Chapter Twenty-five
A wild eagerness seized Cassie and swept aside her melancholy. With a trembling hand, she reached up to remove the stretchy tie that held her hair in a loose knot.
“Hold,” Duncan commanded in a voice like iron. “I would do it.”
Cassie lowered her arm and heard him cross the room. He moved with surprising grace and lightness for a big man. He came up behind her and pressed his lean, hard body close to hers. Heat poured off him, and she was enveloped by his crisp scent: woods and snow and fresh air.
His fingers stroked the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck before moving to the band that bound her hair. He pulled the pliable loop free, and her locks tumbled down.
“Whenever I found myself in a dark place, I had but to think on the color of your hair to be warmed by sunshine.” Leaning closer, he buried his face in her locks. “Like fragrant silk. You smell good enough to eat.”
The images his rough words evoked made Cassie’s knees grow weak. “It’s my shampoo.” Her voice was a breathless scritch. “Evie Douglass makes it special for me in exchange for herbs from my garden. It’s scented with grapefruit, camellias, and lilies.”
“Evie Dalvahni now,” he corrected. “My brother Ansgar’s wife.”
Yes, that was right. Evie was married now. She’d found her happily-ever-after. So had her friend Beck.
Cassie frowned, disconcerted by a pang of wistfulness. Why was she mooning like a young girl? There was no such thing as happily-ever-after.
Duncan brushed her hair aside to trace an intricate design on her bare neck, and Cassie’s pensiveness was forgotten. She felt the soft huff of his breath against her skin, then the scorching heat of his mouth as he sealed the mark with a kiss. She jumped in surprise as he nipped her shoulder. He was claiming her, an alpha male staking his territory.
Duncan’s hands slid around her rib cage and cupped the heavy weight of her breasts. His thumbs tightened, pinching her sensitive nipples through her T-shirt and bra. “I do not care for this binding you wear.” His deep voice executed an exquisite dance along her nerve endings. “I would have it gone.”
It’s called a bra, and it fastens in the back. Take it off, please, Cassie wanted to beg, but desire had her in its grip, and the words died in her throat.
Her unspoken plea was answered when Duncan reached under her shirt and unhooked the bra. He slid the straps from her shoulders, letting them dangle loosely on her upper arms.
“Put your hands against the window,” he ordered.
Cassie complied and felt the cold kiss of metal against her skin as he cut the straps with a knife. The bra fell to her waist and was gone, tossed aside by Duncan’s impatient hands. He stepped back, and Cassie almost wept with loss. God, she wanted him. She was weak with wanting him.
She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the cool glass. Her demon blood was awake and roaring for satisfaction. The demon wanted consummation, and now. It wanted his hands on her and the hard thrust of him inside her. Her breasts were so tight they ached, and the place between her legs was hot and wet. It was all she could do not to turn and throw him onto the bed, taking what she wanted.
What they both wanted. It would be easy. She was a demonoid, after all, and very, very strong.
You promised, the voice teased. You said you would be his thrall. This is what you wanted. What you bargained for. Time to pay the piper.
“Turn around, thrall,” Duncan said. “I would see you.”
Cassie’s leg muscles quivered. Taking a steadying breath, she faced him. On the surface, he seemed contained and in control, but for the telltale tightness of his jaw and the tension around his eyes. This magnificent male desired her, and he was on the brink, at the breaking point.
Good. They would shatter together.
“Shoulders back,” Duncan ordered.
Cassie obeyed, keenly aware of the rub of soft cotton against her nipples. Her senses seemed heightened. The clean scent of Duncan was in her nostrils, she could hear the thunder of her heart, and she tingled from head to toe.
Duncan looked her over, taking his time, his gaze lingering on the high, rounded curves of her breasts and the shadow of her areolas against the thin cotton of her shirt. Reaching out, he lightly caressed a sensitive peak, his golden eyes darkening at her sudden intake of breath. His fingers moved to the other peak, flicking, teasing, until her breasts were tight and full, the peaks hard and straining for attention against the garment that confined them. The scalding heat in the pit of her belly spread to her core, until Cassie feared she would melt.
Much more of this, and she would melt.
“Undress.”
His sexy baritone vibrated through Cassie. Her skin flushed, and the thrumming pulse in her veins heightened to the point of pain. God, she was on the verge of an orgasm, and he’d barely touched her.
“As a warrior commands,” she murmured.
Aware of Duncan’s unyielding gaze upon her, Cassie stepped out of her sandals and kicked them aside. She reached for the button at the top of her shorts and paused, gripped by a sudden, unheeding recklessness. Unfastening the button, she slowly undid the zipper, each gesture measured, teasing. She was playing with fire, but she didn’t care. She wanted to be burned, consumed by Duncan. She wanted him to burn, too.
She wanted . . .
Her mind shied away from the almost-thought. This. She wanted this. Nothing more, nothing less. This would be enough. It had to be.
She inhaled, her lungs filling, expanding. It felt like the first deep breath she’d taken in years, freed of the crushing sorrow and guilt she had carried for so long. Tears burned her eyes, and she was flooded with a sense of blooming wonder. Something sprang to life inside her, something fragile and infinitely precious. Something she’d thought dead forever: hope and the tender blossoming of joy. Duncan’s return had released her from her self-imposed prison. Why that should be, she did not pause to consider. It was simply enough that she could breathe and look forward to tomorrow unburdened by self-loathing and regret.
The shorts slid down her hips and went the way of her sandals, leaving her clad in her T-shirt and panties. She stood there, returning his stare, but made no move to further disrobe.
Duncan frowned in disapproval. “Why do you stop?”
“You told me to undress. You did not say completely.”
“You are impertinent, thrall. You know well what I meant.”
A knife appeared in Duncan’s hand—the same one, Cassie assumed, he’d used to cut away her bra. It was a beautiful weapon, small and finely crafted, with a bone handle etched with runes. White fire danced along the shimmering blade. This, Cassie knew instinctively, was no manmade weapon.
Her heart thundered with anticipation. Duncan sliced the offending garment away from her body in two quick motions and stepped back. His gaze drank in her form, taking in her naked breasts and the strip of cloth at the juncture of her thighs.
His stoic demeanor had vanished altogether, and his features were taut with strain. “I am well pleased with you, thrall.”
Cassie lowered her eyes in feigned shyness. “A thrall rejoices in your approval. A thrall would know your pleasure.”
“A warrior will school a thrall, and gladly.”
Cassie lifted her gaze at the soft swish of cloth and nearly groaned aloud. Duncan had removed his T-shirt, revealing muscled arms and a torso that made her want to weep with longing. His body was strong and ripped and toned, with no fat, strength and grace embodied in the perfect male form. A tantalizing dusting of golden-brown hair ran from his navel and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.
She’d seen him before, of course, rising from the river like a pagan god, but every time was a visceral shock.
It wasn’t fair. How was she supposed to resist him when he was so goddamn perfect?
He opened his jeans, and his heavy erection pushed against the thin cloth of his briefs. “The bed,” he said through gritted teeth. “And now.”
Cassie complied. Moving across the room, she was acutely aware of the gentle sway of her unbound breasts, the urgent ache that ran from her belly to the place between her legs, the cool sensation of the floor against the soles of her bare feet.
“Slow,” he said, coming up behind her. “Too slow.”
He placed his hand between her shoulder blades and pushed. She bent at the waist, and he wrapped her hands around one of the heavy bedposts.
“A thrall will hold on,” he said, tugging at her panties. “A warrior will have his pleasure now.”
Yes, Cassie thought, swallowing a moan. Yes, yes, yes.
The flimsy scrap of cloth slithered down her hips and pooled around her ankles. Gently, almost reverently, Duncan caressed her rounded rump before sliding his hand between her legs. He made a sound of satisfaction when his fingers found the pearly liquid at her sheath. “Merciful gods,” he said. “I can wait no longer.”
She heard the soft shush of cloth as he shoved his clothes aside, and then the head of his cock was nudging her from behind, seeking entry into her wet channel. She opened her thighs and arched her lower back to give him greater access, and was rewarded by a delicious pressure. He found her slick entrance and entered her in one swift stroke.
His cock was big and hard, like the rest of him, and Cassie was already on edge. She came at his first thrust with a force that made her cry out.
“Sweet blessed Kehv,” he groaned as she pulsed around him.
He began to move in eager, punishing thrusts. Was he punishing her or himself? Cassie did not care. She took him in gladly. He was inside her, they were connected, flesh to flesh after an eternity apart, and she felt alive.
She held on to the bedpost for dear life and offered herself to him, whimpering with need now. He grabbed her by the hips and lunged harder, faster, as though in response to her unspoken entreaty. The exquisite tightness bloomed in Cassie’s belly and breasts and spread until her whole body was on fire, every cell of her being attuned to Duncan, to his flesh in her flesh. The sheer, unadulterated rightness of it made her sob. The lovely tension inside her coiled and heightened as her body reached for bliss.
Her second orgasm hit her with the force of a hammer blow, and she screamed.
“Cassandra.” Duncan came, his powerful body shuddering with the force of his release.
His legs gave way, and so did Cassie’s, and they crumpled to the floor at the foot of the bed.
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She was intensely aware of the throbbing place between her legs and the unaccustomed wetness between her thighs. Sex was messy and glorious, and never more so than with Duncan. She would miss this when it was over.
To her horror, tears trickled down her cheeks. She’d had an awesome, mind-blowing orgasm, and she was crying. No biggie. Post-coital tears weren’t uncommon. Something about the body countering the release of dopamine, if she remembered correctly. Her sadness had nothing to do with Duncan or the thought that this would not last. Her emotional overload was the result of going without for too long. Abstinence didn’t make the heart grow fonder. It made a bitch hormonal and cranky.
Duncan released her and got to his feet. Without ceremony, he picked her up and tossed her onto the bed.
* * *
Cassie glared up at him, his sweet, adorable hornet. “Hey, what’s the big idea?”
Duncan bent and removed his boots, then stripped out of his jeans and briefs. He was hard again. It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself physical release, a very long time, and his randy body wanted more.
He wanted more. He wanted everything. He wanted Cassandra, every part of her, though the gods knew he relished her body. Being with her again should have been enough, but it was not. He would never be sated. To have but the smallest part of her was a misery, like being invited to a sumptuous banquet, then forced to sup on unsweetened gruel.
Consequently, Duncan was in a black mood.
He told himself to be satisfied with the scraps she offered, but he ached to tell her how he felt, to caress and kiss her, to explore her from head to toe, rediscovering every inch of her lovely body. He hungered for her, longed to worship her with his hands and mouth, to confess his ardor, to pour out his love for her, but their accursed agreement fettered his tongue.
She wanted his cock, not his adoration. She wanted the pleasure he could give her, but nothing of his soul. Nothing of tenderness. Nothing of love.
Duncan had love enough to fill the valleys of the moon to overflowing, but Cassandra kept her heart tucked safely away behind walls of distance and distrust.
There was a certain irony in that, he supposed. He was the architect of his own destruction. He’d hurt and betrayed her, abandoned her in her time of need, and she’d closed herself off. Cassandra was now more Dalvahni than he, reserved and wary, contemptuous and afraid of emotion.
She’d cracked him open and left him vulnerable, but she cared not that his heart beat and bled for her and her alone. It was enough for her to couple and move on, detached. Dispassionate. Disconnected.
It made him want to beat his head against a stone wall and rage with grief.
“Duncan?”
She knelt on the bed facing him, her lovely face flushed and her delectable, tempting body on display. She was unself-conscious in her nudity, and all woman, his sweet delight, with full, round breasts, a slender waist and flat belly, firm, strong legs and calves, and a smoothly curved rump. Silken blond curls covered her mons, and he wanted to bury his face between her legs and feast on her until she came in shuddering delight.
“A thrall will kneel on all fours on the bed,” he ordered.
“Yeah? Why would a thrall do that?”
“A thrall was warned that a warrior has appetites. A thrall will assume the position, and now.”
She tilted her head, regarding him. Her pale hair was tousled and fell to her creamy shoulders in soft waves. Her lips were red and swollen from his kisses, and her beautiful violet-starred eyes were sultry and gleamed with mischief.
Gods give him strength, she had her hand around his heart. She was his salvation and his undoing.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“No?” Duncan’s eyes narrowed. “What of our agreement?”
“Our agreement was mutual. I’ll be your thrall, and you’ll be mine.” She swept one hand over the bed. “My turn. On your back, thrall.”
Duncan took an instinctive step away from the bed. “I presumed . . . that is, I thought that you—”
“You thought I’d let you call the shots forever? You know me better than that.” She gave a little bounce on the bed that make her spectacular breasts jiggle in a most alluring way. “Not happening, mister.”
Duncan was Dalvahni, and scoffed at danger. He’d once confronted a raging minotaur in single combat, battling the monster alone and deep within the earth. He had done so without flinching, slaying the dread beast and moving on. He’d bearded rock trolls in their dens and faced a horde of fire demons in the jungles of Athaal. He’d fought the djegrali in their many forms—giant, dragon, basilisk, hydra, ogre, gorgon—without dismay, but this?
This he could not do.
He could not submit to Cassandra’s caresses and pretend he did not care. At her merest touch, his hard-won control would turn to ash, and he would disintegrate into a babbling, pitiful creature, professing his adoration like some lovesick, mewling swain.
A consummation devoutly to be wished, but his wishes did not matter. Cassandra did not want his love. She wanted to use him as her plaything.
He took refuge in cruelty. “Later, perhaps, when I grow bored with you, as I assuredly will.” He crossed his arms and regarded her, his lip curled in contempt. “Please me, and perhaps I will allow you to satisfy your whims, but not yet.”
She laughed. “Stop being a dick. We had a deal. What’s the matter, afraid you can’t handle it?”
Yes, he wanted to shout. I know I cannot.
Aloud, he said in a hateful drawl, “Handle what? Your feminine wiles? You overestimate your charms.”
“Ooh, a challenge. I like it. Are you going to come here or not?”
Duncan did not move, rooted to the spot.
“Bad thrall. I am not happy with you.” She slipped off the bed and padded over to him. Hands on hips, she circled him, slowly. She was playing with him, Duncan realized, his heart thudding at her nearness. He had taunted her, and she was exacting her revenge.
She stopped in front of him, naked and glorious. “You are a pretty thing.”
“Pretty?” Duncan was stung. “That is not a word one uses to describe a Dalvahni warrior.”
“Excuse me—a handsome specimen.” She reached over without warning and wrapped her hand around his rigid cock, stroking him. “Impressive here, too. Yes, you will do nicely.”
The air hissed from Duncan’s lungs. What had she said to him when he’d toyed with her thus? It was hard to think with her hand on him and his blood pounding.
“A thrall rejoices in your approval,” he grated as her hand slid to his balls, then returned to her stroking. “A thrall would know your pleasure. Where do you want me?”
“The bed, for starters,” Cassandra said. “I mean to ride you hard and often.”
She was throwing his own words in his teeth, the minx, repaying him in kind. Short of fleeing, he was done for. He gave it serious consideration and rejected it. A Dalvahni warrior did not quit the field.
Moving like one in a trance, Duncan walked over and lay down on the bed.
“Much better,” Cassandra purred in a husky voice.
She glided across the room and put one knee on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly at her weight. She crawled toward him on all fours, slowly, purposefully, a lioness stalking her prey.
Duncan braced himself, a condemned man, and awaited his doom.