Screw her original plan of being celibate after the ceremony, she was going to find him…
He pulled from her and she pouted, feeling the loss inside her keenly. Within a heartbeat, his fingers were replaced with the broad head of his c*ck pressing at the soaked entrance to her p**sy.
“Oh yes,” she moaned, unable to hold in the tiny whimper of urgency as he impaled her on his thick shaft. Bracing one hand on the plaster of the window arch around them, she accepted every inch of him in one forceful thrust. This was what she needed, to feel him inside her again.
She bit her lip and paused that idea where it was. She didn’t need him. Not him specifically, any c*ck would do. If she had to marry an old goat, one with warriors like this in his stable, then she was sure as hell going to enjoy her time as Lady Hunter. Maybe, when the fossil kicked the bucket, she might just marry the most attractive and youngest amongst them—provided he was good in the sack.
He didn’t give her more time to think. Setting a heavy, fast rhythm, she pressed her lips into his shoulder to stifle her moans. He filled her to capacity and then some, his large hands beneath the silk at her h*ps as he slammed into her time and again. The groans that rumbled through his chest stroked her ego. He seemed as out of control as she was. As though he couldn’t help himself.
“Gods, you’re f**king gorgeous,” he panted, leaning into her and spreading his legs a little more for support. “What spell have you cast over me?”
She couldn’t answer, biting her lip as he surged into her, then rolled his h*ps and ground his pelvis against hers. Her cl*t throbbed as it was trapped between them. Her p**sy clenched hard around him in response. He gasped and drove his c*ck inside her again, holding still as his muscular body trembled.
“Mine,” he growled against her neck. A quiver ran through her at the harsh, possessive tone before she recalled herself.
“No,” she said, pulling his jaw around and looking him straight in the eye. “No one’s. My own.”
Dev heard the warning tone in her voice and smiled to himself at the display of independence. She could believe what she liked, but she was his and his alone. Her body came alive for him, reacted to his touch so sweetly and delightfully that she had to be made for him. Once they were done here, he was going to claim her in the eyes of the law and their society.
Then take her to bed again. For about a month.
Bringing his lips down on hers, he pushed into her again. He couldn’t get enough of her and only the fact they had to go out there and face the wedding guests in a few minutes stopped him from stripping the silken gown from her body.
Pleasure coursed through him, building on itself until tension had his body so tight he thought his spine would snap. His buttocks were iron-hard as he plunged into her again and again, the grip of her body a warm, tight ride of pure sensation.
He rolled his h*ps again, rubbing his pelvis against her cl*t in a slow movement. She gasped and threw back her head, the veil surrounding her dark hair like a halo. Masculine pride filled him, along with a sense of the forbidden. Every man wanted to take his bride arrayed in her finery, drinking in the impression of innocence, but not many did. Certainly not before the wedding.
She bit her lip. Her p**sy clenched hard, and her soft pants told him she was on the edge. Gritting his teeth, he pressed into her again, harder and faster, until she stiffened and came. Pleasure coursed through him as her body tightened in the grip of her cli**x, the rhythmic movements milking his cock. A lesser man would have come there and then, but Dev held onto control. He didn’t want to come, not yet. Control now would pay off later, when he finally got her into his bed as his wife.
“That’s it babe, I love to feel you cum over my cock,” he whispered encouragement as she rode him, keeping his h*ps going to prolong her cli**x. His hands smoothed down her spine and back up to her neck, where he tilted her head back to claim her lips again. She didn’t fight him, opening easily at the first brush of his tongue, and Dev drank in the soft moans and pants of her pleasure.
She went where he led. Within seconds he knew he was in trouble. Her responses were so sweet and natural. The temptation to say ‘screw it,’ ignore the wedding guests and tumble her to the floor grew until it was almost overwhelming.
She shivered as he broke away. With infinite care he slipped from her, set her on her feet and started to smooth her gown down. Swaying slightly, she had the dazed, star-struck look of a woman who’d been thoroughly loved. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her dress was creased, and her veil sat tilted on what had been an elegant up-do.
Crap. Despite the fact she’d been more than willing and the fierce sense of pride he felt knowing it was his hands, his kisses that had ruined her appearance, there was no way he was letting her go out there like this. He knew she hadn’t been given a choice about marrying him, hence her alcohol-fuelled rebellion last night, and her family was well known to be a pit of vipers. If she went out looking as she did, vicious gossip and rumours would start before she’d taken the first step down the aisle.
It was less than a moment’s concentration to reach into the witching and form the magic into a quick spell. Clean-up spells were literally child’s play for a fae of Dev’s power and prestige. He’d learnt them early on to avoid tidying his room, and to cover up the damage of boyhood scrapes.
Flicking his fingers he sent the magic swirling around her like a mini-whirlwind. It pulled at the fabric of her dress, smoothing the wrinkles before it tidied her hair and set the veil straight atop the restored hairstyle. A smile tugged at his lips as she staggered a little; her eyes widened in surprise at the quickness of the spell.
“Sorry, babe. I gotta go before they realize I’m missing.”
He dropped a quick, hard kiss on her lips and headed for the door. He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. He had to haul ass if he wanted to get back to the altar before she started her walk up the aisle. If he looked at her again though, they weren’t going to be leaving the room for a while.
He did, however, pause at the door and turn his head slightly to speak.
“Asharra? You look stunning.”
Ash took a deep breath as Dev disappeared out of the door. Her lips trembled as she picked up her abandoned bouquet and smoothed out some of the creased petals. Tears pricked like red-hot needles at the back of her eyes. All she wanted to do was forget about this wedding crap, call him back, and see where what they had led.
She might want it, but that didn’t mean it was going to happen. Not in this lifetime anyway.
Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself down, and called a little of her own magic to ease any sign of tears from her face. She could walk out at any time, but that would mean consigning her family to their collective fate. If they’d been human, with only the human consequences of owing money, bankruptcy and court, she would have. But the De Silve’s were Fae through and through. In their world, when a lender talked about a ‘pound of flesh’ they meant it. Literally.
Hate them as she did, she still couldn’t do that to them.
A deep sigh escaping her lips, she forced some steel into her backbone and walked to the door. She would do this…marry Lord Hunter, and become the epitome of a Fae Lady: coldly unapproachable, tough as nails, and as brutal as her Sidhe ancestors.
With her back straight and her face pleasantly impassive, she pushed the door open and walked into the church. Screw waiting for the knock, she was doing this on her terms and at no one’s beck and call.
“Lady Asharra!” Serazette protested as the rest of the bridesmaid scurried to form up behind her. “They’re not ready for you.”
Ash delivered a withering look, somehow managing to look down her nose at the taller woman. She hated the Fae, every last frigging one of them. If she could, she’d disown every drop of Fae blood in her own body and join the Host like her Slaugh grandmother.
“Tough shit. I am ready.”
With that, she brushed past the bridesmaid and headed for the open door to the church. She was two steps through the door before the gathered guests, not expecting her just yet, started to murmur. A slight smirk crossed her lips as a yelp emanated from the organist’s box. The church filled with music as the first few bars of the wedding march were rushed through at breakneck speed. Teach him to be napping on the job.
The guests rose to their feet hurriedly. Ash ignored the whispering as she fixed her gaze on the stained-glass window above the altar and kept on walking. Grace…beauty…she reminded herself, even though rage and despair rolled through her in equal amounts. Her gaze followed the ornate patterns in the glass.
Like all Fae handiwork, even the designs held power, the witching coiling like a mist across the glass, giving the designs light and colour despite the darkness of night outside. Concentrating, she drew comfort and solace from them.
Her steps brought her closer to the altar. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the figures standing there, but she refused to look until she absolutely had to. Odd though, her bridegroom was taller than she’d thought, and his general size more youthful than she’d expected from a man so old.
Running out of aisle, she was forced to stop. The priestess of the Great Mother smiled down at her benevolently. Ash returned her smile tightly. She didn’t want to be here, every cell in her body screamed for her to drop the bouquet, lift up her skirt and run back down the aisle.
She didn’t. With a deep sigh of regret, she bid her freedom goodbye and turned to face her groom. Her eyes widened in recognition as shock thrummed through her body.
“You!”
Deverell stood in front of her, an arrogant, smug smile across his handsome face. A smile she instantly wanted to slap off. Ash wasn’t a genius, but neither was she slow. The pieces all slotted into place in her head with a click and her eyes narrowed. Anger throbbed through her body like an aneurysm about to rupture.
“You!”
“Yeah, doll. You said that.” His grin grew wider, as though he found the whole situation highly amusing. Ash actually lifted a hand, the urge to wipe the grin off his face almost too much. “I know I’m good looking and all, but I didn’t expect to make you repeat yourself. Although,” he leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “You can repeat ‘Oh Gods, Dev, yes!’ all you’d like later.”
Ash froze as surely as if someone had poured a bucket of ice-cold water down her spine. He’d lied to her, or rather hadn’t told her the truth even when he’d known who she was. Known she was worried about the wedding today.
Bastard.
Cold, hard as nails, perfect Fae Lady, she reminded herself. Pulling back just enough to look him in his sexy-as-hell green eyes, she smiled. She’d been told she had a pretty smile, when she chose. This was not one of those times.
Instead, she reached inside herself and sought the darkness in her blood, the darkness that circled through her veins and stole her ability to scream. Releasing her hold on it, she let it fill her eyes and power the smile.
“I don’t think so, My Lord. Do you?”
She was pissed. The realization took Dev back a little. Contrary little madam. He’d thought she’d be glad she was marrying him, not the old fossil she’d thought she was being shackled to. Where was the delighted, happy little sprite he’d expected to see? Not only expected to see, but expected to be thanking him profusely for saving her from a fate worse than death, preferably showing that gratitude later in their bedchamber.