Page 53 of The Captive's Curse
Singing like this, my lungs expanding and my fingers dancing, I could forget that I had less than twenty-four hours until my curse took me, until I’d be forced to…no, I didn’t need to think about that now, and I couldn’t, because I’d panic and go mad.
Absorbed at last in the tricky little progression from the chorus back to the third verse, I had only an instant’s warning:a prickle on the back of my neck, a warmth in my limbs, a soft sound behind me, an awareness that suffused my whole being.
And then a hand slapped over my mouth and a strong arm wrapped around me.
Chapter Nineteen
My lute went flying with a discordant twang, but the warm palm over my lips muffled my yelp of shock. I struggled and kicked, but the arm around me kept my arms pinned and pulled me half off the bench and against a big, hard body.
A very familiar body…and with a scent of steel and warm spices wrapping around me as if to shield me from the chill of the air.
“Don’t fight me,” he murmured against my ear. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
Enzo.
He washere, and I went limp from relief, my head falling back against his shoulder, my heart skittering and dancing.
He gingerly took his hand away from my mouth, as if afraid I might start screaming.
Ha. Not likely, if only he knew it. Instead, I moaned as he slid his fingers over my lips and traced my jaw, trailing down to my throat.
“Gods, Cyril,” he said roughly, and he nuzzled into my neck on the other side from his grip on me, his lips cool from being out in the cold but his tongue burning hot as he traced a line up to my ear. My breaths came so quickly I couldn’t tell one from the next. His arm tightened around me until my ribs creaked. “You have less than a day before—unless you found someone else. Did you?”
Those abrupt words, harsh and demanding and urgent, burrowed into me and lodged somewhere under my sternum.
Suddenly I wasn’t cold anymore. Sweat beaded on my spine and dampened my palms.
Really? One touch from him. One fucking touch, thirty seconds of his arms around me, and my magic flared and hissed, flint on steel, with me the helpless tinder set ablaze.
I’d had less than a day. Now I had…no time at all. Flames licked at my insides, ready to consume me, sending sparks of pain radiating out from my center.
“No,” I gasped. “I didn’t find—I need you.” I tried to turn in his arms, to see his face—or maybe to climb on his cock—but he had me clutched too tightly. “Is that why you’re here?”
“Of course that’s why I’m fucking here,” he said after a short pause, as if I’d dragged the words out of him. His arms shifted at last, but only enough that he could get a good grip around my torso with both hands and pull me bodily off the bench. I grabbed onto his wrists and didn’t fight it. “Yes. And I’ve been—if you wanted me to come and fuck you, you could’ve made it easier for me, you know? Gone outside? I was getting—and then I heard your voice. Your singing. Finally.”
My feet hit the ground, and I stumbled along as he hustled me between the trees, stopping once we’d reached the center of the grove: a chilly, hushed little cave, redolent of soaked pine needles and earth.
He spun me around at last, hands landing on my hips.
My breath caught.
I’d called Enzo an unshaven, unkempt ruffian out of pique, and to irritate him, even though his stubble and his ridiculously wavy hair were obviously on purpose, rather than a failure of grooming—and only made him all the more charming, anyway. But now, he truly fit the part. Several days’ worth of black beard roughened his cheeks and chin, and his damp,weather-beaten coat and shirt and trousers bore streaks of moss. Bits of bark adorned his wildly disarranged hair.
In short, he looked exactly like the kind of dangerous, scruffy scoundrel who’d lurk in the forest waiting to put a hand over my mouth, shove me on the ground, and use me roughly for his brutal pleasure.
“Oh, yes,” I choked out, as all the blood in my body rushed to my cock and my head went light. The pressure between my legs mounted until I almost doubled over. “Gods, Enzo, please! But not in the mud!” I cried desperately, as he yanked me closer.
“Sometimes I think I don’t have the slightest idea what’s in that head of yours,” Enzo muttered, shoving me away again, already busy stripping off his coat, “even though you talk more than anyone I’ve ever met.” He laid his coat on the ground and spread it out. “There, Lord Fastidious. Get your pants off before I rip them off.”
I pulled off my cloak, nearly strangling myself in my haste, and threw it at him. “You can put that on top of your coat,” I said breathlessly, and tugged at my trouser buttons.
If only we’d been in my bedchamber, with privacy and a change of clothes to hand, he could’ve ripped them off and welcome. Desire and longing and bone-deep relief pounded through me with every beat of my heart. He’d come, he’d come for me, he wanted me, he’d been waiting outside Montefime andwatchingfor me, he’d recognized my voice when I sang…and had he realized I’d been yearning for him as I did?
My trousers slid over my hips, and I dropped to my knees, shoving them down as far as I could and baring my ass to the frigid breeze and to Enzo’s eyes. Both made me shiver in equal measure.
I glanced over my shoulder and found him standing behind me rigidly unmoving, fists clenched at his sides, his gaze between my legs.
“I shouldn’t want you this much,” he said, and swallowed hard. “Enough to waste my time watching your brother’s castle, enough to neglect all my responsibilities.” His eyes, dark and deep and glinting, flicked up to my face. “You’re not just a menace. You’re going to be the death of me.”
