Ensnared by Innocence: Steamy Regency Shapeshifter Page 24

  Nash licked her ear and sensation raced down her neck. His body hovered behind hers, his heavy staff nudging her back, seeking solace.

  Erasmus’s erection pressed tight against her stomach.

  She shivered. With fear, yes, but also with the unwavering realization that what they asked of her, needed from her, she wanted as well. To ease their pain, to show Erasmus how very much she loved him. To experience it all—unbridled lust. Love.

  She loosened herself from his grasp, nudged Nash back, and in a flurry, gathered the skirt of her dress to lift it up and over her head, dropping it uncaringly behind her. Wearing naught but her thin shift, she braced herself against Erasmus’s chest. “Take me, then. I offer myself to you. I—”

  His lips assaulted hers, brutally, all-consuming. Purely divine. She didn’t expect how much she’d love the primal atmosphere that surrounded them, the raw desire and hot need surging through her, quickening her blood, calling forth a rush of moisture that flooded her channel.

  As if sensing her increased arousal, both men made that puffing noise, airy grunts that came from their throats.

  Erasmus abandoned her mouth, his eyes wild. “Francine, mpenzi,” he pleaded. “Please…tafadhali ondoka.”

  “I do not understand. What are you saying?” And in what language? It wasn’t Latin, nor French. Not even German nor Italian. “What do you want?”

  Erasmus blinked, confusion evident in his eyes. The short whiskers covering his face had thickened, further hiding his beloved features. “Ondoka! Go! Before it is too—”

  “Nay!” Nash tore off his ragged shirt and ripped away the remnants of his barely there trousers. He exposed his savage strummer and Francine felt compelled to caress it, to gentle the beast that raged within him as well as her cherished Erasmus.

  Her hand gravitated toward Nash but Erasmus clasped it and stilled her movements. “Ondoka!”

  “She stays,” Nash grunted, suffering through another racking vibration. He gripped her waist, holding her in place. “We take her now…else control is gone…”

  “Leave!” Erasmus commanded again, attempting to shove her from the bed, even as he stared into her eyes, his face haggard with unquenched passion. His eyes hunted… Yet hopeful.

  Nash held tight, hissing in her ear.

  Both men seemed to have forgotten that she lay melded between them. “Please, Erasmus, you cannot do this. Do not make me leave. I love you!”

  He released her at once, horror etched on his face.

  “Nay. You cannot…” His voice shattered. Hope extinguished.

  “I most certainly can!” Francine beat at his chest, forcing him back down. A move he allowed, causing her to realize he’d finally acceded. She didn’t cease until he reclined beneath her, allowed her to straddle his abdomen. She aligned her hungry body over his erection and rode him through her shift. “Let me help you. Both of you… I want to help…”

  Nash’s hands moved to her shoulders, anchoring her between them. His nails burrowed beneath the material of her shift and he ripped the material to her waist, exposing her naked back.

  Erasmus slid his hand under the remaining fabric. He found her slit—wet, swollen…ready for his possession. He nudged his knuckles along the crevice, pressing deep, then retreating. One nail edged through her curls in a jerky, winding path, the sharpness bordering on pain and heightening her response. She twitched, then grasped him with her feminine muscles when he twisted his knuckles between her folds again, glorying in his touch, his willingness to finally take from her what he so desperately needed. He pulled free of her body and passed the back of his fingers under her nose, painting her lips with the creamy secretions. Her own scent had never been so strong.

  Nash pressed his fur-lined chest to her back. The surprising sensation had her arching up, away from him, into him…confused. He leaned forward, blanketing her with his torso and brought his face to her shoulder, watching. His breath was hot on her cheek. “Kaka, mgao?”

  Erasmus’s eyes burned but he removed his fingers from her lips and brought his hand to his brother’s face.

  Nash proceeded to lick Erasmus’s fingers, groaning. Her inner muscles clenched, empty, excited. Her hands tangled in the rough mat of hair covering her beloved’s chest and she sought his mouth.

  “Wait.” He shuddered again, dipping his other hand past her folds. Once more, he gathered her honey, then brought it to his lips, licking them clean. “Francine, love…”

  Nash clenched his fingers in her hair, stinging her scalp, bracing her. He situated his erection along the indentation curving her lower back.

  Erasmus lay beneath her, his shuddering body turned to stone. Raw need glistened in his eyes. She was lifted fully on top of him, stretched upon his length. The tip of his cock poised at her entrance, all three of them breathing in unison.

  Pliant, she willingly succumbed to their joint guidance.

  “Aye. Like so…” Nash rasped, directing her entire body downward with his weight, seating his brother in her so deeply that she screamed. Tried to angle herself against him even more. Deeper. As far as she could take him, she would—and then some.

  Erasmus united his mouth with hers. Their tongues intertwined, as she sought out every succulent taste she could discover. The passionate kiss sent her head spinning.

  Nash raised off her, tore her shift, not only from her hips but clean in two, exposing her nude backside to the room and his attentions. Her lower body jerked reflexively, thrusting the rim of her sheath onto Erasmus’s lightly furred abdomen.

  Sensation streaked through her. Centered above her cleft, the riotous sparks ricocheted down to her toes.

  She kissed Erasmus harder in response. He growled into her mouth and his rough tongue lapped at her lips, ate at her face, the furious undulations of his hips increasing.

  A sudden sting landed upon her backside, causing Francine to flinch.

  “That’s for the slaps earlier,” Nash whispered in her ear.

  He swiped her significantly harder on the other side. “That’s for me.”

  Her inner workings constricted against the shaft she rode, a light sigh escaping past the kiss.

  “These now?” Nash all but groaned. “These are for you.”

  Several more sharp slaps stung her newly awakened flesh, his palm against the virgin skin raining sensation over her buttocks and thighs, then his mouth was there too, upon her arse, teeth prominent as he kissed her bottom. He hissed, slapped her again, then returned, licking…biting.

  The unfamiliar stimulation caused her derrière to burn. The fire raging in her blazed higher. She squirmed around Erasmus’s cock, stretched wider and plumbed deeper than ever before—yet still, she ground against his pelvis, seeking more. Concentrating on her mouth, he refused her unspoken plea, instead ravaging her lips, her jaw…her neck. Her lower body thrashed between the men. They roared her name in unison, synchronized in some otherworldly way.

  She felt loved, needed.

  Unheeded, tears of raw emotion slipped from her eyes and landed in the light, whiskery fur surrounding Erasmus’s face. When the drops pooled and sank to his skin, he groaned wildly, thrusting her arse higher in the air as his hips lifted off the bed.

  His hands framed her face, roughly wiped her tears away, his kisses never stopping.

  Behind her, Nash left off focusing on her bottom and instead mounted her back, once again aligning his hard flesh along her spine. His hands cupped her flaming cheeks, massaging the tender skin as he began his own ride, sliding his erection against her skin in long, gliding lunges.

  In seconds, his shaft began driving raggedly—small frantic jerks across her back in time to the stinging swats he landed again upon her thighs. Seconds later, he lurched against her and groaned, and she felt the hot spill of his semen on her skin.

  She clamped around Erasmus’s driving erection and squeezed, fluttered her muscles, but she still ached down there.

  Still needed, in a way that mocked restraint or sel
f-control, her body now a slave to desire.

  An unfamiliar command rumbled from Erasmus’s throat as he paused in kissing her. Nash lifted off her back and moved to the side, looking decidedly more human. “Here,” he said, almost kindly, “let me.”

  He slid one hand between them—a normal-looking appendage, some part of her noted. He secured his other around her nape.

  “Lean back now,” Nash murmured, tightening his fingers behind her neck and supporting her, guiding her slightly back so he could lower his splayed palm down her stomach to her mound.

  His fingers spread her open. Tapping and circling the flesh above where his brother thrust. She clenched harder around the hot shaft pleasuring her so. At the next swipe of Nash’s touch, her body blossomed, moistened even more, slicking everything. Inciting whimpers, heart palpitations, breathless pants beyond measure…

  At a grunt from Erasmus, Nash leaned in, angled his head to lick and suck the overly sensitive area. Kissing her deeply as she rode his brother.

  Her head spun faster and she mashed her lips together to stifle a squeal.

  Her intimate muscles contracted just as Nash brought his tongue into play. She cried out. How much more can I take? she wondered, at the same time thinking Please, never let this end.

  Shifting his knees behind her, raising her up toward him, Erasmus gripped one shoulder, used the sides of his fingers to ply at one breast as he caught her gaze with his ever-glowing eyes.

  Nash’s tongue flew over the knot of nerves he’d discovered, making the tension tighten.

  Plucking at one nipple with his rough fingertips, Erasmus flexed his upper legs, then brought his other hand to grip her jaw. He pushed one long finger past her lips, giving the command to, “Suck.”

  That did it. At the unplanned taste of him inside her mouth, so firm, so needed, so blessedly missed, her building orgasm thundered free. Every muscle constricted, then sighed. Bloomed as breathing became optional. Lightning exploded from her core, encompassed every part of her loins and flowed outward, leaving her cells singing, shattered, humming with the aftermath. Numb.

  Completely numb.

  It was so beautiful. Her chest hurt. She cried harder.

  When did I start crying?

  Erasmus lunged inside her, thrusting high, heaving her body upward. She hung suspended above him, impaled upon his massive shaft, held in place by his strong arms and strong legs. Nash licked all around, seeking out the liquid of her desire and the fresh wash of her release.

  “Francine.” Erasmus stared into her eyes. “My love!”

  His tortured face was blurred.

  “Nay. I…” She tried to hold on, to tell him of her love but her forehead creased, clouds covered her mind, buried thought. She couldn’t catch her breath. ’Twas so exciting, being here, with them. Yet she was so exhausted, after days of worry. The last two sleepless nights. So enthralled…

  Spots danced in front of her face. Circled around her head. Stars blasted behind her eyes.

  Breathe.

  An anguished howl came from Erasmus as she felt him unleash his seed inside her body for the second time.

  “Not now.” She battled the onslaught claiming her but it proved too strong. “Nay! Leave off!” Nooo…

  An avalanche of nothing rolled over her mind. Pressed hard against her forehead.

  And swept her under.

  15

  The Bespectacled Beauty Tames the Beast

  Once again, to my heirs, my wonderful boys, Erasmus and Nash. Never doubt my love. Never that.

  I hope these pages, these glimpses into life as I now know it may explain, in some manner at least, why your sire never was the overly affectionate sort.

  A few blessedly quiet, typical months have passed since the last Change. Thought I’d scribble out some less dramatic, less agony-filled thoughts.

  For you see, most of the year I am simply a man. A husband, a father. Most of the year I function like a normal, red-blooded British male. I love my wife, my boys and a good, smuggled-in French brandy.

  I also love not gnawing on raw beef bones, fighting a part of myself I sometimes sense growing stronger every year and always loathe. I keep telling myself that, somehow, by educating you two, we might halt this deadly curse before it touches yet another generation.

  But how can I contemplate ordering you boys to never marry? To never father children? How can I expect you to give up something that has brought me so much personal joy?

  Enough of that now. This was supposed to be a lighthearted entry.

  Erasmus, you’re 14 and off at Eton. Nash, we had your 9th birthday celebration just last week. I gave you a volume of selected works by Shakespeare, most notably A Midsummer Night’s Dream, my particular favorite, hoping to entice your interest in literature (which proves nonexistent at the moment). But alas, it remains the archery set chosen by your mother that you gravitate toward.

  “Let the boys be boys,” she told me when you ran off, pell-mell, to put it through its paces. “Plenty of time for them to falter under the weight of life and responsibility later.”

  She is right. Still limps from what I did to her, damn my hide, but right all the same. So I think I shall set this aside and find you, Nash. See whether I can challenge your aim. Let us all be boys, for once, eh?

  Nash wanted to howl.

  He hated his demmed brother. Bastard had made them both suffer all week because he wouldn’t simply take a crack to soothe the beast.

  He hated his demmed grandfather, whose selfish and thoughtless actions brought the curse careening down upon their heads in the first place.

  But most of all, right this second, he bloody hated Francine.

  His blasted brother’s little Francy.

  Nash knew he’d acted the total arse, goading both his brother and his woman. Too pigeoned by the pink. Had he really said that? To a lady? He should be pilloried. Piked. Banished to the pigsty to forge within. For was that not where pigheaded pricks belonged?

  In the mud.

  He’d listened to them coo and kiss deep in the night, after she roused from the stupor they’d put her in. Had wanted more than anything to roll over and slake his frustration out on the smooth curves of her body. But already, recriminations gonged about his garret like a tide of Vikings laying siege to his brain.

  Aye, you arse, ’Twas your pleasure, and now your own remorse, he bent Shakespeare, as he was wont to do, to fit his particular situation.

  How could he? How the devil could the urges have taken hold with such ferocity that he’d been reduced to covering his brother’s woman?

  Good God. Blake would likely never want to look him in the despicable eyes again.

  The sharing? That was of no matter. They’d shared before, more times than he wanted to count. It was the commitment part of it that skewered him like a poor, severed head perched upon a pike.

  For the mighty Marquis of Blakely had fallen irretrievably in love, and that Nash could never forgive.

  Not when the two of them kept spewing whispered words of adoration on their side of the huge bed, as though he didn’t exist. Heard her whispered question, “Why so many candles, Erasmus, for I know you do not need them?” And then his brother’s rough, husky-voiced reply, “Trying to banish the night. Without you in my life, all was night.” The nausea-inducing exchange at least explaining why Blake had been so insistent Nash kept them burning.

  Sickening, the way they practically purred for each other.

  Especially when they’d exchanged an entire one-word conversation that nearly made him cast up his accounts, bantering about such overly sentimental drivel as endearing, my heart (granted, that was two), stalwart, masterful, salvation….

  Putrid, that’s what it was.

  He’d known this was coming. Had gone searching for it, in fact, when his brother refused to explain fully why, chancing across more than one startling set of papers on Blake’s desk his first night back, searching for clues as to the identity of the woman to blame
for their wretched condition.

  Only he’d found something far beyond a mere infatuation. Notes, showing the parish church where Blake had paid the minister to start reading the banns…

  Nearly three weeks ago, which meant the fool already planned to marry this woman before the beast took hold.

  How could he?

  Not just how could he fall in love, but how the devil could Blake expect to marry someone he hadn’t yet confided their Deep Dark Secret to?

  That bothered Nash twice as much as the rest of it. Never being in love—never planning to—he’d no idea how anyone could contemplate that sort of hurly-burly commitment without being honest with the other. Why multiply an already cursed situation through silence?

  Not only because his brother’s action of “endureth all things” by “not forsaking thee” (on occasion the Bible snuck in when Shakespeare didn’t come readily to mind) and taking others had magnified the urges to the point of insanity for them both, but because his older, perfectly responsible, perfectly proper, demmed stinking perfect brother had found the one thing Nash knew he never would—

  A woman to love.

  One willing to do anything for him. Even prick his sorry arse.

  When the low drone of their voices started again, he roused himself enough to roll off the bed, landing more agilely on his feet than he’d expected. Leading him to realize, now that Blake had finally sated the beast, it no longer hunted Nash as well.

  For the first time in days, he was able to stand upright with ease, look down his nude body and see skin and the standard light covering of body hair. He held one hand out, gratified it was stable. Steady. The nails blunt tipped and regular.

  He knew from experience much of the night would fade from his memory the first time he slept deeply—possibly even sooner. The Beast Lust had never ridden him so hard. Before, he’d always pricked away the urges, enjoying himself in the process. But this time? He was drained like an empty pond. Completely worn down to the point of utter exhaustion.