Clara awoke slowly, feeling the long length of a body next to her and hearing soft breathing. She opened her eyes and looked up at Damien, realizing she was in the bed. She stretched, thinking her body would be sore and stiff from her night on the floor, but she felt fine.
"How long was I on the floor?" she asked.
He shrugged casually. "Ten minutes maybe."
"Ten minutes? You didn't leave me down there to sleep?"
"No. Should I have?" He arched a brow at her.
"Well, no, I'm glad you didn't. I just thought-"
"That I would leave you there? I told you I don't break my toys, Clara. I take care of them as well. I wasn't going to leave you on the floor to get stiff and sore, not that I couldn't have simply healed you."
"I appreciate the sentiment, Damien, but is that all I am to you? A toy?" Unable to believe her bravery, Clara met his eyes and held her breath. He studied her, searching her eyes.
"I think you and I both know better than that, Clara." He let out a deep breath. "I have told you more than once that your soul is a treasure beyond compare to me. I find...I find that the rest of you is as well. But I keep my word when it is given, despite what a few of my more colorful titles suggest. I am the king of lies, I cheat and steal, but I don't go back on deals when I make them. After tonight, you're free to return to your life."
Clara chewed her bottom lip and let her mind wander. She had a good life, but no one had ever told her she was a treasure beyond compare before. She'd never been so sexually satisfied before...
"Wait," a thought struck her. "That's the second time you've referred to this being our last night together. This will only be number eleven. What's the taboo we are missing?"
"Lolita was supposed to be night number eight, but since I'd kept you up for three days straight by then, I let you sleep through that night. Besides, since you were so young in the Incest night, I chalked that up to a two for one deal. Our agreement was only for twelve nights."
"You gave up one of your nights with me, one of your taboos, to let me rest?"
"Don't say it like that, Clara. I'm not some chivalrous knight. Don't get idiotic ideas into your head. Had I not felt we covered that taboo adequately, I would have said to hell with letting you rest and we would have done it. You earned a break, and since it didn't interfere with my plans, I gave you one. Nothing more."
"No?" She watched him steadily. Somehow, her eyes seemed to pierce him. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration.
"Maybe that's not the whole of it. But don't forget who and what I am, Clara. Never forget that." His eyes blazed red for an instant and black horns erupted from his forehead. They were long and wickedly sharp looking. At first startled, Clara started to lean back then stopped and leaned forward. She ran her fingers lightly over the horns, secretly delighting when he closed his eyes in pleasure.
"I know what you are, Damien, don't think that I've forgotten." She wanted to say more, but there were no words to say. They sat in silence for endless moments. They looked at each other, each lost in jumbled thoughts.
"Are you ready for your last night, then?" he finally asked. Clara didn't even bother to ask what the theme of the night was. She lay back in his arms, relaxed and inviting in spite of her confused thoughts.
"I am at your command, my prince," she murmured with a sensual smile.
*
The decision that had been bouncing around in Damien's head was settled in that one moment. He couldn't stop the grin that spread over his face. He snapped his fingers, and Clara's world went black.
*
Clara opened her eyes and rang the bell on her bedside, summoning the maid servant. The girl appeared and helped her mistress rise and dress. Though the tailors had been there only the week before, it seemed as if nothing fit any longer. Again. With a sigh, she put her hand to her swollen belly.
"Couldn't you just try not to get too much bigger?" she asked the infant growing there. The maid sighed dreamily at her and smiled.
"It's a blessing to carry such a large, hale child my lady. A son for the master."
"I know," Clara said with a grimace as the baby kicked her bladder. "I just wish he would wait to get large and hale until he's out of my womb." She laughed a little and let the maid help her to the dining room. There her husband was already seated, eating his breakfast. "Goodmorning, my lord," she greeted him softly. His eyes flicked up to her, grunting in greeting. Before he looked down at his plate again, his gaze lingered on her stomach.
Their marriage had been arranged, and aside from the night he'd given her the babe, he hadn't been in her bed. Of late, however, his eyes seemed to linger on her. Clara assumed at first that it had been pride in seeing his heir grow. But looks like the one he gave her right then seemed more filled with lust than pride. She shivered, then reminded herself that it was his right as her husband to look at her with lust.
After breakfast, he left the dining room and did not return to her until dinner. Her days were filled to the brim with picking fabric for the babe's clothing, approving or rejecting crib and nursery designs in addition to her normal duties of overseeing the household staff. By the time the day drew to a close she was exhausted. Her fatigue didn't prevent her from eating heartily, though.
When he finished his meal, her husband sat in his chair, sipping his wine and looking at her thoughtfully. She shifted, putting down her fork and raising her eyes to his. They met and held, neither speaking. After a few moments, he walked to her side of the table. Wordlessly, he extended his hand to her.
Uncertain, but knowing what was expected of her, she put her hand in his and allowed him to help her from her chair. He led her, not to her bedroom, but his own.
She'd only been in it once before. Their wedding night. Her memories of the night were hazy because of wine and nerves. He hadn't been so terrible as she'd heard some bridegrooms were on their wedding night, but neither had it been particularly wonderous for her. She tried not to shiver as he led her into the room and stopped beside the bed. Neither spoke as he started to slowly unlace her dress. The fabric loosened, then fell away, leaving her in only her chemise and underthings. She shivered. Why did he want her now? After six months of marriage they'd only had the one sexual encounter. Before, she'd been slim and delicate. Now she felt cumbersome and awkward.
"This is what I've been waiting for," he murmured in her ear, his big hands resting on her belly as he stood behind her.
"What do you mean?" she asked hesitantly.
"Your body is ripe, Clara." He pushed down the straps of her chemise until it fell to the floor at her feet. Her breasts were now naked, purling in the chill air. "Stomach swollen with the evidence of my virility, breasts heavy and full..." he cupped them, thumbs brushing over the taut peaks. It seemed somehow so wrong but so right to have him touch her that way. Pleasure shot through her even as her mind told her this wasn't natural. "You've grown lush and voluptuous with my seed inside of you," he murmured, lips trailing to her shoulder. His thumbs dipped into the waist of her pantilettes and pushed them down. "I want you."
"But, my lord-" she started to protest but he stopped her with his hand over her mouth. His eyes took on a hard gleam.
"You belong to me, wife. Body and soul. It is my right to do with you as I please." He herded her to the bed, steadying her when she almost fell on it. He pushed her shoulders down until she was sitting, then stopped to remove his own clothing. Naked, he climbed onto the bed behind her and urged her to lay back against the pillows. Despite her meek protests, his lips coarsed her body. Then ran down the line of her throat, over her breasts, along her stomach and to her sex. Just as a throbbing ache built there, he shifted. He kept his weight supported on his elbows while his cock brushed against her wetness. Instead of filling her, he kissed her breasts. First one, then the other. Light kisses, then flicking his tongue over them. Suddenly, he began to suck- hard.
Clara cried out as her back arched, pleasure and protest warring within her. Her hand fisted in his hair but whether to pull him away or push him closer she didn't know. He suckled her breast the way a babe might, greedily pulling on the sensitive peaks. His hips thrust forward rhythmically as he sucked, the tip of his cock pressing again and again against her. As he began to tug harder at her breasts with his mouth, he gripped his cock and planted the tip of it within her body. His back was arched to keep from pressing against her stomach, but he still managed to thrust. She cried out at the invasion, his cock filling her while his lips continued to draw at her breast.
He began to move quickly, hips jerking sharply as he sucked her nipple harder. It became almost painful, overstimulated flesh exposed to fervent attention. Suddenly, he pulled away. Clara cried out, still adrift on a sea of confusion. Before she could speak, try and understand, he gripped her shoulders and gently but firmly flipped her to her hands and knees. When she realized what he was doing, she tried to twist away, the indignity of it overriding her uncertainty. How could she let him take her like this? On her hands and knees? Bent over like a beast rutting in the field?
Behind her, he gripped her hips to still her, then surged forward. His cock slid deeply into her, filling her in a way that felt both foreign and delicious. Her body was hypersensitive and she could feel every ridge and vein of him thrusting inside her. Again and again his cock hit some place deep inside her that made her belly clench and her muscles grip him. He moved his hands up to cup and grope her breasts as he thrust. He palmed the heavy weight of them and stroked their peaks with his thumbs.
The combined sensations sent pleasure coursing up and down her body. Her toes curled, breath coming in quick gasps. Deep inside her, a knot seemed to tighten and tighten. She felt as if she might scream, felt as if her body would fly apart or shatter into a thousand little pieces. When she felt stretched thin and ready to break, he pinched her nipples hard, pleasure and pain shooting through her. That knot inside her snapped. Her body bowed as every muscle tensed at the same time. Hot flames of pleasure licked along her every vein. A scream was torn from her throat and behind her she felt her husband still, heard his guttural yell as he released himself inside her and filled her. Pulses of pleasure wracked her body, making him moan.
When the intensity died down, he pulled himself from her and laid beside her on the bed. Awkwardly, she rolled to her back and lay beside him. Her hands came up to rest on her belly, and for the first time since her body had begun to grow, she didn't feel cumbersome or ugly. She felt powerfully sensual. Still, the impropriety of the whole situation warred with her newfound sexuality. Not knowing what to say, she remained silent.
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