. That desperate pleading seeming to feed the depraved masses. The next epoch—watching the black attendants slice the young mans wrists on Hellion’s instructions. Then they held up golden chalices under the dripping blood, collecting the very life flowing from the terror-stricken man.

Blinking sweat from his eyes, Brynmore saw the next epoch appear as Hellion manipulating the dying young man’s cock in a form of masturbation. Around them the cult members hummed chants while Hellion screamed in frenzies about the power of sex in life and death. As much as the young man struggled he still became hard and Hellion forced a sweating ejaculation from him into another chalice. The force of the ejaculation increased his blood pumping faster from his body, flowing swifter from his wrists.

Brynmore huffed, while his body twitched beneath the tight restraint he forced against it. His mind screamed repeatedly that if he acted now he would ruin the chances of capturing Hellion. Hellion would get away to do this over and over again. Still, it nearly was not enough conviction to let an innocent life perish before him as he watched Hellion mix the man’s seed with his blood in another chalice. This chalice Hellion raised, staring at it with a maniacal gleam in his pink eyes, and he drank from it as the crowd’s chanting rose in excitement.

Fiends, murderers, perverts shouted through Brynmore’s mind as Kit started to move and he had to forcibly tug her back. They would be mobbed if they tried to stop it.

“Blood!” Hellion shouted, looking straight at Brynmore. “I know the blood!” he hissed, communicating his insanity to Brynmore.

Then the gong sounded with Hellion shouting his crazed endings to his ceremony through three more gong soundings, before it finally fell silent on the filth. The torches around the stage went out as if by magic and Brynmore saw the black attendants rolling the young man off the stage. Unconscious or dead, how could he live with himself, Brynmore wondered, as Kit curled into him, both of them heedless of where they were or who would see them.

Ash stood enfolded in a thick, hooded brown robe behind the stage as Hellion marched past him. Hellion stopped, not turning to face him, but saying to Ash, “You, and your father Lord Rushborn, we will all meet Lord Duneagan. I will find a way to meet the prince and where is that bitch Dame Baset? Get your father and come now!” Hellion finished, then he continued stalking away.

Ash watched Hellion leave through slitted eyelids and the moment Hellion disappeared he unwound his body and moved into action. He just prayed he had not gambled too long and he would be able to save the young man’s life. As Ash moved toward trying to save the young man hoping no one would discover his intervention, he wondered again at his own twisted morality. He did not have the right to pray, but he did hope that the Archangels could put an end to this madness.

Brynmore realized that both he and Kit were trembling, in the next moment he became aware that the people around them were beginning to engage in sexual orgies. Some of them, it appeared, were passing around and drinking that vile concoction of blood and semen Hellion had made. Brynmore’s stomach turned over, and for the first time in his life in the midst of a mission, he wanted to flee. Only one thing halted that urge inside him, his rage and determination to get Hellion. “Let’s get the bastard,” Brynmore growled in Kit’s ear.

He also hoped to bolster Kit with purpose over their horror. They had several seconds to gather their resolve, when before them once again stood one of Hellion’s black attendants. “The master would see you now.”

Glancing at Kit’s face, Brynmore could see she looked fierce and he knew she had the same rage inside her that she’d had the moment she first looked at Hellion. He knew he had to be careful however, in an odd way, he was glad he had a task to work on. Without the attendant ahead of them noticing. Brynmore tugged Kit’s hand sharply until she looked at him as they continued walking. Line for line, he stared at her, boring into her mind his sympathy and cautions. Without using words, he spoke to her with his gaze until she gained her control back. Finally she nodded, raising her hand to stroke his jaw once, quickly, but with meaning. Her returning gaze told him everything he needed to know. They were one again, of the same mind, and they were going to play these last scenes with all the heart and artifice they could muster.