Kyndee resisted, trying to pull her head away, but he was too strong for her. She was writhing, and kicking but he pinned her down with his power. She bit his tongue and he grunted in pain, giving her a split second of release. The second was followed by a flash of pain as Buck's palm again collided with her cheek.
"You bitch. You little bitch," he rasped. "I hope you enjoyed your victory, madam, because it's the first and last you'll ever have over me. Make no mistake about who will win this fight. You are mine, remember? To have and to hold. Well, I'm holding you now, and I mean to have you now, and by God, nowhere in those vows did it say anything about how gentle or rough it had to be."
In the dim moonlight, Buck's eyes were those of some dark monster. He loomed above her, strong and rugged.
Had he been kind and gentle, his same features might have been thought of as handsome: his yellow hair, thick and curly, might have tempted her to run her fingers through it; his smooth-muscled straight shoulders and taut skin might have invited her kiss. But now those shoulders and those muscles were a threat to her, and she fought him with every ounce of strength she had.
Buck's growl was menacing. Realizing that she couldn't escape him, Kyndee tried pleading.
"Buck, please don't hurt me. I am your wife; I did vow to obey you—in all things, even this. But must you beat me to have your pleasure? Can you not be gentle and let me come to learn what it is that pleases you? Perhaps, in time, I might serve your needs well enough that you would seek no other?"
Who is saying these things? her mind asked. What happened to the rebellious, obstinate daring young woman?
She's buried, another part of her argued, buried under the yoke of a promise, heavier by far than that carried by any beast of burden.
Buck's eyes widened, and for the moment he seemed slyly amused. He capitulated by sliding off of her and releasing her hands. Supporting himself on one elbow, he gazed down at her.
"All right, my pretty wench, I can try to be gentle with you. Perchance I can have my pleasure without damaging my property."
Kyndee rubbed her wrists where his hands had chafed her. She was wary of the sudden change in her husband's mood; it disarmed her. He looked at her as would a cat with a cornered mouse, as if he intended to play with her before the kill. She knew he could see her trembling. She moistened her lips and watched his gaze follow the movement.
Slowly and deliberately, he brought his mouth to hers and kissed her delicately on the side of her lips. The touch was feather light; it tingled the bruise he had made before. Kyndee still didn't move.
His kiss moved to her ear, and he nibbled at her lobe. Shivers flew through her but she wasn't sure if they were shivers of desire or fear. He traveled over her eyes, down her cheek, and licked her neck with the tip of his tongue. His breath, heavy with brandy, was not unpleasant.
The torn shift lay open, her breasts exposed to his gaze. His eyes hungrily devoured her chest, rising and falling with shallow and rapid pants. He stared at her, watching her eyes, as he lazily drifted his hand to circle her breast with his finger, drawing it around and around until he cupped it and brought his mouth to suckle.
Kyndee squeezed her eyes tightly shut and gasped. The movement stopped; presumably he waited to see whether she would object. She continued to lie there, shivering, unresponsive, but not fighting his advance. She was afraid to move for fear of arousing his ire instead of his passion.
As he teased her rose tip back and forth with his tongue, his free hand slid along the smooth skin of her belly, around to her buttocks, and along the inside of her thigh. He wrapped his fingers in her downy curls and massaged her in rhythm with his own harsh breathing. Pushing apart her thighs, his thumb caressed the most sensitive feminine part of her that, until now, had never been touched.
Her eyes flew open with shock at the intrusion; her groping hands gathered the bedclothes into her fists.
He raised his head again and studied her expression while he teased her as if to see what would be reflected there.
Kyndee bit down on her bottom lip and looked away. She felt his gaze boring holes into the side of her cheek. It was as if she were outside of the bed, watching what he was doing to her.
Strange that I should feel no emotion, no delight in his touch. I must truly be dead inside. When Fletcher had touched me, even lightly, I had tingled and craved more. With Buck, it is fear that holds me—and a promise of honor. Oh Papa, what have you asked of me?
Her husband invaded her with his fingers, probing, groaning with a lurid satisfaction that no one had trespassed there before. He suckled again at her breast, tugging harder this time, in cadence with the penetration of his hand, and the stroking of his thumb over her feminine nub. Extending his naked body fully he pressed close to her, his breathing heavy, his turgid need obvious and hard against her.
With a taut and husky voice, he muttered in her ear. "Yes, my dear wife, I can be gentle, but you are a mountain of ice."
He bit her shoulder, gently at first, then harder until it became painful. Kyndee whimpered and curved away.
"Ahhh...the mountain moves but does not melt." His topaz eyes hardened and squinted, and Kyndee felt her blood run cold because his stare held a fire that could have cowered a dragon for the fury that raged there.
"No!" he hissed. "I have tried your gentle method, but you withhold yourself—just as your precious Fletcher withheld his friendship and his respect."
"That's not true!" The retort burst from her before she had a chance to stop it. "Fletcher tried, but it was you who declined him, preferring to stay in the good graces of his parents!" Her hand flew to her mouth as she realized what she had done: she had overstepped by merely uttering the ineffable name.
Buck didn't move. In the faint light he glowered at her malevolently with satanic eyes. The game was over; it was now time for the kill.
She didn't want to quiver. She wanted to look away, to run, to escape, but his evil glare held her frozen.
Caught. Cornered. Helpless.
Despite her sheltered life, she had known there was evil in the world, but she had never known true fear of it until she beheld its corporeal existence in the demon above her. Even so, she hated herself for being a coward.
Her husband meant for her to be afraid; she sensed it. He wanted to terrify her. His kind of evil fed on fear; it gave him power.
And lust.
With amazing speed he straddled her and pinned her to the bed by her shoulders, his tumid arousal pushing against her maiden's entrance as a battering ram ready for siege. Kyndee could feel the trembling in his arms to match the rage in his voice. His chest heaved with harsh breaths, his pale brown eyes suddenly dark and demented.
"To be gentle with you is to be gentle with his memory, and that I will not tolerate. You are my wife—mine—body, mind and soul. I will take you anyway I wish, anytime I wish, and anywhere I wish. I will drive his memory from your mind with my every hot thrust until the only memory you have is of me taking you over and over again."
He fell on her and drove into her hard, quickly, and painfully. She arched and screamed at the impact of his forward thrust. Her fists clenched, but he smothered her loud screams with his mouth, plundering her with his tongue even as he invaded her with his searing shaft. As though tormented he dug his nails into her shoulders, panting hoarsely between jagged gasps.
There was no passion, only burn and pain—in her and around her—tearing, breaking, until she was afraid she would end in fragments, never to be whole again. She had to run, leave this horror. Her mind went into itself, into its center where he couldn't touch her, where there was no pain, no sinister eyes, no ugly sounds of his pleasure.
When it was over and he finally withdrew, she never knew. For as she tiptoed