The Flame and the Flower (1972) by Kathleen E.
Woodiwiss, first chapter. Excerpt from an eBook.
She shook her head slowly, dropping her
gaze to the floor. He laughed softly and came forward to stand close before
her. He took the bundle she clutched and tossed it in a nearby chair as he
stared down at her, dazzled by her youthful beauty and the gown that seemed
only a sparkling veil over her body. Her ivory skin glowed softly in the
candlelight, and by the golden flames he saw before him a small woman,
gracefully slender with breasts full and round, generously and temptingly
swelling above her gown. They rose and fell slowly with her breath.
He moved closer and in a rapid movement
slipped his arm about her narrow waist, nearly lifting her from the floor, and
then covered her mouth with his, engulfing Heather in a heady scent, not unlike
that of a brandy her father had been fond of. She was too surprised to resist
and hung limp in his embrace. She saw herself as if from outside her body and
felt with mild amusement his tongue parting her lips and thrusting within. From
a low level of consciousness there grew a vague feeling of pleasure and, had
the circumstances been different, she might have enjoyed the hard, masculine
feel of his body against hers. He stepped back, still smiling, but with a new
fire kindled in his eyes. As he took his hands from her she gasped in stunned
surprise for her gown fell in a heap about her ankles. She stared at him for a
split second before she hurriedly bent to retrieve the garment, but those hands
caught her shoulders and straightened her and she was again enfolded in his
arms. This time she fought, for with sudden clarity it dawned on her just what
he had in mind. She realized her disadvantage as her exhausted body struggled
weakly against him. If William Court’s grip had been of iron, this man’s entire
being was of finely-tempered steel. She could not free herself and her hands
pushed in vain against his chest. Her struggles pulled his shirt loose and then
his furred chest lay bare against her with only the thin film of the chemise
between them. She was left breathless each time his mouth took hers and
passionate kisses seemed to cover her face and bosom. She felt his hands go up
her back and with an easy tug he separated the shift and snatched it from her.
Her naked breasts were crushed against his chest and in fearful panic she
pushed hard and for a moment was free of him. He gave a deep throaty laugh and
used the interlude to rid himself of boots and shirt and as he shed his
breeches he grinned.
“A game well played, m’lady, but have no
doubts as to the winner.”
His eyes burned with passion’s fire as he
stood enjoying her now unbridled charms, far lovelier than he had imagined or
even hoped, and she stared in horror at her first sight of a naked man. She
stood fixed to the floor until he stepped forward and with a frightened squeak
she turned to flee but found her arm seized in a grip that was gentle yet as
unyielding as a band of steel. She ducked under his arm and sank her teeth into
his wrist. He grunted in pain and she jerked away, but in her haste she
stumbled and fell full length into his bunk. Almost immediately he was on top
of her, pinning down her writhing body, and it seemed that every move she made
only abetted his intent. Her hair came loose and seemed to stifle her in its
mass.
“No!” she gasped. “Leave me alone! Let me
be!”
He chuckled and murmured against her
throat. “Oh no, my bloodthirsty little wench. Oh no, not now.”
Then he moved upward and she was relieved
of his heavy weight, but only briefly. She felt his hardness searching, probing
between her thighs, then finding and entering that first tiny bit. In her panic
to escape she surged upward. A half gasp, half shriek escaped her and a burning
pain seemed to spread through her loins. Brandon started back in astonishment
and stared down at her. She lay limp against the pillows, rolling her head back
and forth upon them. He touched her cheek tenderly and murmured something low
and inaudible, but she had her eyes closed and wouldn’t look at him. He moved
against her gently, kissing her hair and brow and caressing her body with his
hands. She lay unresponsive, yet his long starved passions grew and soon he
thrust deep within her, no longer able to contain himself. It seemed with each
movement now she would be split asunder and tears came to her eyes.
The storm at its end, a long quiet moment
slipped past as he relaxed against her, once more gentle. But when he finally
withdrew, she turned to the wall and lay softly sobbing with the corner of the
blanket pulled over her head and her now used body left bare to his gaze.
--
“Good morning, love,” he whispered softly
and rose above her to kiss her lips.
She lay perfectly still, fearing any
movement might stir his passions. He needed no stirring. The fires in his loins
were already burning high and growing hotter with each passing moment. His
kisses passed from her lips, over her eyes, down her throat and paused at her
shoulder where his teeth made tiny nibbles, sending shivers down her spine. She
stared horrified as he pressed his bearded mouth to the pink crest of her
breast and lightly teased it with his tongue.
“Don’t!” she gasped. “Don’t do that!”
He raised his heated gaze, smiling. “You’ll
have to get used to my caresses, ma petite.”
She withdrew from those amused eyes and
fought to turn away, pleading with him. “No. Please, no. Not again. Don’t hurt
me again. Just let me go.”
“I won’t hurt you this time, sweet,” he
breathed against her ear, pressing soft kisses to it.
The weight of his body held her on her back
in the bunk and now Heather began to fight in earnest. She held her knees
tightly together while she sought to scratch or claw him anywhere she could,
but always a hand or elbow was there to stem her effort. He laughed as if
enjoying her struggles.
“You show considerably more spirit this
morning, m’lady.”
Then her
arms were slowly drawn upward on either side of her head and held there easily
in one of his hands. His other hand cupped a breast and he played with it to
his pleasure while she twisted and fought against his overpowering strength.
His knee slowly forced open her thighs and spread them and again she felt his
manhood deep within her.
--
A small, satanic smile curved his lips and
he snapped his fingers and pointed to the bunk.
“Now get back in that.”
She was well conditioned to taking orders
and she did so now, terrified of what he might do if she didn’t. Still
clutching her bundle and gown, she sat down on the bunk and stared up at him as
if she expected to be flogged. He dropped the strop on the table and wiping his
face on a towel, came to the bunk and stood for a moment looking down at her.
Then he threw the towel in a chair and took the things from her. He pointed to
her shift.
“Get that off.”
Heather swallowed hard. Her eyes flew down
his body and widened even more. She was fast losing her innocence.
“Please—” she gasped.
“I’m not a patient man, Heather,” he said
and his voice was very menacing.
Her fingers shook as she untied the ribbons
and unfastened the tiny buttons between her breasts. She caught the hem and
raised it over her head. Her eyes lifted shamefully to his as she felt his
fiery gaze upon her body.
“Now lie down,” he directed.
She slid down into the bunk and her whole
being quaked with fear of him and of what was to come. She tried to cover
herself with her hands, feeling the awful humiliation of being naked and a
coward.
“Don’t,” he said and slid in beside her and
drew her quaking limbs to his.
“Please,” she whimpered. “Aren’t you
satisfied that you’ve taken the one thing that was only mine to give. Must you
keep torturing me again and again?”
“You might as well accept your lot as a
paramour, my sweet, and become aware of the finer arts of the profession. The
first thing I’m going to show you is that it doesn’t necessarily have to be
painful. You fought me twice now and the last time caused your own misery. This
time you will relax and let me do as I want without a struggle and though you
may not enjoy it yet, you’ll see what I say is true.”
“No! No!” she cried, trying to struggle
free, but he clamped his hand tightly on her waist.
“Be still.”
Again he commanded, again she obeyed. She
hated him but her fear was greater by far. She trembled violently with it.
“Is this the way you treat your wife?” she
asked miserably.
He smiled and bent over her lips. “I’m not
married, sweet.”
She had no more to say when his kiss ended
but lay tense and waiting. He made no move to mount her. Instead he played
gently with her, caressing, softly titillating, cupping her breasts and
pressing kisses over her body.
“Relax,” he murmured against her throat.
“Just lie still and don’t fight me. Later you can learn what pleases a man, but
for now just lie still.”
Her mind tumbled over itself in its frenzy
and no words sought her tongue. As she lay and submitted to his pawing, her
life passed before her as if she were dying, and she wondered what great evil
she had done that the past years should have abused her so cruelly. Yet even
Aunt Fanny’s endless heckling would be better than having to lie here under
this man’s hands while he pleasured himself with her. Trapped! Caught! Like a
bird in a snare and now, plump and roasted, she must wait on the platter while
he whetted his knife for the carving. And when the feast was done, what then?
The same table? The same dinner? Again and again? Surely no simpleminded fowl
ever suffered its fate but once.
Her thighs were parted and she could not
suppress a gasp as he drove home.
“Easy, sweet,” he breathed.
She closed her eyes tightly and stilled her
careening fears. There was nothing to do now but let him have his way. When he
lay finished above her, he whispered against her hair.
“Any more bruises, m’lady?”
She kept her eyes shut and turned her head
aside. She loathed the very thought of him. He moved against her, urging her
answer.
“Did I hurt you this time?”
“No,” she choked out.
He laughed softly and freeing her from his
embrace, sat on the berth beside her and drew the sheet over her.
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