The Dark Forest: A Collection Of Erotic Fairytales(34)

It was galling.

It was infuriating.

It was strangely thrilling.

Her stomach twisted at the undeniable thought. His raw power. His domination. His forcefulness made her feel…made her feel vulnerable, small…feminine. She loathed and loved the impression.

Damn she was magnificent, thought Rhys. Her mouth on his cock was one of the most exhilarating experiences of his life. Had she been a weaker woman, it would have merely been a needed release. But this was Beatrice. His Bea. His fierce feline. Holding power over a spirited woman was an awe-inspiring, precious gift. A strong woman did not relent to just any man. Only to the man. Their mate. The one who was strong enough to take them on but intelligent enough to give them some rein. He was that man for Bea and he would make sure she never forgot it.

Her throat weakening. Her resistance ebbing. Rhys thrust till her nose touched his abdomen. Feeling a primal sense of pride at her ability to take him down her throat whole. Now that she was primed, it was time to unleash his faltering control.

“Time to put that lovely mouth of yours to far better use than to sling insults my way,” he grit out, still trying to hold back.

Beatrice tried to shake her head no but was prevented by his grip on her hair and his cock still lodged just past her lips inside her mouth. What more could he possibly do, she thought frantically. He had already shown her that men do put their members in a woman’s mouth. Was there more to it than that?

Rhys released his hold on her tresses and placed his hand next to the first on the headboard. He didn’t want to bear down on her with his full weight, at least not this first time.

Pulling back, he thrust deep, straight to his lust tightened balls…but this time he didn’t stop. Pulling back, he thrust in again, harder. Beatrice started to scream, the sound sending delicious vibrations up and down his cock. Still he thrust. Watching as his cock disappeared straight down her tortured throat.

“That’s it, love. Take it. Take all of it,” he ground out between shortened breaths.

Beatrice struggled. Pulling on her bonds, she kicked out her feet. Her hips rose and fell against the soft bedcovers. She tried twisting her body to and fro. Nothing would dislodge him. Nothing would stop the unending thrust of his cock down her throat. She was being used. Used by him. By the stable master. She tilted her head back as a final recourse. Then she heard it. He moaned. A moan of pure pleasure. Beatrice felt a small spark of power. She tilted her head again. The movement causing her throat to tighten around his shaft. Another moan. She moved her tongue, caressing the underside and the crest. Yet, another moan.

“Damn, woman. You’re going to be the death of me,” Rhys groaned through clenched teeth, as he moved his hands to place them over her tied ones.

Beatrice felt a delightful little rush, to be completely dominated and yet still have power.

Unable to contain himself a moment longer, Rhys pulled free of her tight, wet mouth.

Moving over her sleek body, he positioned his hips between her soft thighs.

Beatrice’s torso shot off the bed as his mouth closed over one pert nipple. Still slightly swollen from his punishment of earlier, it was extremely sensitive. The feel of his harsh tongue as it lapped and sucked sent shocking waves of pleasure coursing through her limbs.

“No. Stop,” she begged, her voice hoarse and rough.

Placing both hands on either side of her head, he leaned down to harshly command. “Ask me to fuck you.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I…I…I cannot!”

“You can and you will.”

“Please, don’t ask it of me. You don’t understand.”

Rhys did not know whether she was objecting because she thought him nothing but a servant or because of the engagement her father had arranged…to him. He didn’t care. She was not allowed to object to one of his commands in bed. Ever.

Beatrice was not thinking of his station in life or her father’s edict. It was the curse. The gypsy said only through pain would she know love. Was he her curse? Was it only through his promise of pain and punishment, his overpowering of her senses that she would allow herself to relent and fall in love? The idea frightened Beatrice more than his hold on her.

Bearing down on her. His cock brushing the entrance to her cunny. He growled, “I understand all I need to know. You need this. Whether you want to admit it or not. You need my strength. My power. Your body is begging to be tamed. To be claimed. By me.”

“Untie me first,” she demanded. Then added a soft, “Please”.

Without breaking eye contact, he reached over their bodies to release the knot holding her wrists. Beatrice’s hands immediately went to his face.

Despite the obvious threat of harm, Rhys held his position.

But it was not with her claws she touched him, but rather her fingertips. Soft and gentle, she traced the planes of his face. The sharp edge of his jaw. The outline of his lips. The scratches he received from her earlier.

Every bone in his body. Each pulse of blood. Every aspect of his very being, screamed out to just fuck her. Claim what was already his. It took all his control to remain still. To allow her this small concession before he took all from her.

Her amber eyes still shone with uncertainty when she breathed, “Please…please fuck me.”

He felt more than heard her capitulation. With those few hesitant words, his control snapped.