Lust

Staring down at the woman he held in his arms, Thane watched the rise and fall of her breasts. A perverse sense of need, inspired by his sin, made him desire to see his seed trickling between her luscious breasts. He wanted her marked, covered in his scent. Thane wanted her for his.

Wanting to taste her. Needing to rip away the contraption that caged her body from him, he lowered his head, inhaling her musky scent. Thane listened to the erotic cadence of her heart that beat urgently beneath her breast. He wanted to feel that rhythmic pulsing around his cock while he was buried deeply inside her, her virginal quim clamping and throbbing, surrounding his shaft, milking him dry.

He would stay there, just like that, savoring the feel of her body accepting him. He would raise himself above her, blotting out everything but him. She would see only him, above her. Feel only him, deep inside her. And then, when she was focused solely on him, their gazes locked, he would take her. Body and soul. Virtue to his sin.

Their nights would be spent in pleasure. In slow, languorous lovemaking, and frenzied fucking, in which he would feel her sweating against him. She would beg him to stop—only to plead with him to take her once more.

She was still as death in his arms, and he looked up from her overflowing bodice and into her eyes. Was she afraid? Terrified? Did she know what he wanted to do to her? Could she see into his mind, and watch his fantasy of her beneath him, her bottom in his hands, her hips arching to meet his thrust? Did she know how badly he wanted to watch her body open to him? How he wanted to take her to his court and mate with her as a Dark Fey should?

By the goddess, did she know what sort of monster he was? He was Lust. He fucked like an animal. He was insatiable. She could never, in her innocence, understand what he wanted to do to her, or have her do to him.

He should leave her, this innocent little lamb, yet she represented what he so desperately wanted. Something of his own. Not a possession or a thing. But his. His opposing virtue. The woman who was opposite to him in every way. The woman who could help free his court of its curse. The woman who might very well free him.

But the sin inside him was raging beneath his skin. His sin wanted to defile her. To take her now, while her large eyes were wide with wonder, and with her body smelling of desire. Lust wanted to fuck her. Thane wanted to … He didn’t know. Yes, he wanted to taste her, to feel her hot body surrounding his cock, but he wanted something else. Her to desire him. Him, the prince. The Dark Fey. He did not want her under Lust’s hypnotic guise.

“Chastity,” he whispered before brushing his mouth along the swell of her breast, tasting mist and the scent of woman on her flesh as he moved his mouth along her. “Let me taste you.”

She blinked up at him with her wide eyes and he saw the desire to be desired shining in them. Lowering his mouth to hers, he felt a jolt of excitement rush through his veins. Her lips were soft, pliant beneath his. He pressed another soft kiss to them, and this time he opened his mouth, allowing his heat to envelope her.

Hungrily he pressed up against her, encouraging her to part her lips for him, but she wouldn’t, or did not know how to allow him the intimacy. In growing frustration, he cupped her chin with both hands, slipping his tongue effortlessly between her lips. Boldly their tongues touched, stroking each other with increasing fierceness.

She was clutching him to her breasts and he could hear as well as feel her heart steadily beat faster and faster with each stroke of his tongue.

He was suddenly consumed with the need to see her and opened his eyes. Hers were closed, long lashes fluttering against pale, porcelain cheeks. Her fingers were in his hair, tangling and gripping as she purred and moaned and brushed her curved body against the length of his.

Lips parting, he fastened onto the supple flesh of her throat, began to suck, and she crumpled deeper into his arms, unable to stand. He sucked and laved, kissed, then blew hot, moist air over her wet flesh. His tongue and lips explored her throat until he was met with the lace barrier of her bodice, and then, he tore at the buttons, thrusting the bodice wide open until her décolletage was once more bared and he was scraping the tips of his teeth along her skin that was now warm and flushed pink.

The scent of her passion-infused blood was so strong it overtook all his senses. He could no longer hear, could no longer see because of the lust that was blinding him. He could only smell, and the scent only grew stronger until his own body was shrouded with her arousal.

Pushing her breasts up against his mouth, he alternated between kisses and licks, searching for the elusive nipple he knew he would find budded and erect beneath her stays. As he pulled her breasts free of the corset, she fell to her knees before him. When she looked up at him, he saw the ecstasy in her lovely eyes.

Lust like he had never known assailed him and he felt the animal within begin to stir again. He was no longer able to hide his glamour, and Chastity was now fully ensnared by the beauty of the fey. He didn’t want to entrance her or trap her. He wanted her to want him of her own free will. But her lush body and innocent mouth made him powerless against his sin. The fey with honor, with good intentions, was unable to sway Lust to give up his hold on Chastity Lennox.

Reaching for her hair, Thane pulled the pins free and shook out the long silky tresses that cascaded down to her waist. He studied her, thinking of her as an ancient pagan goddess with her heavy breasts bared and her head tossed back in an enchanting sexual display of femininity. This, he thought, as he palmed her breasts, was what he desired from his mate. This liberation to feel passion, to indulge in the needs of man and woman. One day, she would agree to come to him, to join him in his court, and there, they would be together, his intended mate. He would spend the night with her, awakening her in the dark with his kisses and the slow languid rhythm of his cock sliding inside her.

Chastity Lennox. His future mate. His virtue. His fantasy. He wanted her, regardless of the consequences.

Her eyelids fluttered closed as his fingers traced the rounded contour of her cheek. Her lips parted on a sigh, and he imagined what it would be like to have her on her knees, waiting for him to slip his cock between her lips.

Yes. Both the fey and Lust in him wanted her just like this, bare breasted with tousled hair and kiss-swollen lips parting, waiting to pleasure him with her lush, innocent mouth.

“Beautiful Chastity,” he whispered reverently, allowing himself the forbidden image of her taking his length in her mouth. Her mouth would be hot. Wet. Infinitely exciting.

“Please.” The word was whispered so quietly, almost pleadingly. No, he wanted to reply, no, he couldn’t stop. But he tilted her chin up and saw the shame in her eyes. Any glimmer of passion and desire was now gone, leaving her staring up at him with such fear, like a lamb going to slaughter.

“Do not look upon me with such horror,” he whispered.

“Then leave me be.”

Stepping back, he released her. Abandoning her was the most difficult thing he had ever done. Being denied was so shocking, so foreign to him. He found himself off center. His fey glamour had not been subdued. His beauty, he knew, was undeniable, utterly compelling to humans, yet here was this young woman, in the first flush of arousal, denying him and her own sexual needs.

She blinked, the glaze in her eyes clearing as she looked around her surroundings with confusion, then horror. She cried out and covered her breasts with her hands. He didn’t want to see shame make her face pale. He didn’t want her to hide anything from him, least of all her body. A body that could make the most celebrated courtesan murderous with envy.

He could only imagine the thoughts running through her mind, the indignity her virtue would force her to feel.

“I …” She jumped up, tears trickling down her cheeks. “You have humiliated me, sir.”

“No,” he said, his voice harsh as he reached for her. “There is no shame in desire.”

“There is a very great indignity in animal lusts, my lord. And you, sir, are the worst sort of defiler.”

“Does my passion disgust you?” he asked as he captured an errant curl and ran his finger through it, “or is it your response to my lust that mortifies you?”

Her eyes widened, and her mouth parted on a silent word. The ugly creature inside him rose, gnashing its teeth, wanting retribution for her slight. His sin wanted to take her, to ravish her and show her shame, humiliation. And the Dark Fey … He wanted to lash out as well, his pride stinging at her hurtful, if not accurate, assessment of him.

He captured her, brought her up hard against him so that her bare breasts were pressed against his silk waistcoat. She gasped as a button rubbed against her nipple, pebbling it. “You feign innocence so well,” he whispered hotly in her ear. “You act as though you’re offended, disgraced, ruined, but still your body heats for a touch. Your scent perfumes the air, and I would wager that if I were to search beneath the layers of lace, and innocent white linen of your petticoats, I would find your tight little cunt wet for me.”

She slapped him hard across his cheek. “Never.”

He smiled and allowed her to walk away, if only for a moment so he could collect what was left of his honorable intentions. “Have you thrown the gauntlet down, Lady Chastity?” he called after her.

“I will never submit to you,” she sneered as she righted her dress. Reaching for her, he brought her up against him, whispering hotly in her ear.

“You will do more than submit, I assure you. When I next have you, you’ll beg.”

FIVE

“WELL?”

“They have found them.”

The smash of a crystal goblet against the gold wall made the handful of pixie handmaidens hovering about the faery queen jump with fear.

“Leave us!” the queen snapped, further frightening the easily agitated pixies. Crom watched the servants file out of his mother’s salon. They knew as well as he did that it was never a good thing to invoke the ire of the queen. She was one of the most powerful fey in the world, and she did not suffer setbacks easily. Her thirst for the annihilation of the Unseelie Court kept her strong, focused and easily angered.

She whirled on him, the silver robe she wore over her long gown billowing out like a puff of smoke. Her beautiful features twisted into a mask of horror, anger and perhaps fear. “How can this be? How have the Dark Fey learned of the virtues?”

“I do not know. But I assure you, they have.”

“No,” she huffed as she paced the perimeter of the gilded room. “No, it is impossible. They could not have discovered that the mortal blood they need to end their curse is that of the virtues. That secret has been safe for two hundred years. I made it so,” she seethed. “It is my spell, my curse, and the virtues,” she scoffed, now in full-blown anger, “are my creation. Mine. Designed for use in my court. I control them. I use them. Not,” she huffed breathlessly from her tirade, “the Dark Fey.”

“Mother, calm yourself,” Crom suggested as he reached for the decanter of mead. Pulling the crystal out of his hand, she slammed the decanter back onto the table.

“I want answers, Crom. It is impossible that Niall, or any of the others, could have learned of the virtues and their importance in the curse.”

“Perhaps,” Crom murmured as his gaze followed her about the room, “you have a spy in your court.”

That stopped her cold. She glared over her shoulder, violet eyes glistening with malice. “There is no snitch here.”