She screamed, her protests garbled. The bastard had gagged her so she couldn't tell him what he wanted to know. His claim to force the truth from her was nothing more than a ploy, just so he could torture her yet again. She silently raged against the way the heat in her body rose at a rapid pace.
"You'll never want him again. I'll ensure that tonight."
God's blood, did he actually think she and Simon...? The very idea was laughable. She tried to mumble through the gag holding her tongue immovable but he ignored her unintelligible words. 'Twas a fearsome anger she saw in his eyes, but something else lingered there as well. Hurt. And somehow, her own heart ached at the sight. She looked away, indecision churning at her gut. She'd never imagined him capable of such an emotion and the knowledge drew forth a sympathy that rivaled her outrage. And her desire.
Yet, oddly, her body still anticipated the torment heplanned to make her endure. She wanted it, God save her soul. Did she dare admit it? Nay, she couldn't bear what she instinctively knew her husband would do to her. At the same time, her mouth watered at the very thought.
The need to soothe his hurt mingled with her desire. Mayhap 'twas a sign she wasn't as wicked as she'd thought. Would he believe her? Hell, she couldn't tell him anyway. God's teeth, how could she be willing to risk exactly what she'd feared most only a few days prior? The devil must have claimed her when she wed this ferocious man. No wonder they called him Panther. He would tear her determination to pieces.
His hands sliding along her skin chased her thoughts and she whimpered behind her gag. The corners of his mouth tilted up as if he found her predicament amusing. He reached up once
more to cup her breasts, and she trembled with the force of the desire rioting through her. When his hot mouth closed over one tight nipple, she let out a low moan, audible yet muffled.
He licked and sucked and she thrashed her head, the lust overtaking her mind. He knew just how to call out the strongest reactions and seemed intent on doing exactly that. Already sweat beaded her brow, her skin covered in gooseflesh that only added to the turmoil.
When he scraped his teeth against her hardened flesh, a shriek escaped the gag. He repeated the motion. White fire scorched through her, her fingers clenching. Her hips lifted, her sex aching and wet and wanting to be filled. Damn him, he still wore his clothing. Which meant he had no intention of giving her release anytime soon. The notion sent her desire to a new level, and she thought she might burst into flame, leaving her nothing but cinders in its wake.
She took a deep breath, desperate to steady her spinning senses. The sight of his dark head against her pale flesh as he moved to her other breast sent another sharp pang of need through her core. He lavished her other nipple with the same exquisite attention. Gillian collapsed weakon the bed, resigning herself to the inevitable hours ahead.
As soon as the thought rose, she found an acceptance of the situation, tinged with excitement. Why not take advantage of his talents? He knew well how to draw out her pleasure; he'd thoroughly taught her that in the last few days. She could, and would, enjoy this, much as he did, without guilt. After all, he'd left her with no choice. He held all the power and control. Yet, she knew ultimately he would give her pleasure, even if she had to wait for it to happen at his whim.
At the same time, the realization also brought another thought. He couldn't win if she liked what he did. He would not outwit her.
Still, a residual dread skittered along her spine, borne of the fear he would truly drive her mad this time.
He pulled away and the glimmer in his eyes warned of his diabolical intent. To her surprise, he rose and went once again to the wardrobe. What did he seek now? Fear and excitement warred within her, neither gaining a solid foothold which left her feeling as though she floated.
When he turned back to her, she choked on a strangled cry. Nay! She shook her head, trying to shrink into the mattress.
"I gathered these from the mews."
He twirled the hawk feathers in his fingers and approached the bed.
"You are mad!" Her words were distorted, but his smile revealed he'd understood.
"Mad? Mayhap. But ere long, I think you will be as well."
He glided the tip of the feather along her cheek. Fire exploded in its wake and she turned away. But the motion only allowed him to drag the quill down her neck and to her ear. The sensation drew a chuckle, despite her effort to conceal it. When he drew the feather along her outstretched arm, she tugged mightily. Jesu! The torment left her exhilarated and trembling. And fearful where the feather's journey might end.
"So, wife, did you ever think your hawks could bring you pleasure of another kind?"
He dipped the feather into the hollow under her arm. She writhed and gave a little shriek at the ticklish feelings. God's bones, he would kill her, but damned if she didn't want him to continue.
He did, and she lowered her gaze to his hand as he dragged the feather toward her breast. She bit against the cloth silencing her, holding her breath as she waited, letting it out when he stroked the underside of her breast. She couldn't look away, mesmerized by the tawny feather circling her skin.
Her nipples hardened, aching for a touch, any touch, but he avoided them, content to circle around them and tease her by moving closer, then away.
He stopped and sat beside her. She wanted to scream for him to continue. Instead, she closed her eyes, breathing heavily.
"I fear you enjoy this too much."
Her eyes snapped open and she frantically shook her head. Her jumbled protests didn't hold enough conviction to convince herself, let alone him.
He gave her a wicked grin and a wink and once more drew the feather to her body. It took every bit of her determination not to urge him to hurry.
The tip landed on her nipple this time, stroking across and around it. A whine escaped, her back bowing, seeking more. He repeated the actions on her other breast and she squeezed her eyes shut to bear the exquisite torture.
The feather moved away from her breasts, down her belly. Her initial suspicions confirmed, she braced herself. Damn the man for taking his time, letting the quill meander across her skin, trailing frustration and delight. Her gasps rose in pitch revealing more than she wanted.
