Chapter Twenty-Two
Brenna stared at the man stretched out beside her who happened to not be looking into her eyes but everywhere else. He reached for the plate next to her on the counterpane yet again.
After their first two couplings, he’d let her sleep for a short time. She’d awoken to being carried into the bath chamber and set into a second warm bath. This time, he’d taken care to wash her body himself—gently and thoroughly. He left for a while and returned to assist her back into her robe and into his bed. He’d brought back a glass of water and a plate of cold beef, soft bread, and sweetened winter berries of deepest red and purple.
And he’d insisted on feeding her. Rather than fight the obstinate man, she let him do so, for he seemed to be enjoying it entirely too much. When he popped yet another berry into her mouth, she savored the cool sweetness before chewing and swallowing. He seemed fascinated by the movement of her lips, jaw, and throat.
“Where in the world does Olog get these berries? Even winter berries can’t grow when the snows are this deep.”
“He has a small garden in a hothouse next to the southern stables.”
“Another secret of Winter Hill.”
Dark emotions swirled in the blue depths of his gaze. She must’ve touched a sensitive chord with the mention of secrets. Their intimacy in the soft candlelight made her brave.
“Will you tell me about your mother?”
He reached for the glass of wine on the nightstand behind him and handed it to her. “Drink.”
She did, then handed it back. Waiting. Hoping he would open up to her.
“She was a kind, compassionate mother to me when I was young.” She noted the distinction when he was young, but didn’t say a word to interrupt. He used the bottom of the wine stem to edge the flap of her silk robe open, then set the round bottom on the flat plane of her stomach. The cool glass felt intimately wonderful on her bare skin. “When I was ten, my father didn’t like me spending so much time with her.”
Brenna frowned. “What do you mean? How can you spend too much time with her? She was your mother.”
He met her gaze with a sardonic tilt of his mouth. “At that age, he meant for me to learn the skills of a man. To become a man. He felt her love was making me soft. So I was removed from my bedchamber in Pearl Tower near hers, to the farthest side of the castle. My days were filled with fencing, fighting, and learning the art and politics of the royal realm. And in my free time, I could read but never practice my art.” He glided the edge of the glass’s bottom up the center groove between her ribs and breasts, further opening the flaps of the robe. She sucked in and held a breath. “Drawing and art was a hobby for boys. Not for men, you see.”
“Oh, Friedrich.” She cupped his jaw, the scruff of a day’s growth scratching her fingertips.
He leaned back to the nightstand, pulling away and setting the wineglass down before rolling back and scooping her closer by the waist. Giving her his full attention, revealing the sadness that often weighed him down, he went on.
“What many people don’t know is how all of this led to the tragic end of my parents’ lives.”
She kept very still, thinking he might change his mind and not unburden the tragedy that so obviously still haunted him.
“My father kept a well-stocked Blood Harem, as I’ve said before. He made no efforts to hide how often he visited, taking a new woman to his bed nightly. But only after we’d had a respectful family meal in the dining hall together. He’d give my mother a chaste kiss good night, send her off to the Pearl Tower, then wander down his corridor where he kept his women. I was young, but not a fool. Our ‘happy family’ was a farce.”
He pulled on a long lock of her hair that fell over one shoulder, twining it around a finger. So gently. She remained quiet while he strolled down the cold halls of his dark past.
“I noticed my mother became more and more withdrawn. You have to understand that theirs was not a love match. Though my father appeared to dote on her, he continued to build his large harem from the surrounding villages. My mother couldn’t go into Terrington without people whispering about the poor Duchess of Winter Hill. But I think it was the farce that he forced us all to play that drove her mad in the end. I learned later, after their deaths, that she’d only ever been happy when I was born.”
He paused, closing his eyes, letting his hand fall to the counterpane by her shoulder. Though Brenna longed to soothe and comfort, she was afraid any touch would jar him to the present. And he needed to purge whatever sin so often clouded his gaze. Then she could assuage the pain.
“When Father took that one joy away from her, she retreated within herself. She became depressed, her eyes so vacant at dinner that I couldn’t wait for every meal to be over. I also learned later that she’d cut him off from visiting her bed, when those rare moments struck him.”
He traced his thumb over the curve of her shoulder.
“Then one night, she went to him after having drunk a vial of melted gold and seduced him into bedding and biting her. They were both found dead the next morning, the blood drained onto the pillows and sheets shimmering with flecks of gold.”
“Oh God, Friedrich.” She pressed a light hand to his chest, smoothing her palm across the wide expanse. “I’m so sorry for what you’ve suffered.”
“Not just what I suffered. But what I caused.”
“How can you even think that?”
“Don’t you see? I neglected her. I ignored the fact that she needed me. I could’ve defied my father. But I didn’t. I was so wrapped up in my own little world, unconcerned for anyone else but myself.”
Brenna somehow managed to leverage up and push him to his back. Laying on top and straddling his torso, she cupped his face in her hands.
“You listen to me, Friedrich.” His clenched jaw felt like unyielding stone between her palms. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s children. You were a child. The only son of a dominant and demanding father. All sons want to please their fathers, whether they hate them or not. So you did as you were told. You had no hand in the death of your mother or your father. That was a fated tragedy beyond your control. Do you understand me?”
Angry heat flushed her cheeks and neck, drawing his gaze to wander. His hands slid beneath the shimmery silk of her open wrapper to her hips, fingers curling tight. A well of sympathy and affection and adoration poured out for the boy who’d thought he’d killed his parents and for the man who carried their sin as if it were his own. And now she knew why he didn’t keep a Blood Harem like every other royal she’d ever heard of throughout history. He wouldn’t repeat the mistakes of his father. The charming rake of a vampire duke was even more noble than she’d originally thought.
A nudge of understanding poked at her. If he were eschewing this royal practice, then that meant he’d planned on one day having a wife. A wife he’d devote himself to. A wife who wouldn’t wonder if she were enough for him. A wife—even if fated to be barren—would know she was loved and cherished within his embrace.
The realization slapped her hard. Before she could even allow herself to become shy about her brazen behavior, she pressed her body to his wide torso, hovering close.
“I see who you are, Friedrich. If you’d had the power to help your mother, to stop the tragic end of her life and your father’s, you would have. But you weren’t. You were a boy. A dutiful son. Stop carrying the weight of their deaths on your shoulders.”
He said nothing as she pressed closer then nipped and coaxed his firm lips apart with her soft ones. A slow, sweet kiss rolled into a hard, deeper one. Her keening, desperate sounds stoked them both into a frenzy of need. His grip tightened on her hips as he lifted her and rubbed his shaft into her cleft. She helped him, rocking with new fervency, ready for him.
“Hear me now, Brennalyn,” he said between deep, tongue-slicking kisses.
“Yes?”
“I was gentle for our first time.”
Times, she corrected in her head as he sucked on her tongue then released her.
“But I need to cover you in my scent. Fill you up with all of me.” He notched the head of his shaft at her entrance. “I’m going to fuck you and bite you till there’s no doubt by anyone who you belong to. Including you.”
She whimpered, gripping his shoulders, arms together in a way that plumped her breasts.
His hungry gaze dropped. “Hell, woman.”
He thrust inside her till his hips were flush against her bottom. Planting his feet on the mattress, he raised his pelvis and ground in a circle. The force of his thrust launched her forward. She caught herself, grabbing the top slat of the headboard, her long hair shadowing them in a wispy black curtain. She closed her eyes, the intensity of him filling and stretching her, his strong hands holding hard, his powerful body thrusting inside so deep she couldn’t hang onto reality, her mind wandering away in an erotic haze.
His tongue flicked her nipple. She jumped, which only made him lift higher and clamp his mouth tight around the taut nub, sucking hard as he drove up into her body. The mewling whimpers grew louder into a rhythmic keening of cries that invited his hot, wet mouth to torture her into oblivion. And so he did, nipping her puckered nipple with teeth and suctioning till she felt the tug low in her belly, pooling more heat around the slickness of their bodies sliding together. He groaned long and loud, the vibration humming from his mouth to her sensitive nub. He continued to work with torturous licks and sucks. She rocked and ground against him, trying to match his upward thrust. But to no avail.
“Come for me, kitten.” He pumped faster. Harder. Jarring her body in a way that sent her full breasts swaying. “Let me hear you.”
The weighty push of his dominant command rolled into the tide careening toward a powerful crash. A pulsing wave rippled from her sex, rolling outward and up her spine when she obeyed and cried out her pleasure. He held himself deep inside her, whispering guttural curses though he remained rigid and thick as the second when he first entered her.
When she slumped forward, he lifted her off of him, the shock of his body exiting hers drawing a sharp gasp. He set her on the counterpane. She leaned back on her hands, panting and watching him as he gathered two fluffy pillows and set them in the center of the bed.
“Come. Lay on your stomach, the pillows beneath your hips.”
Still trying to catch her breath, she began to roll her body, but he had to help her haul herself into position. She should’ve been embarrassed by displaying her bottom in the air, but she was too languid from her orgasm to care. He swept her hair away from her neck. Then he caged his body over her from behind—his wide chest pressing against her back, his thick thighs spreading hers wider, his long arms stretching along hers where he laced his fingers with hers, pinning her to the bed.
He nuzzled into her neck, licking at her pulse, his heavy cock rubbing against her slit between her parted legs. “This is how I’ve wanted you for so long,” he rasped with a groan as he pushed inside her a bare inch. “Yield to me, Brennalyn.”
“I’ve already surrendered,” she breathed.
“No. You have not. You’ve given me your body.” He scraped his sharp fangs along her shoulder, abrading the skin so that a sliver of his elixir seeped into her blood. The potency of all that was her duke pumped in a hot, erotic surge through her body. She bowed her spine, which pulled him inside her another inch. He hissed in a breath.
She’d wanted him for so long and had rejected him because of an old hurt, needing to protect her heart for fear she’d never put herself back together should she fall for him. That’s what it meant for her to yield to him in all ways. To give up her right to protect what she wanted to keep whole.
“Yield to me, Brenna.” He punctured his fangs lightly in a line up her shoulder toward her vulnerable neck, tiny pinpricks, releasing pulses of elixir into her body. Slivers of pure pleasure rocketing through her blood.
“It’s not fair,” she cried, squeezing his fingers that curled into her palm.
“I know. Just trust me.” He thrust inside her deeper, her sex so wet, pulling him in. “Yield,” he commanded, slamming his cock so hard he jarred her upper body pinned beneath him. “You’re mine, Brennalyn. Only mine. From now on. Do you understand?” He withdrew and thrust home again. “No man will ever have the right to touch you again. And if he does, I’ll break every fucking bone in his body.”
The possessive violence in his voice should’ve scared her. Should’ve warned her he wanted too much. Elliott had never said such things. She was sure he never felt such things. Not for her. But Friedrich? He caged her in a wall of masculine power and strength, molding his body over hers in a barricade of dominance, possession, and protection. The seduction of such yearning was more than she could withstand. More than she could possibly resist.
“For fuck’s sake, yield to me, Brennalyn,” he growled, his voice rolling dark and fierce like she’d never heard before.
“Yes,” she whispered, closing her eyes as a tear leaked into her hair. Not for sadness but for the overwhelming emotion threatening to burst her heart in two.
“Yes,” he echoed on a whisper, pistoning inside of her with long, deep thrusts, starting slow then pumping faster. “Yes.”
In a savage move, he scooped his arm around her waist and reared up onto his knees taking her with him, still buried deep. He molded one hand over her breast, tweaking the taut nipple. His other tunneled in the folds of her cleft, his forefinger slicking around her swollen bud. She reached back and gripped his hips to hold on.
“Kiss me,” he growled.
She arched her neck backward and opened her mouth as he crushed his own against hers, pounding into her body as he stroked and pinched and nipped her everywhere else, overwhelming her with the force of his body, his hands, his mouth, and tongue. He could’ve commanded her anything at that moment and she would’ve done it. Anything.
On a sudden suckling release of her mouth, he sank his fangs into her neck, pouring a hot river of elixir into her body. She screamed his name, coming in a violent torrent of crashing lust. As her body milked him, he slammed inside of her so hard, so deep, still clasping her body tight—one hand clutching her breast, the other still gripping her mound. He pummeled till she was nothing but liquid flesh and bones, his rigid body softening her further into a pliant, willing creature, wanting his pleasure to match her own. She arched her spine even further, allowing him to slide in deeper. He pulled his fangs from her flesh and arched his own body into hers with a howling bellow that echoed off the roof and walls, his hot seed spilling inside of her with throbbing pulses. He groaned and groaned, circling his pelvis against her bottom, clasping her tight.
When his cock stopped pulsing, both of them trembling, he still didn’t let her go, grazing her neck, bruised from his fierce bite, with soft, hot licks. He nuzzled into her hair, heavy breaths blowing sweaty tendrils sticking to her damp skin. “Yes,” he whispered, gentling his touch and melting her into a woman who wanted to yield to him. To surrender. Who wanted to be his.
She reached back and wove her fingers into his hair, his head bent while he laved sweet kisses on her tender skin.
“Yes,” she whispered again. “Only yours.”