me. There was
no escaping his insistence. He stilled my desperate thrashing with almost
insolent ease, forcing me against him, shocking me to breathtaking awareness of
every muscle in his hard, smooth body. Blindly, I made one last effort to free
myself, but his hands were plundering my body too ruthlessly.
If
I had not been resisting so hard, it might have been easier to bear. As it was,
he took me by brute force; I felt his greedy touch exploring every inch of me,
and the next moment I cried out, uncontrollably and in agony. It was
intolerable, outrageous; it was like being ripped apart; and as his passion smashed
over me like a tidal wave, I lay imprisoned in his arms and wept.
Chapter Three
I
do not know how long it was before I realized he had left me. A white hand
touched my cheek, and I opened my eyes and saw the blood thick under his
fingernails.
"Felicia."
There was no inquiry in his voice; only a command I obeyed instinctively,
looking up at him through a mist of tears. "You fight like ten devils,
sweet, but I can have soldiers in my bed for that. Come now, gently."
But
when he bent his head there was no gentleness in the touch of his lips but
expert sensuality, vicious appetite. He knew how to gain a response and did so
with a merciless science which left me gasping. When his head lifted, his eyes
were blazing black lightning, but he smiled and touched my lips again, very
lightly, with his own.
"Is
it so hard to love me, Felicia?"
In
that instant I knew how easy it could be. This happens to every one of his
women, I thought wildly—and his men, too—he bewitches all of them. I tensed
myself against him. "This is not love."
"I
will let the name go for the deed." His voice was frighteningly soft.
"Let
me go!" My voice almost broke.
His
head moved slightly in negation. "I will listen when you beg me to stay
with you."
My
answer was smothered against his mouth. Every movement was pain, pain that he
had inflicted; the coverlet underneath me was slimy with blood, and between my
thighs was burning agony. Yet when he touched me again, I could not fight him,
and my hands came up and stroked his moonlight hair. He still hurt me, but his
lovemaking was full of an infinitely more subtle, sensuous brutality, and his
hands coaxed and clung, erasing the horror. Little sounds of anguish came from
my throat as he held me, exploring my body unhurriedly with eyes and lips and delicately
seeking fingertips; then when his body slid smoothly to cover mine, the warm
silken weight of him became my whole world.
I
lay on my back at last, staring up at the pale shadows moving in the mirror
above the bed, long past weeping.
"I
told you that your heart would soften a little."
He
bent over me, shaken with laughter, and I gazed up at him in bitter wonder.
"Now that you have shamed me, must you mock me, too?"
"Where
is the shame?" His lips touched my throat. "You will have nothing but
honor for this night's work. When I have done, you will wonder why your fears
ever made you unkind."
"I
can never go home." I spoke unthinkingly to my reflection. "My
brother would not have me in the house."
"Do
not think of seeking his charity yet," he said sharply. "You will go
when I bid you, and not till then." I turned my head away tiredly, and his
voice changed. "What, stubborn still?"
I
knew the mockery in his eyes was malice, sardonic satisfaction in my body's
betrayal of my protestations, but it made no difference. My defiance was
slackening into lassitude through sheer physical exhaustion, yet he would not
let me rest—long after I was half-dead with tiredness, his desire kept me
waking, so I wondered if by very will he could cheat sleep.
When
he fell asleep at last, I had lost all count of the hours. The candles had
burned out long ago, and I lay listening to his quiet breathing and watching a
sliver of moonlight that had crept through the hangings; minute by minute it
moved, creeping across the pillow to touch his sleeping face, and
no escaping his insistence. He stilled my desperate thrashing with almost
insolent ease, forcing me against him, shocking me to breathtaking awareness of
every muscle in his hard, smooth body. Blindly, I made one last effort to free
myself, but his hands were plundering my body too ruthlessly.
If
I had not been resisting so hard, it might have been easier to bear. As it was,
he took me by brute force; I felt his greedy touch exploring every inch of me,
and the next moment I cried out, uncontrollably and in agony. It was
intolerable, outrageous; it was like being ripped apart; and as his passion smashed
over me like a tidal wave, I lay imprisoned in his arms and wept.
Chapter Three
I
do not know how long it was before I realized he had left me. A white hand
touched my cheek, and I opened my eyes and saw the blood thick under his
fingernails.
"Felicia."
There was no inquiry in his voice; only a command I obeyed instinctively,
looking up at him through a mist of tears. "You fight like ten devils,
sweet, but I can have soldiers in my bed for that. Come now, gently."
But
when he bent his head there was no gentleness in the touch of his lips but
expert sensuality, vicious appetite. He knew how to gain a response and did so
with a merciless science which left me gasping. When his head lifted, his eyes
were blazing black lightning, but he smiled and touched my lips again, very
lightly, with his own.
"Is
it so hard to love me, Felicia?"
In
that instant I knew how easy it could be. This happens to every one of his
women, I thought wildly—and his men, too—he bewitches all of them. I tensed
myself against him. "This is not love."
"I
will let the name go for the deed." His voice was frighteningly soft.
"Let
me go!" My voice almost broke.
His
head moved slightly in negation. "I will listen when you beg me to stay
with you."
My
answer was smothered against his mouth. Every movement was pain, pain that he
had inflicted; the coverlet underneath me was slimy with blood, and between my
thighs was burning agony. Yet when he touched me again, I could not fight him,
and my hands came up and stroked his moonlight hair. He still hurt me, but his
lovemaking was full of an infinitely more subtle, sensuous brutality, and his
hands coaxed and clung, erasing the horror. Little sounds of anguish came from
my throat as he held me, exploring my body unhurriedly with eyes and lips and delicately
seeking fingertips; then when his body slid smoothly to cover mine, the warm
silken weight of him became my whole world.
I
lay on my back at last, staring up at the pale shadows moving in the mirror
above the bed, long past weeping.
"I
told you that your heart would soften a little."
He
bent over me, shaken with laughter, and I gazed up at him in bitter wonder.
"Now that you have shamed me, must you mock me, too?"
"Where
is the shame?" His lips touched my throat. "You will have nothing but
honor for this night's work. When I have done, you will wonder why your fears
ever made you unkind."
"I
can never go home." I spoke unthinkingly to my reflection. "My
brother would not have me in the house."
"Do
not think of seeking his charity yet," he said sharply. "You will go
when I bid you, and not till then." I turned my head away tiredly, and his
voice changed. "What, stubborn still?"
I
knew the mockery in his eyes was malice, sardonic satisfaction in my body's
betrayal of my protestations, but it made no difference. My defiance was
slackening into lassitude through sheer physical exhaustion, yet he would not
let me rest—long after I was half-dead with tiredness, his desire kept me
waking, so I wondered if by very will he could cheat sleep.
When
he fell asleep at last, I had lost all count of the hours. The candles had
burned out long ago, and I lay listening to his quiet breathing and watching a
sliver of moonlight that had crept through the hangings; minute by minute it
moved, creeping across the pillow to touch his sleeping face, and
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