WesternWind 4 - Tears of the Reaper (6 page)

He was looking up at her through those wicked lashes with the spark of fever making his eyes sparkle and she felt as though she were being drawn down into an amber whirlpool. She felt warm all over and her knees were actually weak.

“Do you belong to someone?” she heard him ask, and could only shake her head. When he asked if she was betrothed, she drew in a long, harsh gasp and shook her head again and when he asked why not she blinked.

“Pardon?” she whispered, pulling her hands from his temples and stepping back.

“Why don’t you belong to a man, wench?” he repeated. “A fine-looking woman like you shouldn’t be about unclaimed.”

His words sent shivers down her sides and made her very womb tighten. She squeezed her butt cheeks together for a sudden rush of something hot seemed to ooze from the core of her. She took another few steps back.

Some perverse little imp deep inside Owen Tohre that he didn’t even know he possessed reared its hateful little head—or perhaps it was the hellion’s doing—but no matter what caused it, he turned over to his back, stretching his legs out, and a faint, knowing smile slowly tugged at his face when he saw Rachel’s gaze automatically lower to his crotch. He saw her eyes widen and her lips part for he was fully erect.

“It can be yours,” he said, and could have bitten off his tongue. Where the hell had such a vulgar statement come from? He felt his ears burning.

Rachel’s attention snapped back to his face and hers turned so deep a shade of red he thought she’d explode. She stumbled backward until her back pressed up against the door. She reached behind her, fumbling for the handle, but her eyes were still on his cock and that part of him was standing at attention.

“All of it can be yours,” he said with a deep, throaty growl. “Down to the last drop.”

Damn! he thought, his own eyes wide. Why the hell couldn’t he shut up? What had gotten into him? He ought to be horsewhipped!

Rachel lifted her chin. “I…I am v-virgin, Lord Owen!” she protested.

“I can take care of that, wench,” he growled, and with the practiced ease of his kind, silently commanded her to come to him. When she didn’t move, he narrowed his eyes. “Come here.”

Enthrallment was something he would not normally have used, had never used—never needed to use—before but Owen Tohre was acting under a strange enthrallment of his own. One he did not understand and could not stop even had he desired to do so. Pushing aside any feelings of guilt or remorse, he issued the call again in a low, throaty growl that brooked no resistance.

“Come here, wench.”

The demand in his tone and the allurement in his eyes was more than an innocent country girl could ignore. Her gaze locked on his, she came toward him like a dream walker.

In the corner of the room, invisible to the two humans, flame-haired Morrigunia, the Triune Goddess, sat perched in midair, Her shapely legs crossed at the knee, Her arms folded over Her lush breasts, She observed what She had set into motion. It had been such an easy thing to spread the budding seed of passion in a young woman starved for affection and attention, and easier still to make that seed bloom into the deep abiding love Rachel Lawrence had been all too willing to give.

The goddess’s sharp eyes never strayed from Her Reaper for he among the seven males of his kind She had brought to Terra was Her favorite. He had died for love and that made him very special in Her eyes. He needed what was happening here and She meant to see it done. The female meant nothing to Her—was little more than a means to an end—so She ignored the trembling creature.

Rachel came to the bed and stood there demurely, her hands clasped fiercely in front of her.

“Let me touch you,” Owen said in a gruff voice.

From some wellspring deep within her psyche, Rachel listened to the soft, insistent voice that told her to sit on the edge of the bed and turn so her body faced the man lying there.

Owen put his hand on her breast and kneaded it gently. He was surprised she wore no garment to restrain her breast and could feel the stab of her nipple beneath the coarse gown that covered her. He eased his thumb over her nipple until it was a hard little pebble beneath the pad of his flesh.

“Touch me,” he commanded, and caught his breath in, shocked at his daring.

Rachel turned a bit more on the bed until she could reach behind her to place the flat of her hand on his broad chest. Her eyes were glazed as of their own accord her fingers threaded through the wiry mat of curls covering his hard muscles.

“Say my name,” he said, his breath heavy as her fingers continued to caress him.

“Lord Owen.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Only Owen.”

“Owen.” His name on her tongue was the sweetest thing he had ever heard. It rivaled the soft soughing of the wind on a cool autumn day.

“Put your hand around my cock.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he squeezed his eyes shut. This was wrong! What the hell was the matter with him? How could he be so crude? He started to ask her pardon for his behavior but it was too late. Her fingers curled gently around his shaft and he was lost.

A trembling, shuddery breath left the Reaper’s lungs and his fever soared but it was not from the illness that his temperature climbed but from the intense pleasure her soft hand spread through his burning, aching groin. He couldn’t have spoken then if their lives depended upon him doing so. Her fingers flexed around him and he went perfectly still.

Rachel cocked her head to one side as words slithered like a nest of snakes through her mind.

“Ease your hand up and down his staff.”

Gently, she did as the voice bid, lightly squeezing his flesh as she was bade to do. She increased the rhythm, her hold, until the organ sheathed in her hand was as hard as stone.

“Put your thumb over the head of his staff and spread the moisture you will find there.”

He lifted his head as her thumb moved over him. The edge of her fingernail was trailing along the slit and another bead of pre-cum oozed up.

“Taste it.”

Owen was so amazed when her tongue flicked across the heard of his swollen shaft that he had to forcefully stamp down the urge to arch his hips up in invitation.

“Take him into your mouth.”

He could not hear the carnal instructions being sent to Rachel so all he could do was lie there in astonishment as her lips closed around him.

Rachel shifted her eyes to the Reaper’s face for he had groaned so loudly, so forcefully, she thought perhaps she had hurt him but the voice inside her head told her she hadn’t.

“Suckle him. Draw upon his shaft with your mouth as you sweep your tongue over the tip. Cup his sac with your free hand and massage it gently in counter-time.”

Blood was pounding in his temples but the pain of the headache was forgotten by the hot, moist sensations as she slid her lips to the base of him and his shaft eased slowly down her throat. He feared she would gag but her mouth was relaxed around him, pulling on the essence that ached to spurt forth.

Rachel knew she had control over this man. He was lying there with his hands gripping the sheet as though his life depended upon it. His neck was arched back, his dark hair tousled on the pillow. Though his eyes were wide open, she knew he was staring unseeingly at the ceiling as she gently palmed his scrotum and swirled her tongue around his staff. It was a heady feeling that she had such power over him for the females of her acquaintance had no authority in their male-dominated society.

“Release him and stand. Remove your garment that he may touch you as he wishes.”

Unaware the beautiful woman sitting there beside him was receiving subliminal messages from the amused entity sitting unseen in the corner of the room, Owen gasped as Rachel removed her mouth from him, stood and jerked the shapeless black gown from her body in one fell swoop. He stared at her lush, perfectly crafted female shape and felt his cock harden to the point of bursting.

Obeying the commands only she could hear, Rachel put one knee on the mattress and pushed her hips toward him, giving him a good view of the patch of pale hair at the apex of her thighs.

“You are beautiful,” he sighed, and put a hand to her soft flesh.

His fingers trailed along her inner thigh and then he turned his palm to cup her sex, tenderly rubbing his hand back and forth between her legs, abrading her soft folds.

Rachel felt moisture seeping from her body and let her head fall back, her eyes close, to the exquisite awareness she had never known existed.

“By the gods you smell so sweet,” he said, the scent of her womanly folds drifting to him in intoxicating waves. He gently stroked her sensitive nub, spiraling two fingers like rasps over her clit.

“Ah…” Rachel said with a hiss. She rotated her hips in entreaty.

Owen slid his hand farther between her legs, spreading her cunt lips apart as he V-ed his fingers. His warm, calloused fingers found her wet for him and when he slipped them inside her channel, he heard her suck in a harsh breath.

Bright light seemed to be dancing behind her closed eyes and every sensation, every emotion, was centered in a heated pool low in her belly. Her womb flexed and her juices flowed and she clamped her inner muscles around his questing fingers.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled. “Grip your man. Let him know you want him.”

As though her mind had a will of its own outside her ability to control it, Rachel found herself rotating her hips, pushing them then withdrawing them from the hard fingers impaling her. When he slipped a third finger insider her, curled them upward and touched something residing in that virginal territory, she cried out, slamming both her hands down on his wrist to hold him still with her.

Owen’s eyes flared as the muscles of her sheath vibrated around his fingers. Her body was shivering as she came and she pushed down so hard on him—seemingly wanting every inch of his flesh within her—his hand began to cramp. The climax went on and on in sharp little waves then began to ripple away in long spasms that had her gasping for breath when the last one undulated away.

Rachel jerked as the last of the pleasure drained from between her legs. She shuddered when his free hand molded around her breast and he lightly stroked her nipple.

“Did you enjoy that?” he asked, feeling his shaft so hard he thought it well might break away from his groin.

“Aye,” she whispered.

“Take yourself from him and put on your dress.”

Owen groaned when she pulled free of him and bent down to retrieve her gown. He was disappointed when she covered the beautiful breasts and heated sex. He ached with need and wanted that sweet cunt wrapped around his engorged cock.

“Turn, clasp his rod and jerk it gently upward several times. He will then know the satisfaction he gave you.”

“Would you…” he began, but she stunned him when she reached for his rod and began pulling forcefully yet gently upon it. Her touch was so firm, so—just right—that after three such expert tugs, his seed burst forth to ooze like an erupting volcano over her hand. Digging his heels into the mattress, he rode out the pleasure until the final pulse and then collapsed, more spent than he could ever remember being.

“Clean your hand.”

Rachel let go of his flaccid shaft and took up the washcloth. She removed the cum from her flesh then dropped the cloth into the basin.

“Awake and remember what you did to him.”

Rachel blinked, blinked again, and then stared down at the naked man with horror stamped over her lovely features. Her mouth dropped open. Her eyes squinted with disbelief. Her cheeks bloomed with scarlet color and she slapped a hand over her face, uttering a cry of shame.

But Owen didn’t recognize that look as one of utter mortification. He saw it as a half-lidded look of satiation. He smiled. “Any time you want it, it’s here for you, baby,” he said, and could have bitten off his tongue when she gasped and ran for the door, snatched it open and ran from the room.

“You idiotic bastard!” Owen labeled himself, and slammed his palms over his eyes. “What in the name of all that is holy is wrong with you, Tohre?”

It had to be the tenerse and the fever, he decided. Never in his life had he ever said such things even to the whores he’d paid to service him, whose sultry lips had caressed his shaft so thoroughly. Never had he forced a woman to his bed and taken such brazen liberties without her knowing consent. It fair boggled the mind for him to believe himself capable of doing what he’d just done. Lucky for him he had stopped in time.

Groaning, he scrunched down in the bed and once more clasped his hands to push them between his raised knees. In that fetal position, he felt less vulnerable but it didn’t help the raging pain—and now the overpowering shame—that was gnawing away at him. He was fairly sure he’d never see Rachel again but no doubt a male member of her family would be visiting him soon enough to beat the shit out of him and deservedly so.

As he lay there, it began to hit him that he couldn’t get the woman out of his mind. It almost felt as though he’d met her before, that he had known her and known her intimately, that she had willingly shared her body with him. Despite the blinding pain, all he could think about was her lovely face and the hint of ash blonde hair hiding behind the ugly head covering. Her eyes were a wondrous shade of violet that had mesmerized him and her lips so full he ached to taste them.