Page 56 of The Captive's Curse
I’d imagined his kiss more than I wanted to admit: wondering whether he’d be forceful or gentle, awkward or practiced, clever with his tongue or more direct. But none of my fantasies had prepared me for the way he bit my lower lip with enough pressure to make me moan, but not enough to hurt, or how hot his mouth would be, or how my head would spin ashe stole my breath and twined his tongue with mine and then fucked my mouth with it.
His kiss swept me out to sea and drowned me, the world fading into nothingness and my body and mind going pliant.
When he lifted his head at last, I almost didn’t remember where I was, even the fading light of dusk in the grove shockingly bright when I opened my eyes. I found him gazing at me, his pupils blown and his lips redder and fuller than usual. Mine throbbed, probably as rosy and plump as ripe cherries.
My hands had found their way to his shoulders, clutching him as if I’d never let him go, and he’d ended up fully on top of me, one thigh pressing up against my aching cock. His stabbed me in the belly with surprising energy given how much he’d spent inside me.
“I know you don’t need me again so quickly,” he said, “but—”
“Don’t tell me what I don’t need,” I growled, and pulled him down into another kiss.
Against my lips, he murmured, “Duly noted,” and thrust down. I moaned, and spread my legs, and forgot about anything but Enzo.
Chapter Twenty
It took me the better part of two days to clean and polish and cosset my lute to my full satisfaction following her ignominious fall into a pile of wet leaves and grass. New strings, several coats of linseed oil, and a great deal of tuning did the trick, and she looked and sounded as perfect as ever.
That left me only four more empty, purposeless days until the one on which Enzo would return, as he’d promised to do.
“Seven days seems like the ideal interval,” he’d said, in between kisses. “That leaves a good margin for your ten-day cycle, and I have things to accompli—don’t do that, Cyril, if you get me hard again—fuck, all right, if you insist…”
It’d taken much longer than strictly necessary for him to dress, help me put myself to rights, and scramble back up the high wall around the grounds, pausing at the top to grin at me rakishly before disappearing down the other side.
I ended up standing there blushing and smiling like a fool, gazing up at the top of the wall and listening closely for hoofbeats or anything else to indicate his presence or departure. But of course there was nothing. Enzo had escaped capture or detection for years through cleverness and stealth, and he’d probably slip away from the vicinity of Montefime like a shadow.
Still. I waited until long after he must’ve been gone, squeezing my thighs together and remembering the way he’d felt inside me, reliving his kisses.
Even remembering my abandoned lute and scrambling to retrieve her couldn’t ruin my brilliant mood. My feet barely touched the ground as I drifted back toward the house, even when I heard a branch snap off to my left, a sound that would usually have had me jumping a foot in the air. I did stop and peek between the trees, but I didn’t see anything. Fuck it. There weren’t any bears in the grounds, and I wasn’t going to fuss over a badger.
So I cleaned my lute for two days, and then for the next two I played her, bathed excessively, and brought myself off several times a day thinking about Enzo. After that, I simply couldn’t stay in my rooms anymore, the confinement of it beginning to drive me mad.
…And so I spent two more playing my lute, bathing excessively, and bringing myself off several times a day thinking about Enzo, with the addition of wandering about the house and grounds avoiding Hans—which was far easier than I expected. If anything, he seemed to be avoiding me. Bruno certainly was, though he deigned to grunt at me when we encountered one another in the breakfast parlor, which I considered progress.
It still rankled that he hadn’t ransomed me, but at least he’d allowed me to come home. He could’ve simply ordered the servants to lock the front door.
And if hehadpaid when Enzo sent his messenger…well, I’d have come home before my curse asserted itself. I’d never have had Enzo in my arms, moving over me, movinginme, his dark eyes and his domineering touch—and his gentle touches. His touch, full stop. Even the spanking.
Perhaps especially the spanking.
Gods. I had to go back to my bedchamber and…spend a few minutes alone.
One more night. One more, until Enzo climbed over the wall and ravished me on the ground, although this time I’d bebringing a thick blanket. Hopefully when I struggled and begged him not to force himself on a helpless young lord enjoying a peaceful picnic, he’d take a hint and ravish me all the more vigorously.
I spent a few more minutes alone after contemplating the possibilities.
By the time the morning of the seventh day dawned—well, all right, rather more than dawned, because I wouldn’t rise that early for a hundred Enzos—I’d hit a nervous state of impatience that almost mimicked my curse in its breathless feverishness.
He’d told me he’d come at midday, so by ten o’clock I was bathed, perfumed, and pacing.
By eleven, I’d nearly convinced myself I needed another bath, since I’d been perspiring so much.
At half past eleven, I knocked back a small goblet of wine to settle my stomach, gathered up my blanket, and slipped out of the house and down through the gardens.
I laid out my blanket fairly close to the wall, perhaps twenty feet away and right at the edge of the same grove of trees as before. Face the wall, or face away? No, I wanted to see him the moment he climbed over, and I could play the terrified victim of his monstrous lust just as easily with him before me as behind me.
Perhaps a quarter of an hour after I’d settled down to wait, I thought I heard a faint sound from the trees. Glancing around showed me nothing, but…I had that prickling on the back of my neck that suggested something was amiss. Had Enzo come over the wall somewhere else and snuck around to surprise me? But if so, why hadn’t he done it already? He wouldn’t sit there and simply watch me waiting for him, would he?
And then I heard him at last: a scuff of a boot on stone, a grunt of effort, and his head appeared over the top of the wall,quickly followed by his broad shoulders as he boosted himself up on his arms and swung his legs over, sliding down to the ground.
