The Warlord Wants Forever

Chapter Six

As soon as her mind registered the command, her body rushed to obey with a swift, fiery clenching that left her sagging against him, her grasp on his belt the only thing that kept her from falling—as he'd anticipated.

When the bliss finally ended and she could catch her breath, she raised her face, parting her lips to ask—

"Again."

She moaned, unable to release his belt as she twitched and swayed on her knees, brushing her breasts frantically against his legs. "Stop, please…" She pressed her face against his huge shaft, needing it, her body squeezing only emptiness. She ran her mouth over it even as she begged him to stop. Though she'd hurt him, he was recovering right beneath her lips.

"Come harder."

To her shame, she did, arching her back and crying out, opening her knees and undulating her hips for him to come fill her.

As the waves of pleasure relented, she dimly perceived him scooping her up into his arms. She was limp, disbelieving, yet every nerve was on fire. There was blackness, dizziness, and then she was in a new place, in a dark paneled study.

He set her to her feet, but she'd gone boneless from his orders and from…tracing?

In a tremulous voice, she asked, "Where am I?"

He held her until she was steady, then crossed to open a small wall safe. He tossed the chain in and shut the door. "You're at Blachmount, my manor in Eesti. This, Myst, is your new home."

Her lips parted in shock. "You can't just keep me here—"

"Apparently I can do anything I want where you're concerned. This is where you'll stay and where I'm going to show you all the mercy you showed me."

Her eyes went wide.

"Listen carefully. This safe is unbreakable and you will never, never touch the lock. You'll never try to deduce the combination or garner it from me. Do you understand? Answer me."

"Y-yes."

He strode to her, clutched her arm and traced them into what looked like a bedroom. A vampire's lair. With the bed in the corner on the floor as they preferred. She shivered, knowing she was well and truly screwed in every possible sense.

"Undress," Nikolai ordered from the shower.

Her shock had been quickly replaced by rancor, and she glared before obeying. He didn't care. Watching her yanking her clothes off in the steamy bathroom was like witnessing a gift unwrapped.

He stood under the pounding water, his body healing at a rate he'd never imagined. He'd taken a blow from her that would've crippled him for days in the past, and yet he was already hard for her again. In fact, his pain had been the only thing that had kept him from covering her in the courtyard and plunging into her as she writhed from her orgasm, her eyes firing silver with pleasure. Now nothing would spare her.

When she was completely naked, he stared at those plump breasts that had haunted him, his mouth watering at the thatch of auburn curls between her legs. What to make her do? The possibilities were endless. He could tell her to take him into her mouth and see how many times she could make his cock rise under her tongue. He could force her to beg to do it, to beg for him shoved inside her. After these last long years of agony, and now to have such a gift as this chain…

If Wroth had a sense of humor, he might have laughed.

He didn't understand the chain's power, only knew that it was absolute over her. He wasn't one to mull over its origin. If he spent time questioning every new development in his life for the last centuries, he'd have gone mad. It was a tool he needed. Simple enough.

He'd decided to bury the past, but tonight he'd realized she was too wild and too vicious to accept him. She'd proven she was just as his dreams told him. With this mysterious chain, could he make her a biddable wife, in his life—and in his bed?

Earlier, he'd been very conscious of her reaction as she came. She'd rubbed her face against his cock, wanting it. In an alley, with his clothes on, having just had his manhood battered, he hadn't been able to fully capitalize on her need. But in the shower…?

"Join me, Bride."

She was compelled to, though she had an expression of disgust on her face. "You keep calling me that, but you don't have that right. I've given no consent, so I think the term you're looking for is slave."

His eyes narrowed as he took her tiny waist and pulled her into the water with him. "Semantics. The end's the same. You forget that I'm from a time when men needed no consent to take what they wanted."

"And you forget that I lived in those times as well and was glad to get past them. I'd almost forgotten what it was like having to kill all the leeches like you when your pesky little hearts would beat for me." She cast him a look of pure venom. "But it's coming back to me."

When she bent down to wash off her knees, he crossed to sit on the marble bench at the end of the shower, watching her move. "If I weren't a vampire and we had no history, would your body be aroused by mine?"

She'd just stood fully to lift her face to the water. At his words, she clenched her jaw.

"Answer me."

"Yes," she grated.

"Good. Come here. Closer." When she'd finally sidled over, he commanded, "Kneel once more."

"You can't make me do this," she hissed even as she obeyed.

"I'm not going to make you do anything. I will never force you to touch me or force myself upon you," he explained while her expression turned disbelieving. "No matter how badly you've treated me. In fact, just to make this harder on you, I will never touch you or kiss you unless you ask me for it. This will be that much sweeter when you reach to put your hands on my cock or beg me to fuck you."

"Never."

He ignored her protest. "If at anytime in anything we do, you want to deepen the experience, for instance by climbing up here to straddle me, I give you leave."

"Are you off your meds?" she snapped, but he could tell she was nervous.

He gently cupped her face with both hands, thumbing her glistening bottom lip. "Touch yourself."

She gasped, her hand flying to her skin as though magnetized. She stroked up and down between her breasts.

"Lower," he commanded. Her fingers snaked down her flat stomach though she clearly resisted the order. "Lower."

She twitched from the fight, but she obeyed, her fingers descending to her sex.

"Open your knees wide and pleasure yourself as if I wasn't here."

"Don't," she whispered, even as she spread her knees to run her delicate finger against her flesh. His cock pulsed and the head grew slick. After long moments of simply staring in awe as she began trembling and her eyes grew silver, he rasped, "Are you wet?"

"Yes," she moaned.

He felt electricity rolling from her, pricking at his skin, revealing how much pleasure she was experiencing, and it quickened his own need. He bit out, "Inside. Put your finger inside."

When her finger slipped inside her sex, she threw her head back, crying out.

"Two fingers. Deeper." He clenched the edge of the bench, and the marble cracked under his grip. "Harder."

She obeyed, this time throwing her head forward, hair cascading over his torso as she moaned against his cock. Her tongue flicked out while she panted against him.

"Ah, deeper. Faster…"

She moaned around him this time, because she'd taken the head into her mouth. She continued to work her body with one of her hands, her fingers sliding in and out of her heat. Her other hand was all over him, wickedly seeking, her lips so moist and plump and hungry, behaving just as he'd suspected she would…

His Bride was on her knees, her fingers deep inside her body at his command, sucking greedily at his cock. He bit out, "Do you want me to touch your breasts?"

When she nodded eagerly, he grated, "You have to ask me for it."

Her fingers slowed, and she released him from her lips, though her head was still bowed. He didn't want her to stop, knew he'd pushed too far.

"I want to, Myst. I want to have my hands on your beautiful breasts. I've dreamed of this for so long," he admitted.

She hesitated, her body quivering. "Will you touch them?" she breathed, then set right back to her ministrations. He choked out a groan when she kissed all around the head wetly with her tongue, as she might his mouth. She took him with such abandon that he knew she was on the verge again. He reached down and covered her breasts with his hands, closing his eyes at the feel, squeezing, stopping only to pluck and thumb her nipples.

The pressure was building inside him. His body tightened, knees opening and heels planting on the ground as he tensed to spend. He didn't know how he'd lived so long without this blinding pleasure.

"Watch me come," he growled.

She raised her face, and somehow she knew he wanted her to meet his eyes, not watch the actual spilling of his seed. Silvery eyes riveted to his, she worked her fist on his cock, pumping it in time with her finger dipping inside her—as if she yearned for him to fill her.

That thought sent him over the edge. The unbearable pressure exploded as he ejaculated, mindlessly thrusting against her hand, arms shooting straight out to cup her face with both hands. When she saw him spend, her eyes grew wide before fluttering shut and she cried out, jerking against her fingers as she came all on her own.

She collapsed against his knees, still shuddering, clutching his leg as she had that night in Oblak. Before she'd left him, bleeding and in pain. The need dampened, the familiar resentment flared.

He brushed her aside and stood, rinsing his seed away, staring at the stunning, evil creature still on her spread knees, hands on her thighs as she panted. The sight of her perfect, generous ass and her wet hair whipped all along her slim back had him stirring yet again.

But she was breathing hard and he knew he'd worked her pitilessly for their first night together. "Rise and come to me."

When she faced him, her eyes were stark, flickering in color, showing how shocked and uncomprehending she was as she stumbled to obey. He felt a stab of guilt, but made himself remember all the aching days he'd spent rolling in pain. The nights he'd sweated from fucking desperately at the very sheets to take relief. She'd reduced him to that.

She was wary, nearing him slowly, and when she was at arm's length, he said, "Sleep," then caught her as she fell limp. He rinsed and dried her body and his own, then carried her to his bed.

This should have been a time of satisfaction—by Christ, he had a living, breathing Valkyrie in his bed, and she was his Bride—yet there was little. She was utterly under his control, but he wished she didn't have to be.

Like a natural born vampire, he hunched over her, dragging the beauty into the shadows with him as he bedded them down in a corner.

Rise.

Myst hazily heard the command, knew she must still be dreaming because her skin was touching another's, though she hadn't slept with a lover in memory. She frowned, disconcerted because her body was so pliant, every muscle released of the tension she normally carried. But why was her face pressed against the naked, broad chest of a man? She was surrounded by his delicious scent that made her go warm and liquid. Snuggling closer, she dragged a leg up over his.

She heard a male rumbling sound of pleasure, and her eyes went wide. She shot up, drawing the sheet to her neck. Dread settled over her as the events of the night came back to her mind. She was in a vampire's bed, here as a slave to his every whim. Or as she figured it, she was in hell.

"Were you dreaming about last night?"

"No," she answered honestly. She'd been thinking about licking every inch of the hard male beneath her.

"How do feel about what we did?"

"We? What you did."

"I only commanded you to take your pleasure. Of your own volition you took me into your mouth." He raised an eyebrow. "Greedily."

She turned away sharply. "Then I feel shame."

"And?" When she frowned at him, he said in his deep voice, "There's rarely an instance where emotions do not conflict. What else do you feel when you think of last night?"

She recalled being mindless with lust as she had never been before, hungry for his huge shaft. She had wanted to straddle him and slowly work him within her. Shivering at the delicious image, she struggled to keep from admitting her desire. "A-aroused," she bit out.

"Are you aroused now?"

She felt herself blushing deeply. Myst never blushed. "Yes."

"Do you need to come?"

Oh, God, no, how could he ask her this just when she was reliving last night? "Y-yes." She turned from him, curling her knees to her chest. "But I won't ask you."

"Even when I can give you what you need?"

"The only thing I'll ask you for is to give me my chain back."

"You'll get it back when I am convinced you will stay with me," he said. "Explain to me what it is." When she didn't reply, he grated, "Answer me."

"It's called the Brisingamen."

"Why do you wear it?"

"Punishment and to protect it."

"Punishment for what?"

She placed a hand out to her side and turned back to him, her green eyes taunting. "When I was only seventeen, I was caught in a compromising position with a demigod of no importance or standing other than his mind-shattering talent at kissing. My family was unamused."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. Demigod? Wroth was a battle-scarred vampire who would never walk in the sun with her.

She studied his expression. "Jealous, vampire? Or do you realize I'm out of your league?"

He ignored her words. "So your family punished you with a vulnerability that gave men control of your body? How many have had it, commanding you to fuck them for your very life?" When she glared at him, he calmly said, "Answer. Fully."

"There was no vulnerability. It has never been broken. I've been tossed by it, caught by it, even held above a pit of boiling tar by it. I'd tried to have it smelted from me in the olden days and then lasered recently. Nothing could touch the integrity of the chain before…"

"Before I pulled it free like a thread? So I'm the first." This pleased him and he exhaled in relief, only to immediately frown. "You don't think it's more than coincidental that you were given to me over all other females in any time and place to be my Bride, just as I've freed you from something that no man has been able to before?"

She clenched her jaw.

"How do you find those facts? Answer honestly. Now."

"I find them… They might be… It might be fated," she bit out.

"We might be fated." He'd already known this without doubt. He couldn't believe his heart would beat for a woman that could never love him back. Of course, she'd said there'd been others she'd blooded—then killed.

"Yes, but just because we've been set up by a fate with a sick sense of humor doesn't mean my feelings about you will change. Are you going to keep me prisoner for eternity?"

"Before I let you go philander with your demigods? Yes."

Her slim shoulders stiffened and she stood.

He lay back, proudly ogling his Bride's ass as she sauntered around the room, studying her new surroundings. Myst couldn't merely walk, he'd discovered—her every movement was the stuff of fantasy, her every touch as well. He hadn't even gotten the chance to claim her last night because he'd been so enthralled with her wet kiss, but he was hard yet again and would remedy that soon.

"So what miraculous feat of engineering brought modern plumbing to this schwag place?"

Schwag? He frowned at her question, watching as she ran her hand along an old papered wall. She opened a rusted shutter and gazed out the window into the night, seeing, he knew, tangled gardens blighted with neglect. He had a sudden urge to make an excuse as to why his home was in this condition.

"You're actually going to keep me here? Your torture is fiendish and boundless, Wroth."

He clenched his jaw, then said, "As I told you, here is called Blachmount and it used to be awing and will be so again, but the estate's been abandoned for many years. While I searched for you, I lived in New Orleans, and in Oblak before that. I only come here on occasion." When he missed his family.

She sighed, meandering to her pile of clothes, ripped and dirty on the floor. She stared at them then blinked up at him, clearly wondering what his next move would be. It hit him full force that no matter how he felt about her, it was his responsibility to take care of her. His stunning wife, with her wild red hair and her soft, pale skin, who was so utterly out of place here, would be living with him under his roof—he'd best get this ancient shell of a keep back to its former glory and give her a home as befitted her.

He knew there would be things she would require that he couldn't anticipate, because he was beyond unknowing when it came to female needs. Did he dare take her to get her things?

As soon as he'd realized where she lived, he'd left Oblak behind and had had Murdoch purchase a property far from the crowds of New Orleans where they could live during the search. Wroth could've traced back and forth, but the time change meant each night he'd face dawn back in Oblak. Plus he'd been weak, and tracing the shorter distance to the renovated mill on the outskirts of town had been less demanding.

Now he needed to return to the mill for the large supply of blood he'd left there. He was thirstier than usual, and claiming her in this condition would not be wise. He assured himself it was only because his appetite had been reawakened and not because throughout the day, he'd dreamed of drinking from her white thighs.

He could check in with Murdoch, send word to Kristoff that he'd found his Bride, and drink in preparation of finally claiming her. While in New Orleans, he might as well visit a Valkyrie den.

"We go for your belongings tonight."