Page 22 of The Captive's Curse
“Am I also allowed to take off my boots?” he asked. “And my belt. I think that’ll have to go.”
He tugged at it as I stared, mesmerized. Could I actually see the outline of the thick head of his cock through the fabric? Gods, Icould. He couldn’t possibly be wearing anything under his trousers. He let his belt drop to the floor with a thump and a clink of the buckle. And then those strong, tanned fingers were at work on the buttons of his trousers. One button. Two.
Couldn’t he hurry up a bit? I was about to crawl out of my own skin. He needed to pin me down and ravish methis instant.
But hadn’t I just pushed him away, wanting to take control of the situation…my head spun with conflicting impulses, leaving me dizzy.
“If you really do have a zucchini in there, I might cry,” I muttered.
His hands stilled. “You certainly have a gift for saying things I’m not expecting,” he said, sounding slightly choked. “Do you think I need a zucchini to fill things out?”
Irritation gave me the strength to tear my eyes away from that enormous bulge and look back up at his face.
“You’re the one who accused me of putting one up my ass,” I snapped. “Suggesting that you might have one in the front of your pants doesn’t seem nearly as bad.”
His sudden grin took my breath away. Gods, if that terrible artist who’d sketched him for Hans had drawn him like this, Enzo would’ve been caught within days, because half of the locals would’ve dropped everything else they were doing to hunt him down and find out if he wore anything under his trousers.
“Maybe I’ve been keeping a zucchini in my pants just for you, Your Vegetable-Loving Lordship,” he said, dropping his voice to an exaggerated, sensual purr that had me caught between cackling with laughter, throwing him out of my room to take my chances with the curse, or throwing him on the bed.
“Oh, you—” And then I choked on my own spit as he tugged the other two buttons loose and let his trousers fall open. The gleaming, purplish head pointed right at me. My vision blurred, giving me two monstrous cocks, and wasn’t that a terrifying, or possibly wonderful, idea. “Fuck.”
His grin went sharp around the edges. “Precisely. But we can’t until you take your pants off too, can we?” He stepped forward, prowling, trapping me with nowhere to go but…on the bed. My thighs hit the edge of it. “Your turn. Take them off. I know you’re not shy.”
No, I wasn’t, not at all, but I couldn’t seem to force my hands to do what I wanted them to do. What Enzo wanted me to do. The low flame in the fireplace couldn’t account for the rushof burning heat up and down my torso, and it certainly hadn’t blazed high enough to suck all the air out of the room and leave me lightheaded and gasping, either.
For a moment, I stood there trembling, poised on the edge of the precipice of my curse.
And then, with a flash of vertigo, I tumbled over. The pain struck like a thunderbolt, searing agony twisting through the deepest part of me.
I tried to rise above it, to push it down, to focus on my fingers and my trouser buttons and hopefully some meeting of the two, but I thought I might explode, and I collapsed onto the bed and curled up, trying desperately to relieve the pressure inside me and the stabbing in my side, letting out a helpless, shaky moan.
Distantly, I heard Enzo cursing, and then saying, “You told me this was happening tomorrow, fuck,” and then his hands were on me, big and strong, paradoxically sending a horrid shiver through me with their heat.
Cold air hit my ass like a slap of ice—becausenowthe room around me felt cold, now that my fever had fully taken me—as Enzo pulled my trousers and drawers down and off.
He was cursing again, tugging at my boots, and meanwhile my body twisted around the emptiness inside me, searing sparks shooting out and in and everywhere.
“Don’t bother,” I gasped. “Don’t—just get in me. I don’t care if I’m naked or not. It hurts!” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, but despite myself, the words came out anyway, soft and pained. “Enzo, please, don’t make me beg, don’t make me—”
“I’m not, I promise you, I wouldn’t,” he said roughly, and I heard a thump and clatter, his hands not on me anymore, “but there’s nothing I can see—do you have any oil or anything at all?”
Oil. He was looking for—so many men didn’t trouble themselves with things like that, simply trying to shove it inwilly-nilly. But not Enzo, apparently. Of course he’d be the sort of man who’d want to ready me himself, his long, muscular fingers sliding inside, twisting, stretching…
I squirmed, whimpering, clenching my muscles around nothing, because he didn’t have his fingers in me, and I needed them, I needed him…and I’d said so, hadn’t I, my own voice ringing in my ears. It had to be this man who already thought so little of me witnessing this, didn’t it? Just my luck.
“In a second, Lord Cyril,” he said, sounding harassed. “I’m sorry, I can’t find anything, I may need to go—”
“No!” Gods, no, he couldn’t leave me like this. I rolled over onto my back, my legs flailing, and ended up tangled in my trousers and sprawled across the bed all twisted like a corkscrew. “No, I’ll do it!”
Enzo stared down at me, flushed and wild, his cock still rampantly erect, stiff enough to hold up the hem of his heavy woolen tunic. My mouth watered. My hole tightened helplessly. I needed that cock inside me, and I couldn’t—
“Focus, Lord Cyril,” Enzo said, and then he leaned down, bracing himself on the bed and looming over me. His eyes blazed. “You’ll do it how?”
“With magic,” I managed, though my tongue felt so heavy and my body was going to melt or shatter, and I was frantically trying to open my legs despite my remaining clothes wrapped around me. Even though I was mostly incompetent with anything related to modifying living things, so many careless lovers had tried to fumble their way through this act that I’d taught myself a magical trick or two for preparing my body quickly and efficiently. “I’ll—I can slick myself.”
Enzo’s mouth moved, and it looked like he was repeating the wordsslick myself. He shook his head, a wave of black hair flopping down over his forehead. I wanted to brush it back, butsomehow my hands had found their way to his upper arms, my fingers digging in so hard he’d have bruises.
Oh, he was absurdly distracting. I closed my eyes. That didn’t help much, because now I could smell him, the faint tang of pine, the bite of steel, and the richness of leather and man. A hint of salt and honey. His cock would taste like that, or his mouth…
