He imagined suckling there, tasting her, touching her, the sweet ecstasy of dominating her. As he’d watched, his agony had been exquisite. Gingerly he’d slid his fingers into his breeches and slowly caressed himself, restraining his eagerness, extending the torture of not having her. He’d been careful not to speak, determined not to let out so much as a soft groan to give away his presence. Nor had he relieved himself of the discomfort. Nay, no matter how long he was hard, no matter how much sweat and desire ran down his skin, no matter how much his muscles strained and his cock ached for release, he’d forced himself to wait.
For her.
All of her.
In his mind’s eye, he imagined his lips behind her ear, his teeth at her throat. . . . He shook at the image, and beneath the folds of his tunic, his member responded. Gritting his teeth, he climbed ever upward in the slim, forgotten staircase.
On the third level aboveground, the corridor split into two pathways. He veered toward her chamber and again up a narrow set of flat stones.
Almost there!
He left his torch in an empty iron holder and then continued upward, his fingertips running along the rough, familiar walls as he mentally counted each step. As quietly as a cat, he slunk to his hiding spot, where, through the slits between the stones, he peered downward. Though his view was partially blocked, he saw most of the chamber. Licking his lips, praying that the fire was stoked bright enough so he could see her upon her bed, he pressed his face to the crack between the stones, his nose flattening with his effort. His heartbeat was pounding a wild tattoo in his eardrums, his fingers damp with anticipation, his cock ever thickening as he scanned the dark chamber.
It was impossible to see her, but he strained and he listened hard, holding his breath, hoping to hear her gentle breathing, the rustle of bedclothes, the soft rush of a sigh as she dreamed.
Nothing .
He strained. Yet he couldn’t see her, didn’t hear a sound over the hiss of the fire.
Anxiously he moved his gaze over the chamber so far beneath him, past the bed and the stool holding a basin, along the rushes of the floor to the alcove where her clothes were hung, past the chairs positioned at the grate . . . Damn!
A rising sense of panic flooded him. His hands began to shake.
Look again! Do not be fooled by the shadows!
Was she not in the bed?
He squinted hard.
Were the bed sheets rumpled but empty?
Nay! The miserable dog was there, curled into a useless ball. But the beast was alone, breathing shallowly, guarding no one! Wretched, useless cur.
Disappointment welled deep within and rage seared the corners of the Redeemer’s brain.
Where the devil was she?
Where? The question echoed and ricocheted through his brain, and his erection began to wither and die. All his plans for this night, ruined! He leaned his forehead against the rough stones and slowed his breathing. As he did, an ugly realization began to dawn upon him.
Suddenly he knew with a deadly certainty where he’d find her. Cold sweat slid along his neck and shoulders, and his nostrils flared as if he’d encountered a rank smell.
Carrick! The Redeemer’s lips curled in silent fury. A hatred as dark as the very heart of Satan curdled through his bloodstream.
She’s with her lover. With Carrick of Wybren. She is forever drawn to him!
The Redeemer’s hands became impotent fists.
Patience , he silently warned himself, patience. ’Tis not only a virtue, but a necessity.
He turned so quickly he nearly stumbled, but caught himself, scraping his fingers upon the wall.
Mentally chastising himself, he raced along the hallway, snagging his torch and then slowing to creep past the juncture leading downward. He sucked the spittle from his lips and moved as swiftly as possible.
Along the less-familiar corridor, he had to fumble for the bracket and then left his torch in the waiting holder. Fury pounding at his temples, he edged upward
For her.
All of her.
In his mind’s eye, he imagined his lips behind her ear, his teeth at her throat. . . . He shook at the image, and beneath the folds of his tunic, his member responded. Gritting his teeth, he climbed ever upward in the slim, forgotten staircase.
On the third level aboveground, the corridor split into two pathways. He veered toward her chamber and again up a narrow set of flat stones.
Almost there!
He left his torch in an empty iron holder and then continued upward, his fingertips running along the rough, familiar walls as he mentally counted each step. As quietly as a cat, he slunk to his hiding spot, where, through the slits between the stones, he peered downward. Though his view was partially blocked, he saw most of the chamber. Licking his lips, praying that the fire was stoked bright enough so he could see her upon her bed, he pressed his face to the crack between the stones, his nose flattening with his effort. His heartbeat was pounding a wild tattoo in his eardrums, his fingers damp with anticipation, his cock ever thickening as he scanned the dark chamber.
It was impossible to see her, but he strained and he listened hard, holding his breath, hoping to hear her gentle breathing, the rustle of bedclothes, the soft rush of a sigh as she dreamed.
Nothing .
He strained. Yet he couldn’t see her, didn’t hear a sound over the hiss of the fire.
Anxiously he moved his gaze over the chamber so far beneath him, past the bed and the stool holding a basin, along the rushes of the floor to the alcove where her clothes were hung, past the chairs positioned at the grate . . . Damn!
A rising sense of panic flooded him. His hands began to shake.
Look again! Do not be fooled by the shadows!
Was she not in the bed?
He squinted hard.
Were the bed sheets rumpled but empty?
Nay! The miserable dog was there, curled into a useless ball. But the beast was alone, breathing shallowly, guarding no one! Wretched, useless cur.
Disappointment welled deep within and rage seared the corners of the Redeemer’s brain.
Where the devil was she?
Where? The question echoed and ricocheted through his brain, and his erection began to wither and die. All his plans for this night, ruined! He leaned his forehead against the rough stones and slowed his breathing. As he did, an ugly realization began to dawn upon him.
Suddenly he knew with a deadly certainty where he’d find her. Cold sweat slid along his neck and shoulders, and his nostrils flared as if he’d encountered a rank smell.
Carrick! The Redeemer’s lips curled in silent fury. A hatred as dark as the very heart of Satan curdled through his bloodstream.
She’s with her lover. With Carrick of Wybren. She is forever drawn to him!
The Redeemer’s hands became impotent fists.
Patience , he silently warned himself, patience. ’Tis not only a virtue, but a necessity.
He turned so quickly he nearly stumbled, but caught himself, scraping his fingers upon the wall.
Mentally chastising himself, he raced along the hallway, snagging his torch and then slowing to creep past the juncture leading downward. He sucked the spittle from his lips and moved as swiftly as possible.
Along the less-familiar corridor, he had to fumble for the bracket and then left his torch in the waiting holder. Fury pounding at his temples, he edged upward
Similar Books
