The Harlot (Taskill Witches 1)

Jessie watched, her heart racing.

He captured and held her wrists in one hand, then wrapped the twisted material around them and tied her hands to the wooden plinth at the head of the bed.

Breathlessly, she followed his movements.

Opening his breeches, he took his cock in his hand.

Reacting, she rolled away, jerking against the restraint.

“Do not defy me!” He snatched her back, forcing her to lie flat. Climbing onto the bed, he shoved her legs apart with his knee.

Roughly, he splayed her thighs and directed his erection to her opening. With a fumble and a bitter curse, he found

his way and thrust inside.

The sudden fullness captured her senses and strung out her emotions. “Gregor,” she cried out, unable to help herself. “’Twas you I wanted.”

A warning flashed in his eyes. Her confession had angered him, and once again he put his hand over her mouth. He did not want her words, his expression warned her that he did not trust them.

I will show you, Gregor, she silently vowed, locking her gaze to his. You will trust me. I will make you.

She stared up at him, willingly him to know her.

His eyes narrowed and his hand tightened as he rode her fast, hard and with no mercy.

The pressure of his palm over her mouth, controlling her, made her all the wilder for him. She thrashed and arched, her body cleaving to his, the restraint heightening her need and emphasizing the exquisite pleasure of every movement he made, every touch, every thrust and grind, inside and out. To be so thoroughly undone, so unmercifully taken and used by him, made her dizzy with pleasure.

Never before could she have enjoyed such servitude, but in this moment she was lost to all it afforded her—the thrust at her center, the weight of him over her and his hand silencing her mouth. The way he rode her was like a man driven, as if the need to lose his seed inside her made him ferocious, every muscle in his body tight as rope as he loomed over her.

Cursing aloud, he lifted up on his arms, his body pivoting against hers as he neared his release. But still he rode on. He bellowed and tossed his hair back, his movements direct and swift as he lifted her legs from around his hips and draped them over his shoulders, bowing her body against the mattress, pressing deeper still within the swollen, sensitive channel of her cunny.

Jessie moaned, for each time he thrust deep against her center carried her into ecstasy. Her body clenched in release and hot juices dampened her thighs. Still he worked her, until she felt blissfully ragged with use, waves of ecstasy washing over her repeatedly. Then he shot his load, and he did it deep inside her.

Panting, he hung his head down over her and his hair brushed her face. Her cunny clenched once more, and he pulled free, turning away.

He sat on the edge of the bed, silent and unmoving.

Jessie stared at his back. It was so finely muscled, so damp with sweat from his exertions. Aching to reach out and soothe him, she whimpered and jerked her hands within their restraints, her legs stirring against the mattress.

He turned and stared down at her.

The faltering stub of candle barely lit the side of his face, and she ached to see him more clearly, hoping that when she did his mood would be more forgiving and mellow.

It was not.

Once he untied her, he walked away. After her breathing had settled and she felt her legs might hold her upright, she followed him to the fireside. She stood next to his chair, absorbing a little comfort from the flames, longing for him to hold her as he had before, when she had woken from her nightmares. “I am sorry that I left your side,” she whispered.

He reached for her hand, drew it to his lips and kissed the back of it.

Lifting her head, she looked at him.

He did not meet her gaze.

Frustration simmered on inside her. She had expected him to claim her, mount her and ride her roughly and possessively. What she had not expected was for him to treat her as if she had been sullied, as if she was some precious thing that had been touched by another, and that stirred a deep ache in her chest. Yet still he was withdrawn from her.

He was staring into the fire, and his face seemed more harshly chiseled than ever, gaunt almost. His eyes looked haunted, and that struck her oddly, making her crave him. She dropped to her knees at his side and laced her hands around his neck, clinging to him.

“I’m not immune to your tricks, Jessie,” he murmured. “I doubt any man could claim such a thing. You know that already. From the moment we met you have known that.” There was reprimand in his tone, and disappointment.