Caleb’s quarters were dark, lit only by the flickering half-light of candles ensconced in little braziers along the wall. His rooms were deep within the family’s sprawling manor, no windows to the outside. Typical of him. A fair scene for secret sins.
He took me with a passion born deep, a hunger and desire we’d kept simmering on the fire for far too long. He devoured me, every part of me, eating me up like a proud, powerful lion. He couldn’t be starved—Caleb would never have any trouble finding willing partners. Tall and brooding, he turns women’s heads with his long, tawny blonde hair and roughly stubbled jaw; he speaks with a gently rolling brogue, calling ladies lassies and fillies and luvs. He's deadly and dangerous, anyone could tell, and I’d seen scores of hot-blooded women throw themselves at his mercies, offering him their bodies with gleeful desire. I know he’s a man who’s never had to go without: still, when we came together, he was consumed by an intensity that drove me wild.
Caleb could have any woman he wanted. It was part of his contract.
“Shyla,” he gasped, pushing me up against the wall and kissing me with feverish lust. “Och, Shyla, you're like fire.”
Any woman but me, that is.
I'm not supposed to lie with Caleb. I am not supposed to lie with anyone. It is strictly against the rules of our House. Our Masters have forbidden it.
To be specific, Ogden forbids it. He is the strongest of our masters, the leader of our family, the old warlock who founded our coven and acquired the fortune, the magnificent manor in which we live. His bond with the black arts is what yielded his success: in return for his servitude, he has seen the reward of riches, power, and prestige. He is man of the community, a city icon. Strong and formidable, he leads an equally formidable family of witches.
But Ogden still has a hunger for possessions, and I am one of them. His position allows him to take whatever he wants of the people in his House, and that includes intimate favors from them...any of them. As for me, though... he wants something more from me than simple, sexual pleasure.
He wants me to be his bride.
From the day I came into the Kerr family circle, Ogden decided I must be his. His first rule for me was that I must never know a man, never, until he so chose. When he found me to be a sufficient enough mate to make me his own.
But there is something neither Ogden, nor the other Masters of our house, nor anyone else in our coven could have known when he laid down that rule. I am The Salem Mistress. What I want, I take.
And I wanted Caleb.
He had me against the wall, panting against my skin as his big hands hiked up the hem of my nightie. I wore it just for him: lacy satin chemise of black and dark cherry red. I lifted my legs to wrap them around his waist and surrendered to his power. He could bang me just like this if he wanted, holding me up with no effort on my part. I could feel the weight of his rigid cock already straining against his black jeans and I laughed merrily in his ear. He knew the rules as well as I did… and he was going to have just as much fun breaking them.
I came to him at the most inconvenient hours: in the heat of the evening, when he was expected elsewhere, when I was supposed to be working. We were trusted servants of our coven and we were charged with responsibilities to our family and township—and I always chose the nights when we were meant to be at hand, to come to my lover’s room and drive him mad with lust. It was a game: will we be caught? Can we satiate our wicked passions and escape the notice of our devilish kin? How many times could Caleb bring me to climax knowing every second passing was a second we might be missed?
It was something of a ritual, too. Bang me before our nightly duties call us away, and let the memory of my naked flesh, my hungry passions, linger in his mind all night. Or bang me afterwards, after the thrill of obsessing on it for hours while our attentions are required by others. Either way, I wanted him thinking of me, lusting for me, hungering for his forbidden pleasures like a mad man.
I felt his teeth against my throat, biting down, tasting the heat on my skin—I unlaced my fingers from behind his neck and dropped one hand down to expertly undo his belt buckle, slipping the hand down to the heat of his cock.
“Caleb,” I murmured, leaning my head back against the wall. He kissed his way up to my ear, pressing his lips against it and then taking my earlobe in his teeth with savage desire. “Am I everything you dreamed I’d be and more?”
“Worth the inevitable execution, luv,” he rasped in my ear. Suddenly he whirled me around, away from the wall, and threw me onto the bed, falling on top of me like a beast on its prey. His hands delved immediately under my chemise, pushing it up to behold the satin black panties underneath, and he began tonguing my wet cleft through the fabric.
“We’ll only be executed if we’re caught,” I reminded him, arching myself against his mouth. “What do you take me for, one of your silly city sluts?”
“For someone who has been ordered to keep herself pure, Shyla Kerr… you seem to know your way around a man’s wickedest desires.”
I delved my fingers into his hair, pulling him up roughly and kissing his soft, exquisite lips.
“Your desires, maybe,” I murmured. “I’ve watched you long enough to see what you want.”
He didn’t answer that one. He knew as well as I did that we were too good to be caught. This wasn’t our first time, after all… Caleb and I had been playing this game for weeks.
He took both my wrists and pinned them over my head, sitting atop me as he did. I laughed again and playfully bucked at his hold; when I saw the look in his eyes, though, I felt a dangerous thrill.
“Do you want to hurt me, Caleb?” I muttered between kisses.
“Maybe a little,” he murmured.
With his free hand, he twined a few strands of my dark hair around his fingers and, quickly, yanked them out of my head. I cried out softly but he muffled it with another hungry embrace. As his lips pressed hungrily against mine, I felt him pressing the hairs against the wrists he still held, muttering a hex in an ancient tongue: the flesh of my wrists seared under his touch, and the hairs ran together, making a tiny braid around the bedpost, binding me there. Still as delicate and fine as ever...but stronger than the thickest, hardest chains.
I moaned, half in pleasure and half in pain. He moved down my body, tracing his kisses along my chin, my throat, to my collarbone. Taking a handful of fabric in each hand he tore apart the bodice of my carefully selected nightie and lowered his mouth to curve of my breasts. While his tongue traced along the cleft between them, I bucked my hips beneath him again.
“You are teasing me,” I groaned. “Fuck, Caleb, I’m aching for you.”
The warm depths of my sex were desperate to be satisfied. They throbbed in hard, needful yearning, and I writhed.
“Not yet, woman,” he snapped. He cupped one breast in each hand and squeezed them together, nuzzling his face between them and tracing his tongue around the tender peaks. He nipped the right one and I arched my back, straining against the cursed bond he’d put on me, moaning.
“Caleb,” I insisted.
He let go of my breasts and tore the satin nightie all the way down the center, exposing my nakedness down to the little black panties. He ran his hands up and down my sides, kissing my belly, his tongue gently toying with the black glass stud of my navel piercing. He bit me again, sinking his teeth in just above my hipbone, making me cry out softly and squirm beneath him.
I am not a woman to be owned. The master of my house believes he can chain me down to his wishes and make me his supplicant little mate, and I refuse. Ogden could never meet my desires of fulfill my deepest lusts—he could never satisfy me as Caleb does, with vicious pleasure, with ferocious lust and needful pain.
I’ve been watching Caleb for years, and I know he’s been watching me. I am not a woman to be owned, but when the biggest, baddest male comes stalking through the wilderness, neither am I one to ignore it. I hunger for power and strength, and Caleb has it. If The Salem Mistress will ever belong to any man, it will be the one who can match her.
Caleb seized my panties in his teeth, and pulled them off with a savage growl. I was already panting and flush, sweat beading on my brow and the swell of my breasts: the aching in my loins was almost too much to bear as he stood up, shedding his jeans.
“Oh,” I murmured, gazing lustfully at his erection standing up from dark curls, eager and promising. I strained against my bonds again, the searing cruelty of his curse burning against my wrists.
He climbed on top of me, pressing his hips forward to nudge his cock viciously against the soft flesh of my sex. Running one finger down the center of my body, he muttered another curse to himself, and everywhere the pad of his flesh touched me it arced a deep, cutting pain, like a knife blade pressed just hard enough to break the flesh. I groaned eagerly, straining to press my slick sex against his, trembling close to madness as he traced his wicked black magic through my veins.
“Oh,” I moaned again as he slid the length of his firm, rigid shaft between the folds of my pussy lips. He ran his hands down my sides and under my back, running his fingers along either side of my spine with his vicious hex painting the pain like ribbons along my skin.
His hands came to my hips, and he grasped them firmly.
“I want you to remember this, lass” he murmured wickedly, pressing his cock against the dripping entrance of my cunt. “That I rode you, little Shyla… that you call me master.”
I managed a grin, a crazy little laugh.
“Why don’t you tell Ogden yourself?” I leered. “Tell him how you fucked his pretty little bride and made her come again and again, yes?”
He took my chin in his hand, gripping it forcefully and ducking down close to kiss me. I could smell his bitter pheromones, rampant and feral, the scent of his arousal like a liquor on my tongue. He bit my bottom lip as the kiss broke and I cried out in ecstasy—at that moment, he slid himself deep into my body, invading me with merciless hunger, and I cried out beneath him, arching up as he drove himself into me.
“Caleb!” I gasped. “Oh, fuck, Caleb! Oh—"
He gripped my shoulders with savage fury, and I undulated under him, pulling against the binds, feeling the agony twist through my skin with every desperate tug. I thrust my hips up to accept him, hot and demanding; I lifted my legs and wrapped them around his waist, feeling my body open up to take him fully, every inch of his magnificent, wicked manhood filling my aching, desperate body.
He closed his teeth on my throat again, biting deep as he rode me, pumping into me again and again. I moaned loudly, more loudly than I should have, eagerly welcoming him deeper. Already I felt the stirrings of fulfillment, a bittersweet dance of agony and bliss.
I threw my head back and cried out in ecstasy as he sent me over the edge; he buried his face against my throat, biting harder as he reached his climax, a fierce, fantastic orgasm filling the deepest parts of me with his seed.
I ached, but it was beautiful. My body tightened around him, relishing even the last feel of his exquisite shaft as he waited, knowing how much I loved it, knowing how good it felt.
When he finally withdrew from my heated, pleasantly tingling sex, he didn’t collapse on top of me, as some men are wont to do; he held himself up over me and met my eyes, solemn and sure as ever. I shut my eyes, trembling in the aftershocks of my rapturous orgasm, and moaned—already I wanted to feel him inside me again, riding me hard and raw, never letting me go.
“Oh, yes,” he panted, taking me by the chin again and making me meet his gaze. “You are definitely worth the inevitable execution, lass… you’re worth every last torture he’ll give us when he finds out.”