Page 38 of The Captive's Curse
“You know, I think I preferred waking up alone after all,” I snapped—and then realized my error, too late.
Enzo went rigid, alert like a hunting dog on the scent of the opportunity to mock me.
“After all,” he said thoughtfully. “Hah! You wanted me to stay the other night, didn’t you? Why, Lord Cyril, I didn’t know you ca—”
“I’m not the one with a barely adequate erection poking someone else in the—”
He rolled on top of me so suddenly that I couldn’t even squeak, and I choked on a sudden mouthful of pillow, pinned down too thoroughly to flail, heart pounding.
“You know,” he said in my ear, a bit breathless, “I’m starting to think you make fun of my cock so I’ll prove how wrong you are.” He rolled his hips, his extraordinarily over-adequate erection pushing between my cheeks. “Fine. I’ll oblige you this time, but next time you’re getting spanked again and then you can get yourself off.”
Would he really make me stroke off my own cock while I lay across his lap sobbing, my glowing-pink ass in the air?
Thank the gods the pillow muffled my moan. With luck, he’d think it’d been an attempted protest.
His weight eased off me enough that I could lift my head and suck in a breath, and then he tugged my drawers down to my knees, the chill instantly raising goosebumps on my exposed skin. I’d taken my trousers off when he came to bed, leaving myself open to this…this…no, I couldn’t even pretend to myself that I wished I’d left them on. My own cock had gotten caught in the edge of my drawers, and the discomfort had me squirming with the need to be immediately, savagely fucked.
“You have ten seconds to get yourself ready.” That tone didn’t brook any argument. “Nine. Eight…”
Since he’d only been wearing drawers himself on his lower half, it took him all of two more seconds to lean down, cock kissing the crease of my ass. He pulled me open, one hand on each side, and waited.
“Five,” he said as I allowed my magic to rush down, opening me, cleansing me, slicking me. “Fuck, I can see you getting wet. I’ve never—gods. Four-three-two-one.”
His first thrust didn’t bury him all the way inside, because my body was flat on the bed and my legs were still close together. But the tightness magnified the sensation of his cock pushing in, thick and with almost too much friction despite how well my magic had readied me. Enzo tugged roughly on one cheek, spreading me more and stretching the tender skin of my hole, and I groaned into the pillow as he shoved in another inch, and then another, as roughly and brutally as I could possibly have begged for.
By now I knew he had finesse, when he chose to use it.
He didn’t choose, grinding his cock into me, letting his weight bear down, rutting into me in a way that might’ve seemed thoughtless if I hadn’t known better than that.
With a final moan, I soaked the sheets below me, squeezing all my muscles and milking him dry. My head spun as he filled me, hot spurts tickling me from the inside. I twitched,whimpered, and subsided, my eyes fluttering shut, ignoring everything but the urge to let the pillow win. If it smothered me, so be it.
Enzo pulled out with no ceremony at all, tossing the quilt over my bare backside as he rolled off and out of bed.
Probably my tangled drawers and all the come under me and seeping out of me would get uncomfortable very soon—if I stayed awake to bother about it, anyway.
Magic might be a solution to some of it.
Meh. My magic preferred to bask in its total repletion, thrumming with an energy that suffused me with contentment, and it didn’t seem inclined to make itself useful whatsoever.
I drifted gently, cocooned in my purloined bedding, as Enzo thumped around behind me somewhere, getting dressed and buckling on his sword and—
Fuck.
I flipped over with a groan, forcing myself up on one elbow. My hair flopped in my face, and I scrabbled at it, irritated beyond measure by that one strand that kept getting stuck to my nose.
“Wait!” I sputtered. “Wait! Enzo! You can’t leave me here. The Mad Lord might come back, and I’ll be stuck again!”
He’d sat down to pull on his boots, but he looked up, abandoning them for the moment. Enzo’s eyes had a sharp, measuring gleam to them; it seemed unfair, given how utterly wrecked he’d left me with ten minutes of effort.
“The Mad Lord?” he asked, sounding carefully, unnaturally neutral. “Who?”
I shoved up a little higher on the bed, my blood starting to pound in my ears. Seriously? Up until now, I hadn’t asked him about the legend or the castle directly. First my curse had been looming, and then the Calatrians had interfered with their stupid royal kidnapping, and of course I’d expected Enzo notto be particularly forthcoming and hadn’t wanted to waste my time.
Besides, it was much better to ask for forgiveness than permission—or ask for neither, my own personal preference.
But the ghost had quite literally tried to kill me. And Enzo still wanted to pretend there was nothing to see here, an entirely normal nest of bandits, move along?
“Don’t play stupid with me,” I snapped. “I know this is Mad Lord Vincenzo’s lost castle. It’s the only explanation that makes any sense, and besides, Leander gave me a hint the other day and then refused to tell me any more. How did you find this place, anyway? And why doesn’t he attack you? You might as well tell me. I’ve seen him. Whatever secret you’re keeping, you’re not keeping it now.”
