Crossing Swords ~excerpt
Crossing to the door, she pressed against the wood with her fingers, testing it for weakness, dry-rot or cracks. For all that this place was a dump, the door and frame seemed sturdy enough. She might be able to break it down, but not until she had her strength back, and that might be another two or three days. And with the key still turned in the lock, she couldn’t pick it, even if she had the proper tools.
Her eyes went to the basket of firewood next to the hearth. Some of the quarters there were pretty big, with decent heft. She smiled. Pictured what Gil’s handsome face would look like after an encounter with a piece of seasoned oak.
Feeling much better, she went to the hearthrug, dropped to all fours and did some push-ups. She made it to fifty this time before dizziness convinced her to stop. Three sets of sit-ups and then some lunges. She was sweating and nauseous, but it felt good to get moving again.
A draft caressing the heated skin of her bare legs made her turn, and she froze mid-lunge.
Gil stood in the doorway, a wide grin splitting his face, his eyes raking her up and down.
She glared back, mortified at the sensation of her nipples pebbling. Just the draft, she insisted. Her stomach was fluttering. She told herself it was embarrassment.
“I came up to see if you were feeling better,” he said, his voice a low purr that seemed to resonate in her flesh. “I’m guessing you are.”
“Fuck you,” she said coldly.
His grin widened, and his eyes fixed on her breasts, hardly concealed by the translucent silk clinging to her sweat-soaked body. “Is that a curse?” he asked, stepping inside and pulling the door shut. “Or an offer?”
God, she felt stripped naked under his gaze, and knowing what ridiculously little she wore wasn’t helping. With difficulty, she resisted the impulse to dive for the bed and cover herself with the sheet. It would only amuse him. Turning to face him square, she pulled her shoulders back, standing straight and tall, ignoring how her nipples jutted. Only the heat that rose to her face betrayed her discomfiture.
“I thought I made that offer this morning,” she said icily. “Does this mean you’ve grown the balls to take me up on it?”
His grin disappeared, replaced by a clenched coldness. He walked forward slowly, eyes glittering with anger, until he stood right in front of her. Her chest had begun to heave—panic or dread or excitement, or all three. He was staring at her chest, couldn’t help but see how swift her breath was coming. One hand lifted, found her breast. It filled his palm perfectly. Lianon bit the inside of her cheek as his thumb flicked across her nipple through the thin silk. Her body responded of its own volition, her nipple peaking, a heaviness settling in her nether parts, her breath catching.
His other hand came up to rest on the side of her neck, his thumb caressing the sensitive spot behind her ear. Oh, god, what was he doing to her? Her heart was hammering, her face hot, her lungs suddenly starving for air. How could she be attracted to this man? How could her traitorous body have chosen now to come back to life?
His eyes had softened. Not a good thing at all. His anger she could deal with—tenderness was another matter altogether. He leaned closer, his lips almost touching hers before they descended to her throat. At their first caress, her eyes drifted shut and her head fell back as a wave of languid warmth washed over her. He kissed her fluttering pulse-point, his tongue licking delicately, sending heat snaking down her torso to settle between her legs. He was still toying with her breast, gently pinching the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, twisting and tugging. God. God. She couldn’t let him do this. She couldn’t afford to feel this, to feel anything.
Her breath caught on a ragged sob, but she clamped down on it. Clamped down on herself. Forced words out of her mouth that she knew would get his attention.
“Don’t forget your part of the bargain,” she said unevenly, even as she cringed inside.
His hand stilled, his mouth ceased its caresses. “What?” She couldn’t believe how much coldness he could inject into that one word.
“I let you fuck me, then you send me to the goddess. Clean and painless.”
He stepped back, his gaze sweeping up and down her body, filled with contempt. “You’re a piece of work, aren’t you?” he snapped. “I’d call you a whore, but I wouldn’t want to insult Viera.”
Her hand swung out before she realized it, connecting with his bearded cheek. A little surprised at herself for enjoying it so much, she raised her hand for another blow, but he snatched her wrist out of the air. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he hissed, his grip on her wrist tight enough to bruise. “We don’t have any deal. If I ever decide to lower myself to fucking you, I’ll do it.”
She wet her lips, refusing to struggle in his grasp, knowing it would only make her look weak. Instead she forced her features to coldness. “Rape doesn’t seem quite your style.”
His eyes darkened, his smile half derision half lust. His free hand slipped between her thighs, one finger inching inside the leg-opening of her lacy drawers. She held herself perfectly rigid, refusing to respond, but her sopping pussy betrayed her. He lifted his wet finger to his lips, his nostrils flaring at the scent, before tasting her cream. “Oh,” he said silkily, “it won’t be rape, I assure you.”
She glared at him, unable to think of anything to say. The scent of her arousal hovered between them and said it all. He only laughed at her dismay, and swaggered to the door. “I’ll see you tonight,” he promised with another laugh, before shutting her in.
She stared at the door and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming. That fucking son of a fucking bitch! Her hands were clenched at her sides, refusing to move to the places she really wanted them. Her nipples still protruded, aching for contact. Her cunt was so heavy and wet, she thought she could come just by squeezing her legs together.
Damn it, what was happening to her? She’d gone nearly a year without sex—without even wanting it. Now every nerve in her body was screaming to be fucked.
And by a man she hated. A man who went out of his way to shame her, who thought less of her than a whore. A man who would rather fuck a snake.
The body wants what it wants.
Well, Lianon was more than her body. Crossing to the tin washbasin, she took the cloth and scrubbed the wetness from between her legs, and washed his touch from her breasts.
Gil’s final words echoed in her mind. I’ll see you tonight.
Lianon’s eyes drifted to the basket of wood, lingering on a hefty wedge of oak. Her lips curled in a vengeful smile. Let him come. When he did, he wouldn’t know what hit him.