He came close behind her, took one deep breath against the side of her throat, and pushed back, floating away.
Elayne turned sharply, her hair coiling about her. "Do not touch me," she ordered. "Unless I wish it."
He stilled, an arm’s length from her. She could no longer see his face clearly, only the planes and shadows of it. Her heart was beating hard. She did not know if she wanted him to contest her or obey her; it seemed as if she wanted both. She clenched her teeth as if in anger, but it was hot and melting anger, full of black desire.
"Tell me what you wish," he murmured.
A deep thrill of excitement sank down through her. "You know what I wish. Do you know it?" It was half a question, half a cry.
His lips parted. She saw his chest rise and fall. "Tell me."
"To give you hurt again!" she exclaimed, with a tinge of panic. "God save me."
He made a sound like a muted growl. "Hurt me, then."
She was panting. She turned away, in recoil from her own self. "Nay," she breathed.
"I want it," he whispered. "I have lived in dream of it for days."
"Allegreto," she said, closing her eyes.
The water swirled as he moved. "It is so sweet to hear you say my name."
She wanted to weep and to wound him at the same time. "What is this? Is this a spell?" She let go of a sharp breath. "What is this you have done to me?"
He gave a strange laugh. When she looked again, his head was tilted back to the sky, the strong, bare column of his throat exposed to her. "Only told you the truth, for once."
As she watched, he let himself sink below the surface. The water shifted and stirred. He rose at the far wall again and settled there, no more than a shadow, like a lonely spirit curled against the back of a cave.
"Elena..." The water and the vault brought his hushed whisper to her as if he spoke in her ear.
She leaned against the ledge, her feet finding a shallow bench, some ancient seat carved for bathers from time lost. She rested her hips on it, her hair flowing around her, tangling in her arms and encircling her waist. The longing in his voice cut her like an exquisite blade. Excitement possessed her, sharp as black polished glass. He gave her this. He wanted it.
She ran her tongue over her upper lip.
In the growing darkness the water seemed to take on its own faint glow. She could see him as he came to her, a strong movement in the depths; the sleek beast from the nightmare forest, his face awash as he broke the steaming surface. She laid her head back, hardly able to look at him for anticipation. She stared at the fading sky beyond the vault, the rising steam, her heart beating in her ears where the water washed against her.
"Allegreto," she said.
"I am here," he whispered.
She raised her head, her hair lying heavily on her neck and shoulders. He was very near, kneeling before her with the water to his chest. She leaned toward him, lifted her hand, and opened her fingers. She set them against the side of his face, just touching, resting gently on his injured temple. "I will not be taken again as you did before. Against my will. Do you understand that?"
He stared into her eyes, unmoving, as if her light touch held him like a leash. She pressed one fingernail into his bruised skin. His lashes flickered; she saw the instant of reaction. Then he reached beneath the water and grasped her waist, pulling her hard toward him.
"No." She twisted away, drawing her nails violently across his cheek, scoring his injured face as she jerked free. She heard his hissed intake of breath. He let her go with a curse and a half-laugh, shaking his head back and spreading his arms with a deep shudder.
She had not intended it, to ply her fingers so hard where he was already hurt. But he said her name again, a low voice of hunger. And she felt the hunger in herself: she wanted the way he
looked when she did it, the way it broke his inflexible control. The dim glow showed him under the water, full ready to mount her, but he kept his distance. They were like combatants now, circling...assessing one another.
She wet her lips again, and saw his glance fix there.
"Be still," she commanded softly. "Do not touch me."
He smiled, a faint curl, almost scornful. But he did not reach for her again. He drifted in the water, half-kneeling, watching her as she slipped from the bench. She did not allow her body to contact his. Instead she slid close around him, to the side. The water swirled between them, as intimate as a caress. She bent over his shoulder, not touching, letting her breath heat his skin. Her hair tangled with his.
He turned his head a little, as if he would face her.
"No," she said, lifting her hand to his jaw, the sharp tips of her nails pressed against him in warning.
He laughed strangely, closing his eyes. A shiver ran through him.
She could feel the light roughness of new beard on his cheek, yet still his skin was smooth and hard. She let her fingers trace the elegant outline of his face. She slipped behind him, drawing his wet hair aside as she bent to the back of his neck. She pressed her fingers into his jaw, holding him as she closed her teeth softly over his nape like a she-animal in heat.
He made a low sound. She could feel a tremor grow in him, bone-deep. With her hands on either side of his face she drew his head down. She licked the skin under the dripping fall of his hair, taking cool drops on her tongue, tasting him. She felt him move; his hands came back for her, searching, as if to pull her close.
She drove her fingernails into his face and bit him hard. His back and shoulders contracted. "Do not touch me," she said, her lips on his neck.
He was breathing roughly. He gave another laugh, short and husky, a vibration against her breasts. He could have thrown her off with one move. His daggers lay within his reach.
He opened his hands wide under the water and closed them into fists. But he did not pull away. A wave of dreadful delight suffused her, driving off all reason.
She slid her hands down his shoulders, down his arms. She caught his wrists and drew them behind his back.
"Do you understand?" she asked ruthlessly.
His fists closed hard. He had begun to tremble; she could feel it in his taut muscles where she held him with the lightest touch.
"Be still," she murmured. She circled her fingers around his wrists, binding his hands crossed within her hold. She kissed his back and shoulders, opened her teeth against his skin. He tasted of sand and salt and water. His skin felt hot. He shook under the gentle stroke of her tongue and made a sound like a waking dreamer.
She drew away, leaving one hand resting on his crossed wrists. She stared at his bent head, his exposed neck, the taut line of his shoulders swelling as if he were truly bound. Her leopard, black and deadly and magnificent, surrendered to her will.
The first moment she had seen him, in his full power, armored with mystery and magic and command, he had seemed as perfect as any creature formed in Heaven or earth. But wounded and kneeling now in the blue-lit shadows, he was beautiful beyond comprehension.
He panted as if he had been running a far distance. "Elena," he said, shaking his head.
I dread to be defenseless.
She could see it in every muscle of his body, in the way he closed his eyes and opened them wide, water dripping down his jaw. He could have killed her before she drew another breath. And yet she held him with her fingertips, in utter submission.
She did not free him. She kissed the nape of his neck. She slid her belly against his closed fists, deliberate taunting. In the place below, in the tips of her breasts, she was burning, all sensation.
She ran her tongue over his shoulder and leaned closer, feeling his hands work as if against bonds. The water supported her as she spread her legs and lowered herself so that his fists were against her nether curls, near the place Libushe had warned her was a woman’s greatest danger and weakness.
His hand opened against her, and she knew then it was a weakness beyond resistance. His fingers slid in where he had forced her maidenhead
, probing and exciting her now. She kissed his shoulder and his throat and his ear, and closed her teeth on his earlobe. Her body moved of its own will, finding a hot pulse of delight. She was panting in his ear, pressing her breasts against his back, making little whimpers in her throat as the sensation grew toward a crest of joy.
He moved so suddenly that she cried out, breaking free in one swift twist, lifting her as he rose from the water. He kissed her, his tongue plunging deep into her mouth, driving her head back. His fingers slid down her back and into the curve of her buttocks, dragging her roughly against his thrusting cock.
Elayne tilted her head aside and kissed him greedily, drew his lower lip into her mouth and bit down until he fell to his knees again. He tore away as the water engulfed them, grinning with his teeth bared.
She laid her head back, resting lightly against his arms, her hair drifting about her. "Hell-cat," he said, his voice harsh and breaking. The muscles of his shoulders swelled beneath her palms as he sat back, cupping his hand around the nape of her neck.
Floating in his hold, she let one hand drift down to his chest. When she brushed his nipple, he drove his fingers into her hair, gripping it hard. She abandoned every wisp of shame and drew her heels up, floating, supported by the water and his arms at her back, suspended in the swell and ripple. His member slid over her, pressed hard at her opening, exposed as it was to him by the wanton position she took.
Sensation bloomed irresistibly, like nothing she had felt before. She gave a gasp and held his arms. It made her breasts ache and swell and tingle. She held him off, would not let him closer, but rubbed herself gently against his shaft, reaching up to clasp his neck and shoulders, letting her head fall back. She could feel the quiver in his muscles where he knelt, the checked motion in his body. He made a groan deep in his throat, as if she hurt him.
Before, he had thrust himself into her by unyielding force. She lay open now. Without words, without teaching, she knew that this was torture for him. She knew by the way he looked down at her, his dark eyes hot and his teeth bared in the shadows.
Under her lashes, she gave him a taunting smile, pleasuring herself with deliberate leisure.
He held still. He closed his eyes, breathing hard and unevenly. For a few moments she was gentle, as soft as his hands in her hair were rough. His skin was smooth and hard and slick, as warm as the water. She slid her hands down his chest and passed her fingers in and out of the liquid surface, just touching his nipples, and then closed her nails sharply on him.
He sucked in air, a harsh sound. He pushed himself against her, asking for entry.
"No." Her fingernails dug hard on that sensitive place, so hard that he jerked back, uttering a soft curse, sending water rushing in waves around the vault.
"Not yet. It will be when I please," she said, her fingertips still resting against him. She moved leisurely, lying back, using him for support. "Only then."
He was panting between his teeth. With a feral smile, he pushed his shaft against her again, purely defiant. She hurt him in response, cutting him, punishment until she was sure it must draw blood. But he leaned into it, close to her, heavy on her. His hoarse sound of desire carried and resonated between the water and the walls. Elayne made an answering whimper as her body arched and met his of its own accord.
She let the head of his shaft come inside her, just inside her, stretching her a little. He sank down over her, his arm locked behind her back, his breath discordant in her ear. His hair tangled with hers across her breasts. He twisted with a groaning gasp, pushing halfway into her, fighting her as she gave back pain for each sweet burst of sensation, allowing him nothing without that price, until he was shuddering in all his limbs and she thought her body would disintegrate in torment and bliss.
She could not bear it. She cried out and drew back, sliding free, panting, fearing she might drown of this merciless pleasure—though the water never came above her chin.
They stared at one another. He made a pleading growl, his arm taut under her, his breathing racked and painful. Even in the dimness she could see the angry marks of her fingernails on his bruised face, his chest and shoulders. And yet he was so beautiful. She could not endure the way she felt, wanting to rend him, wanting to kiss and comfort him as if he were a child. She touched the marks, stroked them, overcome with a rush of tenderness and shame. He closed his eyes, his long black lashes tangled with drops.
"I am sorry," she whispered, tracing down his cheekbone and his jaw.
He lifted her up, taking her backward with him in a flood of warm waves into deeper water. He kissed her throat. "Hurt me," he said fiercely against her skin.
Elayne rested her cheek on his hair, stroking her palms down his back, her eyes hazy with steam and sudden tears. "I don’t want to hurt you."
"Hell-cat," he said into her throat. "Sweet Mary, take up my blade and I’ll let you kill me."
"Oh, no." She gave a little sob. It was no light love-speech with him, no pretty words of praise or fondness. "Don’t say such things."
"I am yours," he said, lifting his face to her.
She kissed his forehead; she cupped her hands around his jaw and pressed her lips to his bruised temple. Her hair wrapped them together, swirling around his body. He could have impaled her; she felt him ready for it, but he held her floating in the water above him.
"Whatever you will," he said, inhaling deeply, carrying her up and down with each breath. "Whatever you will."
She pressed into the skin beneath his ear, catching it between her fingernails, pressing slowly, gently, a terrible delight as she felt him quiver beneath her. His lips parted. He closed his eyes and moaned. Every muscle in his body seemed to thrill like a bowstring, but he did not move. He waited, controlled explosion at her command. She delayed, hurting him until he was shaking, until she could feel his will to have her rise to the shattering point, until he was uttering faint sounds of desperation with each panting breath. She waited until his fingers pressed and kneaded her buttocks with a rhythm that lost its cadence in jerky motions. She waited until he had no dominion over his own body. Until he had no defenses.
"Now." It was barely a word, barely a murmur. "Take me now."
He ran his tongue over her lips as he let her slide downward. "Say my name," he whispered harshly.
She bent her head and closed her teeth on his shoulder. Water washed into her mouth as he pulled her down onto his hard shaft, pain in return for his blunt pleasure. He gripped her hips, going deep in one swift thrust. She wounded him with savage guilty joy, power over him as he took her, water and blood as he made a sound of agony. He filled her, dragging her against him. He shoved hard inside, his fingers spreading her buttocks to bring her closer. It hurt her, too, pain deep inside at the limits of her body, but a brilliant wave of sensation coursed up through her. She gasped, throwing her head back, rocking against him again and again. "Allegreto!"
He answered, driving his seed into her, desire and pain and hot elation at her bidding.
* * *
The scent of citron enveloped her as she rested in the darkness with his arms about her, the warm water cradling them together on the bench. She held his hands, his beautiful hands, his fingers entwined with hers. She was infinitely gentle in her touch, afraid of her own self.
"I am ashamed," she said, bowing her head.
He turned her cheek against his shoulder, spreading his fingers over her skin. "Beloved," he whispered.
She pressed her face to him, swallowing a sob. "How can you say that now?"
He drew his hand through her hair. "How can I not?"
She bit her lip. "I must have a demon in me."
"Nay, only a small imp," he said, holding her tighter. She could feel his mouth at her temple. "A little fallen seraphim, to harrow and torment me."
She lifted his hand and kissed his fingers. "You are hurt?"
"Elena," he said, "I am wounded beyond any hope of healing now."
She whimpered and turned in his emb
race, her hair drifting and floating all about them, mingling with his. She leaned her head against his shoulder. In the silence, the lake made faint ripples and murmurs of sound. He brushed his fingertips across her cheek, outlining her lips and her chin.
"I nearly left you," she whispered. "I thought to find refuge with the church."
He tapped her cheek. "The church. Foolish hell-cat. You make me fear for you."
"Where else could I go?"
"Even Morosini would have been better," he said. "He might have held you safe till Advent, before he made a bargain with Franco Pietro to see that you died of some opportune fever. I would have had a hope to steal you back."
"But the church—"
"Elena, you would not be safe within the church. Do you suppose any bishop in this province was not invested with his mitre at the Riata’s whim? Do not attempt it, I entreat you. Franco Pietro will see you dead now, if he fears that you carry a Navona babe."
She was silent. Such black thoughts had not occurred to her, but she did not doubt him. She curled her arms around her waist.
He held her closer. "Do you think it might be so?" he asked, his breath light in her hair.
She felt as if she were falling from a high cliff. "I know not," she said.
"You have done aught to prevent it?"
She hid her face against his throat. She could feel his chest rise and fall. "Nay."
He was silent and still for a long moment.
"What comes, Elena—what I intend..." His voice was suddenly grim. "You must obey every instruction that I give to you. Do not cross me or forestall me. Our lives will depend on it, and Zafer’s, and all the others, too."
She lifted her head. "What do you intend?"
In the dimness she could see his eyes narrow. He looked beyond her, staring into the blackness of the lake. Elayne closed her fingers into fists.