She did love him. She knew that now, with her teeth dug into his flesh and the taste of his blood filling her mouth. She loved Gwenvael the Defiler with all her hard, unsympathetic, uncaring heart. And the fact that she was causing him great discomfort but he had yet to punch her in the face, told her he loved her, too.
It would never be a normal union, not with them. He’d never think to bring her flowers or arrange a romantic dinner in their room. And he’d always flirt with others if it got them to smile or got him what he wanted.
Yet what Dagmar knew she could count on was that Gwenvael would always be loyal to her, would always protect her, would always make her laugh, would always treat her as if she mattered, and would never play the games on her that they would always play on others. And she felt confident about all this because she knew that mixed in with his love for her was a little bit of fear.
In the end, their loyalty and allegiance would be to their families and their people. But their devotion would be to each other.
Well … and, of course, her dogs. But he could find that out later.
A drop of blood splashed on the floor and Gwenvael cried out, “I bleed! Death comes for me!”
Dagmar didn’t release her grip on his hand, but she rolled her eyes in disgust. It was all the distraction he needed, his free hand reaching out and taking firm hold of her breast. His thumb and forefinger gripped the nipple, applying pressure and twisting lightly.
Gwenvael licked his lips, his teasing fingers making Dagmar groan and her body writhe.
“Bring those pretty tits over here, Lady Dagmar.”
She did, moving closer without him exerting any force at all.
“Good lass.” He slid his arm under her rear, lifting her up so he could wrap his mouth around her breast. He sucked hard while his tongue teased the tip, making it painfully hard.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, her body quaking as he continued to suck on her breast. The wonderful feel of his mouth against her had Dagmar nearing climax. Her body shook until she finally released her grip on his hand so her head could fall back against her shoulders and she could groan in desperate need.
“Ha, ha!” he cheered, her breast falling from his mouth and his wounded hand raised in the air. “So easy, Lady Dagmar.”
He carried her to the end of the bed. She put up a fight, but he kept his valuable bits away from her mouth this time. He spun her toward the bed and pushed her down on it.
“Now I can’t promise you this won’t hurt, but I will promise to make it worth it.”
Before she could even get back to her feet, he had the torn sheets tied to her wrists. If she pulled with one arm, she nearly tore the other from its socket.
“Ingenious,” she sneered.
“Isn’t it?” He rested back on his heels for a moment. “I won’t say that I don’t trust you, but I don’t trust these legs of yours. They’re sly.”
“What does that mean?”
He answered by tying the rest of the torn sheets around her ankles and then to the legs of the bed.
“Now that’s simply perfect.”
“Do you ever get tired of patting yourself on the back?”
“No!” He pushed her flat against the bed. “Don’t move. I need a few minutes to examine my canvas.”
The sound of that worried her. “Your what?”
“You’re moving.”
“With good reason.”
He leaned in and asked, “Do you want me inside you or not?”
“No,” she told him flatly.
“Forgot who I’m dealing with,” he muttered.
“Clearly.”
“Never ask the hard questions first,” he said, sliding two of his fingers inside her. She was already wet and ready, his fingers moving in and out of her only made her needy and a bit desperate.
He stroked her for what felt like ages, his other hand occasionally brushing against her clitoris as a reminder of what she really needed.
When her hips pushed back against each thrust and she moaned into the bedding, he stopped.
“Now, my Lady Dagmar … Do you want me inside you or not?”
“Yes,” she hissed between clenched teeth.
“Good. Then don’t move. This is very precise work.”
She rolled her eyes yet again and wondered what the hell he was doing back there.
She felt heat first and thought it was quite rude of him to burn her without permission. Were there not rules for this sort of thing among their kind?
Then the pain became worse and she couldn’t explain where it came from. She felt it all over, from the heels of her feet to the top of her head. Unsure of what the hell he was doing but trusting him as always, she gritted her teeth, trying to hold in her cries.
His fingers brushed against her sex and a cry slipped past her lips as she climaxed, her hands gripping the bedding and her body shuddering from the intensity of it.
Gwenvael entered her with one strong push, burying himself to the hilt until she felt his hips and pelvis slam into her rear. The pain of his skin against hers startled another cry out of her, but as he ruthlessly took her, her cries became louder, more intense. At first it was the pain alone, but then the pleasure returned, combining into some wonderfully messy burst of passion that had her tearing at the bedcovers and sobbing into them. Nothing had ever felt like this. So indescribably intense and overwhelming.
If he knew he caused her pain as well as pleasure, he never showed it, taking her harder and harder as they went. She felt his big hands dig into her hair and pull her head back, turning her just enough so he could kiss her.