The Irish Devil (25 page)

William’s eyes danced. “You must learn to keep a civil tongue in your head, sweetheart. Calling your host a toad is hardly proper language.”

“Toad is only one of your relatives! You are closer to a…uh…”

His mouth closed over hers. Viola choked, gasped, then melted. He was such an expert kisser, it was hardly fair to expect her to fight. She blinked like a drunken fool when he finally lifted his head and she realized his big, callused hand was fondling her breast. Quite boldly, in fact.

Her breath caught as small darts of heat danced from his fingers and into her veins, totally unhindered by her clothing. “Wretch,” she announced with deep sincerity as she closed her eyes, to better savor the feeling. How the devil could she even pretend to fight him if he insisted on handling her in such a fashion?

“Foolish faerie,” he chuckled softly, then kissed her again. Long minutes later, he released her mouth and drew a knife from its sheath at his waist.

Viola quivered, feeling a shocking burst of dew slide down her leg. He looked so magnificent and completely male.

William set the sharp blade to the shoulder of her dress, blunt edge to her skin. “I’d never harm you, sweetheart,” he insisted, blue eyes intent on hers. Merciful heavens, when he looked at her like that, it was all she could do not to tell him he could do anything he wanted to her.

“I know you wouldn’t. But you should release me so I can return to my kingdom,” she answered, slipping back into character.

“Don’t be absurd, sweetheart.” He sliced open her dress without so much as scratching her skin. One shoulder of the dress fell forward, exposing the thin chemise and the quivering flesh underneath.

“You peasant, you,” Viola moaned at the controlled violence. Her heart thudded and her bosom rose and fell rapidly, flushed with passion.

Aroused and impatient, she watched as a second cut destroyed the dress’s other shoulder, while a third cut down the front left the blue silk pooled around her ankles. Her hips pressed forwards toward him, but he simply swatted her derrière lightly, in a clear demand for patience.

He paced around her, leisurely studying every facet of her body. “Perfect,” he pronounced. His pretense of indifference would have been more effective if he hadn’t sported such a strong ridge behind his trousers’ fly.

Then William set his lips and tongue to work on her nipple. He suckled her hard and deep, drawing her needy flesh into the heated depths of his mouth as if she wore nothing. The chemise could have been in New York for all the protection it offered.

“Dear heavens, William,” Viola moaned and writhed, wishing she could hold him. Yet the sensations he evoked were somehow stronger because she had only them to focus on, not the eternally distracting feel of his hair or skin.

She gasped and jerked in her bonds at one particularly deep pull. He repeated the caress again and again, making her arch toward him in the same rhythm. It caught deep in her bones and ran down to her core, where the tempo evoked a flood of dew down her thighs. Her pulse pounded stronger and stronger. Her head fell back in agony as orgasm hung so close, and yet so terribly far away.

Then his teeth closed around her nipple and delicately bit her. The sudden sharp sensation flashed through her veins and burst into her core. He bit her again and she fell, gasping, into rapture.

She struggled slowly back to awareness and found him nuzzling her shoulder.

“Are you awake yet?” he asked, seemingly more interested in her collarbone than her answer.

“Ah, yes, I believe so.” Why was he asking?

“Good. Time to attend to your other breast then.”

“What?!”

William lavished exactly the same attentions on her other breast and once more launched her into rapture.

Viola sagged afterwards. Her body seemed boneless now, sustained only by the grip of his ropes.

“You are so beautiful like this, a perfect expression of passion waiting to be unleashed. Your mouth red and full, your breasts hard and crowned with ripe nipples, and your mound outlined by thin silk,” William mused. “The only question is how shall I enjoy you first?”

He kissed the nape of her neck and licked it. He lightly nipped the sensitive point where neck and shoulder come together. She shuddered and tried to regain her scattered wits when he stepped away for a moment.

Viola blinked, then gasped when a round fullness pressed against her asshole. “William, uh, mortal man, what are you dealing to your faerie queen?”

The fullness slipped in easily, her flesh now pliant to his every whim. She whimpered, then moaned as it shifted inside her, sending a wave of pleasure into her pussy. “What the devil have you done?”

A second fullness nudged her in the same place. “I am filling you with beads, sweetheart, that your every dimension may be awakened to my will,” William purred, his voice a dark velvet rumble against her ear.

The second bead eased inside. It felt enormous, yet her flesh seemed made to hold it. Viola moaned again as her pussy clenched in sheer delight. “Oh, William…”

“That’s my sweet filly.” His own breathing harsh, William slipped a third, then fourth, and finally a fifth bead into her asshole. She was stuffed with delight, the pressure reaching up through her spine to her breasts and triggering lances of sweet sensation into her nipples.

“Good girl. You’re doing well. Just relax, sweetheart, and enjoy yourself,” he crooned, and steadied her with gentle hands on her hips as her body slowly adapted.

Viola shuddered and arched and groaned his name again as unknown muscles clenched and rippled and hummed in pleasure. An orgasm flowed through her gently.

She stood still afterwards, shuddering for breath. If she moved too abruptly—and almost any movement felt like a possible trigger—the beads caressed her insides and sent wave after wave into her pussy. She was quite convinced any incautious jerk would send rapture bursting over her again.

“Now, sweetheart, you must come alive to my music,” William said softly.

She blinked at him. He stood directly in front of her, a small many-tailed whip lying across his hand. It looked soft and harmless, even with a knot at each tail’s end, compared to his big bullwhip. Her pussy remembered its interest in his skill with a whip, and quivered happily.

“Oh yes,” Viola purred. “Oh yes.”

She felt the softest leather imaginable trail over her shoulder. The little knots rippled over her skin like the opening notes of a sonata.

Viola whispered William’s name in gratitude and hunger. How had he known she longed for this?

He ran the little whip over every inch of her, interspersing that caress with others by his hands and mouth. Her sweat and his mouth dampened the chemise’s silk until it clung to her and almost vanished.

Viola shuddered and moaned. She twisted and arched her body to follow his touch, whether given by his skin or the leather that was an extension of him.

William’s touch changed slightly. Subtly the whip’s caress became sharper, like a sonata moving from andante into allegro. The changed rhythm echoed through her body, raising fine tremors in her muscles and her pussy. The beads easily transferred the whip’s rhythm to her core, until she didn’t know whether the beat came from outside her skin or inside.

His hands and mouth dwelt on her, building her anticipation through the kisses and caresses she most loved. She couldn’t have said which touch was his hand or the whip—both came from him and both excited her to the bone.

Viola moaned with pleasure as the whip danced over her body now, like Chopin’s great “Fantasie Impromptu,” in which no note ever fell where expected yet each one was perfect. Every stroke drew a response from all the cells in her body, as the rhythm beat into her muscles and bones and fired through her veins. Her deep inner muscles clenched again and again around the beads, building waves that echoed in her pussy.

She was on fire now, her skin hard put to contain her passion. Her blood raced hot and fast, and every inch of her was exquisitely sensitive to his slightest touch.

“Sweetheart,” he groaned. “Beautiful lady.”

William began to rub his body against hers, his arm or his hip, then his shoulder. The rough cloth excited her and his scent became part of her.

Reality narrowed to him, not the ropes nor the platform nor the lamplight. Only her big Irishman.

He peeled off his shirt and rubbed himself against her again, sliding over her easily thanks to sweat. And still the whip danced over her flesh and through her pulse. The chemise might as well have not been there, for any protection it offered.

“Do you want me? Do you want this?” He wrapped his arms around her from behind, nestling her derrière against his cock. The beads rippled deep inside, and Viola sobbed, throwing her head back against his shoulder.

“Or do you need something stronger?” His hand cupped her mound and his fingers rubbed her chemise’s silk against her pussy. The little whip thudded against her hip as he tugged her clit.

Rapture shattered Viola’s senses as it ripped out of her clit and up to her breasts and sent her spinning into unconsciousness.

The feel of his teeth on her breast drew her back to reality. She reached instinctively for his head but a rope prevented her. She slowly realized she was on her back, in a nest of ropes. A gently swaying nest of ropes.

Her eyes flew open.

She was lying on that unusual hammock, shaped somewhat like a star. Her body was woven into it by coil after coil of silken rope, which held her limbs and her torso. Her legs were higher than her head, and spread wide. She was utterly available to the predator who watched her with brilliant blue eyes. She licked her lips hungrily.

“Do you approve of my web, sweetheart? Is it magic enough to match your music?” William purred as he stepped back from the hammock to watch her.

He had shed his clothes, and his masculine strength was revealed in all its glory under a fine sheen of sweat. His cock stood hard and proud, jerking with eagerness for her, and his balls were high and tight.

Viola fumbled for words. “Yes, it’s magnificent,” she managed, and groaned as the damn beads shifted inside her.

Her body hummed with desire, existing only to feel this man in any manner he permitted. She closed her eyes and moaned at the possibilities.

“Beautiful queen.” He stepped up between her legs and caressed the delicate skin of her thighs. His rough fingers reminded her of the contrast between his strength and her fragility. Her pussy throbbed in eagerness for more.

“Watch me, sweetheart. See how large my cock is?”

She nodded, and didn’t speak of her disappointment that it now wore a condom.

“You’ll be a snug fit, sweetheart, with the beads stretching your ass. My cock will rub against the beads with every stroke, so you’ll feel me taking both your vagina and your ass. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Just, please, hurry,” she implored, and closed her eyes.

“Greedy wench,” he chuckled, a harsh broken sound. Then he gripped her hips and began to enter her. His cock stretched her folds taut, more agonizing than the first night when her pussy had memorized the feel of his cock.

Only the thinnest of membranes seemed to separate those beads and his cock. The beads rolled and shifted and twisted, sending shafts of fire through her body. Viola groaned and gasped for breath as her body slowly adapted to his cock.

“Viola, sweetheart.” William shuddered against her when he was finally sheathed, a tremor she felt as if it were her own. Then he began to withdraw slowly. Distressed at losing him, her muscles clamped down hard around him, using the strength he’d insisted she learn. Viola panted for breath.

He grunted in surprise and stopped. “Ah, sweetheart, you’re killin’ me here,” he whispered. “We’ll fly together, you and I, if you’ll just let me take you there. So ease up, you impatient filly.”

Viola moaned as her body released its tight grip.

“Ah, sweetheart, that’s better. You’re finding the knack of it now,” he growled, and slid farther out of her, the beads rippling in his wake.

He shuddered and groaned something in Irish. Somewhere, in what little remained of her brain, she realized the beads must be caressing him, too.

Then he thrust back into her, quick and strong. Viola sobbed William’s name as the hammock swung in response, the beads danced, and her pussy flowed around him. The net seemed part of her now, a safe vessel set in midair.

“And now we’re going to ride.”

He fucked her hard and surprisingly long, every movement overwhelming her with sensation. She had no connection to gravity, only to his heat and strength. The beads rolled and pounded inside her body, sending shock waves up through her spine until thinking became impossible. His hands plucked her nipples until she writhed and arched, supported and encouraged by the hammock.

All she was, all the pleasure she could ever hope for, came from being the woman he enjoyed.

An orgasm burst through her. Her muscles started to relax in the aftermath.

“Not yet,” he growled, and kept driving into her, preventing her from losing arousal’s high pitch.

Viola gasped as hunger rose in her again. Her hands clutched the ropes, as if for courage.