DeliveredIntoHisHands Read online

  “Spoiled brat.”

  “Arrogant bastard!”

  “Aye, that’s me!” he said and dipped his knees. Before she knew what he was about, he had her in a fireman’s carry and was stomping through the great hall to the curving staircase.

  “Put me down!” she demanded, beating at his ass with her fists as hard as she could.

  “Not to worry, wench. I won’t drop you ’til we get to the bed,” he said with a laugh.

  If there was one thing Garrick had learned over his twenty-seven years that was how to treat an enraged female. He’d had plenty of practice with lovers who had taken exception to his own personal brand of arrogance. A quick but intense roll in the hay usually solved any problem he might have with an irate woman. He saw no reason his wife would be an exception.

  “Vampire, put me down!” she ordered at the top of her lungs.

  “Shush before you wake the household, wench,” he said and swatted her casually on her upturned rump. The hiss he got for that little show of manly discipline made him laugh.

  Her head hanging and arms pummeling him for all she was worth, she tried to scramble off his shoulder but he had an arm firmly around her legs, holding her easily. When they reached his room, he didn’t bother opening the door. He simply lifted his foot and kicked it open.

  “You are insane!” she accused. She had heard the lintel crack and knew her mother was going to be furious.

  “Nay, wench,” he replied, kicking the door shut behind them as though it were an afterthought. “All this foreplay has me hard as petrified wood.”

  Antonia snarled. “Foreplay? Foreplay?”

  “I can’t beat you—don’t want to anyway—so the only way I can apply the rod of discipline is in bed,” he told her.

  “What?” she asked, suddenly fearful. “What rod?”

  He carried her through the sitting room and into their bedroom. Putting his free hand to her back, he tossed her to the bed and came down atop her in one smooth move. He hiked up her skirt, forced her legs apart with his knees and pinned her arms above her head.

  “This rod,” he answered, grinding his steely erection against her heat.

  “Don’t you dare think for one moment I am going to allow you to—”

  He lowered his head and took her mouth with a brutal kiss that stole away her breath and made her toes curl in her slippers. Fire spread through her lower body and her juices began to flow between her legs. The delicious weight of his muscular body had her pressed firmly to the bed. He was writhing atop her in such a way unadulterated hunger pushed aside any anger she had been feeling. Before she knew what she was doing, she was offering her hips to him.

  “Umm,” he said against her mouth. She parted her lips to take his tongue between them.

  One tiny little imp of outrage still clung tenaciously to her temper and whispered wickedly for her to bite him. The saner part of her mind warned that was not a good idea. Instead, she sucked hard on his tongue—trapping it. His lusty growl made the hairs stand up on her arms.

  He dragged her wrists together, clamped them firmly in one calloused hand then snagged his free hand in her bodice. Carefully extracting his tongue from her mouth, he slammed his lips to the hollow at the base of her throat and ripped her gown open. It tore with ease to bare her heaving breasts.

  “You’re going to buy me a new gown,” she grumbled.

  “I’ll buy you a fucking closetful,” he said as he shoved his hand down her bra cup to free her breast. Without missing a beat, he had his mouth latched upon it, swirling his tongue over the nipple—licking and lapping, flicking and probing.

  “Unholy bully,” she accused.

  “Horny bully,” he said. As he suckled her, he reached down to rip her panties away and drew back. He looked up at her, stare narrowing. “Wench, where the fuck is your underwear?”

  Antonia saw accusation in the hard glint of his blue eyes. Streaks of red were zigzagging through the irises.

  “I forgot to put any on,” she said. The way he was glaring at her sent shivers down her spine.

  “Where were you?” he questioned. “When I couldn’t find you, where were you?”

  “Hiding,” she said. “In the hidden passageway. You know full well where I was if not how to get to me.”

  Suspicion entered his voice. “Who was with you?”

  “I went into the passageway alone,” she replied.

  Garrick started to slip into her mind to find the truth of the matter then stopped himself. He was not going to begin his marriage second-guessing his woman. Accusing her. Being suspicious and distrustful. That had ruined his father’s marriage to Queen Maeve and he had no desire to carry on the legacy of such a soul-crippling endeavor. If he could not trust her, he had no business being married to her.

  But he could not still his tongue and it spoke before he could stop it.

  “And you met no one in the passageway while you were there?” he asked, hating himself for asking.

  “I did not,” she said, holding his gaze. “Did you think I met someone in there and then dropped my panties for a quick rut because I was bored?”

  “Mayhap because you were angry with me?” he countered.

  “Nay, Garrick. I met no one in the passageways nor did I rut with anyone while tramping through them. The only man I have lain with is crushing me beneath him at this very moment.”

  Probing her face for a lie, he did not find one. He relaxed as much as his jealousy would allow.

  “I love you, wench,” he said. “I beg you do not play me false.”

  It was the first time he had admitted any deep feeling for her and Antonia felt her heart thud heavily in her chest.

  “I would never betray you, Garrick,” she said. “I would never deceive you.”

  Though, she thought, she would keep things from him for his—and Alyx’s—own good.

  “Do not ever lie to me,” he said. “I will know if you do.”

  She had no doubt that he would. “I won’t. I swear it.”

  He lowered his cheek to the center of her chest, his hand between her legs. Almost absently he was rubbing her—having no idea what he was doing to her libido.

  “I missed you,” he said. “Don’t do that again.”

  “Then don’t treat me like your property,” she said.

  “You are my property,” he said softly. “As I am yours.”

  That took some of the sting out of his words, she thought. She wasn’t sure she liked his savage possessiveness but it was a heady feeling to know he wanted her that strongly.

  “I don’t like fighting with you,” he admitted.

  “Then don’t,” she said.

  “Wench, you need to bend just a little,” he said. “Meet me halfway here.”

  “Promise me you won’t yell at me again,” she said.

  He laughed and seemed to become aware of where his hand was for he slipped a finger inside her.

  “Is this going to be your answer for every argument?” she asked, trying not to squirm under his treatment.

  “I intend that we never go to bed angry,” he said.

  Antonia sighed. He was doing things to her and he knew it. It seemed distracting her with sex when she was irritated at him was going to be his modus operandi. Two could play that game.

  “Teach me how to suck your cock,” she said.

  He went as still—and as hard—as a three-ton boulder. His head came up and his mouth opened, his lips moved but nothing came out. For the first time since she’d spoken to him that first night in the garden, words failed him.

  “Will you do it?” she questioned. “Cherise says men like that and—”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass what she says!” he interrupted. “The only man you’ll have your lips attached to is me so it fucking well doesn’t matter what other men like!”

  “Then teach me,” she said, undulating her hips against his finger that was deep inside her cunt but as still as he was. “Show me how to give you the kind
of pleasure you gave me last eve.”

  He swallowed hard. Licked his lips. His chest began to rise and fall as though he was priming himself to run.

  She hoped not, worrying that she had been too brazen, too tartish—as her mother would say—and too blundering with her request. He was staring at her as though she’d grown a second head and she could see a vein pounding fiercely in his neck. She nibbled on her bottom lip, his eyes lowered to it, and then he shuddered.

  “If you don’t like that sort of thing—”

  “Oh goddess, wench, you have no idea,” he moaned. Almost absently, he removed his finger from her and as though he didn’t realize what he was doing stuck it in his mouth, removing the slickness she could see.

  For some reason that one act sent wave after wave after wave of forceful pleasure flooding through her nether regions. She wanted to toss him to his back, straddle him and bury his cock so deep inside her he’d never be able to pull out.

  “What the hell kind of thought just went through your mind?” he asked, eyes widening.

  She told him and that was his undoing. He was up and out of the bed—not removing but ripping off his shirt, tearing it in half. Hiding a laugh behind her hand as he hopped beside the bed trying to tug off his boots, she heard him growl fiercely. Finally he sat down heavily on the edge of the mattress and jerked them off.

  “Fucking tight boots!” he mumbled as he literally threw them across the room.

  Standing, he stripped out of his pants. His cock sprang free and jutted out like a battering ram. She gasped as he flung himself on the bed, rolled to his back and spread his legs.

  “By the goddess, wench, climb on board!” he said, reaching up to grab the headboard—that was minus one spindle. He curled his fingers around two of the remaining ones until his knuckles were white. “Come on, wench!”

  “All righty then,” she said. “But I need to remove what’s left of my gown.”

  “Be quick about it,” he warned. “I’m about to come as it is!”

  “We can’t have that, now, can we?” she asked.

  She shrugged out of the gown he had ripped, reached behind her to unhook her bra then let it fall slowly, seductively down her arms.

  “Wench, you are—”

  “Shush, knave,” she said, tossing the bra aside. She straddled his hips then positioned herself above his stiff cock. It rose along the crack of her ass and she rubbed her cleft against it.

  “Antonia,” he said in a thick voice. “Don’t play with me.”

  “Are you going to yell at me again?” she asked.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Are you bartering with me, woman?” he asked in a husky voice.

  She rubbed him again then slid her hands up his chest until she could close her fingers around his nipples.

  “Are you going to yell at me again?” she repeated.

  “I—” He stopped for she was lightly pinching his nipples.

  She arched a brow.

  He swallowed. “No,” he replied.

  “No what, knave?” she prompted.

  “No, wench, I will not yell at you again. Now—”

  “Will you try bullying me again?” She twisted his nipples.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head vehemently. “I’ll never try bullying you again.”

  “And will you…?”

  “Wench,” he said, slamming his hands down to her hips. “I’m going to say this only once. If you don’t heed my words, I’m going to toss your ass on the bed and ram my cock so far up your cunt you’ll taste the cum in your mouth. Get. Your. Cunt. On. Me. Now!”

  She smiled. “Testy, testy, testy,” she said. She straightened up, flung her braid over her shoulder then reached for his cock. Closing her fingers around it, she put the tip to her slick entrance. “You’re such a brute.”

  “I am—”

  He got no further for she impaled her tight pussy on him and slid all the way to the root. His eyes widened as she began to rock, twist, lever herself up and down.

  “Who the fucking hell taught you how to…?”

  She leaned down to put her hand over his mouth. “One more word out of you,” she said. “One more suspicious look that suggests to me you think someone other than you has been inside me and I will get out of this bed and leave you like this. Now put your hands back on those spindles and let me do my job.”

  Antonia saw humor lightened the dark blue that had been glaring at her a moment before me.

  “Are we clear, knave?”

  Her hand was still across his mouth so he simply nodded then flicked his tongue across her palm to seal the deal.

  “You’re sure?” she prodded. “You’re going to behave?”

  He nodded again and this time his eyes were dancing with mirth.

  She removed her hand. “No talking.”

  He nodded yet again.

  “Now close your eyes.”

  His eyebrows shot up.

  “Close your eyes, knave,” she ordered.

  His lips twitched, the laugh lines beside his eyes deepened, but he obeyed with an uncharacteristic giggle that was so boyish it made her grin. When she started moving on him again, he caught his tongue between his teeth, arched his head back and giggled once more.

  “You’re liking this far too much,” she said. She put her hands on his chest to brace herself then raised and lowered her hips—sliding down his thick cock like a warm, wet silk glove.

  “Umm.” She heard him agree and watched his fingers flex around the spindles.

  Slowly at first she gyrated over him, swiveling her hips, pressing down lightly. He was so hard inside her, so long, it bordered on discomfort but she was beginning to feel the heat building in her lower body. The itch was there and she increased the speed of her plummets and rises in order to scratch it. Beneath her, Garrick’s hips were lifting up from the bed with each downward press of her body.

  Swirling her hips upon him, she let her head fall back. The tip of her long braid flicked across his thighs as she moved. As it did, she could feel the muscle in his thigh jump.

  He grunted and his stomach muscles tightened. She could tell he was striving not to come before her. Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead beneath the sweep of his dark hair. He was pulling on the spindles as hard as she had.

  “Come for me,” she said and his eyes flew open. He shook his head, his tongue still clamped between his teeth. She half expected him to speak but he didn’t. His breathing was shallow, rapid and once more his belly quivered.

  She ground upon him and he groaned, his eyelids fluttering, but he kept watching her as though to look away would mean he’d lost control of his body.

  She increased the speed, the rhythm and his lips parted, releasing his tongue. He began to pant.

  “Come for me,” she whispered.

  “Unh unh,” he grunted. His chest was heaving now and his thighs trembling.

  Her own release was seconds away. Hot, hard, slick. His cock was bumping against her womb and the slight discomfort was a spurring her to press down harder, to actually feel a bit of pain as the quivers started.

  “Garrick!” she shouted.

  His hands came down to pin her hips. Arching his hips from the bed, he lifted her then slammed her down hard upon his crotch as the climax shattered around her. The sensation was so intense, so powerful, and so pleasurable she wanted to scream as the ripples continued. With the first jerk of his cock, the first spurt shot from him, that was what she did—unable to keep the sound from erupting. He thrust up one final time then became immobile so she could feel each subsequent spasm that filled her with his seed. Her hips unable to move, she had no choice but to kneel there with him deep inside her—filling her, stretching her, seeding her—until the last drop of him was spent.

  “Sweet Mother,” he said as she dropped down to cover him with her body. He wrapped his arms snuggly around her, their bodies slick with sweat, their hearts racing.

  They lay like that for a few moments until s
he realized he was still erect within her. She knew what that meant and knew when he pulled out, another powerful surge of pleasure would rake her.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Aye,” she agreed.

  This time he put his hands to the back of her head, lifted it then fastened his mouth to hers to capture the scream he knew would come. When it did, he swallowed it, taking it into his own body as his woman shuddered violently from the forceful release. He could feel his own cum and her honeyed cream dripping down his thigh as his cock slipped from her. The soft barb at the end of his shaft had once again given his lady the immense satisfaction it had been designed to provide.

  Cradling her in his arms, he held her to him with her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder.

  As punishments went, hers had pleasured them both. She rather liked his rod of discipline.

  Chapter Seven

  The war had been going on for nine weeks and the Modarthan forces were being stymied at every turn. Though their troops were more experienced, better trained and supplied, the rebels seemed to either know or anticipate their every move. They were losing Modarthan men—good, loyal men—and the casualties on both sides were rising. Supply trains were being ambushed left and right.

  “We’ve a spy here,” Marc said.

  “We’ve most likely several spies here,” Garrick said. “What I want to know is how he learns our plans so quickly.”

  “Could be a she,” Marc told him.

  Garrick was pacing in front of the window of the study he had commandeered for his office. Outside the night sky was being stitched by violent lightning. The flare as each bolt formed gave his face a bluish cast.

  “There are guards outside this room,” the Crimson Lord stated. “Men I trust with my life. How the hell could the rebels have found out about the raid on Paxtin Province when only you and I knew of it? When we discussed it only within these four walls?”

  Marc looked about the room. It was swept twice a day for listening devices and a scrambler was used to disrupt any that were hidden so well they had not been detected.

  “I don’t understand it, either,” he told Garrick. “Neither of us are discussing the plans with anyone outside the office.” He gave his friend a hard look. “Are we?”