Thief Of Light Part 25

Her fingers slowed, ma.s.saging his scalp, the hard curve of bone unyielding beneath her fingertips, his hair sliding over her knuckles like heavy, waterlogged silk, cool and slippery.

Helpless.

He'd said it, his deep, beautiful voice thrumming along her nerves. The word, the delicious, wanton promise of it, still echoed in her mind. Would he hold her down? He'd done it that way in his dressing room, and though it had been for only a few minutes, she'd felt soft and small and oh so feminine. Empty-yearning for the thick girth of his c.o.c.k furrowing into the hot core of her, his magnificent length nudging her womb. She'd wanted, needed needed, so badly, she hadn't been a rational being, just an instinctive bundle of sensation and hunger. For once in her life, she'd felt truly desired. By a man who was everything she'd ever wanted-and feared.

She might be insane, but G.o.ds, it was a beautiful madness.

Erik hummed against her skin, alternately kissing and sipping, chasing droplets with his tongue. Without once removing his hands from contact with her body, he skimmed his fingertips over her ribs and cupped both her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in his palms, hefting their weight.

Every thought in Prue's head stuttered to a halt. She froze.

Erik licked over the inner swell of her breast, leaving a trail of hot tingles in his wake. Prue gasped, her nipples contracting so fast they ached. G.o.ds, she hadn't thought that was possible! "Rinse," he growled into her cleavage.

When she managed to direct a wobbly spray at the back of his head, his lips curved against her skin. Transfixed, she watched clumps of suds slide over his broad shoulders and slither down the indentations on either side of his strong spine. Such a smooth golden expanse. She was about to trace the foam with a wondering finger when Erik s.h.i.+fted slightly, just enough to seal his hot mouth over her nipple.

She jerked, the spray arcing across the room to wet the wall. Erik pulled her nipple taut with careful relish. "f.u.c.k, I want you." When he spoke, his breath puffed across the wet skin and she stifled a yelp. "Finish it. Quick Quick."

He licked a heated path around her areola, then engulfed her distended flesh, compressing it against his tongue and the roof of his mouth, humming while he did so. Her whole body fizzed and sparkled with the luscious vibration. Using the same rhythm, he rasped the nipple of her other breast with his thumb.

"Erik, I-" Gasping, Prue broke off. G.o.ds, had she whimpered? She was having to fight to keep her eyes open against the pleasure.

Barely missing a beat, Erik changed sides, but he raked her flesh gently with his teeth. A sensual reminder. Clumsily, she jammed the spray right against his skull, moving it about until the water ran clear.

"Done," she panted.

He administered a final deep suckle that made her toes curl. "Thank the G.o.ds." Flipping the spigots off, he pulled her against his chest with one brawny arm and surged to his feet, creating a wave that threatened to swamp the room. In some hidden recess of her once-practical mind, Prue remembered the shocking expense of the fittings, especially the elegant, deep-pile rug, but all she could think now was that when she pulled him down, the silk would be soft against her back as he shoved that thick, heavy c.o.c.k into her until she screamed. Over and over while she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him deeper and deeper and- Erik set her on her feet and wrapped a crimson towel around her shoulders. Before she had a chance to take in the whole of his glorious nudity, he'd flung another over her head, spoiling the view. "Dry your hair," he ordered.

Strong hands patted her shoulders dry, moved the towel down her back.

Swearing, Prue fought her way free. "What about you?"

"You first." He was behind her now, rubbing the towel over the globes of her bottom in a decidedly sensuous way. She twisted around to glare over her shoulder and lost her breath.

Clothed, Erik Th.o.r.ensen was a big man, but stripped he was even bigger, the depth of his chest fully revealed, the latent power of the muscle in his trim belly, his solid thighs, obvious to see. He was all hard planes and angles, the density of big bones and resilient male flesh, covered with smooth, tawny skin and dusted with golden hair that glinted in the warm light. Dripping as he was, his hair plastered to his skull, his masculine beauty was brutally apparent. Frowning with concentration, he went to his knees to dry the backs of her thighs, his b.u.t.tocks flexing, the sides delightfully hollowed with the fluid s.h.i.+ft of muscle.

Prue's fists clenched. Her mouth watered. Clearing her throat, she said, "What about my front?" Despite her best intentions, her voice came out strained and husky.

Erik's head jerked up and his wet hair brushed the back of her knee. Goose b.u.mps skittering up her spine, Prue turned slowly to face him. His eyes blazed with a hot blue flame, like the secret heart of a furnace. Towel held loosely in his hands, he rose, towering over her. Her blood singing, she raised her chin to meet his gaze. "Then it's your turn," she said.

"G.o.dsdammit, woman." Erik appeared to be breathing hard through his nose. "Do you have a death wish? Do you know how close-?" He broke off.

Deliberately, Prue lowered her gaze. His c.o.c.k arched up toward his navel, so engorged the satiny skin looked stretched, except for the soft, wrinkled collar beneath the head. Like the rest of his body, his shaft still glistened with bathwater. As she watched, a fat droplet rolled from the smooth, rosy glans to course his length, tracing the path of a throbbing vein, disappearing into a sandy tuft of curls, drawing her eye to where his t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es were drawn up between his thighs, plump and tense.

With a dark bolt of l.u.s.t that nearly took her to the floor, she realized the liquid wasn't water at all.

Erik lifted her chin with two fingers. "You want to play games with me, pretty Prue?" Though his jaw was set hard, his eyes danced with wicked delight.

"You took care of me. I should return the favor." Exhilaration pumped through her blood. No man had ever challenged her the way Erik did-on every level. Letting her tongue creep out to whisk over her lower lip, she raised limpid eyes to his, trying to look innocent, aware she was failing. "You'll, ah, catch your death."

Erik rumbled with amus.e.m.e.nt. "There's a price to be paid for games, sweetheart."

26.

Her belly fluttering with mingled excitement and apprehension, Prue placed the pad of her forefinger on the center of his chest. Slowly, slowly, she drew it down, following that intriguing arrow of hair, watching his nipples go small and tight, gooseflesh rising on his skin. The muscles of his stomach jerked under her touch. A hairsbreadth above the bobbing head of his c.o.c.k, Erik caught her wrist in a hard grip.

Her gaze flashed up to his and something deep in her belly flip-flopped with relief and joy. G.o.ds, he looked wild, his cheeks deeply flushed, the tendons in his neck standing taut. The fingers grasping her wrist felt like an iron band. Sweet Sister!

Fascinated, she followed the movement of his throat as he swallowed. "Prue, I can't-" He broke off.

In a single movement, he scooped her right off the floor and into his arms, high against his wet chest. Turning, he kicked open the door to the bedchamber and strode through, muttering under his breath, the words so broken, she caught only a few. "Don't . . . worry . . . swear I'll-f.u.c.k!"

Erik stopped so abruptly Prue banged her cheek on his collarbone. His arms loosened, then tightened, catching her before she slipped to the floor. "What the f.u.c.k is is this?" this?"

"I told you, the Bruised Orchid."

Still staring over her head, Erik let her slide down the front of his body until she was steady on her feet. A ruddy flesh swept up over his neck and cheeks, his eyes blazing. "Lord's b.a.l.l.s!"

What, in the Sister's name-? Frowning in puzzlement, she turned to follow his gaze. Everything shone with luxury and good housekeeping, from the dark wood of the four-poster bed, to the tall, burnished doors that hung open on the far wall, revealing serried rows of whips, paddles and cuffs. The plugs and strange, erotic devices Rose had purchased from the Technomages at enormous expense sat in neat rows on shallow shelves, scrupulously clean and ready for use. The wooden whipping cross had been specially crafted of polished cedderwood, the weight of it heavy enough to withstand the struggles of even the strongest man.

And if he was restrained facing out, his wrists stretched above his head in the fur-lined manacles, he'd be able to watch each stripe bloom on his body, observe every gasp and wince, because the opposite wall was mirrored.

"Don't you like it?" she said. "It was the only pavilion free." Lightly, she patted Erik's chest, just above his pounding heart. "I didn't mean for us to use the . . . um . . . equipment. But this is the top of the line. The bed's huge."

He'd stopped breathing, every muscle rigid against her. Erik wet his lips, studying the bed, the items on the shelves. His big body jerked against her, just once. Prue glanced over her shoulder. What was he staring at? It could only be the st.u.r.dy canopy of latticed wood above the bed, with its attachments of plaited silken ropes, light chains and cuffs.

"Not fair play, my Lady," he muttered, so low she could barely distinguish the words. "Ah, h.e.l.l."

"Erik?" Her belly fluttered. "I don't understand."

He nuzzled her temple. "It's all right, love. I'll manage."

When she glanced the length of his body, if anything, he was stiffer, larger than before, the head of his c.o.c.k flushed a deep urgent pink. Manage? Manage?

The room swung dizzily as Erik picked her up and virtually tossed her into the middle of the bed, coming down over her like a great bird of prey. Before she had a chance to open her mouth, he had covered her body with his, stealing the breath from her lungs, addling her wits. Grasping her thighs in his strong hands, he splayed her wide, surging into her, a single thrust taking him halfway home.

Prue shrieked into his mouth in shock and pleasure. In the last few moments of confusion, she'd lost the high edge of her arousal so he stretched her almost unbearably, her satiny, internal walls fluttering around his girth in mingled terror and delight. But, oh Sister save her, he felt sumptuously good!

More slowly, he withdrew, only to shove in again with a grunt of masculine satisfaction, a little farther this time. His fingers dug into her b.u.t.tocks. Prue tilted her hips, wrapping her legs around his waist, and he slid all the way to the root, his t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es pressing warm and insistent against her folds. The wonderful breadth of those ma.s.sive shoulders more than encompa.s.sed hers, his weight pressing her deep into the mattress. He was sealed against her, wrapping her up, all unyielding muscle, breast to breast, belly to belly, hot and damp. Water dripped from his hair onto her face and neck. Her fingers slipped on his wet skin and she gripped hard.

"G.o.ds, I want you," he mumbled between drugging kisses. "Good . . . ah, f.u.c.k f.u.c.k . . . it's good." . . . it's good."

"Yes," she panted, twining her tongue around his. "Yes!"

Erik grabbed one of Prue's wrists and then the other, arranging her arms over her head, curling her fingers into the elaborate fretwork of the headboard. With a final lick and a soft swipe of the tongue, he freed his mouth. Panting, he stared down into her eyes, his own a brilliant, blinding blue. His expression was so focused, so compelling, she couldn't have looked away to save her life.

When she opened her mouth, he said only, "Sshh."

His hands slid from her b.u.t.tocks to her thighs to her calves. Quickly, he lifted her legs over his shoulders and leaned right into her, tilting her backward, supporting his body on powerful arms. It put her in the most vulnerable position imaginable, spread out beneath him, crammed full of the hard bulk of his c.o.c.k, completely at his mercy.

Helpless.

The instant the thought entered Prue's head, every muscle in her lower body convulsed with l.u.s.t, clamping down so hard she could swear she felt every vein and contour of that magnificent shaft. Erik groaned as if she'd reached out and torn the heart from his chest, still beating.

His hips flexed as he drew back. An instant's pause, hanging on the edge, and then he was thundering into her, the bed shaking. Because of his size and the acute angle, it was an extraordinary sensation, on the borderline between pleasure and pain. Prue gripped the headboard with manic strength, thin whimpering noises escaping her with each gasping breath. Jabs of lightning hit her c.l.i.toris with every jolting stroke. Within seconds, the high, tight friction had built to a pleasure point so fiery it felt agonizing.

She tried to writhe, to reduce the awful, wonderful pressure, but he was everywhere. She couldn't move. Her arousal lifted another excruciating notch. "It's too much!" Her head thrashed on the pillow. "I can't take it."

"Yes, you can." He drove into her powerfully, deep, then deeper still. "Not long." A shuddering breath. "Stay with me, love."

Amazingly, she found she could. Because there was nothing left to do but to trust, to follow where he led. Higher and higher he took her, until she was keening her pleasure aloud, flying, soaring on a burning wind to a high, airy place, where she rode the lightning in truth.

The spiraling intensity of it quivered on the very cusp of culmination, a summer storm heavy with the potential for utter destruction. Prue forced her eyes open. Erik hung above her, his face fierce with pa.s.sion, his shoulders and chest sheened with sweat and water. "I have to-" she gasped. "G.o.ds, please please!"

"Yes. Ah, Prue, you're . . . perfect."

A final twist of the hips, a long, hard stroke, and she was gone, the swell of sensation shattering, a hot, rus.h.i.+ng wind that flashed up and down her spine, digging deep into her pelvis, her a.s.s. She shrieked.

"f.u.c.k!" Abruptly, Erik grasped her calves and let her legs slip to his waist. He dropped to his elbows, gripping her head between his hands, and she heard his long groan as he jammed himself high and hard inside her, his b.u.t.tocks clenching with the force of his o.r.g.a.s.m. The deep, formless sound morphed into words, rumbling out of his chest, echoing around the chamber like thunder in the mountains, strong and imperative, a masculine command.

"Love me, Prue. G.o.ds, love me!"The Necromancer sat propped up in bed, a bank of pillows at his back, listening to the rain. Scowling, he reached forward to rub his knee, and his back twinged. He'd done his best to control his temper, but he had to admit he'd failed. He let out a breath, gusty with irritation. The Technomage Primus should have known better than to provoke him.

For a start, she'd panicked all over him, and he couldn't abide that. Flapping and wailing-faugh! She hadn't even had the courtesy to say thank you. He'd relayed the singer's story about the seelies out of the goodness of his heart, because he thought she'd be interested. All the more information for her Scientific mind. What did she call it? Data.

But oh no-she'd gone pale, swaying where she stood. Then she'd begun to babble like a lunatic, spewing statistics and calculations like one of her own machines gone mad, darting from one end of the room to the other, gathering up sheets of transplas, putting them down again. Shouting at him, by Shaitan!

He had to close the palazzo immediately. Right now! Right now! Her equipment, her records, her Her equipment, her records, her data data. How could they be moved safely? The Technomage Tower would know, she said. They'd told Nasake- She'd bitten the words off, her face going a ghastly shade of gray, but it was too late.

The Necromancer had smiled, inhaling the sour-sweat stink of fear. "My dear Dotty," he said, "I own own Nasake, soul and body, in this life and the next. Whatever made you think you could bribe him to run your silly messages?" Nasake, soul and body, in this life and the next. Whatever made you think you could bribe him to run your silly messages?"

The Technomage had braced herself, one hand on the back of her chair. "How do you expect me to work in isolation?" she demanded. "They don't have to know about you." Her eyes blazed with the intensity of her feelings. "But they could help, with the seelies, with the Magick reservoir. With everything."

"No."

"For Science's sake!" She thumped the chair with her fist. "Why won't you listen? I was right about the seelies, wasn't I? I told you so!"

Not the wisest thing to say to any man, particularly a tired, aching Necromancer at the end of his tether.

He'd very nearly killed her, there and then. As it was, he wasn't entirely sure she'd be in her right mind when she came around.

Poor, foolish Dotty. She'd meant well.

The Necromancer tipped his head back and closed his eyes. How old had he been the day the original Dotty brought the healer for his mam? Seven, eight?

Slowly, his hand closed and the thick silk of the coverlet bunched under his fingers. Much good it had done, she'd died anyway-because neither of them could read the healer's instructions on the drug vial. Between them, they'd dosed her to death. The smell of poverty and damp a.s.saulted his nose. And he was there again, lost down the dark tunnel of the years, mired in memory, his life divided into before and after.

He gritted his teeth. As always, he was grateful for the reminder of what ignorance truly was, what it meant-fiercely, bitterly grateful. Without it, without that pivotal moment, he would never have become what he was-a usurper whose very existence threatened the G.o.ds. His smile grew grim.

"I cain't let you stay here, lad," s.h.i.+ma had said, all those years ago. "Not less'n you earn your keep."

When at last he'd raised his gaze from his mother's limp body to meet the innkeeper's eye, s.h.i.+ma took a step back, sucking in his breath. In his thin treble, the boy had said, "Teach me to read an' I'll do whatever you want."

But s.h.i.+ma had shaken his head. "I ain't good enough. Anyways, I ain't got the time. You need a man who knows his letters. Lemme think." His face cleared. "Tolaf'ddo it. He's a drunken sot, but he's clever." He hesitated, but only for an instant. "You know what he's like. He'll want you fer his b.u.m-boy."

The child shrugged. It would hurt, he knew, but nothing came free in the slums.

The Necromancer shuddered, and a silken pillow slipped out from under his arm and flopped to the floor. He sank deeper into the soft embrace of the mattress.

Casting a final look at the still shape on the ramshackle bed, he'd trotted out of the room, hugging his treasure box to his chest. Knowledge was the key. The cost didn't matter.

Once he knew everything, everything there was to know, there would be no more mistakes.

Inside the box was a pretty pebble, the skull of a cat and a live scuttleroach. It was quite a big one, blue brown and s.h.i.+ny. The day before, he'd touched it, cold and smooth and wriggly, and snapped off one of its legs to see what it would do. As it blundered around the box, careering off the walls, he'd come to the conclusion that scuttle-roaches were not very bright.

By Shaitan, he could still hear it!

The Necromancer shot bolt upright, his heart thumping.

Someone was tapping at the door. "Master? Master, you said you wanted a report."

"Come in, Nasake," said the Necromancer grimly. He had a bad feeling.Frozen with horror, his b.a.l.l.s still pulsing with the last spurts of pleasure, Erik stared down into Prue's vivid eyes. The richness of her soul was laid out before him, clear to the depths, like the clean, crystal beauty of a tropical sea.

s.h.i.+t, what had he done what had he done? His chest tightened in the way that used to presage an attack of lungspasm, leaving him breathless and dizzy.

Prue's dark lashes swept down, once, slowly. "Yes," she said with an almost eerie calm. "I do." Her hand shaking, she reached up to brush a lock of wet hair out of his eyes. "I do love you." Her mouth twisted. "More fool me."

Oh, G.o.ds.

Numb with shock, Erik let her touch him, let her trace his mouth with gentle fingertips. The dark laughter of the G.o.ds reverberated in his head, the voice of the Horned Lord. Everything has a cost Everything has a cost. In the duel of wills, the Dark Lady had triumphed.

"Erik, are you all right? Speak to me." The warm clasp of Prue's thighs slipped away from his body and at once, he felt bereft.

He shook his head, everything inside him bruised, sc.r.a.ped b.l.o.o.d.y.

It was all accomplished, Their vengeance. No, not vengeance, the Lord and Lady would call it justice-and They'd be right. Dropping his head, he buried his face in the damp, sweet-smelling ma.s.s of Prue's hair.

All his adult years, he'd fought a vicious guerilla campaign against memory, shoving the dreadful images aside, covering them over, ignoring them. Don't think of it. Don't think of her Don't think of it. Don't think of her. With the practice, he'd become quick and deft, his gifts as much about willful forgetting as they were about music. There were some days when Inga's name didn't enter his head at all.

But what else could he do? If he crippled himself with guilt, he'd go slowly, but surely mad. The G.o.ds wouldn't want him doing Their work. Erik's guts clenched.

Would They?

Because tonight he'd come full circle. The symmetry of his two crimes had an awful, dispa.s.sionate perfection, like the precision of the intricate locking mechanism on a cruel choke collar. First Inga, now Prue. He rubbed his fingertips over his throat.