Page 72 of Blackwicket
I protested, the nonverbal noise of frustration encouraging a laugh from Inspector Harrow, rich and resonant.
“I prefer that gratification be mine to give.” His tone wasrough with his own desire, and he caught me against him, standing as though I weighed no more than sea foam. My legs encompassed his waist as he carried me to the piano, setting me down on the closed top, and reaching beneath my gown to slide the underthings from my hips. I aided him by lifting myself, allowing the panties to fall down my calves and onto the floor. When they were disposed of, Victor’s bruising fingers seized me behind the knees, raising them. I reclined, elbows on the mahogany wood top, pressing my heels onto the edge of the piano. His half-lidded eyes, the color of honeyed mead, remained on mine as he coaxed my thighs apart, opening me to his view. His gaze drifted languidly from my face to my mouth, dipping down the line of my body to the dewy pink swell of my sex. He muttered a low oath, widening me further.
“You’re a fucking sight to behold, Eleanora Blackwicket,” he said, finally stroking his thumb over the throbbing swell, just to make me tremble.
“Victor, I’ve evaded death twice since coming to this hellhole, don’t let this be what kills me. Please.” I was begging, longing for release, for more of him. He stroked more evenly, circling the pad of his thumb in aching arches.
“Eager to be violated by an Inspector of the Authority, Curse Eater?” Slipping his hand behind my head, he tilted it forward so that I could watch the slow, purposeful motion.
“I’m already tainted.” I panted, fingernails raking against unforgiving wood. “You can’t make it worse.”
He leaned forward, taking in the scent of my hair, lowering his guard so that his magic could slip into me with obscene intensity. With it came the diabolic shape of his affliction, but I wasn’t horrified; the coiling wrongness of it brushed closed, promising.
“You’re mistaken,” the Inspector replied, taking my ankles and raising them to his shoulders, where they slipped around hisneck. Aware of what he was about to do, I balked, overwhelmed by the idea of it. My desires had always been many, but my demands of lovers incredibly few. I’d never known how to ask.
Lifting my hips, he drew me nearer, his mouth a prayer away from enveloping me. He caressed my naked side and lower belly, snaking his fingers over my mound and into the dark curls, before slipping between swollen lips, parting them to expose me to his intentions.
“Victor.” I moaned, teetering on the precipice of an irredeemable action.
“Say my name again.”
I could do nothing but give in.
“Victor.”
His name was profane magic, wickedness whispered with impiety in the pitch-black hold of night, when no innocent thing dared move.
His warm tongue ran across the hill of my pleasure, teased stiff with both mine and his attention. The sound that rose from my throat was grating, a groan and a cry, strangled by the overwhelming sensation I’d craved. It encouraged another foul word from him, and he drew me into his mouth, sucking at the sensitive flesh.
My breath came heavy, the vision of him framed by my thighs sending currents of want so strong, my head grew light on my shoulders. Victor Harrow could have asked me anything, could have ordered me to swallow hot coals, and as long as his tongue continued its languorous strokes, I would have opened my mouth to take them.
“You’re unbelievable,” he groaned, the vibration of his words driving me toward a place I’d been many times, but never in this way, never so desperate.
I cried out, a warning throb tightening. I lifted myself to him for more, but he slid my legs from his shoulders, replacingmy heels on the piano top. Then, leaning over me, his stomach brushing against my slick cleft, he kissed me, letting me taste myself on his tongue.
“Victor, please,” I pleaded when the kiss traveled to my neck.
“Begging doesn’t sway me,” he said, pressing his body close to increase the friction, “But it’s such a pretty sound.”
He allowed space for his hand to move between us.
“Look at me,” he ordered, and when our eyes met, he slid two fingers into my silky heat.
I arched, grabbing onto his arm as he withdrew and buried them in deeper, caressing my clit with his thumb as he found a rhythm of stroking that was robbing me of thought, of my ability to be anything but a pillar of sensation.
I needed more. I lowered my foot, rising to reach a hand to his groin, drawing my palm along the hard length of him. My fondling elicited a surge of power that overtook me, washing me in a white-hot tremor of ecstasy that was not all mine.
“Careful, Curse Eater. There’s very little decency remaining in me; if I lose it, I’ll do something neither of us could forgive.”
“Nothing you’ve done to me has been decent.”
Emboldened by eagerness, I unfastened his belt as he continued to pet me, catching my mouth in a fervent kiss. In my enthusiasm, I nipped his bottom lip and lost my position of control. With a harsh, guttural rumble, he removed his hand, grip digging into the muscle of my backside, as he dragged me forward, until I was again wrapped around his waist, my nakedness pressed against his concealed cock. Utilizing his strength, he raised and lowered me against him, grinding into my cunt. I lost my sense of presence, aware only of the barreling approach of my climax. In two more fierce motions, I came, shuddering, suspended in a realm of ecstasy.
But at the height of my delirium, Inspector Harrow’sunholy magic rose, not to tease, but to overtake in a violence that intensified my orgasm. Victor had become a maelstrom, carrying me into vicious waters. The lights dimmed, the ocean waves deafening as the house quaked.
“Eleanora.” The rumbling of my name was inhuman. Victor’s magic twisted within mine, igniting the same mix of rapture and profound ache. I exhaled, lightheaded, as my euphoria ebbed, and his teeth caught my shoulder, biting, encouraging a brief electric jolt of pain that stoked fires still blazing.
I was prepared to give in to him again, as many times as he wanted, but he loosened his hold, lowering me to the ground, the hem of the gown falling to my calves. He stepped away from me, and I replaced the strap of the nightgown onto my shoulder, covering myself, suddenly cold.
