Kiss of Steel
Page 26
Her limbs were jerky as she crossed the room and sat down on the edge. Blade held out his hands in front of her with an imperious look.
“You want me to find the key?” he asked when she hesitated.
“No. That’s quite all right.” She dug it out. Her fingers were shaking. Damn him. It took her what seemed like ages to fit the key in the manacles and turn it. Blade could have taken over at any stage, but he merely held his hands still, as if forcing her to obey him was part of her punishment.
“Lie back.” His voice was silky smooth.
She obeyed. He knelt on the edge of the bed, his weight dipping the mattress. Her hip rolled into his, and she caught at the sheets to prevent herself from tumbling into him.
Then his other knee came down, straddling her lower legs. Honoria wriggled backward, her back hitting the headboard. Breathe, she reminded herself. Just breathe.
But she couldn’t stop her gaze from shooting to his mouth. That wicked, slightly lopsided mouth with its thin lips that often quirked in humor. A mouth that would soon be on her body, lapping at her blood.
Good God. She wasn’t ready for this. Perhaps she never would be. I made a deal, she reminded herself.
Blade tossed the manacles beside her. There was no expression on his face, just a glint in his eye that she wasn’t quite certain how to decipher. “Put ’em on.”
“I’m sure that’s not necessary. I’ll lie still.”
“Honor. Shut up.” He reached over and dragged a small table closer then flung the leather roll of fléchettes open upon it. “I can’t afford to ’ave you move. It excites me.” His eyes met hers. “That’s not a good idea right now.”
“Could you please put your shirt on?” she blurted.
“Don’t you like the look of me?” He pointed to his pale, chiseled torso as though she weren’t well aware of it. Almost casually, he traced a line down the center of his chest, drawing lower, mingling with the tawny stubble of hair that arrowed toward his trousers.
Honoria ignored his question. “Please.” A flush of discomfort swept through her. This wasn’t easy. Though the role of a blue blood’s thrall in society was a respectable one, she had always been somewhat old-fashioned. A thrall meant that one was owned. Cattle. She’d seen enough feedings at the Institute to know what lay ahead. He would hold her down and slash a vein, latching on greedily for the hot pump of her blood.
How could you respect something that was essentially food? An awful thought. It burned within her stomach, a nauseating curl.
He had been kind to her. Bought her dinner. Brushed her hair in an almost affectionate manner. But this changed. Now. Here. After this moment she would be nothing more to him than a meal.
Blade seemed to sense something amiss. His finger stopped its wicked path. He unstraddled her in silence, got off the bed, stepped away, and grabbed at his shirt, tugging it over his head. “Better?”
She nodded miserably. “Yes.” The words were a hoarse whisper. She tried again. “Thank you.”
“I won’t ’urt you,” he said abruptly then frowned. “Or I’ll try to make it as easy as possible. It might sting a little.”
He’d misunderstood her reluctance, though the thought of the knife blade on her flesh sent a shiver through her.
“If you would please get it over with. I’d prefer not to discuss it.”
“Of course.”
He knelt on the bed again, straddling her. Honoria closed one of the manacles over her wrist before she could change her mind. She was nervous enough that she wasn’t entirely sure if she might fight him or not, and neither of them wanted that. It would only excite him, arouse the dangerous side of him. She’d seen enough feedings to know that. Still, the click of the latch sounded like a prison door closing.
“What should I attach it to? You’ve quite destroyed the bed.” Strangely her voice was cool and composed now. She felt a little distant from it all.
“Let me.” He knelt over her, his shadow obscuring the gaslights in the chandelier.
A shiver of anticipation swept through her. She lay on her back, feeling the oppressive weight of his body.
Blade focused on the manacles. He drew her wrist up, over her head. Then the other. Her ni**les brushed against the stiffened linen of her stays. Strangely taut. Aching.
He latched the other manacle around the bedpost, then about her other wrist. Kneeling back, with his hands on his thighs, he stared at her, his weight heavy on her legs. “Where?”
“The femoral.” Heat flushed through her cheeks, and she closed her eyes to avoid his penetrating gaze. “I would still prefer not to have the marks visible.”
And no matter where he took from her, it would be intimate. At her throat, his mouth working on the delicate skin there. Or lips brushing against her wrist, but she already knew that the veins there weren’t as generous as others.
A little tingle of awareness throbbed between her thighs. Anticipation. Fear. And something else, something that burned through her like wildfire.
Her breath hitched. Blade looked at her sharply, but she forced herself to stare at the ceiling, trying not to think about the heavy steel cuffs that bound her to the bed.
Every muscle in her body was rigid. She felt the brush of her skirts over her shins as he slid them up. Anticipation coiled in her womb, and she realized she was holding her breath and let it out. Then his fingers brushed against her garters. “Wait.”
He stilled. Patient. Waiting. Honoria tried to form some coherent thought behind the instinctive protest. There was none. Her mind seemed to have turned to mush.
And still he waited. It was that alone that gave her the strength to meet his eyes. He let her have the control in a situation that was clearly his.
“I’m ready,” she whispered.
He picked up a tourniquet and tested the give in the leather. She recognized the style of it from the Institute. “I’ll make it swift.” One hand tugged her left knee up, pressing her stockinged foot into the mattress. The other looped the belt around her thigh.
She hadn’t meant to watch. But somehow she couldn’t tear her eyes off what he was doing. He moved with such efficiency she could almost forget that her skirts were up around her hips, her pale thigh na**d to his gaze above the faded ribbons of her garter. Then he tugged the belt tight.
Pain. Constricting. A dull throb in her leg.
“’As to be tight,” he apologized, his voice dropping to a growl.
She cried out softly as he tugged the belt tighter. Her upper thigh felt as though it were throbbing in time to the beat of her heart. She could suddenly hear it, loud and panicked in her ear. Wrapping her hands around the chain of the manacles, she ground her teeth and held on.
After a moment’s wait, she tilted her head to look down. Blade was breathing hard, his jaw tight with strain. As if sensing her gaze, he looked up. Black eyes, the demon’s eyes, met hers. And the world fell away.
She couldn’t breathe again. She could only feel—the burning throb in her leg, the wet heat between her thighs, the aching tightness of her ni**les. Danger screamed through her, sending her senses on alert.
Blade’s hands dug into the soft, tender flesh of her thigh. He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. “Don’t move, luv.”
She nodded then let her head slump back onto the pillow.
Shutting her eyes narrowed her world down to the feel of his hands on her thigh. Tugging her garter ribbons undone. Rolling down the top edge of her stocking. Each touch was a blistering scorch of sensation against her throbbing, heated flesh. She bit back a whimper, not quite of pain. An unusual feeling she’d never felt before. His thumb. Testing the artery. Then the sudden loss of touch as he reached for the razor.
She tracked everything with her peripheral senses. The shift of his weight on the bed. The rustle of sheets, an intimate sound. Then the smooth brush of his hand against her thigh.
The pain of the razor was sharp and sudden against the inside of her thigh. Honoria cried out, trying to hold herself still. Heart pounding. A drum in her ears. And then…his mouth. Shockingly wet. A burning, icy heat against her skin. Sucking. An answering tug deep in her womb, as though each mouthful of blood drew with it something of her essence.
He jerked on the belt and let it loose. Her h*ps arched off the bed at the sudden agony as blood rushed into her starved limb. The piercing ache of his mouth intensified until she could almost bear it no longer.
“Easy.” A breath against her thigh, hoarse with need. An iron hand against the soft flesh of her lower abdomen, forcing her h*ps down.
She felt his touch keenly, the need burning through her with a fierce fury. She was barely aware of her wrists, tugging unconsciously at the manacles, or the way her skirts bunched around her hips, carelessly forgotten in the heat of the moment. Everything was his mouth on her skin—tugging, suckling, his tongue lapping at her sensitive flesh. Everything was the sudden surge of longing, so hot and wet between her thighs. Slick. An alien sensation so infinitely greedy that it swept her into this fury of need, giving no heed to consequences or rationale.
Need.
Her h*ps jerked. Blade’s hand flattened on her stomach, forcing her down, but still she writhed. A soft cry tore from her lips as his teeth dug into her. He bit her. A sharp sensation that sent a shiver through her.
“Stay still.” A warning growl.
As soon try to stop the tide. She was so on edge that the merest brush of his lips made her body jerk. Everything seemed too raw, too much. She wanted to tear her clothes from her body, to stop the incessant burning itch of the wool on too-sensitive flesh.
Blade cursed against her skin. Then licked her thigh. The hot swipe of his tongue nearly undid her.
She cried out.
“Honoria.”
Perfectly pronounced. Edged with frustration and something else. Her eyes met his. The raw need she saw shocked her, and an answering echo of it tore through her.
He pressed his hand against her leg, forcing the blood flow to stop. Whipping the belt free, he tossed it aside then pressed a linen pad against her cut and bound it swiftly.
“Where?” he ground out.
She had no need to ask what he was talking about. But not even the raw need flushing through her could force her to give voice to the desire she felt.
Their gazes locked.
Touch me. Please.
“Here?” He pressed his palm directly over the hot flush of her mons.
She should have protested the intimacy. Instead she ground her h*ps up so that her heated flesh pressed against him.
Harder.
“Like this?” His voice was low and strained as he tugged her skirts up.
Her cotton drawers were drenched. Cool air flushed against her liquid heat as he tugged at the buttons. And then she gasped, sensation streaking through her like stored lightning as his fingers brushed against her naked, throbbing flesh.
“Damn you, Honor.”
Blade’s shirt hung open, his veins and sinews standing out in stark release as he rose over her. His fingers toyed with her, shooting sparks through her womb. Honoria bucked and writhed, feeling the edge of something building within her. A wave. An enormous tidal wave of need, threatening to drown her. She was helpless to resist.
“Please,” she begged. “Faster.”
His fingers stroked over the lush pearl of her clitoris. White-hot sparks shot through her. Her eyes shot open and she found him kneeling over her, his furious gaze locked on her face. The heavy weight of his thigh stretched over hers, and he rested on his shoulder on the bed beside her. His c**k ground into her hip.
“Easy,” he groaned. “Let it come easy.”
A fingertip slid inside her. As if asking permission.
Don’t think. She thrust her h*ps up. Felt him breach her further. A curious stretching. Her inner muscles clenched around his finger as if questioning this intruder.
He rubbed his wet thumb over her clit. Felt her shudder. A grim smile tore at his mouth. “Trust me.”
Another fingertip, brushing at her entrance. Honoria’s h*ps arched higher.
“Yes?” he asked.
She tossed her head from side to side, her entire being flushed with need. Another whimpering groan.
“Yes?” he demanded, sliding the tips of those two fingers inside her.
“Yes.”
His fingers filled her. Stretching. A throbbing ache. He coated them in her wetness, then dragged them out, tickling the very edges of her entrance before sliding them back to the hilt.
The edge built.
Somehow she turned her face into his shoulder. Shocked herself by sinking her teeth into the heavy muscle that ran from his neck to his shoulder. Blade growled low in his throat, his fingers thrusting faster within her. At another moment she might have cringed to find herself spread like this, her thighs tossed apart in desperate need, her h*ps moving wantonly. But all she could see was Blade. All she could feel was his touch and the aching build of tension within her.
He wrought delicious torture in her body. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Her eyes shot open, a cry tearing itself from her throat.
“That’s it.” His whisper was dark and triumphant.
She felt his hand cup his cock-stand through his pants, rubbing hard against her thigh. The thought only made her burn hotter. Tighter. The wave loomed over her for one crushing, breathless second.
And then she was screaming, burying her face in his shoulder to hide the sound. Her greedy passage clutched at his fingers, milking them. Sensation suddenly became acute. Too much. Sweet God, it was too much.
“That’s it.” He thrust against her thigh, burying his fingers deep inside her. Something burned—a distant friction—but she didn’t care. It felt too damned good.
“You want me to find the key?” he asked when she hesitated.
“No. That’s quite all right.” She dug it out. Her fingers were shaking. Damn him. It took her what seemed like ages to fit the key in the manacles and turn it. Blade could have taken over at any stage, but he merely held his hands still, as if forcing her to obey him was part of her punishment.
“Lie back.” His voice was silky smooth.
She obeyed. He knelt on the edge of the bed, his weight dipping the mattress. Her hip rolled into his, and she caught at the sheets to prevent herself from tumbling into him.
Then his other knee came down, straddling her lower legs. Honoria wriggled backward, her back hitting the headboard. Breathe, she reminded herself. Just breathe.
But she couldn’t stop her gaze from shooting to his mouth. That wicked, slightly lopsided mouth with its thin lips that often quirked in humor. A mouth that would soon be on her body, lapping at her blood.
Good God. She wasn’t ready for this. Perhaps she never would be. I made a deal, she reminded herself.
Blade tossed the manacles beside her. There was no expression on his face, just a glint in his eye that she wasn’t quite certain how to decipher. “Put ’em on.”
“I’m sure that’s not necessary. I’ll lie still.”
“Honor. Shut up.” He reached over and dragged a small table closer then flung the leather roll of fléchettes open upon it. “I can’t afford to ’ave you move. It excites me.” His eyes met hers. “That’s not a good idea right now.”
“Could you please put your shirt on?” she blurted.
“Don’t you like the look of me?” He pointed to his pale, chiseled torso as though she weren’t well aware of it. Almost casually, he traced a line down the center of his chest, drawing lower, mingling with the tawny stubble of hair that arrowed toward his trousers.
Honoria ignored his question. “Please.” A flush of discomfort swept through her. This wasn’t easy. Though the role of a blue blood’s thrall in society was a respectable one, she had always been somewhat old-fashioned. A thrall meant that one was owned. Cattle. She’d seen enough feedings at the Institute to know what lay ahead. He would hold her down and slash a vein, latching on greedily for the hot pump of her blood.
How could you respect something that was essentially food? An awful thought. It burned within her stomach, a nauseating curl.
He had been kind to her. Bought her dinner. Brushed her hair in an almost affectionate manner. But this changed. Now. Here. After this moment she would be nothing more to him than a meal.
Blade seemed to sense something amiss. His finger stopped its wicked path. He unstraddled her in silence, got off the bed, stepped away, and grabbed at his shirt, tugging it over his head. “Better?”
She nodded miserably. “Yes.” The words were a hoarse whisper. She tried again. “Thank you.”
“I won’t ’urt you,” he said abruptly then frowned. “Or I’ll try to make it as easy as possible. It might sting a little.”
He’d misunderstood her reluctance, though the thought of the knife blade on her flesh sent a shiver through her.
“If you would please get it over with. I’d prefer not to discuss it.”
“Of course.”
He knelt on the bed again, straddling her. Honoria closed one of the manacles over her wrist before she could change her mind. She was nervous enough that she wasn’t entirely sure if she might fight him or not, and neither of them wanted that. It would only excite him, arouse the dangerous side of him. She’d seen enough feedings to know that. Still, the click of the latch sounded like a prison door closing.
“What should I attach it to? You’ve quite destroyed the bed.” Strangely her voice was cool and composed now. She felt a little distant from it all.
“Let me.” He knelt over her, his shadow obscuring the gaslights in the chandelier.
A shiver of anticipation swept through her. She lay on her back, feeling the oppressive weight of his body.
Blade focused on the manacles. He drew her wrist up, over her head. Then the other. Her ni**les brushed against the stiffened linen of her stays. Strangely taut. Aching.
He latched the other manacle around the bedpost, then about her other wrist. Kneeling back, with his hands on his thighs, he stared at her, his weight heavy on her legs. “Where?”
“The femoral.” Heat flushed through her cheeks, and she closed her eyes to avoid his penetrating gaze. “I would still prefer not to have the marks visible.”
And no matter where he took from her, it would be intimate. At her throat, his mouth working on the delicate skin there. Or lips brushing against her wrist, but she already knew that the veins there weren’t as generous as others.
A little tingle of awareness throbbed between her thighs. Anticipation. Fear. And something else, something that burned through her like wildfire.
Her breath hitched. Blade looked at her sharply, but she forced herself to stare at the ceiling, trying not to think about the heavy steel cuffs that bound her to the bed.
Every muscle in her body was rigid. She felt the brush of her skirts over her shins as he slid them up. Anticipation coiled in her womb, and she realized she was holding her breath and let it out. Then his fingers brushed against her garters. “Wait.”
He stilled. Patient. Waiting. Honoria tried to form some coherent thought behind the instinctive protest. There was none. Her mind seemed to have turned to mush.
And still he waited. It was that alone that gave her the strength to meet his eyes. He let her have the control in a situation that was clearly his.
“I’m ready,” she whispered.
He picked up a tourniquet and tested the give in the leather. She recognized the style of it from the Institute. “I’ll make it swift.” One hand tugged her left knee up, pressing her stockinged foot into the mattress. The other looped the belt around her thigh.
She hadn’t meant to watch. But somehow she couldn’t tear her eyes off what he was doing. He moved with such efficiency she could almost forget that her skirts were up around her hips, her pale thigh na**d to his gaze above the faded ribbons of her garter. Then he tugged the belt tight.
Pain. Constricting. A dull throb in her leg.
“’As to be tight,” he apologized, his voice dropping to a growl.
She cried out softly as he tugged the belt tighter. Her upper thigh felt as though it were throbbing in time to the beat of her heart. She could suddenly hear it, loud and panicked in her ear. Wrapping her hands around the chain of the manacles, she ground her teeth and held on.
After a moment’s wait, she tilted her head to look down. Blade was breathing hard, his jaw tight with strain. As if sensing her gaze, he looked up. Black eyes, the demon’s eyes, met hers. And the world fell away.
She couldn’t breathe again. She could only feel—the burning throb in her leg, the wet heat between her thighs, the aching tightness of her ni**les. Danger screamed through her, sending her senses on alert.
Blade’s hands dug into the soft, tender flesh of her thigh. He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. “Don’t move, luv.”
She nodded then let her head slump back onto the pillow.
Shutting her eyes narrowed her world down to the feel of his hands on her thigh. Tugging her garter ribbons undone. Rolling down the top edge of her stocking. Each touch was a blistering scorch of sensation against her throbbing, heated flesh. She bit back a whimper, not quite of pain. An unusual feeling she’d never felt before. His thumb. Testing the artery. Then the sudden loss of touch as he reached for the razor.
She tracked everything with her peripheral senses. The shift of his weight on the bed. The rustle of sheets, an intimate sound. Then the smooth brush of his hand against her thigh.
The pain of the razor was sharp and sudden against the inside of her thigh. Honoria cried out, trying to hold herself still. Heart pounding. A drum in her ears. And then…his mouth. Shockingly wet. A burning, icy heat against her skin. Sucking. An answering tug deep in her womb, as though each mouthful of blood drew with it something of her essence.
He jerked on the belt and let it loose. Her h*ps arched off the bed at the sudden agony as blood rushed into her starved limb. The piercing ache of his mouth intensified until she could almost bear it no longer.
“Easy.” A breath against her thigh, hoarse with need. An iron hand against the soft flesh of her lower abdomen, forcing her h*ps down.
She felt his touch keenly, the need burning through her with a fierce fury. She was barely aware of her wrists, tugging unconsciously at the manacles, or the way her skirts bunched around her hips, carelessly forgotten in the heat of the moment. Everything was his mouth on her skin—tugging, suckling, his tongue lapping at her sensitive flesh. Everything was the sudden surge of longing, so hot and wet between her thighs. Slick. An alien sensation so infinitely greedy that it swept her into this fury of need, giving no heed to consequences or rationale.
Need.
Her h*ps jerked. Blade’s hand flattened on her stomach, forcing her down, but still she writhed. A soft cry tore from her lips as his teeth dug into her. He bit her. A sharp sensation that sent a shiver through her.
“Stay still.” A warning growl.
As soon try to stop the tide. She was so on edge that the merest brush of his lips made her body jerk. Everything seemed too raw, too much. She wanted to tear her clothes from her body, to stop the incessant burning itch of the wool on too-sensitive flesh.
Blade cursed against her skin. Then licked her thigh. The hot swipe of his tongue nearly undid her.
She cried out.
“Honoria.”
Perfectly pronounced. Edged with frustration and something else. Her eyes met his. The raw need she saw shocked her, and an answering echo of it tore through her.
He pressed his hand against her leg, forcing the blood flow to stop. Whipping the belt free, he tossed it aside then pressed a linen pad against her cut and bound it swiftly.
“Where?” he ground out.
She had no need to ask what he was talking about. But not even the raw need flushing through her could force her to give voice to the desire she felt.
Their gazes locked.
Touch me. Please.
“Here?” He pressed his palm directly over the hot flush of her mons.
She should have protested the intimacy. Instead she ground her h*ps up so that her heated flesh pressed against him.
Harder.
“Like this?” His voice was low and strained as he tugged her skirts up.
Her cotton drawers were drenched. Cool air flushed against her liquid heat as he tugged at the buttons. And then she gasped, sensation streaking through her like stored lightning as his fingers brushed against her naked, throbbing flesh.
“Damn you, Honor.”
Blade’s shirt hung open, his veins and sinews standing out in stark release as he rose over her. His fingers toyed with her, shooting sparks through her womb. Honoria bucked and writhed, feeling the edge of something building within her. A wave. An enormous tidal wave of need, threatening to drown her. She was helpless to resist.
“Please,” she begged. “Faster.”
His fingers stroked over the lush pearl of her clitoris. White-hot sparks shot through her. Her eyes shot open and she found him kneeling over her, his furious gaze locked on her face. The heavy weight of his thigh stretched over hers, and he rested on his shoulder on the bed beside her. His c**k ground into her hip.
“Easy,” he groaned. “Let it come easy.”
A fingertip slid inside her. As if asking permission.
Don’t think. She thrust her h*ps up. Felt him breach her further. A curious stretching. Her inner muscles clenched around his finger as if questioning this intruder.
He rubbed his wet thumb over her clit. Felt her shudder. A grim smile tore at his mouth. “Trust me.”
Another fingertip, brushing at her entrance. Honoria’s h*ps arched higher.
“Yes?” he asked.
She tossed her head from side to side, her entire being flushed with need. Another whimpering groan.
“Yes?” he demanded, sliding the tips of those two fingers inside her.
“Yes.”
His fingers filled her. Stretching. A throbbing ache. He coated them in her wetness, then dragged them out, tickling the very edges of her entrance before sliding them back to the hilt.
The edge built.
Somehow she turned her face into his shoulder. Shocked herself by sinking her teeth into the heavy muscle that ran from his neck to his shoulder. Blade growled low in his throat, his fingers thrusting faster within her. At another moment she might have cringed to find herself spread like this, her thighs tossed apart in desperate need, her h*ps moving wantonly. But all she could see was Blade. All she could feel was his touch and the aching build of tension within her.
He wrought delicious torture in her body. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Her eyes shot open, a cry tearing itself from her throat.
“That’s it.” His whisper was dark and triumphant.
She felt his hand cup his cock-stand through his pants, rubbing hard against her thigh. The thought only made her burn hotter. Tighter. The wave loomed over her for one crushing, breathless second.
And then she was screaming, burying her face in his shoulder to hide the sound. Her greedy passage clutched at his fingers, milking them. Sensation suddenly became acute. Too much. Sweet God, it was too much.
“That’s it.” He thrust against her thigh, burying his fingers deep inside her. Something burned—a distant friction—but she didn’t care. It felt too damned good.
