Page 80 of Barbarous

“Take me in your hand and guide me inside.”

Her hand closed around him before he’d even finished speaking. She tightened her grip and then slid her hand up, and then back down.

Hugh shuddered. “Please, darling,” he murmured. “You are being cruel.”

The witch chuckled but guided his slick, pulsing head between her legs, gasping when he breached her.

Hugh fisted the bedding with both hands to hold himself in check, gently rocking back and forth, filling her slowly, easing deeper and deeper. “You fit me just like a glove. A very tight, wet glove.” He forced himself to pause. “Are you in any discomfort, love?” he asked shakily, teetering on the brink of no longer caring about anything but his pleasure—his need.

“It feels . . . strange, but very . . . pleasant.”

Hugh choked out a laugh and slid into her until he was fully sheathed and then stopped, enjoying the surge of raw possession and the further, almost painful, hardening of his body inside hers.

“Does it still feel good, Daphne?”

She nodded, her eyes wide. “I want you, Hugh. I want to give you the same pleasure you gave me.”

Holding her gaze, he withdrew almost all the way and then filled her with a single slick thrust. Her eyelids fluttered and her body tightened around his and a groan tore out of his chest.

“Touch me, Daphne. Stroke me while I stroke you.” Again he pulled all the way out and drove himself home, harder this time. Her hands began to roam his body, exploring his torso, his chest, his buttocks. He moved faster and pumped harder, driving into her with powerful, deep thrusts, holding nothing back.

He was nearing the edge of reason when her mouth grazed his nipple. He gasped and then rammed into her hard enough to reach her core. She stiffened, and then deliberately raised her hips to take him deeper. The erotic gesture frayed the last of his control and he let himself go.

She met him stroke for brutal stroke, until his body was about to fly apart. He was afraid he could no longer wait when she contracted around him.

“Yes, Daphne, yes. Come for me.” He punctuated his words with one savage thrust after another. She sank her teeth into his chest, her crisis coming fast and hard and triggering his own petite mort. Hugh threw back his head and yelled something mindless as he drove himself home and spent deep inside her.

The only sound for some time was that of labored breathing.

“Mm, my darling,” Hugh moaned, his arms no longer willing to hold him. He rolled to the side and pulled her close before draping a leg over her slim hips. He brushed the curls from her face and sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of her throat. “Oh, sweetheart—your neck—is it paining you?”

She smiled and it was the lazy, satisfied smile of a well-pleasured woman. Hugh allowed himself a moment of smugness.

“I’d completely forgotten about it. I think it looks more painful than it is. He did not have me long before you stopped him.”

“Too long,” he corrected. “I hate to see your beautiful skin with such angry marks.”

She ran a hand over the scars on his shoulders and chest, her eyes never leaving his. “I know the feeling.”

He dropped a kiss on her nose and steered the subject in another direction. “I hope I was not too rough, and did not use you too hard.”

“I feel deliciously well-used, my lord.” She gave him a shy smile, which was suddenly distorted by a huge yawn. “I’m sorry, Hugh. I don’t know what came over me.”

Hugh pulled her close and curled his body around hers. “I came over you, darling.” She laughed and snuggled closer. “You’d better get some sleep,” he murmured into her hair, “because I’m likely to come over you again before the night is through.”

Daphne chuckled, opened her mouth to say something, and fell asleep.

* * *

The next time she opened her eyes it was to see Hugh watching her, his eyes drowsy, a faintly arrogant smile on his lips as his hand stroked her softly between her legs.

“I was beginning to wonder if you would ever wake up,” he said, dipping a finger into her.

“Mm,” Daphne moaned, her hips beginning to rock with the movement of his hand. “What time is it?”

“Time for your next lesson,” he murmured, moving away from her. She blinked her eyes and tried to wake herself from her torpid state, rising to her elbows and watching as he backed down the bed until he lay between her legs, pushing them apart before bracing his forearms along the length of each thigh, his face only inches from the place that she knew was already soaked and swollen in anticipation.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was breathy as his forearms inexorably pushed against her inner thighs, spreading them wider until she felt an exquisite tightness in her hips.