The frown only lasted a few moments more, before it was erased with the rumble of a deep chuckle. “I am likely more adept at it than you anyway. But come, you are at a disadvantage, all enchained. Give me your wrists and I will release you.”
Fairness? From him? She should have been immediately suspicious,wassuspicious, but the lure of freedom was too great a temptation to ignore. And he had already produced a key, which he held out toward her. Mayhap he really did want more of a challenge, now that his damned game was to become physical. Either way, it would indeed be to her advantage not to be so encumbered.
She thrust her wrists out. Too late did she realize that her gowns would not come off without being cut off unless at least one of her wrists was freed. But before she jerked her hands back, one shackle was off and dangling from the other. And his expression said exactly what she now surmised. His trick had worked, and it had indeed been a trick.
To show her appreciation, she swung the loose shackle at his head. As a weapon, it was more than adequate. Her skill in using it, however, was not. Selig ducked right handily and caught the wrist that was still chained, bringing it up behind her back.
This, unfortunately, put her within easy reach of him, and while she was trying to push him away with her freed hand, to noavail, he was working the knot on her rope girdle loose with his own free hand. He succeeded where she did not, and before he let go of her, he caught a fistful of her outer gown and yanked upward. As loose as that gown was, the material rose without a hitch—until it encountered Erika’s arms, which refused to rise with it.
For a moment she thought she might have defeated him, but he didn’t force the matter, content to leave her buried and helpless beneath the outer gown that now hung over her head, while he went after the laces on the tighter chainse beneath. With her arms now trapped, her face covered by material, she shrieked in rage, and tried to twist away from him. An arm around her waist prevented that. So she fought to at least get her arms loose in order to do some damage. But she no sooner got the material back down from her face than the other gown started to rise.
It was infuriating that she was getting nowhere, even with her hands freed of restraint. She tried locking her arms against her sides again, but he merely reached in to grab one wrist, then the other, pulling them both over her head where he could hold them together long enough for the gowns to follow, and follow they did. There was a moment when the loose shackle got caught in the sleeve of her chainse, but one last yank saw to its release.
She had been given no shift to wear with her slave’s clothes, no braies or stockings. That easily was she left naked. But embarrassment didn’t touch her yet. Her anger was still too high, and since her chained feet made it impossible for her to run, she attacked again instead.
It was, of course, a useless endeavor against a man his size. He didn’t feel her punches, merely stood there and raised a brow at her when she tried it twice. She began to wonder how a blow to his head had ever caused him pain. But when she made to swing the shackle at him again, he stopped toying with her and ended her efforts right quickly.
Again her arm was twisted up behind her back, though this time he had no girdle to free. This time she was pressed tight to the front of him. And with her being so close, it was a simple matter for his other hand to follow her free arm down from the shoulder to her wrist, no matter her effort to shake it loose. That arm, too, ended up behind her back.
But when his other hand left her wrist to slide slowly down the chain still attached to it, her eyes widened, for she realized what he meant to do. And he did it, the shackle closing around her free wrist again, the sound of it locking bringing a shudder to her.
He let go of her then, but the length of the chain behind her wouldn’t let her arms come forward farther than her sides. She was exposed, completely, helpless even to shield her breasts with her hands. This was how he meant to parade her before a hall filled with women who would take pleasure in seeing a Dane brought so low?
Her pride was momentarily in shock, long enough for him to lead her by her “leash” from the room without any protest from her. Not that protest would have done her any good, and she didn’t even consider trying it when the horror of this latest humiliation at his hands subsided somewhat. What was left was anger worse than any she had so far felt.
They had not yet reached the stairs when she acquainted him with it. “Cowardly knave. Swinish oaf. Diseased scum of a trickster!”
He had already swung around, towered over her before the last word was out, and his face was flushed with some anger of his own. “On your knees when you call me names,” he ordered in a growl.
Without the least hesitation, she dropped to her knees, leaned forward, and sank her teeth into his right thigh. Selig howled. Bending over her was his first reflex, but before the second took hold, he lost his balance. He grabbed her shoulders to keep from falling, but that only shoved her back and he ended up sprawling on top of her.
The breath was knocked from her for a moment. When she had it back, she made to shove him off her, only to have it recalled that her hands were no longer available for such use, were locked to the floor by her hips. She used was what left to her, her shoulders, her hips. That was a mistake.
She finally noticed that he was making no effort to move, was simply staring down at her. Lying on top of a naked woman might nothave stoked his fires, but her own movements to dislodge him had done so. It was there in the intense smoldering of his gray eyes, and in what she could feel hardening near the apex of her thighs.
In a panic, she got out, “Recall that you hate me!” just before his mouth closed on hers.
His hate, apparently, didn’t come into this. This was elemental, arousal overruling other emotions. She was made to understand that more clearly when some of that same desire clouded her own thinking.
The man simply surpassed proficiency when it came to kissing. He licked, he nibbled, he sucked, and his tongue plunged. And for a girl who knew next to nothing about it, Erika was overwhelmed by such expertise. Nor did he just kiss her. Mayhap she could have come to her senses otherwise—nay, she was beyond denial, and what else he did merely made it worse.
He had total access to the parts most intimate on her body, and as if they had a will of their own, his hands were drawn to some of them. Both hands slid between their bodies to flatten over her breasts. Both squeezed, both plumped, both found the nipples and plucked them to hardness. The shock was felt clear to her toes. She moaned into his mouth. His own groan was louder.
Neither heard the approaching footsteps, but the dry tone was quite clear. “I suppose you will tell me that the time you have spent in your bed these last weeks has given you an aversion to it.”
Selig’s new groan was unrelated to passion. “Mother, go…away.”
Even more dryness. “You mean you did not want an audience? You could have fooled me.”
“Mother!”
A sound of disgust greeted that entreaty, then footsteps again, now receding.
Selig sighed and dropped his forehead to Erika’s. It took a moment for him to realize that he had relaxed against her; then he stiffened and leaned back. She was already as rigid as the floor beneath her. Ironically, his face was as hot as hers with embarrassment right now. She couldn’t quite find any justice or humor in that.
“She did not see you,” he offered for some reason she could not fathom.
“What matter if she did?” Erika replied bitterly. “You are the one who would find shame in that. Mine was there before her appearance.”
