Lust (21 page)

The urge to take and plunder, to bury his mouth inside her, to taste what had been denied him thus far, coursed violently through him. She was writhing now, her hips arching slowly, seductively, as her finger swirled around her glistening sex. “So damn beautiful,” he growled against her throat, his gaze fixated on her alabaster fingers immersed in pink silk.

“You're watching?” she panted between breaths.

His belly tightened as memories of the afternoon flooded his brain, and he stroked himself, unable to bear the torment of not being touched. Lust wanted release. He wanted release. He prayed that soon Chastity would shed her virtue and come to him, prepared to give and take. To share the pleasures of their bodies together.

“Does watching bring you pleasure?”

“Yes,” he moaned.
And dreaming. And fantasizing of you.
All of it brought him pleasure.

Thane gripped his cock, pumping his hand up and down, watching her pleasure herself, reveling in his
own self-pleasuring. He'd never tossed off before anyone before, preferring his conquests to do the task for him. But there was something about stroking himself before Chastity that stirred his senses. Something that heated his blood and made his cock throb painfully, knowing she was watching and listening to his sounds of pleasure.

“Thane,” she huffed, spiraling toward her climax. “Have you…have you ever done that and thought of me?”

“Yes,” he gritted between his teeth, his hand now furiously pumping up and down, watching her escalate her own passion. Memories of the way he'd spied on her soaping her breasts in the bath, remembrances of the way he'd freed himself, coming in his hand as he watched her lather her sex, sprung into his head, making him feel hotter and more sexually needy than he had in years. Even Lust was purring in satisfaction at this innocent bit of play.

“Chastity,” he whispered, working himself into complete abandon. “Tell me,” he growled, looking into her face, seeing her teetering on the edge of her climax. “Have you ever wanted to reach between your legs and pleasure yourself, pretending it was my fingers giving you release?”

“Yes!”
she cried, her hips bucking wildly, her breathing coming in short rasps. He growled, reaching for her, pumping himself onto her lush bottom, then sinking back onto the bed with Chastity in his arms, the scent of their arousal mingling together in the quiet room.

“When you yearn to feel me touch you, you'll now be
able to give yourself pleasure, will you not?” She shyly nodded, burying her face into the crook of his neck. “Chastity?”

“Hmm,” she purred, sounding very close to sleep.

“When you next see me, your body will respond to me. I won't even have to touch you in order for you to feel the need.”

When no response came, Thane peeked down at the angelic sleeping face of Chastity. Her blond curls fanned over his chest. He liked the contrast of it, liked the possessive way her hair covered him. Feeling more content and satiated than he had in a long while, Thane reached for the silk coverlet and covered them, drifting off to peaceful slumber with the woman he never thought he'd have, lying gloriously naked beside him.

CHASTITY CAME AWAKE WITH A START. HER HAIR
was loose from its pins, hanging down around her shoulders and before her eyes. Her breathing was hurried as she took in the strange chamber.

Brushing her hair back from her face, she gazed around the unfamiliar room with wide eyes. She was in bed, the gray silk blanket that had been covering her slipped down, revealing the light green frock she had worn for the masquerade.
She was still dressed
. Her sigh of relief whispered through the room.

Remnants of a dream flittered back and she covered her face with her hands in an attempt to smother the scandalous dream away. In her dream she had been with Thane, and she had…pleasured herself. Oh, God, she was ashamed of herself. She was even more mortified to discover the truth on her fingers. She could smell her sex
lingering on her skin. Which meant that while sleeping she had acted out those immoral thoughts and wishes.

Only a dream, she reminded herself. She was not, in fact, ruined. But she had entered this room with Thane. He had carried her in his arms, spoken to her in a soft, musical voice that had lulled her to sleep.

And then what? He had brought her here. But where was she exactly? she wondered as her attention turned to the large hearth where a fire blazed. The flickering flames cast eerie shadows on the wall, and Chastity gripped the blanket tighter, pulling it around her shoulders. The only light in the chamber came from the hearth, and narrowing her gaze, Chastity searched through the room. She felt someone's presence, but she saw no one. There was nothing present but a large wardrobe that was carved with flowers and vines, and a painted table that housed a silver decanter and goblet.

It was quiet. Unnervingly so. She could make out no noises from the hall outside the room, or from the streets outside the large window. But there
was
a peculiar scent in the air. Her perfume mixed with… She inhaled softly. Musk? It was a male scent. Strong. Virile. And it was definitely mixed with her perfume.

Following her nose, she slowly slid from the bed. Her gown, she noticed, had been twisted to her knees while she slept. It fell to her feet—which were devoid of her slippers—in a soft swish. She felt languid, her limbs weak and relaxed. In fact, there was a strange sense of euphoria that warmed her blood as she walked slowly around the huge bed, which was lavishly draped in dove-gray silk.

“Hello?” she asked, her voice hoarse and unsure, revealing how frightened she was. “Is there anyone here?”

Something behind her made a noise, and she whirled around to see a man lounging in a chair, his long legs spread, his fingers steepled together and pressed against his mouth.

In the firelight, she saw the glimmer of gold, and he leaned forward, out of the shadows, revealing the gilt mask he wore. Slowly, his hand left the arm of the chair, his fingers grasping the edge of the mask. Breathlessly, Chastity watched as the mask was slowly lifted from his face.

“Thane!”

His eyes were dark, not the blue they had been in the perfumery. His body was tense, like a predator waiting to pounce on unsuspecting prey. He was dangerous. The man from the maze. Not Thane, the man in the perfumery.

Carelessly he tossed the mask to the floor, watching her response, drinking her in. His gaze covered her body numerous times, before settling briefly on the curve of her breasts.

“It was you all along,” she said on a rushed breath, finally fitting the pieces together. “You're a Dark Fey.”

“Yes. Crom told you, didn't he?”

“Yes.”

“To turn you from me.” The statement was cold. Hard. His eyes glittered. “Did you believe him? His stories about us?”

“He told me nothing more than to beware of the Unseelie.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes. “Did he? And that was all?”

“I told you it was. He said your kind were dangerous.”

“Of course he did. No doubt he left out the stories about himself. Did he try to persuade you that I would hurt you?”

Nodding, she glanced away. She thought of the night in the maze, the times in her bedroom when he had touched her. She hadn't feared him. Hadn't felt anything but excitement and pleasure.

Their gazes met, and the hunger she saw in his eyes frightened her. Was he recalling that night in the maze as well, when she was bared to him? For it was all she could think of. Yet he had deceived her—from the very beginning. Crom was not wrong in that. Thane had lied to her, but why?

“Why?” she asked on a confused whisper. “Out of all the women in the world, why did you choose this mortal?”

“Because fate drove me to you.”

He watched her response with his unblinking gaze.
Fate.
Was he her fate? She knew now, unequivocally,
what
he was. But she did not understand who he was to be to her.

“What do you want from me?”

“You don't know? Crom did not tell you?”

She swallowed hard. She did know what he wanted. What did any Dark Fey desire?

“Every one hundred years, seven women are born who possess the virtues.”

She paled and tried to back away, but his gaze held her steady—pinned to the spot on the floor before him.

“You are the virtue of chastity. And I am here to claim you as mine.”

And why was it so important to him? What did it matter to him? Was it merely her virtue that interested him? Her chasteness called to the base Unseelie needs inside him. Was that it? Was she merely something to corrupt?

His lashes lowered, hiding the expression of his eyes. Somehow she knew he heard her silent question, and he refused to answer her. But she knew it anyway. It was not her he desired. But her virtue.

“You are wrong. It may have been your virtue that called to me, but it has always just been you that has brought me back—time and time again.”

She could not allow herself to weaken. She couldn't. Even though she felt her body softening, her resolve wavering.

“Have you stolen me from my family, then, and taken me to your court?” she asked, trying to be brave.

His lips curved in amusement. “No. Not yet.”

She didn't know whether to be relived or alarmed by his response. “Not yet” implied that he would. The thought of being separated from her family made her ill.

“You are still safely in London. Your father is with my
king, and your sisters are with my brethren. Unharmed, of course.”

He slouched farther into his chair, his pose at once indolent yet arousing. She could not cease staring at him. At how beautiful he was. How alluring and sensual. He seemed to know her thoughts, for he spread his body out farther, allowing her an unobstructed view of him.

“You do not seem overly distressed to learn that I am a Dark Faery.”

Cocking her head, she stared at him. “I should have known. Your beauty, your gracefulness, it belies anything human. But you are not golden, you are dark, comfortable amongst shadows and at home in the night.”

“No doubt you have heard stories of us—many of which are exaggerated—”

“Crom says that the Unseelie destroy,” she blurted out. “That you're not to be trusted. That the Dark Fey only want to seduce, then discard.”

His beautiful face twisted into a mask of rage. “That Seelie bastard would say anything to get you away from me and my court. Has it ever crossed your mind that he's lying to you?”

No. It hadn't. She had taken everything for the truth. Seelie were the good fey. They were golden and lively, and truth was their domain. The Dark Fey were sensual, debauched fey, delighting in war and games and darkness. Sin and lies were the foundation of their court. Crom had no reason to lie.

“It is not only the Unseelie who destroy,” he said quietly. “There can be cruelty in the light. Danger in the
sun. Hatred masked as joy and gaiety. Never underestimate the sinister beauty of the Seelie.”

She could not refute his claims. There had always been something about Crom that had not sat well with her. A smoothness that was artificial. A coolness that was reflected in his eyes.

In Thane's eyes she saw heat. Desire. And an openness she had never witnessed in Crom's violet eyes.

“I will not hurt you,” he whispered, his voice harsh in the quiet. “You can sense that much, can't you?”

“I do not trust myself to believe anything that you are,” she replied quietly. “You've proven that I am a poor judge, that I'm not as chaste as a virtue ought to be. No, I cannot trust myself to believe in anything that you might profess…”

“Because I am a Dark Fey,” he finished for her.

She could not look away from him. His beauty was otherworldly, but he looked so much like a man. With Crom, she had known he was a Seelie. But Thane…no, she could not quite believe it. Perhaps it was because he had made her body respond as a woman's does to a handsome man. A
human,
she corrected. Thane was fey. Not human. And therefore her arousal for him was an abomination.

This was the Dark Fey Crom had warned her about at the Seftons'. He'd somehow known about Thane. Were the Dark Fey truly as dangerous as Crom had led her to believe? Would Thane truly hurt her as Crom had suggested?

What motive did the Seelie have to lure her from
Thane? Jealousy? Of course that was it. He wanted her for his own court. But he didn't want her. The woman she was becoming. He wanted her virtue, wanted to place her on a pedestal.

“You're curious,” he stated flatly. “Please. Inspect me. See for yourself if I am not just like any other male.”

She flushed and looked away. “Of course I am not curious.” She could not trust herself. Even though she did have the very great desire to inspect him, she could not risk being close to him. Touching him. He was far more dangerous to her than Crom and the other Seelie ever could be. She had begun to pin her hopes on him, to open her heart to him, only to discover his deceit. She'd been betrayed.

“No? Are you not wondering, even now, what the difference is between a fey male and mortal man?”

She was, but how did he know?

“Turn your eyes upon me.”

It was a command that brooked no opposition. She did the unthinkable. Straightened her body until she was looking fully upon him. When he had her full attention, he pulled the lace jabot from around his throat and draped it over the arm of the chair. Then his long fingers began working on the buttons of his shirt, which he opened to his navel.

“You are not a man,” Chastity breathed, trying to remind herself of that fact that this was a dangerous faery sitting before her. One she could not trust. One she must escape from.

“Am I not?” he purred, then he tugged the shirt out
from his britches, pulling the white linen over his head. Chastity gasped at the sight before her. The width of his chest, the bulge of muscle in his arms.

Behind him the moon shone through the window, and his body seemed to absorb the moonbeams that glimmered through the filth-covered panes of glass. The effect was stunning.

“That night in the maze, when I had my hands on you, and my mouth on your breast, did I not feel like a man? Did you not yearn for me like a woman does a man?”

She would not answer him. Couldn't.

“And the other times, when I was with you. Did I not make you feel pleasure?”

“Yes,” she whispered, ashamed of her actions and what she had allowed herself to believe. “I am asking myself why you did it.”

“Because I desire you.” His eyes never left her face.

“It was for your own amusement, then? Corrupt the virtuous Chastity and laugh at her when she succumbs?”

“Nothing like that,” he growled. “My desire was never feigned. My interest never fleeting. I want you. In my world. As my mate.”

“So you saw me in Glastonbury and that was it? You decided you love me?”

She saw the flicker of wariness in his eyes. Then they narrowed. “I desired you. Wanted you in my bed, beneath me. To assume I loved you then would be an insult to us both. I have never loved a woman, not a fey…or a mortal.”

Something in her splintered. While she had desired
him, she realized now that she had also cared for him. The first stirring of love had been blooming inside her, and he had felt lust. Nothing more.

“I know what you're thinking.”

She sniffed, stiffening her posture. “No, you do not.”

“If I were to confess my love right now, you would ridicule me. Deride me. I know you would not believe me.”

“Lust and love are two very different things.”

“Believe me, no one knows that more than I. Come, trust me. Regardless of what Crom says, or what your heart is telling you, you can believe in that. I would never, ever willingly hurt you.”

“You already have.”

Cocking his head to the side, he studied her. “Then allow me to make amends.”

He sat back in the chair, opening his arms, allowing her to study him fully. She found herself mesmerized by his fey glamour, and helplessly, she stepped forward, till her gown brushed his silk-covered knees and she could smell the bared skin of his chest. He smelled of her perfume and of the woods at night. He compelled her…enthralled her…

“You made me want you,” she accused. “You used your faery magic to make me desire you.”

“No, I did not work a spell to enchant you. You came to me of your own volition. And every time after that, it was your will that brought me to you.”

“You deceived me,” she whispered, unable to blink
or tear her gaze from him. She was hurting. She did not want what she had felt, this newfound desire, the sense of freedom and liberation to give in to her buried needs to have been based on magic. She had wanted more. Something real.

“No, I did not.”

“Then I have deceived myself into believing that you are something that you aren't.”

“You knew me as a man. I am built just like a man, Chastity. See for yourself.”