Текст книги "The poison daughter"

Автор книги: Sheila Masterson

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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 48 страниц)

His mouth has perfect suction on my clit as he pumps his fingers faster. He flattens his tongue against me, alternating between that, suction, and light grazes of his teeth. It’s maddeningly effective. He slides his other hand up to alternate pinching my nipples.

Bleeding woods. He knows what he’s doing. My body is tingling, my limbs full of liquid warmth.

He bites my clit, and the pain is so stunning, it leaves me clenched and frozen. He shoves a third finger inside me and sucks hard on the aching flesh. It hurts so perfectly. I’m so full of him; he’s overtaken every sense in my body.

I slap my hand against the sigil, barely aware of the point biting into my palm as the pleasure bursts all at once. I’m suspended in some liminal place as wave after wave rolls over me. It goes on and on like that, the ecstasy so warm and bubbling that I can barely breathe around it. The sound he wrenches out of me is something animal—the guttural half-scream, half-moan of a woman rent from who she was and remade into something new.

He moves his fingers frantically, his other hand pinning my hips to the bed so I can’t escape his fingers or the rhythm of teeth, tongue, suction on my clit.

I’ve brought myself satisfaction before—but I’ve never felt anything like this. I’m suddenly terrified this is the best I’ll ever feel. My body has only ever been a prison where I’m trapped with pain or a bait to lure a violent man to his death. It has never been a place of pleasure for more than a fleeting moment.

But this is an eternity of ecstasy laced with sharp pain to bring me up and down until I’m breathless and aching and ready to give him anything he asks for. My thighs clamp around his head as the last shudders rip through me.

When I finally open my eyes, they’re blurry with tears. The release is so intense that every emotion I’d been holding back rushes out post-climax. I bite back a shocked laugh.

Henry looks as wrecked as I feel as he prowls over me and leans close.

“I want to hear you moan like that every night,” he murmurs into my ear.

Henry kneels and licks his lips. He doesn’t let me recover. He tosses off his robe and uses his soaked hand to stroke his cock twice before notching himself at my entrance and thrusting inside to the hilt.

I groan loudly, body arching into him like I was meant for this. I’m so turned on that it barely hurts at all, but he is by far the biggest man I’ve been with. The stretch steals my breath.

He thrusts again and groans a curse into the space behind my ear. “You were made to take me just like this.”

My muscles instantly start clenching again and I’m so relieved for the familiarity of something rough and purely physical. He cups my breast and tweaks my nipple hard, and I gasp as he pulls out and thrusts again.

“You like it fast and rough?” His voice is a gravelly whisper as he continues to move.

If it didn’t feel so good, I’d be more angry that I can’t compose myself, but I’m half-mindless with the need to feel what I just felt again.

He slows down and pushes the fingers that were just inside me into my mouth. “Taste how hard you just came for me.” He’s so cocky.

I bite down, but he shoves his fingers back into my throat. When I gag and open, he chuckles into my ear.

“I can’t wait to do that with my cock.”

His voice is low enough that only I can hear, and I shiver at the thought. I don’t actually want that. My brain is slow from the aftereffects of the orgasm.

Surely he’s not planning on this now. It wasn’t one of the activities we discussed.

“Oh no, not tonight, lovely,” he taunts, his voice low and full of certainty. “You’re going to ask for this again, and when we’re away from this crowd, I’m going to love watching you choke on my cock as much as you’re going to like me making you.”

I shove my hand into his hair and hold him in place as I bite his ear. “Only in your wettest dreams will you see me on my knees for you.”

He thrusts into me harder and chuckles. “That would be more believable if you weren’t soaking for me. If you get this slick for someone you can’t stand, I’d love to see how you respond when you actually like someone.”

“Shut up and move,” I grunt into his ear.

The man is bent on doing exactly what I tell him not to. He pulls back, looks me in the eye, and pauses his movement so the pressure that had been mounting dissipates. His smug smile is maddening.

I briefly consider slapping him, but I’m afraid he’d like it.

He shifts, hooking his arms under my knees to push them higher toward my shoulders. The new, deeper angle has me arching off the bed.

I curse, hands fisting in the sheets. He’s so deep, and I should hate it, but it feels so good I can hardly breathe as he finds a slower pace.

He watches his cock slide in and out of me with hooded eyes, and I can’t look away. It feels so good.

“You look so beautiful taking me like this. I hate that anyone else is seeing it. I want your pleasure to myself.”

I shouldn’t like those words, but the possessive edge to them that would normally be a massive turnoff is unbelievably hot when I’m this close to a release.

The only thing holding me back is the relentless reminder of everyone in the room watching. They haven’t moved, but all conversations have ceased, and their hungry gazes are all on us.

Henry groans, his dark blue eyes narrowed in intense concentration. I swear to the Divine it feels like he’s getting bigger, but it must be the mounting pleasure. I’m clenching tighter with every slow thrust.

When he meets my gaze again, his eyes are full of heat and unnerving softness. “I knew this is what you needed. As much as I’d love to choke you until you come all over my cock, I know what you need is a nice, sweet fuck. A soft fuck for a secretly soft woman.”

He thrusts in deeper, and my eyes roll back, fingernails scratching up his back. “That’s right, lovely—” He breaks off into some sort of incomprehensible praise as my pussy clamps down on him harder and he presses my legs back further.

“Fuck, you’re flexible,” he groans.

He momentarily loses control, fucking me hard and fast. I’m gasping for air, nails scoring his shoulders, as the tension in my body becomes so extreme that spots form in my vision. I’m so close it hurts.

But then he stops all at once. I let out a mortifying whine. His aura is shooting off bright flares in all directions. He’s close too, but he’s stopped to stare into my eyes.

His hands come to cup my face.

Then, he kisses me hard and starts to move again. He releases his arms from under my legs and cups my ass in his hands. I wrap my thighs around his hips, arching up to meet his every thrust.

Immediately, I’m lost in blinding rapture again.

It’s the kissing. I’m terrified at the way this tenderness has me so undone, so quickly. I’m holding off the climax by sheer force of will. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of it being this easy.

He kisses down my jaw and chuckles into my ear. The pleasant timbre of it sends a shiver through me that almost pushes me over the edge.

“I love watching you fight it. I love that you’re about to have the best orgasm of your life and I’m the one giving it to you. But mostly I love how much you hate it.” His voice is a hoarse groan in my ear, but the certainty makes me shudder. “That’s right. Be a good little wife and give me what I want.”

It’s tempting to defy him, but he kisses me again, and the tension in my body is so intense. Every nerve ending in my skin is electrified with pleasure. The climax is close but somehow elusive. What if I can’t? What if we fail the ritual?

My skin is covered in goosebumps and my nipples are so hard they hurt.

I feel like a dying star, just trying to suck everything in and in and in. I’m gasping for breath, clawing Henry’s back, clenching around his cock. I want more of everything. I’m so, so close, it hurts.

His hands flex on my ass, his aura so wide and expansive it’s taking up the entire bed. He’s just as close.

Henry was clear he needed to finish inside me as part of the ritual, but if I don’t finish first, it might not work. We might offend Kennymyra.

I’m hit with the fear of failure, with the horror of a room full of people who loathe me watching as I consummate my marriage with the best sex of my life.

Henry meets my eyes, and he looks suddenly so serious. “You’re safe, Harlow,” he whispers.

I know it’s not really true, but the words are like a match struck in my body. The climax blows through me like a storm.

“Oh, fuck, fuck—” His curses break off as he pumps into me harder and faster.

It’s only the faint warning in my mind that reminds me I need to touch the sigil because I’m about to die of pleasure. I slap my still-bloody palm to the sigil.

I’ve never felt anything like this. It’s like I’m being broken apart and reassembled, all at once made and unmade by pleasure alone.

I scream, loud and throat-shredding. My entire body spasms with the lightning strike of pleasure. I’m blind and breathless—gasping in shallow gulps of air as my body buzzes with ecstasy, the rushing warmth of it filling me up in shivery swells. It goes on and on and I’m bearing down on Henry’s cock so hard. My thighs shake violently. My feet curl until they cramp.

I’m only aware that Henry is still there because of the way he murmurs soft praise between cursing and groaning.

It goes on even longer than the first one, until I’m certain my body and mind will both break. Until I’m practically sobbing with pleasure. Finally, the waves slow and I’m relieved to draw in a deep breath.

But then, Henry bites the soft place where my neck meets my shoulder. The pain sends another wave of pleasure rolling over me, wet heat rushing between my thighs. He grips my hips with bruising strength and shoves his cock as deep as he can get as he spills inside me. We both groan in unison.

He holds himself deep inside me, his hips jerking as the aftershocks hit him.

Henry presses his hand over mine on the golden sigil.

I must look shocked because he smirks and nods at the headboard. “I told you I would get it out of you.”

Sure enough, when I look up, the sigil is glowing golden. It gets brighter and brighter, until I have to squint. There’s a loud metallic crack and a piece of the metal falls away.

The glow fades and the room goes deathly quiet.

Stunned murmurs break out in the crowd, and then they applaud. I’m startled by the reminder of their presence, but the horror is more distant in the drugging afterglow of pleasure.

Henry releases his hold on me and presses up to kneel. He withdraws, and I feel him leaking out of me. His gaze is riveted between my legs, and I let my thighs fall open so he can look his fill.

I tell myself it’s to get the upper hand back, but the truth is I’m so mindless and exhausted right now, I’d let him have anything he wants.

“Get out.” Henry’s voice is like a blade drawn across a whetstone.

The crowd instantly moves toward the chamber door.

He doesn’t look away from my pussy until the door closes behind the last person. The music in the ballroom gets louder, and finally, Henry breaks out of his daze.

I lift the broken piece of sigil from where it landed on the pillow above my head.

“Was this supposed to happen? Did it work?”

Henry scrubs a hand over his face. “I’d say we’re in the clear. No one has ever given so much pleasure they broke the sigil, Harlow.”

I glower up at the self-satisfied look on his face. He can feel victorious this round, especially if it means he’ll let his guard down. I’ll let him look at tonight as a triumph, instead of a reminder that this sigil is the first of many things I’ll break to get what I want.

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27HARLOW

There is nothing more insulting than Henry sleeping heavily beside me. How dare he be so certain he’ll wake up—so blissfully unaware that I’ve spent every moment since waking watching the sunlight creep across the planes of his peaceful face, imagining creative ways to kill him.

Infection is out, along with a whole list of other causes of death. Perhaps I’m thinking too small. Surely he’s never been decapitated. That feels like it would stick.

I’ll give him something to lose sleep over. In fact, I’ll consider it a massive personal failure if he ever feels a moment of peace again.

It’s strange waking up next to someone. I’ve never slept with a lover. People forget themselves in sleep. When one half-awake brush of the lips is enough to have another body on your hands, it’s not worth the risk. The only person I’ve ever slept beside is Aidia, and that was only when I was half-unconscious from pain.

There’s an unearned intimacy in watching Henry sleep. I didn’t take him for a man who slept in, but I guess we wore each other out.

Personally, I slept soundly until he threw an arm across my waist and pinned me to the bed. Then, I was wide awake and aware of every place our bodies touched. Frustrating that years of shoving down the craving for physical affection has left me as comforted as I am repulsed.

I shift my arm under the pillow, wondering if Henry has ever been smothered to death and if I’d be able to hold him down long enough to test that method.

By the time Henry wakes, I’ve been staring at him for at least an hour, watching how the dawn light passes over the planes of his face, turning harsh shadows into something soft and almost innocent.

He stirs, and I grin, waiting for him to realize he’s snuggling me.

“Good morning, beloved husband.”

He jerks away, finally releasing me. He rubs his eyes and gives me a look that suggests he knows I was lying beside him, thinking about new ways to try to kill him since first light. “Beloved?”

I wave a hand. “Beloathed is more appropriate, but less socially acceptable given the need to inspire the masses with our great love story.”

He clears his throat. “You did well last night. I know you’re enjoying giving me a hard time about it, but you were very respectful and—receptive.”

That is the last thing I want to talk about. I scoot away from him and sit up. “Yes, well. We had an agreement. I keep my word, just like I’m sure you’ll keep yours.” I pull a few pins from my sleep-tangled hair. “Now that you’ve freed me from your oppressive snuggling, I’d like to go for a run.”

Henry scoffs. “You can’t go for a run.”

“You know as well as I do that endurance is survival out here. I’ve been sitting on my ass long enough. I need to rebuild whatever I’ve lost being cooped up in my room.”

“In prayer?” he says sarcastically.

“Yes,” I say slowly. “When one spends so much time on her knees, it’s important to take an occasional break in other positions.”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “You have a filthy mouth.”

“Positively toxic, I know.” I wink.

“You can’t run here, Harlow.”

I glare at him. “I need you to explain this to me. What is it with running?”

Henry pinches the bridge of his nose. “Well, to start, if someone in the fort sees you running, they will think I can’t protect you.”

“That’s ridiculous. This fort is surrounded by vampire-infested forests. People here must do something to build endurance.”

“They do.” He shifts to sit up, his back braced against the headboard. The sheet slips down to his waist, giving me a bright sunlit view of his scarred chest. He rubs a hand over his jaw, and I can practically feel the scratch of his stubble against my thighs.

I look away instinctively. After last night, everything I know about him feels too intimate. As much as I know that offering me those secrets in the well was a calculated manipulation, I still feel oddly indebted to him. I wish I could surrender the secret because now I’m filled with this morbid curiosity about what it was like to die.

I’ve never been very spiritual. A childhood rife with violence and a Divine-cursed magical kiss that’s made to kill people will do that to a girl. But there’s a driving instinct, a macabre interest that’s always plagued me not to just see what exists outside Lunameade’s tall walls, but also what exists outside of this plane.

Normally I can curb that desire to believe in more. But something about this whole experience—about the way that life over the past few months felt so stifling in the city—has made me want to know that there’s more to hope for than just survival.

“If they build endurance here, it has to be by running the perimeter. It’s not as if you could go for a swim,” I say.

Henry’s aura swells, throwing off flares. He’s irritated. Good.

“Yes, they run, but it’s different.”

It’s a chore to keep myself from snapping at him. I’m not exactly homesick, but I feel restless—like I escaped my old cell only to end up trapped in a smaller cage. After days in pain, followed by that marriage ritual, I just want fresh air and time alone to clear my head.

As I shift down the bed so I can face him head-on, the sheet slides away.

His gaze is a slow caress down the black silk nightdress I slipped on before collapsing into bed when we got back to our room after the ceremony. It’s not about modesty. Until last night, I’d never actually slept in a bed with a lover and it felt too vulnerable to be naked.

“Why is it different for me?” I ask.

“Because if you run, I will chase you, Harlow.”

I shiver. “Then run with me, if you must.”

“I thought you were familiarizing yourself with our customs. I left those books for you while you were in your—spiritual retreat.”

I read all about their strength-first hunting culture. I just want to hear him explain it aloud. “I was, and you’ll remember that I witnessed a hunt night.”

He scoffs. “You have seen the barest hint. The gifts we are blessed with—there’s a reason that there are so many rules about consent that are established ahead of time because it’s very intense. But it’s different now that you’re my wife. I’d be expected to fuck you into submission right there on the forest floor.”

The words send a reckless and completely unwanted thrill through me. Thank the Divine he can’t see auras because mine is swelling in my periphery.

“Honestly, if you want to fuck me again, you’re going have to chase me down, my wolf. I’m just not a good enough actress to fake it a second time and I’d hate for your ego to be bruised.”

Henry’s eyes gleam with challenge. “So you’re trying to tell me that you faked that last night? There are scratch marks on my back that say otherwise.”

“I scratch when I’m nervous. I don’t like being watched.”

“You seemed to like it just fine in the library the other day,” Henry taunts.

It takes enormous effort to hide the way the memory of that makes me feel—the way the memory of last night makes me feel. I’ll do what I must to dismiss this awkwardness, and anger is the easiest way to deflect him.

I fake a pout. “I was just doing my job. Divine have mercy, Henry. I bet you think whores like you too.”

He crosses his arms and leans back against the headboard. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had to pay for it.”

“Me either.” I laugh. “I’m glad I was so compelling. I was just doing my job as a dutiful wife to teach you how to get a woman off.”

He clenches his teeth. I’m fascinated by his possessiveness. He keeps saying it’s part of the fort culture, and I’ve seen that in the body language between couples here. But those people actually like each other, whereas Henry barely tolerates me. The external appearance of possessiveness makes sense, but no one is watching now.

I press a hand to my chest. “Oh, did I hurt your feelings, my wolf?”

He licks his full lips. “No, lovely. I just don’t think you could fake being that wet. Or the way your pussy gripped my cock. Or the way your pleasure was so powerful it literally broke the sigil of Kennymyra. That thing has survived hundreds of years of rituals.”

The words send heat coursing through my blood. I can feel him murmuring how good I feel into my ear. I can feel his hands bruising my hips. I can feel the slow slide of his⁠—

No. Absolutely not. I refuse to fantasize about my husband. I can’t think of a worse fate than being genuinely interested in the man I married.

I scowl at Henry and abandon my strategy. “Congratulations. Everyone manages to be good at something every once in a while. I’ll acknowledge the one-time fluke. You look like you need a win. Congratulations on giving your first orgasm.”

He shifts to his knees, and I freeze at the predatory look in his eyes. “I’ll prove it again right here, right now, Harlow. I’ll fuck you until you’re screaming so loud that there’s not a doubt left in this whole estate about whether or not you were faking.”

My mouth goes dry, and it’s as if every survival instinct has abandoned me. I don’t know why I can’t stop poking at him. The more he keeps his composure, the more I want to see how far I can push before he snaps.

This is a test—just a need to know my enemy—to know where the line is so I can dance along it without stumbling over.

It should be a turnoff that he’s so possessive. The last thing I want is an overbearing man controlling me. I’ve seen how that ends.

But there’s something about his control that feels like caretaking, and that is a very dangerous thing. This man doesn’t want to take care of me. He just wants to appear to take care of me. Forgetting that could break my heart at best. At worst, it will end my life.

I’ve seen him be casually lethal, and given what Kellan told me before I left, he has a very good reason to direct that brutality toward me. I should be more careful.

“So, if I run, you’ll chase me down and fuck me?” I ask.

He nods, breaking the tension between us.

“You’d have to catch me first.”

Just like that, the challenge is back, and he looks like he’s ready to spring up and tackle me now.

“I know this fort like the back of my hand. I will catch you. And I won’t just give you a tumble, Harlow. I’ll fuck you into the ground, until I’m completely spent. I know you don’t have any respect for our customs, but I thought you had more sense than to not take my word for it on this.”

I scoot back on the bed and glower at him. “I just think it’s convenient that your rules make it impossible for me to escape you even for a few minutes.”

He cocks his head and studies me. “Now, why would you want to do that?”

“Because I didn’t leave one prison to live in another,” I snap.

I don’t even know where the words came from. It’s like they punched up from somewhere beneath my ribs. Since I met Henry, I’ve teased him for being wild, but now I feel like the cornered animal. At least in Lunameade I could wander the city alone at night. Here, Henry lurks over my every move.

Henry’s aura flares and a muscle in his jaw clenches. He looks away and composes himself. He can wipe the slate of his face clean so easily. His aura flares when he lies or is agitated, but it settles quickly. I’d love to know how he does it.

“I’ll allow you a short sojourn to the art gallery,” he says finally. “But then we must return to this room and appear to be doing what newlyweds do.”

“Plan creative ways to murder their spouse?” I suggest.

His lips twitch. “Look how comfortable you are threatening me. I think they call this intimacy.”

I slide off the bed and walk toward the washroom and my room on the other side, but I stop in my tracks when I see a scarlet dress hanging in Henry’s closet, along with matching lingerie.

I turn slowly to face him, pointing at the dress. “What the fuck is that?”

He smiles serenely. “It’s what you’ll be wearing today, lovely. Tradition for new Mountain Haven husbands to begin their caretaking duties with an orgasm at the wedding ceremony and choosing their wife’s wardrobe for the first two weeks of marriage.”

Crossing my arms, I look at the dress again. The scarlet silk is delicate but beautiful, and the silhouette is simple but sexy. I know without even trying it on that it will be devastating. Especially with the way the sheer lace bustier cups will peek out from the plunging neckline and the draped back will show the delicate lace design. It’s a dress that you can’t look at without thinking about how easily you could take it off.

“It’s red.”

“So they tell me,” Henry says. “Red is a common color for new brides seeking Kennymyra’s blessings for a pleasurable marriage.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Do you not like wearing red?”

“I like red fine, but I usually only wear it when I want men to pounce on me. Considering how frequently it’s worked for me in the past, you might not want me to wear it out of this room.”

Henry gives me a look that could wither even the heartiest Drained Wood tree. “Just put the fucking dress on, Harlow. Play the part and I’ll take you to the gallery so you can stop being such a Divine-damn pain in my ass.”

It’s so tempting to fight him, but allowing him this meaningless victory won’t hurt anything but my pride. Even so, there’s no way he will be able to look at me in that dress and not think about last night, and that alone might be enough to throw him off.

“Please, Harlow?”

I gasp in mock shock. “The beast has manners.”

Henry flops back on the bed with a growl of frustration, and I dash into the washroom, laughing.

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