Deed to Damnation

Awakening

That night, Henry kept her in the bed but made sure to tell her it would only be when he allowed it. He told her sharing a bed with him would have to be earned and that tonight she had pleased him enough to warrant a soft mattress and clean bedding instead of her place on the hard, wooden floor. The privilege was not without its price as he tied her wrists above her head, looping the course rope around the wrought iron headboard. It also offered him the opportunity to explore her body at his leisure, which he did even though her face flushed crimson at his lightest touch.
"This is much better than the barn, isn't it, Ireland?" He said softly, as he buried his face in her damp tresses.
"Yes, Sir." She whispered.
Delarue wasn't sure whether she was catching on or was willing to say whatever she had to, to avoid being reprimanded. He supposed it was a bit of both at this point. Ireland Devereaux had come to the harsh realization that he was not a man to be trifled with but there was so much more in store for her and he had only just begun molding her.
Henry brought his mouth to hers and kissed her, letting his tongue dip between her lips and taste her tongue. She lay there, letting him have his way, the overgrown scruff on his face scratching her chin roughly. She didn't kiss him back, keeping her eyes closed and her jaw slack. Her lack of response caused him to pull away and stare down into her face. The wench had her eyes clamped shut and she was holding her breath.
"Open your god damned eyes." He growled.
They flew open and when they did, she received a stinging slap to her face that made her gasp.
"I have no interest in kissing a warm corpse. You will kiss me back." He warned and immediately clamped his mouth to hers again.
This time she returned it, molding her lips to his and allowing her tongue to explore his masculine taste. His kiss was demanding and when he pulled away from her the second time, her lips felt bruised and swollen from the ardent probing.
"You are delicious, Ms. Devereaux." He told her.
It had been a long time since he actually enjoyed a woman's mouth in that capacity. His past conquests were either whores who only offered what was between their legs and didn't require or  want that kind of attention, which had been fine with him,  or it was unwilling ladies who would have certainly bitten his tongue off as he ravaged them. Ireland was pure of heart and body and although she was indeed unwilling, she was compliant. He decided at that moment that he was going to allow her to discover what was lying asleep inside of her.
Dragging the tips of his fingers down the slender curve of her delicate neck, he kissed her shoulders, his tongue exploring the small hollow of her throat and moved downward where he stopped over her gently heaving breasts.
"I'm going to show you something." He drawled, his voice thick with want.
"Please...I.." She started.
His teeth were nibbling on the velvety skin of her quivering belly as he shot her a warning glare from his position, his hazel eyes darkening at her timid protest. Ireland let out a raspy, little exhale. Why couldn't he just leave her alone, she thought desperately. Even though she wasn't chained in the barn and forced to eat like an animal, what he was doing now was just as tortuous and humiliating. The feel of his mouth exploring her skin reignited that foreign, unwanted swirling in the lowest part of her abdomen and it kept moving even lower. She wanted to start flailing her legs, to kick him hard in the face for his disregard of her dignity. But she knew what he had been capable of so far and there was no doubt she didn't even know half of it.
With a languorous lick to the flesh above her awakening sex, he rose up and pushed her legs apart, using his knees to hold them open.
"Keep your eyes on me, Ireland." He ordered gruffly, his fingers moving between her parted thighs.
Ireland felt a furious blush consume her at his command and at the way he had started toying with the satiny lips of her softness. He used two fingers to spread the tiny inner folds and inspected her closely. Looking up to see if she had shut her sea green eyes, he was pleased to see she had not. They stayed riveted on him and her breathing had become deep, her breasts rising and falling in a slow, constant rhythm.
She couldn't hide what her body was doing because of him. Already, the pink folds of her sex were shining with her sugar and he let out a small, satisfied huff. She gave a startled chirp as he pressed his thumb to her core and began manipulating it slowly, the little pearl hardening with each deliberate swirl.
Ireland felt her heart start to race and her body broke out in a sheen of perspiration as a pulsing sensation began coming in waves, cresting and falling back, driving her mad at its persistent throbbing. Tiny mewls began escaping with her quickened breathing and she was ashamed by them but they came involuntarily just as her hips began swaying with his purposeful torment. She felt his finger enter her then. It slipped easily inside the depths of her readying walls and there was no pain, just another flood of pleasure that was even more intense than the last.
"Look at you..." He teased, pushing two digits in now.
Although she wanted to disappear underneath his lecherous gaze, not even the pure humiliation could stop what was happening to her. He had begun manipulating his fingers and his thumb, moving them fluidly within her tightening womb and over the sensitive little bundle of nerves until a cry rose from her throat and cut through the air of the bedchamber. The moment before she fell over the edge, he bent down and caught the tight bud of her nipple between his front teeth and bit down, shooting an exquisite and searing pain through her. The cresting wave of bliss came crashing down in unison, soaking his hand with a flood of her nectar as she lay stunned at its intensity, the soft pulsing still consuming her drenched sex.
"Little tramp." He mocked, grabbing her ankle and tossing one leg over his broad shoulder. "Seems to me like there are whores who are ladies and ladies who are whores, wouldn't you agree....m'lady?"
Before she could even become outraged at the crude statement, he plowed into her unceremoniously with a loud groan.
Ireland yelped at the sudden and harsh invasion. He pounded into her mercilessly and so deeply, she could not take him in any farther. He wrapped his hand around her slender neck and held it there, applying enough pressure to steady her writhing body.
"You are so ripe for this." He groaned between clenched teeth. "You were made for me."
And with a roar, Henry came, pumping a flood of hot seed that poured out of her in warm, sticky streams. He pushed her leg from his shoulder brusquely and collapsed on top of her spent body, panting steaming puffs of breath in the crook of her neck.
She laid beneath him in stunned silence, ignoring the crushing weight of him until he rolled off to the side and threw his leg possessively over her calming body. And when his quiet snoring started, Ireland stayed awake late into the night.
What had happened? She felt as if her body was not her own anymore and it was frightening. Whatever he had done to her, she couldn't have stopped it. Was this what men were in constant pursuit of? Is this what caused them to go about their lives acting like rutting pigs? Certainly something that felt like that had to be a sin. Right then and there she decided he would never control her like that again. Ever. It didn't matter that it made her feel euphoric and that the release had been like nothing she thought possible. Ugh! Why was she thinking about what it had felt like? He did it because he wanted to make her do it not for any other reason. He was trying to make her just like him!  She turned to look at his sleeping face. He was  so peaceful, his eyes hooded with lush, dark lashes and his breathing was soft and steady. No! She could never, ever be like him no matter how hard he tried.