A Deep Dark Call Page 5

  “Your behavior toward me was unacceptable,” she told him flatly, without waiting for him to turn toward her.

  He did not. Instead, he asked her insolently and lazily, “Don’t you like horses?” It was as if her dislike for the animals had been palpably apparent to him.

  “No,” she answered tiredly. “Besides, they always seem afraid of me.”

  “They’re not used to your scent,” he told her, as if it was the logical thing to say.

  He suddenly faced her, fixing her with his green gaze. He walked away from the horse’s stall and straight to her, but stopped just a few inches away. If he’d thought he’d surprise her, he was sadly mistaken. She’d anticipated his reaction and looked at him calmly.

  “Your behavior was unacceptable,” she repeated, not caring that he was, after all, her employer.

  He grinned impudently. “What will you do about it?” he asked, as if he were a child daring her to do something dangerous.

  “You’re taking advantage of your position,” she told him in exasperation.

  It was, yet again, infuriating how calmly he managed to answer.

  “No. I am not taking advantage of my position. If I were, I would already have you sprawled on your back, moaning, with my cock thrust deep between your thighs.”

  He was offensive and crude, she thought, too dizzy with the scents around her to think. She did not, however, feel offended by his words. Instead they made her clamp her thighs tightly shut, as if she was afraid she might open them to welcome him there.

  His effect on her was maddening. Intoxicating.

  “So? What will you do about it?” he repeated patiently, like a beast of prey stalking a deer about to bolt.

  He was vile. Infuriating. And he deserved to be punished for taking advantage of her. She clearly did not know what she was doing. She simply found herself closing the distance between them and entangling her arms around his neck. He deserved to be strangled, she thought dazedly. Instead, she found herself kissing him hard on the mouth.

  She felt even more vexed when she found his lips unresponsive. She abruptly broke the kiss and studied him through narrowed eyes.

  “You’re mocking me,” she told him.

  He shook his head. His lips were red and still had the scent and trace of her own lips on them. “No. I’m trying hard to resist you.”

  “Resist me?” she asked, already bereft of the last shred of reason. Why would he resist her?

  “Because, if I were to respond right now, I think I might just devour you,” he told her.

  He was, she saw, simmering with barely contained passion. He’d kept himself in check while she’d lost control. She’d make him lose control, she vowed.

  Without thinking, she used her tongue to trace the seam of his lips. She did not know where this had come from, nor did she care. She had forgotten everything else but him and this moment.

  He sighed deeply, his hot breath tantalizingly coming against her own skin.

  “I suppose it can’t be helped,” he said softly, every word spoken against her lips and sending darts of ticklish sensation inside her.

  It was then that he kissed her. Hungrily. As if he never intended to let her go. He used tongue and teeth that were bruising her lips, but she did not care. She realized it was something she had been fully prepared for. She relished it. She drank into him, just as he drank into her, feeling the warm heartbeat in his chest pressed against her, arrogantly taking pride in the arousal that she already felt nudging against her belly. He would claim her now, she realized with certainty. It was, of course, something that, against all reason, she wanted to happen now.

  It vexed her that he was the one to break the kiss. It was as if he was still clinging to shreds of his self-control.

  He gazed upon her with eyes that were liquid green. “So this is it,” he told her abruptly, as if he was astonished and at the same time relieved.

  She looked at him, uncomprehending. She felt she didn’t have patience for any of his riddles. She just wanted him to claim her. Now.

  She prepared to reclaim his lips if he didn’t plan on kissing her soon, but was suddenly halted by the sound of voices coming from outside the stables.

  In panic that they were about to be discovered, she gazed up at him. He acted swiftly, breaking the embrace, taking hold of her hand and leading her to one of the empty stalls. He carefully closed the door behind them. Then he knelt, forcing her down right beside him. She understood he was making sure that they wouldn’t be seen. Still, the position had a strange intimacy that was almost as enticing as the kissing they’d shared.

  “Mitru and Florica,” he told her, answering her unspoken question. They were actually hiding. Lucy felt ashamed of herself, but soon her shame was surpassed by curiosity. The sounds of a rapid argument in Romanian were heard—Mitru’s raised voice, accompanied by Florica’s pleading tones.

  “What are they saying?” she whispered to Boyar Marcu, whose nearness was every bit as unsettling as it had been earlier.

  He shook his head. “He’s angry with her. He’s caught her kissing another man,” he whispered back.

  “Florica?” Lucy asked incredulously. It was really incomprehensible. She had seen the woman around Mitru and it seemed she loved him to distraction.

  “What a silly girl,” Boyar Marcu muttered.

  He fell silent then, as the argument seemed to go on and Mitru’s voice began to sound thunderous. Lucy began to fear for Florica’s safety.

  “Maybe we should—” she started to suggest.

  “Shh.” He halted her with a gesture.

  The shouting subsided, replaced by sounds that Lucy found even more shocking. They were slaps on the bare flesh. Methodical slaps, which sounded quite stinging, because they were soon accompanied by female sobbing and then by wails.

  “He’s beating her!” she said, suddenly resolved to open the door of the stall and stop the violence that was going on.

  She was, however, promptly stopped by a pair of strong arms.

  “Steady now,” he whispered, holding her tight and not allowing her to move one single inch.

  “Stop him!” Lucy told him, ineffectually squirming. “You’re his employer. You must do something about this.”

  “It’s their quarrel. Let them sort it out,” he told her calmly.

  “But he’s beating her!” Lucy persisted.

  He gave her a half smile. “Not quite.”

  He pushed her gently toward a crack in the door which, Lucy soon discovered, made an excellent peephole.

  The scene that she saw made her blush to the roots of her hair. Mitru had a red-faced Florica over his knee and was spanking her bare behind with grim determination. Lucy could not get a full glimpse of the punished bottom but, by the wails that could be heard and by the steadiness and efficiency with which the spanker alternated both cheeks, it seemed that it was not a trifling matter.

  She averted her eyes, although she realized that she would have liked to keep watching with avid interest.

  “You are blushing,” her employer whispered hotly in her ear, which made her even more aware of his nearness and of the improper scene they were witness to.

  “You should stop this, he’s beating her,” she protested, but even in her own ears her voice sounded feeble and unconvincing.

  “Hmmm, he is giving her quite a spanking, but no, I wouldn’t say he is beating her,” he said drily.

  She would not meet his eyes. The sounds that could be heard from behind the door made her want to crawl as far away from him as possible. She felt intrigued and strangely aroused by the whole scene, and the presence of his warm solid body pressed against her own made her nether parts burn.

  “You condone this,” she accused him. “You think he’s right to punish her.”

  “Well, she did behave in a singularly foolish m
anner. And I don’t think you begin to understand just how foolish this girl was,” he told her, then shushed her when she wanted to protest.

  “Listen,” he whispered. “It seems the punishment is over. It is time for soothing.”

  Indeed, the wails had subsided, now replaced by soft sobs from Florica and firm but gentle words from Mitru. Then, after a while, nothing could be heard.

  “Are they gone?” she whispered.

  “I don’t think so,” he said softly.

  And soon different kinds of sounds could be heard. Sighs and moans. Rapid breathing. Lips touching.

  She could not resist. She peeped through the opening. And there they were, two lovers in the hay, the man holding the woman gently and...

  She averted her eyes, utterly mortified, and heard the boyar chuckle softly.

  “Afraid to watch?” he asked.

  “I have no right to watch,” she told him, eyes downcast.

  “That’s true. We should leave the lovers their privacy.” Then he added, with the same wolfish grin he’d had before he’d kissed her, “And we should have ours.”

  Imitating her earlier gesture, he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, then kissed her teasingly. His teeth grazed and nibbled her lips, sending darts of tingling sensation in her whole body, and especially between her legs, where she keenly felt a void that needed to be filled.

  Lewd pictures came into her mind. Not only of his hard cock impaling her and of his tongue lapping the musky essence between her legs, but also of his hand placing playful but stinging spanks on her upturned bare bottom. She felt disgusted with herself. However, she also felt his body pressed against her so keenly that she could not let go, and she felt his hardness against her belly.

  It was as if his essence was already inside her, filling her. Yet again, she inhaled a scent that was unmistakably his—soap and tobacco, very discernably all male, cock and unspent seed, blood that was hot and burning for her. Burning for release. Everything else seemed to disappear around her and a terrible hunger took hold of her again.

  It was then that she realized that she had been kissing him so hungrily that she had bitten into his lower lip. She drew away, her eyes remorsefully falling on the drop of blood she had drawn.

  “I am sorry,” she whispered.

  “You could at least lick it better,” he told her, a mischievous glint in his green eyes.

  God help her, she did, reveling in the red metallic flavor of his blood. And the taste took her there where she sometimes went in her dreams. A primeval forest where she could mate, where there’d be only a rustle of leaves, the wind in her ears and the sweet scent of prey.

  She shook her head, afraid of the feeling, and came back to herself.

  From beyond the door, sounds of passionate lovemaking could be heard. Flesh against flesh. Whispered endearments and moaning. A man inside a woman, pumping hard within her, filling an ache that had grown between her legs. An ache that Lucy herself wanted filled.

  She closed her eyes. Her father had already told her she was a vile and depraved creature. No wonder she had just given in to her baser impulses.

  She drew away from Ioan in shame, her back pressed against the door, lowering her head in a defeated gesture. She would not look at him and he took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. His eyes met hers.

  “You want this as much as I do,” he whispered, and there was no question in his voice.

  Mutely, she nodded, feeling miserable.

  He kissed her again, this time hard, all the lingering gentleness gone. Her back was already against the door and she found herself lifted against it, her legs instinctively encircling his waist, her hands around his neck. Belatedly, she realized he was hoisting her skirts and slipping a hand inside her pantaloons. God, she was already so wet. His finger found her gushing for him and stroked her tantalizingly. She could no longer wait. She wanted him inside her.

  She opened her mouth to tell him so, but he again silenced her with his kiss. His finger had already found the nub of flesh which made her go even wilder. He was stroking it with gentle, circular motions and soon, everything disappeared around them in a frenzy of light. She was again in her primeval forest, the sun shining on her body, rubbing her sated body against that of her mate.

  It was probably much later that she came to herself.

  “We can come out. They’re gone,” he told her, waking her from her dream.

  The stables were now empty, with no sign of Florica and Mitru, only an imprint of bodies in the hay where they had lain.

  “She made love to him, although he’d just spanked her,” she said, still uncomfortable with the scene she’d just witnessed.

  He gave her an amused grin. “Of course. It was, after all, what she wanted.”

  “What?”

  “She’d been playing with fire, flirting with another man and kissing him. And, as I heard her tell Mitru earlier, it had been all to make him jealous. You see, Mitru is a serious, proper young man and he would not take liberties with her before the wedding.”

  She looked at him, uncomprehending. He sighed. “Most people here, the peasant folk, don’t think it’s in any way wrong to consummate their marriage if they’ve been promised to one another, even if the wedding hasn’t taken place. Since everybody knows they are to wed, there’s no harm in lovemaking. A promise is a promise, after all. Unless, of course, one of them proves unfaithful. Keeping honor is important—and in their eyes, what can be condoned for men cannot be condoned for women.”

  “Of course,” she muttered ironically, recalling that things were not so very different in England. People waved off men’s sexual indiscretions while women who happened to make them would ruin their lives. Still, there was one thing she didn’t understand.

  “But if everyone here believes it isn’t wrong for engaged people to be intimate before marriage, why didn’t Mitru and Florica...?”

  She trailed off, realizing she was still uncomfortable with everything that had been going on, which was probably ridiculous, since she still felt her whole being tingling from what Ioan had done to her.

  “Make love,” he supplied with a slight smile, then sighed. “Mitru comes from a more traditional family, older and higher up in the village hierarchy, and his upbringing was stricter. Besides, Mitru is Mitru. If he really believes the honorable thing is to wait until after marriage, then he’ll obstinately cling to his honor.”

  “So when Florica kissed another, she risked losing Mitru for good,” Lucy said, beginning to understand the ramifications of the situation.

  “She risked a great deal. Because she was seen kissing another man, in the others’ eyes she is already a ruined woman. Mitru should, according to them, cast her off. Either that or beat her black and blue, in order to prove that, from now on, he can keep her in line.”

  She shuddered, but he went on, “Mitru is a good man, and he knows she really loves him. And he loves her, although she has been foolish enough to flaunt herself, just to get his attention.”

  Lucy shook her head, thinking it right to defend her new friend. “Well, maybe not foolish. Maybe desperate enough for his attention to show him that she would risk shunning or violence just to be in his arms.”

  He grinned. “Well, she got her wish. A thorough tumble in the hay and a stinging spanking to boot.”

  “He spanked her hard,” Lucy said, blushing at the memory of what she’d heard and seen.

  “As I told you, he was being kind. He had to punish her. And she knew it too well. I heard her asking him to do it. Honor demanded it.”

  “Couldn’t they have just kissed and made up, forgoing the punishment?”

  Ioan shook his head. “Word has already got out. Mitru’s family is already incensed, and so are Florica’s parents. So Mitru had to make sure she was chastised. If her parents see she’s already been well spank
ed for her transgression by her intended, they’ll be far more lenient when they punish her. Because, make no mistake, they will punish her for her behavior.”

  “Poor Florica...but couldn’t Mitru just stand by her? Just defend her?” Lucy asked with a shudder.

  Again, he shook his head. “He did what he had to do. Florica’s parents will be relieved that he’s forgiven her. On the other hand, his own family will not be too pleased when they understand she got off lightly...and people will whisper behind his back as it is—they’re probably already saying that he should have taken a horsewhip to her in full view of everyone.”

  “That is monstrous! Do people do that to their wives here? Do you condone it?” Lucy asked in horror.

  “I don’t condone abuse, and I most certainly would have put a stop to a beating, if it had taken place in full view. I cannot, however, entirely change the way these people choose to behave in their own homes, nor do I think it is my place to do so. They are harsh. The men are harsh. And the women accept it, because their lives are harsh and they have their own codes they live by. They resent my interference. All I can hope is that their children will grow up to see things differently.”

  “Yet you think Mitru was right to spank his fiancée,” Lucy told him, feeling rather vexed with him.

  “Yes, I think it was the only course open to him under the circumstances. He is a good man and I know for certain he will never harm her or strike her in anger.”

  He gave her a penetrating look, then added rather wickedly, “Besides, things did get solved to their mutual satisfaction.”

  She blushed again, deeply.

  “You are blushing,” he said, stating the obvious, grinning while he looked at her lowering lashes. She would not meet his eyes.

  “Why, Miss Cross, I do really think you were not as repelled by the scene as you let on to be,” he told her cruelly. He went on as she pretended to be staring at some fixed point, far away from him. “I bet you’re wondering right now what it feels like to be taken over your lover’s knee and being on the receiving end of a stinging spanking on the bare bottom.”