Read Online One With the Night by Susan Squires - Free Book Online Page A

became nearly painful. With horror he realized she could somehow make him hard but keep him from coming, just as her will could creep inside his mind. He thrust again and again, until she moaned with her release. Her womb grasped at his cock as it contracted. At any other time he would have been spurting in unison with his partner. But this was not a partnership, and she did not allow that.
    When she was done with him, it was she who rolled him to the side. She was too strong for a woman. His mind fluttered in disbelief at what had just happened. His cock still throbbed with need against her thigh.
    After a while, she raised herself against the pillows and poured some wine. “You’ll do nicely,” she remarked. “A good, strong cock, straight and thick, bigger than most.” She took his shaft in one hand, examining it as she sipped. “Your sac is tight and high. It presents your stones well.” She glanced up at his face. “You look so horrified.” She smiled that smile again, secret with satisfaction. “Broad shoulders, a tight belly, powerful thighs and buttocks. And blue eyes into the bargain. Excellent. You’re strong. I’ll wager you last a long time.”
    She could make him do anything. The realization went beyond horror into a spiritual numbness that might be despair. He couldn’t afford despair. He shook himself mentally. He must escape, bide his time until her attention was not on him, and escape.
    She opened her eyes. “You respond nicely as well.” She tossed him a cloth that had been tied about a jug of wine and he wiped his mouth. “But there is the matter of punishment.”
    Had he not just abased himself beyond belief at her command?
    “Ah, but you did not submit without an effort on my part. That is not acceptable.”
    His mouth was dry. If what she had just done to him was not punishment, what was?
    *   *   *
    Callan flung an arm over his forehead and turned his head, trying to suppress the sound in his throat. Slowly he got his breath. He wiped his face, ashamed of his tears, ashamed of far more than that. He wouldn’t think about that time. He wouldn’t let thoughts of Asharti into his life at the very moment he might have a chance to become human again. He was not like her. He was not  … like … her …
    That had not been the worst of it, of course. But he had escaped Asharti. He had hope of a cure for his condition.
    His stomach turned. What a fool! He would never escape what he had done in the desert, for her, and in her name. The doctor might cure him. But he was afraid there was no cure for the damage he had done to his soul.

 
    CHAPTER
Five
    The bed was hot. She was sweating as though it were July in Siena, where her father took her when she was twenty. But she was naked. The heat was inside as well as outside. She ran her hands through her hair and felt the dampness. And then she smelled it; cinnamon and something else she could not name, a sweet undertone, and underneath that, the smell of a man, sweating. He came out of the darkness and he was naked too, his muscles heavy even in quiescence, his hair curling round his shoulders. The gray-green of his eyes should have been cool, but it wasn’t. She should have been modest or embarrassed, but she wasn’t, God help her. She arched her back to lift her hips from the tangle of sheets, feeling her nipples peak on swollen breasts. Her eyes strayed to his loins. His member swelled and straightened. The throbbing at the place between her legs grew almost painful. She stretched out a hand, inviting, though adding his heat to hers might well cause spontaneous combustion. He touched her outstretched hand …
    And his eyes went red.
    Jane gasped and sat straight up in her bed. Her heart was pounding. She could hardly draw breath. Fear sat in the dim room, palpable. Her gaze darted from corner to corner. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn tightly across the windows. Just her room. No eyes either—gray-green or red. The dream