Rage boiled in her chest and she marched right up to him and slapped his cheek. “I have nothing to say to you. Go back to your Vampire kin.”
He grabbed her dagger hand and knocked the blade free. “Not until we’ve discussed this.”
She tried to kick his shins, realized it would hurt her bare feet more than it would him, but did it anyway. “What is there to discuss? Unless you wish to free me from my betrothal.
That
I will discuss.”
His hands slid up her arms and cupped her shoulders, his fingers warm and hard against her skin. “Rosalind, we will remain betrothed until we are married.”
“Or until one of your Vampire lovers has me murdered.”
“I do not
have
any Vampire lovers.”
She glared at him. “I don’t believe you. Who was that woman?”
A muscle twitched in his cheek. “I’m not sure. Her appearance surprised me just as much as it did you.”
“I doubt that.”
“Rosalind.” There was a hint of impatience in his tone now. “Why are you being so difficult? You agreed to the plan. In truth, you persuaded
me
into it.”
“That woman wasn’t part of any plan I agreed to—unless you are foolish enough to suggest that was Lady Anne in disguise and you
had
to save her.”
Christopher raised his eyebrows. “You are jealous?”
“Mayhap you play your part too well.”
“And you do not? I haven’t noticed you sighing after me, my lady. You seem quite happy to make merry with all the other courtiers.”
Rosalind looked away from him. At some level she knew he had good reason to be annoyed by her reaction to his conduct with Anne Boleyn. But she sensed he was deliberately avoiding her questions about the woman he’d been prepared to leap off a building for. Something was wrong with him and she needed to determine exactly what it was.
His tone softened. “By the saints, I want no other woman but you.”
She shoved him away. “You lie.”
“I speak the truth.” His shoulders bowed as if he carried a heavy load. “If you don’t believe me, share my thoughts.”
Rosalind closed her eyes, relaxed her own barriers, and tentatively allowed her mind to blend with Christopher’s. She saw his truth there, but not only that. There were shadows where once there was light, the taint of Vampire magic where there had once been a strong defensive wall. Christopher was hiding things from her, but were they
his
secrets, or those he held for someone else? Anne’s unmistakable influence pervaded Christopher’s mind like mold on cheese.
Rosalind fought back a gasp and cupped his bearded cheek, where the heat from her slap still lingered. What in God’s name was she to do? Was Christopher even aware of what was happening to him? She had to find a way to reach him and reestablish the connection between them. But at what risk to herself? By opening up to Christopher again, would she make herself vulnerable to Anne?
“Rosalind? What in God’s name is the matter? You look as if you have seen the devil himself.”
She opened her eyes and stared at Christopher, who sounded as uneasy as she felt. Whether or not he knew it yet, and she suspected that in some part of his mind he did, he had been bewitched. She rose onto her toes and kissed him full on the mouth, felt his instant response in both his mind and body. Would this help? Would joining with him allow her to strengthen his mind, perhaps without him even realizing it?
He returned the kiss, his mouth softening under hers, his arms locking around her with a ferocity that surprised her. “I thought you were going to kill me.” He murmured the words against her lips.
She sunk her teeth into his lower lip until he yelped. “There are many ways to kill a man, my lord.”
“Is that so?” He kissed her hard until she almost forgot how to breathe. “That sounds like a contest no man could resist.”
He allowed her to back him up to the bed and push him down. She followed him, one hand twisted in his thick black hair, the other tugging at the ties of his shirt. She didn’t feel like being kind. Whatever Christopher believed, this was a battle she intended to win.
He groaned as she knelt over him and pulled his shirt over his head. She bent and licked his tight nipple, caught it between her teeth until he bucked and reached for her. She slapped his hands away and knelt up to attack the points of his hose. He was already hard and ready, his shaft pressing against the supple buckskin, as if eager for her attention. She rubbed her palm over his groin and felt his prick jerk in response.
“Rosalind, by all the saints—be careful.”
She ignored his hoarse plea, and focused her attention on uncovering his thick length, her need for him as sharp as a blade. She had to have him inside her again, had to make him think and dream only of her, and not of Anne Boleyn,
never
Anne Boleyn. She grasped the base of his cock and guided him inside, gasped at the heat and thickness of him, at the sense that he would never fit inside unless she surrendered to him completely.
He watched her through lowered eyes, his hands fisted on the bedcovers, his breathing as ragged as her own. Rosalind took her hand off his shaft and brought herself completely over him. She remained still, waited for her body to accept him, to surround him, to cherish every pulsing inch of him.
He licked his lips and his fingertips grazed her thigh. “Let me touch you.”
She glared down at him. “You may not.”
“How do you intend to stop me?”
She made as if to climb off him, and his hand fell back on the bed. “All right, I’ll be still.”
“You had better be, or I’ll tie you to the bed.”
His heated gaze met hers. “As if I’d let you.”
“You’d let me.” She sank back down on his prick, and he gasped. Rosalind sought his mind, found him wide-open to her. The intensity of his desire burned so brightly she could almost taste it. As she settled into a rhythm over him, she made him experience each deliberate rock of her hips, each tightening of her inner muscles on his shaft. He started to move under her, his hips arching, his booted feet planted on the bedcovers.
She didn’t allow herself to think, just encouraged the flames to consume her, to send her to heights she could never scale without this particular man. And, as she consumed him, so she burned herself, discovered needs that only he could meet, and that only fanned the flames higher. Her religion had taught her well. Fire didn’t just destroy; it purified and encouraged new growth.
“Rosalind . . . I need . . .” Christopher’s face contorted as his shaft thickened and began to pulse, until the heat of his seed filled her. She took her own pleasure and fell forward onto his chest as her legs trembled and gave out on her.
Before she could recover her breath, he rolled her onto her back and stared down at her, his blue eyes glinting. “We’re not done, my lady. You may have noticed, I’m not quite dead yet.”
Christopher stared down at Rosalind’s swollen mouth and flushed cheeks. Having her again was like coming home. She made him burn so brightly. He disposed of her night-gown and studied her luscious breasts and pale skin, the bruises and scars from her many encounters with the Vampires. She stirred uneasily beneath him, her dark hair spread out over the pillows like a rippling waterfall. He dropped a kiss on her flat belly and she shivered.
He stripped off the rest of his clothes as quickly as he could. Somewhere in his mind, fear lingered. She might desert him like a malicious fey from a fairy story, leave him forever bereft and unable to exist without her. He returned to the bed and grasped one of her wrists. “Must I tie you to the bed, my lady, so that I can take my pleasure without fear of being stabbed, or bitten, or scratched?”
“You enjoy most of those things.”
“True, but the thought of you spread out like a feast is certainly appealing.” He kissed the inside of her wrist, used his tongue to trace the pale blue lines under her skin to the crook of her elbow. She moaned and he leaned over her, bringing both her wrists over her head. “Perhaps this will suffice for now.”
His mouth settled over her nipple and he drew strongly on her until she arched up off the bed like a bow. He kissed her other nipple until she was panting and then moved lower, paused at her stomach to delve his tongue into her navel. She gasped his name and he released her hands, settled himself between her legs and used his mouth and tongue and fingers to bring her close to another climax. Close but not quite enough to take her over.
He raised himself up on his elbows to look at her. “Do you like this, my lady? Do you like my mouth on you?”
She didn’t reply, and Christopher used the tip of his finger to circle the tight swollen bud that guarded the entrance to her body. “You don’t? I can stop if you wish.” He smiled at her again, his finger poised over her wet heat, where he could clearly feel the throb that echoed the frantic beat of her heart.
“You know I like this, you are just being . . .”
He bent his head and blew on her flesh, noticed the faint abrasions on her skin from the roughness of his beard. “Being what?”
“Your usual arrogant self.”
He crawled up her body until he straddled her. “I am arrogant?” His prick was hard again now, and more than ready for her. “I thought the idea was to try and swive each other to death.”
“Christopher Ellis!” She gasped, but in her mind he felt the jump of excitement his words had produced.
He grinned at her. “Have you something you want to say to me?” He edged closer, his knees at her shoulder level now, his shaft arching away from his belly and angling toward her as if seeking the delights of her tongue. “If not, I have much better use for your mouth.”
He wrapped one hand around his aching shaft and rubbed the wet tip against her lips. “Take me inside. Make me hard for you.”
He felt her hesitation, aware that he was taking a risk. Rosalind never liked being ordered around and he would be placing his most prized asset in a very vulnerable position.
“Why should I, when you deny me release?”
“An excellent point, my love, but one that can easily be remedied.” He reversed his position, until his head was now over her quim, and his shaft was perilously close to her mouth. In his mind, he sent her a graphic picture of what they could both now do.
“Oh,” she whispered, her breath dancing over his aching flesh. “I didn’t realize that was possible.”
Christopher ducked his head and licked her quim, almost came when he felt her mouth close over the crown of his prick and give him a hard suck. Then all was confusion bound with lust, and the glorious sounds of sucking and licking and, God, he had to have her now, or he would explode in her mouth. He reached down to disengage his cock and had to grit his teeth when she only reluctantly released him.
It took him only a moment to swing around, rearrange her legs over his elbows, and plunge deep inside her welcoming heat. She gasped his name, her fingernails digging into his shoulders, her heels thumping on his buttocks as if trying to force him even deeper. He closed his eyes as his cock was squeezed and squeezed until he feared a glorious, painful death was indeed going to be his just reward.
She came again and he gritted his teeth against the overwhelming sensations of her mind and her body convulsing both around him and within him. But beneath her pleasure, he sensed her fear for him, and her determination to do—what exactly? His body kept moving even as his mind recoiled from the stray thought that he was being manipulated.
He kissed her throat and felt the sudden urge to sink his teeth into her skin and mark her,
bite
her. Dark pleasure shuddered through him and blackness scalded his thoughts, turning lust into something else, into the desire to drink from her until she was just an empty shell. Anne’s laughter echoed in his head, urging him on.
He wrenched his mouth away and reared over her, his hands planted on either side of her head. She reached for him, her concern pushing at the darkness that had engulfed him.
“Christopher, look at me. Let me help you. Let me in.”
He was panting like a hunted animal, his gaze fixed on hers. Light flooded through his thoughts, her light, her love, and he collapsed back over her, his hips still thrusting. All he wanted was to couple with his mate and spill his seed.
Sensation gathered at the base of his spine, and in his tight balls, and he knew he was about to gain his release. He kept thrusting, half aware of Rosalind’s cries and totally enmeshed in her mind. He gave her all his emotions, felt them returned, cleansed and enhanced, and then climaxed deep inside her. He groaned, feeling every pulse of his shaft and the warm, wet yielding heat around him.
He rolled onto his back and drew her with him. His eyes were starting to close when she nudged him in the ribs.
“We have something to discuss.”
Christopher grimaced. “Can’t we just enjoy the moment?”
She nudged him again. “Tell me who that Vampire was.”
“For the love of God, Rosalind, I told you. I don’t know her.”
“Then why did you save her from Rhys’s blade?”
“I can’t explain it, but for a moment I forgot she was a Vampire, and I simply reacted—I thought she was about to go over the edge.”
Rosalind came up on one elbow to peer down into his face. “I don’t believe you.”
He moved away from her and sat up. “What do you want me to say? You’ve obviously made up your mind that I am busy cavorting with as many Vampire lovers as I can bed at once.”
With an impatient sound, Rosalind pushed her tangled hair back over her shoulder. “That’s not what I think. I thought we agreed to be honest with each other.”
“I am trying to be honest. I’ve never seen that particular Vampire before.”
“Yet you were willing to risk death for her.”
“I know, but I—I don’t know
why
.”
Rosalind studied him so closely he wanted to fidget. “Did you get a sense of her in your mind?”
“Yes, if you must know, I did.”
“She looked like you.”
Even though he knew she wouldn’t believe him, he shrugged as if he didn’t care.