Rogue’s Possession Read online

  The Brownies left. I busied myself with slapping the pillows into dark mode. It felt oddly domestic to be preparing for bed with him there. I brushed out my hair, the nighttime ritual steadying me. I turned to find Rogue had unbound his own hair and taken off his shirt and was unlacing his boots.

  His hair rained around him, a spill of ink across his golden skin. The lean muscles of his arms flexed as he pulled off the boot, leaving his long foot bare. The black pattern that dominated the left side of his face wound down that side of his body, forking over his pectoral muscles and flat abdomen, disappearing below the waist of his pants. He had no belly button, something simultaneously creepy and intriguing. I’d seen images of him as a boy—had he fruited on a vine? No, even that left a navel scar.

  His skin gleamed, hairless and velvet smooth in the glow of the few pillows on his side of the tent. My fingers itched to touch him, to feel the contours of that body I’d experienced only in dreamscapes. His hands went to unfasten the clasp of his pants.

  “Wait!”

  He cocked an eyebrow at me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Undressing for bed.”

  “Oh no. You’re not sleeping naked with me.”

  “I always sleep naked.”

  I always had too, until I’d taken to wearing voluminous nightgowns to expose less publicly accessible skin to him. “This is not about comfort. I don’t much like sleeping in these nightgowns, but I’m lumping it. You can too.”

  He frowned, but the playful gleam in his eyes gave him away. “This was not a part of the negotiation.”

  “Neither was you dragging this monstrous bed into my tent. I think that’s a fair swap.”

  “These pants are tight.”

  Yes. Yes, I knew that. I also knew I really didn’t want to see, in the flesh, the equipment so clearly delineated by the black velvet material. He strolled over to me, almost stalking, hair sliding over his bare skin.

  “You’re staring, Gwynn. Would you like to touch?”

  I had to swallow to get the words out. “No, thank you.”

  He took my hand anyway and laid it on his chest, satin hot under my fingers. “Touch me. You’ve had other men. You could have me. I am no monster. Just a flesh-and-blood man.”

  “Your heartbeat says otherwise.” I glanced up into his face, the inhuman eyes, the tangled pattern that was and was not part of him.

  “Is that what bothers you? That I’m not human?” He left my hand where it was and snaked an arm around my waist, to press against the small of my back, pulling me closer. Not quite pressing against me. His hair fell around us in a cape when he lowered his head to whisper against my cheek. “I can promise we would fit.”

  “I’ve told you my objections.”

  His skin was inches from my lips and the scent of him made my mouth water, salt and cinnamon and man. The three-four rhythm of his alien heart soothed me even as his highly charged proximity sent fine tremors of arousal through every nerve. No, I had no doubt we would fit. Or that it would be phenomenal.

  “I noticed,” he murmured, holding us still in that position, as if he could sense how much I longed to close that distance, “that among your objections, you did not list the fear that I would lock you in a tower and make you into a ‘Rapunzel fuck-toy,’ I believe your words were.”

  I snorted with laughter at the English words coming out of his mouth. “I may or may not have been kind of pissed off when I said that.”

  “So you trust me that much, at least?”

  I backed off enough to study his face, indulging myself by running my hand up his enticing chest, the strong line of his collarbone to his cheek, the edges of the black lines indiscernible from the normal skin. “Maybe I just trust that I could get myself out of it.”

  He smiled, a thin-lipped promise of dark delights. “Or that you would enjoy struggling against any bonds I put you in.”

  I ignored the heat that flared in me at the suggestion, but he smelled it in me—my thoughts perhaps too loud with this intimacy.

  “Touch me, lovely Gwynn.”

  “I am.”

  “No. Touch me, here.” Slowly he let go of my back and took my hand from his cheek. He held my gaze mesmerized and drew my hand back down his chest and abdomen, to his waistline and below. His ink-dark pupils dilated, nearly swallowing the fulminous blue of his eyes, as he laid my hand over his velvet-clad cock.

  It jumped beneath my fingers, long and steel-hard. I should have known it would be long, as all his limbs were. Even in this upside-down world, some laws of physiognomy applied.

  Rogue closed his eyes and shuddered, seeming overcome. Thrilled to have him at my mercy for a change, I stroked him. He fisted his hands by his sides, threw back his head, exposing the line of his throat, and hummed in pleasure, the sound becoming nearly a song of words.

  “Ah, my lovely Gwynn, I need you so.”

  I stroked the hard line of him once more, memorizing the feel and shape, then let go and stepped back. His gaze snapped down to mine, hard and bright.

  “Why did you stop?”

  I folded my arms, felt too defensive and unwound them. “It doesn’t seem wise to...encourage you.”

  He laughed. Not amused, but with a wild edge. In a flash, he closed the small space between us and grasped me with a hand cupping the back of my head. He liked to hold me like that when he kissed me, but for now—having already taken his kiss for the day—he only stared at me, a crazed look, ferocious and starving, tightening his face.

  “There is nothing you do—nothing, enticing Gwynn—that does not make me burn for you more. I will not give up until I have you, in every way. In all ways. Do not mistake that.”

  I trembled, shaking with both longing and fear. Did I really believe I could escape him if I needed to? In many ways, it had ceased to matter. He already had me tied to him, binding me in invisible, subtle ways.

  “Is this only about the child, Rogue? About whatever you and the Queen Bitch have cooked up?” I asked softly, not really knowing where the plea came from. Probably Starling and all her silliness over true love. I didn’t believe in that, but if I thought I might mean more to him than a means to an end, perhaps...what? I didn’t know.

  “I cannot divide out who I am and all the forces that drive me.” His voice was as quiet as mine, but the grip was still hard, nearly lifting me to my toes. “You are not pieces of things to me, my Gwynn. You are the where all my roads lead. Where all the cords knot. Only you can untie them. Let me have you.”

  “I can’t.” I whispered.

  “But you want to. Tell me that much.”

  I closed my eyes against the intensity of his gaze. How could I deny it, with my nipples so tight they hurt, my sex drenched and vulva aching. Even the pores of my skin felt hungry for him, as if only pressing my naked self against him would ever let me feel less than starved.

  “I do.”

  The confession came out without sound. But he heard me. I felt it in the flare of heat from him. He set me gently down and splayed his hand over my throat, fingers toying with the high collar of the robe.

  “Are you naked under this?”

  My eyes flew open. “You wish!”

  “I do wish.” He replied, a deadly stillness about him. “And you know I can make my wishes come true.”

  My throat tightened. “That would be cheating. Against the bargain.”

  He looked thoughtful, undoing the catch of my robe. “Not necessarily. I might be able to skate by on a technicality.”

  “You wouldn’t risk it.”

  He undid another clasp, revealing the equally high neck of my white nightgown. “You would never let Titania take me. You’d cry off the bargain first.”

  “I might not have time. Or be able to. Even if I wanted to. You wouldn’t risk her wrath. It’s too much of a gamble for you.” I gasped a little as he undid another clasp and brushed the inner curve of my breast with the back of his hand. “What are you doing?”

  He
raised an eyebrow at me. “Undressing you for bed. Surely you don’t plan to wear the robe too.”

  “No, but I’m still not going to...”

  “Let me have my way with you? Take off this ridiculous thing and let me kiss every inch of your delicious skin? Part your legs for me so I can bury myself between your thighs and—”

  “Just stop now.”

  “Why?” He slid the robe off my shoulders so it puddled at my feet and cupped my breast through the cotton nightgown, his hand so hot it nearly burned me. “Do my words make you want to give in?”

  “I can’t give in, Rogue!” I nearly shouted it at him and wrenched myself out of his grasp. “Not without answers to my questions.”

  “The main one being what would happen to this child.”

  “Yes. Though the other objections still stand. And I want to know what’s up with the Queen Bitch and that tick-tock nonsense. Especially if it’s the same answer.”

  He seemed to be thinking. Finding his way around the words. “Castle Brightness is as good a place for you to start as any—for a number of reasons.”

  “But you won’t—or can’t—tell me why.”

  “You’re clever. I’m sure you’ll figure out the whys.”

  “How am I supposed to get to Castle Brightness?”

  “Now that I can arrange.”

  “How?” I pressed my thumbs over my eyebrows, the early morning and long day catching up with me despite the nap.

  “Come to bed,” he coaxed, taking me by the hand and drawing me toward it. “You’ll see how well you sleep with me to care for you.”

  He sat on the edge of the downy mattress and slid back, pulling me with him. Reluctantly, I went, relieved at least that I didn’t need to use the chamber pot. Magically disappearing waste or not, that would be just a bit too much intimacy. Rogue settled me under the covers with my back to him and he curved his body around me in a shell that did feel oddly safe.

  He arranged my hair on the pillow, then slipped his arm around me to cup my breast, so my hard nipple pressed into his palm, making me shiver.

  “Shh...” He hummed and I remembered how he’d soothed me the same way once before, even as he held a knife to my throat, ready to kill me if I slipped up. “All is well. Sleep now. Sleep deep, my Gwynn.”

  Surprisingly enough, I did.

  * * *

  I awoke from such a deep and dreamless sleep that, for a moment, I thought I was back home and that the furry weight nested against me was my cat, Isabel. Without conscious thought, I rubbed her belly fur and Darling rolled lasciviously under my touch, then sent a simultaneously salacious and jealous observation about me having two men in my bed, huffed off said bed and out of the tent. It helped ease the pang of sorrow and guilt I still felt over the cat I’d abandoned.

  Opening my eyes and rolling my head on the pillow, I found Rogue’s gaze on me, focused with blue consideration. Sunlight streamed in the skylight flaps and the tent had already grown warm and stuffy.

  “It stopped raining.”

  “Yes. Good morning, my Gwynn.”

  “Hi.”

  I felt as morning-after shy as if we had done the deed. Except not nearly as sated. Rogue’s hand rested on my belly, dangerously close to the juncture of my thighs, my nightgown tangled high around them. I wanted to tug it down, but that might draw his attention. Which seemed to be entirely on my mouth at the moment.

  “What?” I finally asked.

  “I’m deciding if I want our kiss now or if I want to save it for later.”

  “I probably have morning breath.”

  “Do you think I care for such things?” He caressed my belly, sliding in tantalizing strokes toward my vulnerable sex, clad only in the thin panties I’d wished up.

  What I needed was something more like a chastity belt.

  Rogue chuckled. “Always fascinating to listen to your mind run. From the quiet of sleep into full-on blazing chatter.”

  “You don’t have to listen.” A little stung, and grateful for the mood break, I pulled away and slid off the high bed to the floor, the voluminous gown modestly covering me. Besides, now I really did need that chamber pot. “Can I, um, have a little privacy to get dressed, prepare for the day, that kind of thing?”

  With leisurely sensuality, Rogue sat up and stretched, the lean muscles of his arms flexing. His skin looked warm and soft in the morning light—different than in candle glow, but just as tempting. He combed his fingers through his long, inky hair and pulled it back to the nape of his neck, and suddenly it was tied back, sleek, no hair out of place.

  “I don’t know why you do things the long way,” he observed. “It’s quite limiting.”

  “Force of habit.”

  “Habits can be limiting, also.” He slipped off the bed and I noticed he’d at some point changed the black pants into blue silky pajama-type bottoms. He grinned. “Do you like them?”

  His morning erection tented the silk quite prominently—or maybe it was the same one from the night before—but I decided to refrain from comment on that.

  “I didn’t know it was possible for you wear something besides black.”

  “They match my eyes. I notice you like my eyes.” He grinned at me, then pursed his lips at my nightgown. “I, however, do not enjoy that sleep garment. If I give you another, will you wear it?”

  My mind went straight to a dream he’d once sent me, where I’d worn a blue lace gown for him—the kind that made you feel even more naked for the wearing it.

  “That would be a no. This one serves its purpose.”

  “Mine would be more flirtatious.”

  I sighed at the reminder of our terms. “We’ll discuss it tonight and negotiate one that’s mutually satisfactory, okay?”

  “Agreed.”

  His magic pulsed, a swirl of blue-black and a hint of mace, and he was fully dressed in black leather, dagger at his hip, black boots gleaming. It was half-court gear, half-armor.

  “Got a formal occasion?”

  “Yes. As do you.”

  “Gosh, I must have forgotten to check my Outlook calendar. Care to enlighten me?”

  “Our meeting,” he reminded me in a tone of infinite patience, “with Falcon.”

  I felt the little crease between my eyebrows and knew I must be frowning at him. “We have a meeting with Falcon today? Together?”

  “You wish to begin your quest immediately, I should think. Even if you don’t—I do.” He sent me a searing look, an erotic reminder of last night’s conversation that made me shiver. “I will help you secure an early departure from Falcon’s service.”

  I laced my fingers together, really wishing I didn’t have to pee so badly, and then sealing off that thought so it wouldn’t come true. I was wary of doing anything that might modify the working physiology of my body. He’d outmaneuvered me, yet again. We’d come full circle so that I would be leaving Falcon’s war, just as Rogue had wanted all along. Only now it was dressed up as my idea.

  “I need a moment.”

  For once, he didn’t argue. Instead he bowed gravely, perhaps acknowledging my realization that he’d neatly won this round.

  “I’ll wait for you outside. And I’ll send Starling in. Formal gown, please.”

  “Before ten in the morning? I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

  He ignored my remark and pushed through the flaps. I dashed for the magic chamber pot behind the screen.

  Feeling more human but no less annoyed at myself for falling so neatly into Rogue’s plans, I dressed in the gown Starling had hung up for me. She bustled about discreetly, humming a happy tune while she made up the bed. I brushed out my hair, watching her in the mirror as she smoothed the sheets and pillows affectionately.

  “Nothing happened, you know.”

  She sent me a bright, beaming smile. “If you say so, Lady Sorceress.”

  I contemplated throwing the hairbrush at her. Instead I focused on my “makeup,” magically enhancing the colors of my lips and ar
ound my eyes. I still liked the ritual of going back and forth between being made-up and being my natural self. Anything that helped ground me in my normal self was a good thing, I figured, despite Rogue’s snide remarks on limiting habits. “It seems that we may be leaving on our quest sooner rather than later.”

  “So Lord Rogue informed me—I’ll send a message to Mother that we’ll be visiting.”

  “How do you do that?” The fae didn’t seem to use writing at all, so the business of non-hive-mind communication still presented a mystery.

  “Why, via Brownie, of course.”

  Of course.

  I adjusted the neckline of the green dress so it didn’t dip quite so low. Though Falcon had a weakness for cleavage, and it never hurt to keep him off balance. The scrapes from the rocks looked less angry now, but the bruises had purpled and were tender. Not exactly enticing. Though, given Falcon’s proclivities, the sight of them might turn him on. I decided to leave it as is.

  “We should put up your hair.” Starling held out the little vanity chair for me. “Lord Rogue said formal.”

  And, of course, we just do everything Lord Rogue wants. I kept the grumpiness to myself, however, and used the time to settle my thoughts into careful blankness. I’d need all the cool serenity I could drum up to survive being in the same room with those two and not end up bargaining my life away.

  Starling worked efficiently and soon my hair was in an elaborate coiled braid, like a crown. It also made my scalp ache and I reached up to loosen it a little. She slapped my hand away. “No. Be good.”

  I scowled at her. “This better not be a long meeting.”

  “It probably will be. Word is Lord Falcon has called for a formal lunch to be prepared.”

  “Charming. And here I haven’t even had breakfast.”

  “Tomorrow, I’ll bring you and Lord Rogue a romantic breakfast in bed.”

  “No! Don’t do that. I—” I caught her impish grin and realized she was teasing me. “Wench.”

  She simpered, the picture of innocence. But she also patted my shoulder reassuringly. “I know nothing happened. Lord Rogue looks far too irritated. Good for you for holding out.”