Sharon Page - Blood Curse

His expression was one of dark, brooding gloom. He lived alone, in the darkness, and it was obvious the violence in his past troubled him greatly.

“Who are you, really?” she asked softly. “You put yourself in exile the way I was told I must. What are you that you had to do this?”

“Just a soldier.”

“I know that’s not true. When soldiers return from battle, they are happy to be away from war. They want peace and they—”

“No, love. On that you are wrong,” he said. “Many soldiers find they can’t live with peace. As I said, surviving keeps a man busy. Soldiers are used to the excitement and fear of fighting for their lives and for other men. They are used to making instant decisions and throwing courage or madness at a hopeless situation. Peace does not sit well after that.”

“How could you prefer that? I don’t understand.”

“Men have their reasons.”

“Yes, the things you don’t want to think about and that you will not tell me about.”

Of course he said nothing in answer. He lifted his hand, almost touched her bare shoulder. His hand stayed there, not quite making contact, but it felt as if little bolts of sizzling power jumped between her skin and his.

“Did you become an assassin to live as you did in war?”

“I—Hades, it’s complicated.”

Ophelia folded her arms at her chest. “I am going to find out what you are—”

“Love, I hunt and destroy vampires. The undead would want me dead. For my own protection, I have to live like this.” Raven stopped talking. Some of that was actually the truth, but the last thing he could let her do was learn his whole truth.

“Can you stop hunting vampires?”

“No.” He had to bring a halt to this conversation. He braced his arm against the bedpost. In this position he towered over her, and she gazed up at him. Their lips were close, and he took the whip and used its tip to caress her nipples. He drew them to full, erect points.

“You—oh.” Her sentence dropped to a moan as he lightly strummed her right nipple. “But you look so unhappy—oooh!”

He slid the whip down, rubbing it between her thighs, rubbing her clit.

“Goodness—the only time—”

She was still fighting to talk. The way to silence her would be to dive between her legs and lick her senseless. Or thrust his aching cock in her to the hilt. He’d been sporting an erection for hours, and his ballocks were in pain.

“The only time I’ve seen you smile is when we do . . . lovemaking things,” she gasped.

So demure and sweet. He owed her something, but not enough that he frightened her away. Stroking her clit, he murmured, “I cannot stop hunting vampires, love. It’s too late for me. But yes, carnal games with you make me very happy.”

He’d found her erotic triggers when he’d painted images for her of sex slaves and multiple partners. Raven withdrew the whip handle from the soft, damp cleft between her legs. “Get on your knees on the bed.”

Ophelia did so obediently.

“Bend forward and rest your cheek on the bed. Keep your bottom up in the air.”

“Oh yes. Tie me up again,” she said boldly. “I want more.”

“Put your hands behind you, crossed at the wrists.”

Ravenhunt’s dark voice sent a tumble of shivers down her spine. On her knees on the bed, Ophelia stuck her naked derriere up in the air. Vulnerable, true, but she felt so erotic.

She squirmed. She’d never ached so much between her legs. Desperately, she wanted to touch herself there. It was an insistent hunger, a screaming need to be stroked.

Ravenhunt eased the whip between her legs. She sighed in relief as the leather-wrapped rod ran along her nether lips. “Oh yes,” she whispered.

But relief was short-lived. He took the whip handle away, and something scratchy ran around her ankles. She squeaked in surprise, sat up, and turned to look, which meant she was no longer in the scandalous, naughty position that had thrilled her so much.

Rough, hemp rope was wrapped around her ankles. Humming casually, Ravenhunt tied a knot, securing her legs together at her feet.

She loved the pressure of the rope. Even the scratchiness—such a contrast to the silkiness of the sheets beneath her.

“Hands behind you,” he instructed. Clipped. Curt. Demanding.

She returned to the position he had commanded, her hands clasped and resting against the swell of her bottom.

He slid the rope around her wrists. Her hips wriggled, which worked the rope at her ankles. Excitement spiked through her, rushing from her tied-up ankles, up her legs. Exploding between her legs.

“Oh!” she cried out. Not quite a climax, but she felt a rush of wetness.

Ravenhunt pulled the rope encircling her wrist tight. “Being tied up makes you free,” he murmured. “For I am doing this to you, and you have to do as I want. Whatever I want.”

“Yes,” she whispered. Panting so hard she could barely speak.

“Now this.” He took a strip of black silk and twisted it, turning it into a column of wound silk. He pressed it to her lips, and when she lifted her head, gasping in surprise, he gagged her. It took him moments.

“Not too tight.” His deep, smooth tones were filled with satisfaction.

Ophelia let her cheek sink back against the bed. Another strip of silk was quickly fastened around her eyes.

She was gagged, blindfolded, and bound for him. But this was a game, and she wasn’t scared. She liked it. She remembered the sort of fantasies she used to have—about being taken by a forceful, dark man, one who was immune to her power, and who would haul her roughly into his embrace and press his hard, strong body against hers.

She shouldn’t want such things in reality. But this—

“This is fun, harmless pleasure, Ophelia.”

She couldn’t see him, but his voice was soft and close. Her nape tingled—she was sure he whispered by her ear. “Many women dream of this. You did so because you wanted to be taken by a strong man. It’s natural, my angel, because you believed you couldn’t accept a man’s touch. Many women who know they cannot be naughty dream of having pleasure forced on them. It’s exciting to be out of control and subjected to enticing, erotic acts.”

The whip stroked along her spine and she quivered. It caressed the cheeks of her bottom.

Was she really quite ready to be utterly out of control? Would he whip her there? She couldn’t ask, for she had the gag between her lips.

Then shockingly he slid the firm, long handle between her cheeks, so it glided horizontally in the valley of her rear. He left it there, stuck between the globes of her bottom.

“Now for your clit, angel.”

Rough rope sawed between her thighs. She squawked in protest, but the gag muffled it. His hands firmly rubbed it until it seated beneath her nether lips, lightly abrading them with each fierce breath she took. When she moved, the rope did, too, sliding over her clit.

Oh! She saw sparks shooting in front of her closed eyes.

“There’s more. Would you like more?”

He was tempting her to take a bite of wanton pleasure and she couldn’t resist. She couldn’t speak for the gag. She nodded and she accidentally jiggled the rope against her oh-so-sensitive clit. She cried out into the silk strip.

“Warmed oil,” Ravenhunt said softly. A soft drizzle hit the base of her spine and she jolted. Something massaged it gently downward, coating the valley of her rump. Pain stabbed her quickly and the soft stroking stopped.

“I won’t hurt you. I’ll use a wand instead. Coated in oil.”

There was a pause and then something warm and firm tapped her bottom.

For one thrilling moment she thought: It must be his erection. Then she felt the rigidness of it, pressed against her botto m.

No, the wand he’d used on her before. Gently, he traced along the valley of her derriere. Until he reached the entrance there.

She tried to jerk away, but he slid a rope around her waist and held it so she could not roll or wriggle in escape.

Lightly he traced around that place, that forbidden place.

“You are sensitive in there, too.”

Ophelia shook her head. How could she be? This wasn’t . . . well, proper.

“I will show you.”

The wand, slick with oil, penetrated her bottom. Just a bit. Her muscles clenched in refusal. He eased it back, but when she took a deep breath, relaxing, he pushed it forward again. Over and over he did this, and it stopped hurting, stopped making her tense. Her bottom was slick with oil. Her muscles no longer clenched.

She actually—

Wanted it inside.

Now, when he put it in just a bit, she moaned. She began to rock backward. Each light push on the wand seemed to make her clit tighten. She was tense everywhere—the tension before pleasure burst.

Oh God. It went in deeply, and she gasped. It felt good. She’d had no idea her bottom could be aroused.

Slowly, he began to thrust it. “It’s all the way in now.” His voice was gruff, strained. “Right to the hilt.”

Oh yes.

“Now we know how much your sweet, plump ass can take. All of it.”

He withdrew it all the way and she thrust back, wanting it in again. He obliged, the thickness of it pressing against the ring of her entrance. It went in with a pop and a sweet sense of fullness. He took his time, slowly pushing it in, withdrawing, then pushing more. Goodness, it filled her so much.

“It is stuffed deep up your arse,” he growled.

Naughty words, and she almost melted in boneless splendor as he began pumping the wand into her. She moaned into the gag. Her rump was completely stuffed. She played with that word in her head. Stuffed. So scandalous, yet so delicious.