Silken Rapture (Princes of the Underground 2)

His face hardened at her refusal. He knelt on the bed and peeled back the velvet from a forearm and hand. She grimaced when her hand fell to the bed, foreign images and sensations impinging upon her. She could only partially interpret them, they were so strange and alien—the sweetness of the mulberry leaf, the friction in the gland before it secreted the sticky residue, soft, quick hands touching and spinning and stretching—

He gripped the upper part of her forearm and lifted her hand. The invading images abruptly ceased. Sweat beaded on her brow. She glanced up at him.

“Silk,” she whispered, referring to the luxurious fabric covering the bed. “It came from a living thing. I can feel its origins.”

He surprised her by nodding once, as if he perfectly understood her. He quickly removed her other glove, carefully holding her hands in the air and touching only her forearms. She murmured in surprise when he drew her hands above her head and efficiently tied her wrists together with the long, stretchy glove. He carefully laid her hands on the pillow, palms and fingertips facing upwards. She stared up at him, her skirt rucked up around her waist, her thighs spread, the cool air in the room kissing her hot, moist sex, her wrists restrained above her head.

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

She saw his throat convulse. For a strained few seconds, she thought he wasn’t going to reply.

“I wanted to see your hands naked while I was inside you.”

Her eyes sprang wide when he knelt on the bed and straddled her. He looked awesome in his power in that moment. It frightened her a little. Distantly, she recalled she was his prisoner here in Sanctuary. She’d gone to him to beg for her freedom, and now he was about to fuck her like some kind of warrior claiming the spills of war.

But the hazy thought wasn’t enough to quiet the heavy ache in her pussy. She needed him, whether she liked it or not. She craved him. He stared point blank at the juncture of her thighs. He would laugh if she told him to stop. Not that she could imagine Blaise Sevliss laughing.

Not that she even remotely wanted him to stop.

She licked her lower lip nervously as she watched him situate their bodies so that he could penetrate her. He pushed on the back of her thighs matter-of-factly, rolling her hips back in preparation to receive his length. It would hurt to have him in her. He was large, and she was small.

But she wanted it anyway.

She whimpered in rising desperation as she watched him slide his palm along the back of the thick shaft of his penis. He arrowed the plum-sized head into her slit.

“Oh,” she cried out in shock when he thrust firmly. Her body resisted him, but he continued to press, refusing to be denied. The pressure was almost unbearable. “I don’t think—”

“I’m sorry. I cannot stop it,” he grated out, his voice cracking.

She focused on him. His face and long, muscled torso were damp with sweat. He looked savage and hard, but with her special sense when it came to him, she recognized the power of his need. It frightened him.

Seeing his fear—a desperation that was like an open wound—erased her own.

He placed his hands on the carved headboard, bracing himself. She bit her lip to stop herself from crying out when he plunged into her to the hilt. He paused, his balls pressed against her delicate, moist tissues. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. He circled his hips subtly, the stimulation on her clit making her moan. She clenched around his cock.

She saw his white teeth flash in a snarl. She wasn’t surprised to see his incisors were extended as he began to fuck her—it seemed as though she’d expected it, somewhere in the distant recesses of her mind. His thrusts were precise, thorough and more powerful than she’d ever experienced. She was at his mercy. His face remained stark and hard as he pumped. It would have hurt her, to see his impassive expression, if she didn’t also sense his endless need and his turmoil as he fought that need…

…his pain that he knew he could not win.

She bit her lower lip to stifle a scream. Her body stretched to accommodate his penis—it seemed to be growing even larger as he thrust into her again and again. The bed began to shake and rattle against the wall with the strength of his possession. He created an almost unbearable friction in her. She felt inundated with swelling sensation, besieged with it. Much as when his teeth had penetrated her flesh, she experienced intense pleasure spiced with the edge of pain.

He grunted and rode her harder, his face rigid, his features glazed with a sheen of sweat. A cry escaped her throat when he altered the angle of his driving cock. He pounded into her until she clenched her eyes shut and mewled. She pumped her hips against him, increasing the already unbearable friction, her body a coiled spring. She felt him jerk viciously inside her.

Her eyelids flew open. Wonder coursed through her in equal measure when she felt him coming deep inside her. His face twisted in what must have been pleasure so piercing it resembled pain. The deep, guttural growl he made was the sound of a wounded beast. He continued to stab his penis into her with short, hard thrusts even as he endured his bliss.

She blinked sweat out of her eyes, disoriented. It shocked her a little that he’d come so rapidly. He seemed like such a powerful creature…such a powerful lover. Seeing his vulnerability made her want to weep.

She lay there, panting, trying to find a measure of reality to grasp onto in the bizarre, electrified moment. He lowered his hands off the carved headboard and placed them next to the pillow where her head lay. He hunched over her, his neck bent, gasping wildly for air. The fact that he wasn’t entirely human struck her anew when she noticed how quickly he recovered. Within ten seconds, he went from desperately trying to catch his breath to calm, even breathing.

And his cock remained enormous and throbbing inside her.

She cried out brokenly several seconds later when he reached between them and spread her labia wide, exposing the sensitive kernel of flesh of her clit. He removed his hand and ground his pelvis down on her, rotating his hips, stimulating her. She gritted her teeth together at the pressure of being so filled by his cock while he massaged her clit. Orgasm loomed, the suddenness of its approach, the magnitude of it, stunning her.

She hadn’t fully recovered from her climax when he began fucking her again. Her palms began to tingle. She opened her eyelids and saw he gazed at her bare, restrained hands with a fixed, blazing stare. He didn’t speak, just thrust into her with lancing precision, a blade plunging into a shuddering sheath. Yet she felt the intensity of his longing, knew instinctually how much he hungered for her touch.

A fever overcame him. It enveloped Isabel as well, and together they existed at the center of an inferno. Again and again he took her, not understanding his need, but acknowledging he was ruled by it. His hunger never disappeared, but sometime close to dawn, he told himself it had at least eased. He untied Isabel’s hands and took great care in replacing her gloves.

“Come to bed,” Isabel said after her hands were covered, her voice roughened by passion spent many times over.