DeliveredIntoHisHands Read online

  “Have I ever told you about the thoughts that were going through my mind that night I saw you lying in the Moonlight?” she asked as she slipped the next button free.

  He swallowed hard. “No but I can imagine.”

  She looked up at him, cocking a brow.

  “I must have been hideous,” he said.

  “It was your eyes that drew my attention. I thought them the most beautiful I’d ever seen. I saw your flesh healing and the next thought that went through my mind was when the healing was done, you would be an exceedingly handsome warrior.”

  He grunted in reply.

  “I knew, you see,” she continued as she freed the next button.

  “Knew what?”

  “That you were my Chosen.”

  “How?”

  “I could barely keep from touching you though I knew to do so would have hurt you. Refraining from putting my hands to you…” The next button was released and she slowly peeled the two sides of the fly apart. “Was the hardest thing I’d ever done. It was like denying food to a starving woman.”

  His cock sprang free of the pants and he tensed, his knuckles white on the edge of the mattress.

  “The first time I saw this…” She slowly looked down at his shaft. “It scared me.”

  He licked his lips and shifted his ass on the bed. “Why?” he asked.

  “It was so big. So long. So thick.” She gazed up at him. “I didn’t believe it would fit inside me.”

  He swallowed again. “It did,” he said in a husky voice.

  “But the question is, will it fit in my mouth?” she asked.

  This time a hard shudder rippled through him. His right thigh was rubbing against her side as it bounced and she pressed down on it with her hand.

  “Be still, knave,” she ordered. She knew it took some doing but he managed to stop the nervous motion.

  “Ah, goddess, wench,” he groaned.

  “I asked Cherise—”

  “Gods-be-damn it, woman. Will you stop talking to that slut?” he asked, gritting his teeth.

  “I think you might like to hear what advice she gave me about sucking cock.”

  “Goddess, Antonia!” he said, his face suddenly flaming.

  “Well, you have been procrastinating about teaching me so I had to ask an expert about the finer points of fellatio.”

  The scientific word for it seemed to do something very erotic to him for his entire body clenched. She could feel the rigidity in his thighs, see it in his arms and shoulders.

  “Knave,” she said sternly. “Relax.”

  “I can’t,” he told her.

  “You can and you will or I’ll stop right now.” She lightly squeezed his thighs just above the knee.

  “No,” he protested.

  “All right, then unclench your body.” She looked at his arms, which were stiff. As soon as the muscles in his forearms loosened, she smiled. “Now lift your sweet, tight ass so I can pull off your pants.”

  Almost as though the words were electric prods, he jacked his hips from the bed and held his ass above the mattress, bracing himself on his arms as she put her hands to the waistband of his pants and began to tug them over his hips. The entire time she was working them down his legs, she could feel his stare locked on her lowered head.

  “You have beautiful feet,” she said as she pulled the pants over them. Her attention shifted up to him. “But then I think all of you is beautiful.”

  “Men are not beautiful, wench,” he stated. “Unless they are girly men.”

  She slowly smiled. “There is nothing girly about my man and in my eyes he is beautiful. You can put that sweet ass back on the bed now.”

  He dropped down to the mattress like a rock.

  “Now that I have you as I need you,” she said. “Let’s get down to the business at hand but first…”

  He scowled. “First?”

  “There are conditions.”

  The scowl deepened. “What conditions, wench?” The words were husky and filled with a tight warning.

  “You must keep your hands on the bed and you must not close your legs.”

  “Ah, wench!” Her words made his cock stiffen even more.

  “No matter what I do to you, keep your thighs spread.”

  She watched his eyes close and noticed a vein throbbing rapidly in his neck.

  “Understood?” she queried.

  “Aye,” he said, the word strangled.

  “All right.” When he tensed again, she slapped her palm hard on his thigh and his eyes snapped open wide. He looked down at her. “Fucking relax, knave!” she ordered.

  Garrick’s eyebrows shot up into the cowlick that tumbled over his forehead. She’d never used vulgar language in his presence and that she had seemed to both shock and amuse him.

  “Aye, wench,” he said and the rigidity left him once again. She glanced at his thigh to see the red mark her palm had left behind.

  “Poor baby,” she said. “That must have stung.” She leaned in and put her lips to the angry red blotch.

  A strange sound came from her husband but she continued to kiss the spot where she had hit him. Satisfied she’d soothed the sting, she moved on to the inner surface of his left thigh just to the side of his knee.

  “Mother of the goddess,” she heard him whispered and his leg quivered.

  Fleeting little kisses. Tight little nibbles. A long, slow flick of her tongue and he was breathing heavy. She wondered how he’d react when she got to the V-cut where thigh met groin. Leisurely working her way up to within a few inches from that desired area, she switched her attention to his other leg—beginning there at his knee.

  That leg jumped the moment her lips touched it and he groaned with frustration. She watched his fingers tighten on the mattress edge, pulling on the sheet.

  Briefer, lingering kisses. Nibbling. Flicking then one infinitely slow lick all the way to the V-cut. She heard him suck in his breath and hold it in anticipation. She looked up at him from under her lashes and smiled.

  “Wench,” he stated in a voice that was filled with pleading.

  She dragged her tongue upward along the crease—her cheek grazing his cock—and grinned as his entire body spasmed, his head falling back and that oh-so knowledgeable tongue became caught between his teeth.

  He was making little growling sounds as she turned her attention to the other crease and—bad boy that he was—he opened his thighs as far as she thought they could go. He was offering up that part of him that longed for attention, sacrificing any shred of modesty to her questing lips.

  She slid her hand under his balls and cupped him lightly.

  His eyes flew open. His head came down.

  “Now, this is where you need to instruct me, knave,” she said. “You need to tell me how you want me to proceed.”

  Those beautiful blue eyes widened for just a moment then grew heavy-lidded and filled with power. He licked his lips, cleared his throat, and then nodded.

  “Wrap your fingers around him at the base,” he said.

  “Like this?” she asked and slowly flexed her fingers—pinky to index then thumb upon his cock.

  “Aye,” he whispered then cleared his throat again. “Aye, like that.”

  “Now what?”

  “Gently squeeze. That brings blood to the head.”

  She frowned. “I won’t hurt you doing that?”

  “No, no, no,” he said, almost violently shaking his head. “The blood engorges the head and gives me more pleasure when your mouth…” He gulped. “Takes me.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Like this?”

  She lowered her head and wrapped her lips around the broad tip of his cock. She thought he would jump out of his skin the moment her tongue pressed lightly into the slit. She swiveled it slowly.

  “Wench, I think Cherise gave you instructions already,” he chastised her.

  “Umm,” she said and knew the vibration drove him mad with need. His cock jerked in her mouth and a salty dr
op of pre-cum oozed onto her tongue.

  She pulled back and ran her tongue over her lips, curling it over the bottom as she held his stare. “That tastes good,” she said and watched his eyes flare. A second later a big, goofy grin spread over his mouth.

  “Yeah?” he asked as though he’d done something totally spectacular.

  “Aye,” she pronounced then slipped him into her mouth again. This time she slid her lips—tightly and firmly—down his entire length.

  “Sweet Bastet!” he hissed, shivering.

  Now, she thought, was the time to stop fooling around and cut to the chase. Lips firm, tongue working, she began to lick the underside of his cock from balls to tip—slowly and firmly as though she were enjoying a lollipop. Her hand secure around his balls, she alternately squeezed them and sucked hard on the broad mushroom head as she made her way to his tip.

  Slow glide down. Cup firmly. Knead. Even slower lick up again before drawing hungrily on the head. Pressing the tongue deeply into the slit. Flicking around the silky head then another slow glide down.

  Then came the slow, deep bobs of her head that had him trembling.

  “Oh, baby,” he groaned.

  His hips were beginning to flex upward with every pass she made downward. She increased the suction, the pressure on his balls and finally the speed until he was panting.

  “Wench,” he said and she could hear the warning in his voice. “You’d best stop now.”

  She had no intention of stopping. She knew he didn’t want to come in her mouth simply because he didn’t want to shock her but she wanted him to. She wanted to experience the feel of it. The taste of it. The power of it when he released.

  “Tonia, no,” he said. “I’m close. You should…”

  With his cock embedded deep in her throat, she caught—and held—his worried look.

  She knew he was striving to control the orgasm she knew was imminent.

  His hands left the bed and went to her cheeks. It seemed he made one final, desperate attempt to warn her.

  She winked at him.

  It was that wink that did him in. All control gone, he tensed and then came, his seed spurting down her throat. She worked her throat and that sensation brought a bellow of release from deep within his chest. His fingers tightened on her cheeks—trying to still her head as she slid her mouth up and down his pulsing cock—but his strength had apparently deserted him. He wound up moving her over him as she greedily milked him of every last drop. With one last jerk, he shuddered then his shoulders slumped though he still had a light grip on her cheeks.

  She eased him from her mouth, his hands fell away, and then felt that soft barb rake across the roof of her mouth. She had to see it and looked down. It wasn’t there long—a pale pink backward facing spine—then it sank down behind the gleaming corona.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Huh?”

  He probably wasn’t in the mood—or in any condition—to explain his Panthera anatomy but she wanted to know the purpose of the soft barb and asked.

  “Oh,” he said, striving to breathe normally and talk though his chest was rapidly expanding and deflating and his upper body was drenched in sweat. “In other species of cats, the barbs cause the female pain and the pain triggers ovulation. In my species it causes intense pleasure and draws the expended seed deeper into the female’s body to…” He shrugged. “Impregnate them.”

  Antonia’s lips parted. “Impregnate?”

  “Well, not every time, obviously, but that’s the purpose the barbs serve.”

  “Impregnate,” she stated flatly. Why the thought that she could get pregnant never occurred to her became a stunning revelation.

  “I can’t impregnate you, Tonia,” he said then looked away.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “I take a drug to prevent it.”

  She put her hands on his thighs. “You don’t want children?”

  “Aye, I do,” he was quick to say. “But not just yet and especially not during war.”

  “True,” she said.

  “And you?” he asked. “Do you want my children?”

  She smiled at him. “Very much. Lots of them. An entire litter.”

  He laughed. “I don’t know about a litter,” he said. “Two or three would be nice.”

  “I like round numbers,” she replied. “Let’s make it four.”

  “Ah, not at the same time,” he replied as she pushed him flat on his back then straddled his lap.

  * * * * *

  Alyxdair Clay lay on his belly looking at the cave entrance through a pair of high-powered binoculars. They were old-fashioned but they worked better than the laser site pair in his knapsack.

  “They’ve sealed the tunnel,” he told the man beside him. “And they’ve booby trapped it.”

  “So there’s no way in?” Jamie McFarren asked.

  “Only through the postern gate but if they found the shelter and closed up the tunnel you can bet they know about the passageways,” Alyx said. “Fucking bastards.”

  “So what do we do? All our maps and diagrams, Modarthan troop positions…”

  “Which they no doubt now have in their possession,” Alyx interrupted. “I need to get in there and retrieve all the shit they confiscated.”

  “How will you do that, General?” Jamie asked.

  “The baron will help me. I just need to get to him,” Alyx replied. He lowered the binoculars and gave Jamie a steady look. “I need you to deliver a message to him.”

  Jamie nodded. He had been the stable master at Castle Blackthorn for over twelve years—having inherited the position from his father. The McFarren men had been in charge of the baronial stables for four generations.

  “Tell him to meet me at the Rose and Thorn Tavern tomorrow at noon. Ride with him and keep an eye out for Warwyck’s men,” Alyx told him. “Might be best if the baron made it known he is heading into Colton to see his solicitors or such so he has a legitimate reason for leaving Blackthorn.”

  “I will tell him, General,” Jamie replied. “Anything else you need me to do in the meantime?”

  Alyx looked away. “How is Antonia holding up being shackled to the Modarthan?”

  “As best I can tell she’s happy enough, Sir, although…”

  The rebel general turned back to Jamie. “Although what?”

  “He had her locked up in their quarters for nigh on a week. Word has it she done something that set him off.”

  “Did he hurt her?” Alyx demanded, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

  “I don’t believe so, Sir. Didn’t look like it when she came out to check on Raven yesterday.”

  A gentle smile shifted over Alyx’s face. Raven was Antonia’s horse and she dearly loved the animal, which meant a lot to him. Alyx had gifted the horse to her from the Clay stables on Antonia’s twenty-first birthday. He had helped train the little beastie himself.

  “She misses riding her every day but he won’t let her,” Jamie said with a snort. “Says it ain’t safe.”

  “He can’t go out in the Sun is what’s not safe,” Alyx said. “If things had gone as I’d planned, the Sun would have taken care of Garrick Warwyck months ago.”

  “At least he ain’t put her through the Changing,” Jamie said. “You should be glad of that.”

  “Aye,” Alyx said. “But you can bet he forces himself on her and that’s bad enough. Sooner or later he’ll get her with child unless I find a way to take him out of her life for good. The thought of a slimy vampire child growing inside my woman…” He sprang up from the ground and headed for his horse. “Get the baron to the Rose and Thorn!”

  * * * * *

  Over the months since her marriage, Antonia had tried to acclimate her sleep patterns to her husband’s but sleeping the day away was unproductive to her. So they had compromised. She stayed up with him until three of the clock then went to their bed. He joined her as the first rays of dawn light spread their fingers over the horizon. Enfolding her in his arms, he
would sleep with her spooned against him until she left their bed sometime near the noon hour. When he rose at sundown, she was there beside him in the bed again though sleeping was the last thing on either of their minds.

  Waking earlier than normal and not wanting to toss and turn and wake Garrick, she left their bed at nine of the clock and went downstairs to break her fast. She found her father ordering a servant to have his horse saddled and ready for use within the hour.

  “Where are you going so early, Papa?” she asked.

  “To Colton for the day,” he answered. “I’ve business with Marshon.”

  “Want some company?”

  Her father hesitated then shook his head. “He would not like it, Tonia.”

  “He is sleeping and I’m getting cabin fever being cooped up in Blackthorn day in and day out.” She smiled. “I won’t tell him if you won’t.”

  “I’m not sure…”

  “Papa, please. I’ll be with you and we’ll take my guards. Please?”

  The baron loved both his daughters dearly but Antonia was his favorite. She was more like him than her mother and he had always enjoyed her company. The chit had a devilish sense of humor, a keen mind and their conversations ranged from the silly to the sublime.

  “I may find myself on the receiving end of the vampire’s wrath but of course you can go,” he said. He swept his gaze down her. “Not dressed like that, though.”

  “I won’t be a minute!” she said as she turned to the stairs.

  “We’ll get the noon meal at the Rose and Thorn,” he told her, knowing how much she liked the tavern fare.

  “Better yet!” she said.

  As he watched his daughter scurrying up the stairs a plan began to form in Blackthorn’s mind.

  He hated his son-in-law nonetheless he had a grudging respect for the man. Though his lady-wife had insisted upon the Joining, the baron had hated the idea. He saw the advantages she pointed out to him but the mere thought of his beloved Antonia being chained to the vampire set his teeth on edge. That she seemed happy with the demon raked at his very soul.

  “Carter!” he said, catching the eye of a servant. “Have Lady Antonia’s mount saddled. She will be coming with me this morn. And send Arbra in. Tell him it is urgent I speak with him.”