Capture an Angel Ch. 01byShadowPaetz©
From the author: feedback, comments, etc, are all appreciated, even suggestions on how to improve, what is lacking, and the readers feelings about the story, good or bad. Chapter Two will be forthcoming. Thanks for reading!
Each weave of moonlight distorted vision in the night fog. Laughter and loud music echoed from open doors far off to Fiachna's right, deadened and unreal. Dark demons of lust cavorted in his soul. He thrust his fingers into the long tresses of the woman kneeling before him and locked her head in a vise.
Cold lust, heartless and cruel, siphoned passion from his soul until all that could possibly remain was mindless excess. His low, sepulchral voice insinuated itself into the fog. "Take it, wench. All of it."
She opened her lips, and he lunged forward. Dangerous teeth scraped tortuously over his distended flesh. He withdrew, only to thrust further inside her throat, choking her.
She brought her hands up to stop him, and finally forced him from her lips to spew his seed to the ground.
His stomach clenched with each spasm. The last jolt rumbled through his loins, and he let go of her hair. The cold wrap of her hand retreated and he tucked the softening shaft back into his trousers.
"Damn it, Fia." The soft voice had a tight edge that forced its way through the fog. Lust and anger mingled in the tone.
Fiachna looked up at the pale-eyed man who stepped from the shadows, and smiled slightly. "Trynt."
"You have a new wife waiting for you."
"And now I won't jump on her like some ravening animal," Fiachna answered calmly. "If I recall, you were the one who told me not to hurt her." Silence, but he could still feel that pale glare, so familiar he felt comforted.
The woman at his feet spoke softly. "May I leave, Sir?" She kept her eyes on the ground.
"Stand up," Fiachna ordered. "Trynt, meet..." Frowning, he stared at her down turned face. "Just what is your name, anyway?"
She stood, but kept her eyes down. "Mairead, Sir."
"Meet Mairead." He tilted her head up with a finger. "Trynt will take care of you. I have other things to do."
"It's terribly nice of you to arrange my night."
The comment was soft, but had a bite to it that turned Fiachna toward Trynt. "I don't want you lurking around my bedroom door all night waiting to save the terrified little virgin. If I find you there we'll have a fight. Do I make myself clear?"
"Aye, Cap'n, Sir. Transparently clear."
Fiachna eyed his first mate for a long minute, glanced down pointedly, and then gave him a shove toward the woman. "You look like you could use a little relief, yourself. Take advantage of it."
Trynt's glare also contained guilt, but Fiachna ignored it. Instead, he turned, and with an unerring sense of direction even in the fog, he made his way toward the open doors of his home.
Inside, the wedding celebration was well on its way toward complete inebriation. A pack of pirates made for a noisy time of it, and half his crew was singing the bawdiest songs they could remember. Fiachna winced. Off-key singing made his head hurt, but he didn't stop them. Instead, he poured a drink of whatever smelled the strongest, and tried to pass the time until he could go upstairs to his – now his wife and his – bedroom.
His cock told him the interlude with Mairead hadn't made much of a difference.
Spun gold fell around Aingeal's shoulders; a halo. White lace dripped from her nightdress, as full as the wedding dress she'd been wearing earlier. Blue eyes the color of an endless summer sky contemplated Fiachna as he entered the room. Bathed in fire light, she waited for him to speak, and he stood, transfixed by the soft appearance of his new wife.
She was an angel, everything about her reflected innocence and a purity that set his soul on edge. God had placed her on earth, minus only the wings that would have alerted the world to her true nature. My God, what was she doing, marrying a man such as he?
His hands were trembled, buried deep in the pockets of a blue robe. The fear he had exorcised with the wench returned as he looked into the guileless blue eyes of the woman he loved. Should he turn and run? Sail away on a ship made of fantasy and lies? Save her from a fate he wasn't certain existed except in his lack of restraint?
The bound demon of lust in his soul struggled at its bindings, writhing in uncontrolled lechery. Pure, lascivious arousal, formed from the thought of a deed long denied, kept him within the room.
Tiny, naked feet peeked out from the hem of Aingeal's nightdress as she stepped toward him. Her body was bare beneath the frill and froth of lace, not a hint of her pale skin showing, all the more arousing as her trusting and loving gaze searched his face. He could have wept with the force of passion sweeping through his soul. Her approach forced even the bound demon to pause in its writhing, awed by the soft light of her gaze.
"I love you," he whispered, a child admitting secrets.
Her smile washed over his soul; removed the trembling need for escape. The soft comfort of her arms draped over his shoulders and the demon writhed once again as he lowered his lips to hers. Fists unclenched, pulling from his pockets to cradle her face in hands that were callused and toughened and yet so gentle his touch was a whisper over her skin.
Pliant, supple, her lips molded to his, forming into an exquisite sensation of indulgence. Long whips of desire uncoiled. The bindings of the demon loosened to allow his hands to trail over her throat, move around her shoulders, and draw her against the hard muscles of his chest. The tender distraction of her fingers winding through his hair enhanced the feel of her body stretching to fit against him.
Still lost in the innocent seduction of her kiss, he loosened the top tie binding her nightdress at the back, running his hand over the skin this revealed. Silky, it warmed beneath his fingers, the tension of tender muscle shifting as she wound her hands over his head. He loosened the second tie, moving further down her back, small shocks of electric desire sparking with each precarious caress. The third tie unraveled beneath his clever fingers, opening the nightdress to the gentle swell of her hips, only her raised arms keeping it from falling to her feet.
The kiss continued as if she hadn't noticed. The caress of her body against his was muted only by the soft folds of clothing between them. He drew back, watching her eyes open, the golden lashes parting to reveal blue wonder as her hands slid over his shoulders to his chest. "Tell me what to do," she said, the soft resonance of her voice full of trust, her absolute faith in him chaining his demon with delicate silver strands of responsibility.
Nervous, as if his experience had fallen away to leave him as innocent as she, he touched the pale skin of her shoulder. It was warm, soothing his nerves until he could look into her eyes again. Any instruction he might have given would sound gauche, irreverent. "Just love me," he whispered, sliding lace down her shoulder. Her arms dropped to her sides, a cloud of lacy white floating to settle lovingly at her feet.
There was no shame in her eyes, no darting glance filled with fear, only the look of a child seeking approval. To give it to her would make her smile, bring the soft look of happiness to her face, and so he moved his eyes slowly over the deep rose of her lips, the petal soft skin of her shoulders and lower still.
Milk-white breasts, tipped with the palest pink rose, an echo of the deeper color of her lips, caused him to catch his breath. Rounded, they invited a touch; invited a kiss and he was unable to resist the offer. Reverently, he touched the soft nipple with a single fingertip, the contact tightening the skin, pulling the nipple up to greet him. Cupping his hand, he cradled the firm globe, caressing it with his lips, moving to the other side before straightening again.
Below her breasts, her belly was rounded slightly with a woman's soft curves. Tracing it delicately, his gaze moved lower. The golden curls between her thighs hid the flower of her sex, protecting, camouflaging, as if in fear of the demon still writhing in its chains.
Raising his gaze, noting the small pearls of her teeth tug at her lower lip, he slid his hand around her waist, leaning in to kiss her again. "You're beautiful," he whispered against her lips. Bending, he caressed the smooth skin of her thighs before lifting her into his arms. Her fingers curled around the back of his head as he walked toward the bed, gazing into her eyes, the lust-filled demon aware of the curve of her flesh cradled against him.
The scent of wild heather surrounded him, heated in the warmth of her skin, retreating as he stepped away after placing her gently on the mattress. She reclined on her side, still looking into his face. Her thighs pressed together to keep herself hidden from the demon. The golden strands of her hair curled delicately on the pillow, and every line of her form was fragile.
His robe slid from his shoulders. Never before had he been so aware of his own body. It was dark compared to hers; dark and threatening. The jut of his sex seemed obscene. The hard angularity of his frame was harsh, jarring senses that had been consumed with her innocent fragility.
The demon howled. Struggling fiendishly at its bindings, it screamed, ordering him to rip away her innocence; to plunge into her with no regard for her sanctity. It howled at him to spread her thighs and sunder the barrier forever; drown her in lust and make her one with the demon.
Her eyes flickered downward, widened slightly, then settled back on his face as if searching for reassurance. Lowering himself to the bed, he slid an arm beneath her shoulders and pulled her close. "I love you," he murmured, the contact of her skin soothing the deafening noise of the demon.
"I love you, too," she answered, kissing his shoulder as she settled beside him. Her small hand circled his chest, fingers running through the fine black curls until he shivered and turned toward her.
Without thought, his hand caressed her breast, lingering on the small bud of each nipple until she closed her eyes. The golden thatch between her thighs was soft when he touched it. Cupping her in his hand, he heard a soft sigh as the juncture widened, inviting access. Her trust was complete and undeserved.
Marveling, he pressed inward with his fingers, a faint slide of moisture easing the motion. The muscle of her thigh quivered against the hard distention of his sex. The demon twisted, arching insanely, the chains almost forgotten in its lecherous madness.
Breathing deeply, Fiachna reached behind him, dipping his fingers into the jar that had been set precisely on the bedside stand. No more waiting or the demon would win. Golden curls parted, his oiled fingers sliding over skin, finding each fold to soothe and caress. Her lips parted over small teeth, the tip of her tongue swiping delicately at the skin of her upper lip.
Reaching back again, he brought the oil to himself, and wrapped his hand around the shaft. Heat penetrated the bones of his fingers as he felt the rhythmic pulsation of his heart beneath the oil. When he looked up again she was staring at his face, her eyes wide and summer-blue.
"It's all right," she said as if she understood his fear. Her hand caressed his shoulder.
Wordless, unable to express the mix of lust and fear that drove him, he kissed her again, capturing her lips in a caress that was both demanding and apologetic. His body moved over hers. The silky feel of her inner thighs surrounded him, arching the demon within his soul into paroxysms of carnal thrusts. The oiled length of his shaft parted the folds of her sex, sliding into position for the final breach.
Holding her head in his hands, cradling her shoulders in the crook of his arms, he moved slowly, sliding against her flesh, caressing her lips with his. He felt liquid, melted in the furnace the demon had created.
Small hands curled over his shoulders, fluttering over the white tracings of old scars. The flat of her palms ran down to press firmly against his lower back as her hips gravitated upward.
The movement startled him, and the demon's maniacal howling renewed. The head of his sex pierced her; shallow, stretching the entrance. She retreated, a soft sound of surprise breathing past her lips. Gritting his teeth, he kept to the slow slide, rubbing the shaft over the most sensitive places. "Relax, Aingeal," he breathed against her cheek, moving slightly downward and pressing inward with each slow thrust.
The warm, liquid kiss of her inner passage was placed on the tip of his shaft before he withdrew again. An indrawn breath expanded her ribs beneath his chest, let out with his slow movements. Again, he pierced her, drawing closer to the barrier that marked her innocence, withdrawing before he reached it. Rocking her, sliding over and within the slickening flesh of her sex, he kept the demon at bay with a passion that was as strong as the lust that had created the beast.
Easing his way forward, he came against the thin barrier of her maidenhead and pushed against it, stretching it slowly until it gave. She gasped, stiffening slightly beneath him, her hands clenching over the muscles of his back. "I'm sorry," he whispered, tears rising to his eyes. He had hurt her, no matter how much he tried not to.
Locked inside by lust and motionless in guilt, he lowered his face to bury it in the soft warmth of her hair, the scent of wild heather both soothing and aggravating him. The demon screamed for release.
"I'm all right," Aingeal whispered, running her fingers up to his shoulders. "It didn't hurt that badly." She held him, all his power having run into her small hands, cradling him in gentle forgiveness. When he raised his head she smiled and brushed the tears from his cheeks. "I love you."
He kissed her, thankful, repentant. The upward cant of her hips against his encased him fully, buried him within her until he could do nothing but finish what he had begun. Wonder took the place of guilt, an awestruck sense of beauty that left him amazed, brought tears back to his eyes even as he withdrew to continue the slow plunging ascent to the finish.
With any other woman he would have waited, would have been able to pace himself enough to allow her a release of her own, but the demon was insistent, demanding, and even pleading now. Sliding easily, the countering motion of her hips aiding the demon, he held fast as long as he could, gasping endearments into her ear without thought or conscious volition. The demon was more vocal, hissing obscene suggestions that Fiachna understood far too well.
Thrusting deeply, he hid his face in her hair and moaned, the tightness gathering his entire body in a coil that felt like dying. Holding her, praying for death if that was the only release, he buried himself inside his wife. The spasms were sharp, barbed ends of the coil whipping him as it sprang open, jerking him, punishing him for a lust he was helpless to abate.
And she held him, cushioned the blows, soothed the pain until it was pleasure once more, easing into the soft afterglow as he slid from her. "Fiachna?" she asked, a small line of concern on her brow as he tumbled to the sheets beside her.
"My God, I love you," he said, pulling her against him, kissing her a little fiercely now that it was over.
"I thought you were..." She stopped, the paleness of her skin blushing in the firelight. "I mean ... did I...?"
Placing a finger on her lips, he couldn't help but smile. She was asking approval again. After everything he'd done wrong, she was still seeking to please him. "You are perfect," he said, watching the blush fade, her eyes begin to sparkle. "I'd have to become a poet to find all the right words to describe you."
"I love you, too," she answered quietly, the sparkle in her eyes bright and joyful. Settling her head on his shoulder, she relaxed against him.
The water closet was down the hall. Swirling through the door, giving her beloved Fiachna one last glance as he sprawled lazily on the bed, Aingeal padded on bare feet past closed doors, the white dressing gown shining in the dim hall light. Noise still echoed up from the celebration downstairs, making her smile in pleasure.
Her ablutions complete, she started back down the hallway, pausing outside Trynt's door. He was probably here, lying sleepless and still worrying about her, the silly goose. She didn't think he would be downstairs, still drinking. It just wasn't like him. She might as well poke her head inside and reassure him.
A woman's voice sounded, masking the creak of the door as she inched it open. Stopping in surprise, she glanced inside. Trynt was here, but it didn't look as if he was worrying overmuch.
Lying on a chaise lounge near the fire, his tanned skin looked honeyed. The fire cast red highlights over the white-gold of his hair as he leaned his head back. The woman perched between his thighs was plump and ripe, her naked body pale in contrast to his, one hand wrapped around the obvious protrusion of his phallus.
Newly awaked desire, not completely sated, coiled within the recent virgin at the door. The space between her thighs grew warm, the picture of her best friend's lust riveting her gaze. The woman's hand moved upward, drawing out the length of his sex before retreating downward. Aingeal shuddered, knowing she should leave, close the door, grant Trynt the privacy he deserved; but still she stood, staring like a child. He was beautiful, she thought absently, the long, straight arrow of his phallus lengthening with each stroke of the woman's hand.
Dark hair swirled, tossed back as the woman bent her spine, leaning over his thighs to touch the tip of a pointed tongue to the ripened head between her fingers. Sharp desire clenched Aingeal's thighs as Trynt opened his eyes and looked down at the woman's face. His fingers touched her cheek, eyes silvering with a lust that struck a corresponding chord in the woman behind his door.
Aingeal stared intently as the woman's lips moved over the shaft in a deep kiss that she thought should have disgusted her. But, no, the woman seemed to swallow the tumescent rod, the expression in her eyes seductive and desirous. Trynt's eyes closed again as he leaned back, raising his face to the ceiling with a soft moan that shivered through Aingeal's belly. The muscles in his thighs flexed as he raised his hips. The woman's hands roamed over his stomach, reaching between his legs as she pulled back, circling over his thighs to cup his buttocks to draw him closer as she swept down on him again.
Again and again, she repeated the motion until Aingeal thought the look on Trynt's face resembled a silent scream. Then the woman raised her head to smile wickedly at him. "I want you inside me," she said in a voice that made Aingeal blush.
"Do what you like," Trynt answered, his eyes still closed, his tone as low as Aingeal had ever heard it. "I'm not about to object to anything."
The woman, tossing her dark hair about her dimpled shoulders, moved to straddle his lean form, lowering herself onto the shining prod below her. Fascinated now, Aingeal took note of each small motion, each slight adjustment until the entire length of his phallus was engulfed within the flower of her sex.
The heavy sigh the woman gave out as she came to rest her weight on his thighs made Aingeal smile in sympathy. It hadn't been so long that she had felt that herself. The smile faded as the woman began to move. Up and down, ascending, descending -- and Trynt rose against her, matching the movement, his hands gripping her hips.