The Hunted Bride Read online

  “Good girl,” he said soothingly. “That was your turn. Now it is mine.”

  He bundled her into his fur-lined cloak, and she snuggled into a ball for him to carry. He managed the stairwell with graceful ease, although she clung on tightly to his shoulders. She apparently weighed nought. From the dark tower he transported her to his bedchamber, an impressive room adjoining the private dining room. He kicked the door shut behind her and laid her on his generous bed. She sank into the covers and ignored the throb of her tenderised behind.

  Temptation wasn’t necessary, but she couldn’t resist unpacking herself. She swept aside the cloak and revealed her nudity for him. Gervais laughed and stepped back.

  “Your willingness does you credit, my lady. But you might not feel so bold once I have you sucking upon my cock.”

  She shot up. “Sucking?”

  “Ah, something the priest did not teach you, no doubt.” He removed his dagger and pouch from his belt, and unbuckled it, then kicked off his boots. Slowly, methodically, he undressed, and each item was laid neatly upon a chair, folded into a pile. He stopped before removing the hose and shirt and, turning to face her, he presented the tented fabric of his breeches, the rigid member lifting itself out and into view.

  The red embers lit one side of his face, the other was cast into darkness. All around her were shadows and slithers of light. The room presented itself as neither warm nor cold, kind nor cruel. She was unsure if Gervais was of a similar mind.

  “Lie back,” he said, strolling over to the bedside. “Now, open that sweet mouth and slacken your jaw. Keep those teeth in check. I only want to feel your tongue.”

  She ogled him in disbelief. “You’re putting that huge—”

  “It will take a few times before you have the measure of it fully. Relax, Matilda. Do as I bid you.” He pushed his hose down, revealing his groin muscles and what stood upright between his two narrow hips. He clambered on to the bed, positioning himself close to her head and leaning over her, he dangled the smooth head of his cock in the direction of her agog mouth.

  The slit at the end oozed a creamy liquid. It was the first thing she tasted. She spluttered, unprepared for the frisson of saltiness, the musk that triggered a wave of trembling. He held his shaft and dipped into her mouth, angling the member toward the back, where her throat tightened.

  The plunging was shallow enough to allow her to breathe, but it still filled her, preventing her from talking.

  “Tongue it.” He held just the glans against her lips. “Go on. Impress me.”

  She reached up with her hands, and he allowed her to guide his cock without his help. She wrung her fingers around its immense girth and squeezed. He chortled. “That’s right. But mind those sharp teeth.”

  Lifting her head off the pillow, she snatched a lungful of air, then sucked her cheeks around his cock. Her tongue flitted, but it barely had room to manoeuvre. She slipped back, leaving the tip of it teasing the veins lining the underside of his cock. Able to look up at him towering over her, she measured the success of her experimentation on his facial expression. He presented many mannerisms for her to judge: panting, licking his lips, groaning and tipping his head back. At one point, when she managed to take half of his erection down her throat without suffocating, he gripped his hair and growled.

  He behaved less like a lord, although she found his stature arousing. She was a little thing, trapped beneath him, and she hungered for all of him. He moved his knees astride her body, pinning her between his thighs, and there he remained with his cock in her mouth and her cheeks like bellows, maintaining a rhythm that was like the beat of an invisible drum.

  Without warning, he curtailed his dips, and allowed her to savour him for longer. She tasted more of him, noting that he was neither sweet nor bitter. Something unique and personable. He drew off his shirt, tossing it away, and with her eyes on his abdomen, the line of ribs, the proud bearing of his pectorals, she drew upon the image of a beast. His smooth chest, marked only by a handful of white scars, she imagined covered in war paint, the kind barbarians used. His eyes, a marine blue, darkened into fire-lit pits, and as for his hands, they were massive claws that pinned her to the bed.

  Closing her eyes, she played the scene further. She was a poor creature, caught in a snare, carried to his castle by armour-clad soldiers with no faces. Left at his feet, she was dragged to his bed and ordered to open her tiny mouth. His cock, as big as a hued branch, rammed itself down and...

  “Matilda. Open your eyes.” Gervais tapped her cheek.

  She coughed and he withdrew. “Sorry, was I not doing it right?”

  “You let your teeth bite, a little.”

  “Oh. I wasn’t aware... It’s not intentional.” She licked her lips. “I can taste you.”

  “You’ll swallow me, too. But not today.” He eased off her and brought her a goblet of weak wine. “Drink.”

  She gulped it down, flushing out the heat from her face and the rampant dreams of her imagination. Below, between her legs, the bed was damp, her pussy inflamed with a different fire. She nearly spilt the wine.

  “I’ll take that.” He finished the last mouthfuls, then dropped the goblet on a table.

  The hose was an unnecessary hindrance. He pulled it off, leaving it on the neat pile. He was now as nude as her, and moved to the foot of the bed, presenting to her the defining qualities of warrior. He stood astride, his unyielding cock vertical and curved into his belly. The muscles of his thighs extended over his knees and down his shapely calves. As for his arms, they rippled with thick veins around the biceps, and the same vessels continued up his neck and into his temples. Everything about him pulsated, and the surface of his skin shone in the flickering candlelight.

  Gervais, his teeth bared in a primitive grin, grasped her ankles and yanked her down the bed. As she whooped, he sank, crouching on his heels with her legs hooked over his shoulders and his head bent. He looped his arms over and under her thighs, and with his palms on her inner thighs, he forced her legs apart. His head fitted snugly in between, and he pressed his lips hard against her mound, kissing between the unruly hairs until he found what he sought.

  Naturally, she screamed. He had it in his mouth, lips firms above and below, the nub of it resting on his lower teeth. She froze, aware that any movement might jeopardise her precariously placed clitoris.

  Her teeth chattered, goosebumps raced down her spine to her bottom, which he’d lifted off the bed. She held her breath, waiting, praying her nerves would hold long enough for him to complete his torment.

  Slowly, with a purpose that astounded her, he sucked and toyed with her tiny bud. Those dangerous teeth of his never went further than a subtle nip, while his tongue lashed or fluttered, depending on his chosen form of torture. He spread his mouth above to her belly, which he peppered with kisses, then below to the slit and its opening. With expertise, he darted in and out of her drenched pussy, dining on her, enjoying her sufficiently to appreciate her lust on display.

  She tried not to thrash, but it was impossible. She didn’t want to come either, but that also was not achievable. The first orgasm was a bolt of lightning, so fast it ended before it had begun. The intensity of it was painful. She hollered, begging him for respite.

  “For pity’s sake, my lord. Allow me some relief!”

  Gervais chuckled. “Think again. This sweet entree will prepare me for the feast.”

  He gripped her failing legs, preventing her from twisting or turning, and while her arms drifted about her bed, tangling themselves in the cloak and bedcovers, he devoured her with his mouth. She fought, not against him, for it was beyond her to ask him to stop, but against herself. The exquisite, crushing orgasms, battering her senses one after the other, were congealing into one stupendous flare of overloading sensations. The contractions were as powerful as her heartbeats, which pounded beneath her breastbone. She failed to breathe, then suddenly she was gasping for air. Nothing deterred him. No amount of screaming and kicking of her h
eels on his back.

  Her protestations were met with a beguiling mixture of calm determination and fruitful technique. He rose, taking her legs with him, and knelt on the bed. Only her shoulders remained on the mattress, the rest of her was dangling from around his neck. His arms wrapped themselves about her waist, hugging her into an embrace that stilled her. He kissed her inner thighs, pecking at her, until she ceased squawking and pivoting.

  The sucks of his lips around her clitoris became rhythmic and less intimidating. Having established the position, and ensuring she wasn’t trying to escape his clutches, he rested his cheek against one thigh, and circled her pussy with his tongue. The leisurely change in pace brought a period of peace. The orgasms rippled on, then away. Exhausted, she might have dozed in that placated state. For, when she opened her eyes, he had moved. She was now lying partially on her side, and he was also resting fully across the lower half of the bed with one of her legs draped over his back, the other spread-eagled in the other direction.

  He had ceased the arduous predation of her pussy and clitoris, preferring to softly kiss. She stretched, splaying her legs in such a way he need not hold them. With her fatigue to his advantage, he transferred his body over hers and kissed her breasts.

  “You have dainty nipples,” he said abruptly.

  “I do?” she murmured.

  “I will let you sleep awhile. You’re too tired to cope with what I have planned for you.”

  She yawned. “Yes, sleep. Thank you, my lord.”

  Chapter Eleven

  He let her sleep for an hour or so while he sat in the master chair with his reclaimed robe draped over his shoulders. Content, he watched her from the fireside and allowed her taste to linger in his mouth, but eventually, thirst drove him to wash it away.

  He stoked the fire, petted Ivan, his mastiff, who’d nudged open the door and padded into the room while they were in the midst of her oral initiation, and together they waited for her to stir.

  She purred in her sleep, moaning occasionally. He’d not covered her body as the room was sufficiently warm. It allowed him the pleasure of a wondrous sight: she orgasmed in her sleep. He thought her sated, unable to continue, but her body was desperate for more, for even in slumber, her mind carried her off into a dream that conjured up sexual images, ones that kept her aroused and her sex pulsating.

  Any other woman, one of the many he had taken for his pleasure, would have accepted he was within his rights to take her whenever he desired it, even in her sleep. But Matilda was not of that ilk. Like battle-scarred soldiers, those women of the night had a stamina and courage that few could match. Matilda, young and nubile, was an emotional novice and delicate in body. Her weak flailing, easily contained by his strength, merely demonstrated she probably thought resistance a silly game, and unlikely to please him. What went on in her head was for him to find out—first she had to trust him. As for his dark thoughts, she was not to know the extent of his fantasies, the games he wished to play, and how hard he struggled to contain the beast within him.

  The worst kind of beasts, the barbaric men of faraway lands, had cruel natures, often prone to weak control and ill-conceived ideas, and violence. They took, and never gave back. They stole women away, then having satisfied their greed, they abandoned them to their fate, usually leaving them far from home and despoiled.

  But not all beasts were evil. Some manifested the physical attributes but kept hold of humanity. They stayed in control, kept a tight discipline of body and mind, ensuring the primeval forces that drove them never ruled in entirety. Those women conquered by such beasts, the Zalim, were never tossed aside and were treated as worthy prizes to be adored and claimed with diligent vigour. They were returned to their homes, and although no longer chaste or innocent, neither were they scarred or afraid. In secret, those ladies wore badges of honour, knowing they were special and an accolade for the men who pursued them.

  Gervais wanted Matilda to know the nature of the Zalim within him. She would have to learn to live with it, if they married. At some point during their days of betrothal, he would have to unleash it and hope she accepted it was an integral part of him, and that it would always master her, denying her any hope of equality in authority. It was too late to change himself into a different kind of man. For many years, he had allowed the Zalim to thrive within him, learning from others had to grow it, feed it, and never allow another man to control it. He was more than a lord. Gervais was a hunter, a warrior, and leader of men. But he was also a half-formed human. The other half was wild. None ever saw the transformation, there were no outward characteristics to behold, he remained always trapped in the body of an earthly hunter. What he manifested came from the heart and soul of his being, and only a woman who gave herself to him ever encountered his true nature.

  Geoffrey had no beast of any kind in him. How could he possibly satisfy Matilda?

  The crackling fire woke Matilda. Gervais was crouched near the fire, turning the meat on a spit. Seeing her awake, he removed the roast and carved it with his hunting knife.

  “I thought you might be hungry.” Gervais held out a plate. “Mutton, nothing special.” There was bread, too.

  She ate greedily, unashamed by the ravenous wakening. He picked at his food, smiling between mouthfuls. She had wrapped a blanket around her body, and he let her, and from the bed, she’d moved to the hearth. He let her do that too.

  Ivan licked their plates clean.

  Reaching over, Gervais snatched the blanket from her shoulders and dragged it down.

  “My lord,” she decried. “What now?”

  “Now?” He dragged her toward him using the blanket as a vehicle. “Now it is time for your cunt to welcome me.” His cock rose at the suggestion. It was easily enticed when the surroundings were appropriately fashioned, and a naked woman was as good a starting point as any.

  She blushed at the crude language. “Sir. I can’t possibly... I have not the capacity—”

  She had so little understanding. It amused him. “Your mouth managed. Your pussy will stretch, don’t fret.”

  Her eyes widened into moons of disbelief. “It can’t. It will resist you.”

  “Only if your mind does. Let your body dictate your emotions, not your thoughts. Unless...” He pursed his lips.

  She shuffled closer to his chair, keeping part of the blanket across her midriff. “Sir?”

  “Unless your thoughts are wicked.”

  The blush deepened. “I have no thoughts like that, sir.”

  She lied beautifully.

  “In your sleep you do. What did you dream about?”

  She scrambled backwards and the mastiff howled when she landed on his paw.

  “Dream... I dreamt of nothing important.” She tried to cover herself with the blanket, but he had hold of the other end. He pulled hard, and she lost her grip. The loose blanket unravelled around her body, exposing her rosy breasts and fuzzy mound.

  He rolled the blanket into a ball and threw it onto the window seat. “There. Let’s not hide you away. So, my beloved, my wife-to-be—”

  “Maybe,” she pouted.

  “A certainty, I’m sure. What did you see in your nap?”

  “I can’t tell you.” She turned her flushed face away from him.

  “What claimed you in your sleep? What kind of man tempts you when you dream? Answer me.” He added an edge to his voice, something that brought goosebumps out onto her arms.

  She twirled a lock of apricot hair between her fingers. The long tresses, loosened during their frolic on the bed, reached her waist. It was the first time he’d seen her hair down and not bound up into a tight bun ready to be hidden under a veiled headdress.

  “Is it so hard to describe? Were you alone?”

  She shook her head.

  “Where were you?”

  “In the woods. I was chased there.”

  “By whom?”

  “More of a what. I never saw it. It crept upon me, pushed me down, and licked my back. And
bottom.” She lowered her eyes. “I’m ashamed to say it excited me. It should not.”

  “Your naked bottom?” He liked the imagery. Such a dream would excite him too, although his perspective would be different to hers.

  “Yes,” she squeaked. “I spread... I did what I did earlier for you in the tower, and something entered me.”

  “And?” He leaned his elbows on his knees.

  Her eyes shone brightly. “It stayed there.” She straightened up. “Then I woke up. Hungry.”

  He laughed. “So I saw.” The laughter died naturally on his lips. She had a haunted expression, one to pity and admire, a beauty to conjure up his beast.

  He rose and stood over her. With the tip of his finger, he tilted her head up and gazed into her eyes. It was brief interlude, the food, the talk, and now it was over.

  “Get on the bed,” he growled.

  Chapter Twelve

  Even if reclaimed, the abandoned blanket would offer her no protection. She backed onto the bed, slithered along on her bottom, the heat still prevalent but the reason for it forgotten. By the pillows, she propped herself up on her elbows. She ensured her knees and thighs were glued together, locking out of sight what he desired.

  Gervais’s cloak slipped onto the floor by his feet and once more, he demonstrated he was fully endowed. The member, which she’d not managed to sate, was taut and coloured with hot blood. He brought his knuckles down on the mattress and with raised shoulders and piercing eyes, he stalked her on all fours, using them as a wolf might when creeping up on an unsuspecting hare. She swallowed the trepidation stuck in her throat, and it filled her belly instead with dancing butterflies.

  He collected on his way her legs, easily parting them, spreading them wide and up, until her knees were by her elbows. Open to him, unable to wriggle out from under the canopy of his body, she was under no illusion that this time he meant to fuck her. Her elbows collapsed, and she rested her arms above her head. There was nothing to hold, no means to hide her trembling fingers. She bit on her lower lip, but he saw it, the little gesture, and cocked his head to one side.