The Rightful Lord (The Saga Of Wolfbridge Manor Book 3)

by Sahara Kelly

  It would seem that made him happy, since he smiled even more widely, leaned to me and whispered “Patience.”

  Then he turned me around and unlaced my gown, helping me push the long sleeves past my hands. The room was warm, so it was no hardship to let the heavy wool fall to the floor, leaving me in my chemise and stockings. I kicked off my slippers and Royce knelt, pulling the dress away from my feet, making sure I faced him again.

  Then his hands slid slowly up my legs and I looked down at his eyes as he untied my stockings.

  He seemed intent, focussed, his gaze drifting over my bared thighs and calves. He stroked me with gentle hands, running them over and around my limbs, making me shiver with delight. He tossed the stockings onto the bed and then stood, unfastening my chemise and tugging it down, returning to his knees to help me step out of it.

  He stayed there, looking at me, at my thighs, my hips, my belly and finally touching my womanhood.

  What does one do when a man tells you that you are beautiful there? I know I blushed; I could feel my cheeks burning at his words and his gaze.

  When he slid his hands up to my buttocks, grabbing them and pulling me into his face, I gasped and grabbed his shoulders lest I tumble on top of him.

  It was a good thing I had that support since Royce’s tongue went to work once more, but this time between my legs. He pressed me close, suckling and licking and teasing the most sensitive of places, making me moan and spread myself wider so that he could do more. I so love this, having the firm feel of a man’s head between my thighs.

  The sensation of his tongue, hot and wet, darting amongst the folds of my sex…well, I can come very quickly, again and again, from such attentions.

  But he refused to let me do so, withdrawing his mouth too often to permit me that final release. It was as if he knew exactly when to stop, and I know I gasped more than once at his exquisite timing.

  He eased away from me, leaving me wet and aching, his skin shining with my juices and a look on his face that shot straight to my loins.

  This was desire. This was lust. This was everything a woman could ever want to see on a man’s face.

  He stood, drew back the covers and let me slide onto the bed. Then he followed me, but I had not noticed he brought a stocking with him. I discovered that when he pulled my arms above my head and tied my wrists together with it, looping the ends around a carving on the headboard.

  He smiled then, a powerful smile that did nothing to ease my own lust for him. “Are you comfortable?”

  How was I to answer that question? I was stretched, my breasts upthrust, helpless to move my arms or hands. Bared to his gaze, and—I quickly realised—completely under his control. So I merely nodded, for indeed I was in no pain.

  But I had to wonder what he had planned for me.

  I did not expect what he did next.

  He found the other stocking and used it to blindfold me.

  It is not easy to describe the myriad of sensations coursing through me at that moment. Shock, of course, at being deprived of my sight. A frisson of arousal too; I could feel my nipples hardening at the merest touch of the air.

  And an awareness of the silence in the room. I could hear the fire burning, little pops now and again. I could smell the smoke, the soap we used on the bedding - and I could smell Royce. Then I felt his breath warming my skin as the bed dipped down on one side.

  He was next to me.

  And every inch of my body blazed brighter than the fire at the thought of him, naked, beside me.

  I shivered as a finger ran from the centre of my neck down between my breasts, over my stomach and to my mound, stopping short of going further.

  He did it again and again, and I couldn’t help begging him to do more. His gentle laugh was most wonderful, but again he whispered only one word - “Patience.”

  I fast realised I have very little when it comes to Royce.

  When he substituted his mouth for that roaming finger, I believe my whole body arched toward him, hungry for his kisses, eager for whatever he wanted to do to me.

  Once again, he traced the route over me, but this time he paused at my breasts, sucking and laving the sensitive tips until I was ready to come, trembling again on the brink.

  And, damn him, once again he moved back, my nipples harder than ever and cold where his wet mouth had left moist kisses.

  How long he subjected me to this divine torture, I have no idea. But eventually I felt him straddle me, pressing the bed down with his knees on either side. I believe I moaned with pleasure. Perhaps now he would do what I wanted. I opened my mouth to beg him, but he placed a finger on my lips. “Patience.”

  I swore if he told me that again I would find a way to free myself and return such torture.

  Then I felt something else against my lips. It wasn’t his finger. How eager was I? I cannot write words adequate to how greedily I opened my mouth and sucked his cock. I slicked it, sucked it, soaked it and would have readily finished him, swallowing everything with joy.

  But once again, this man with amazing control pulled away after a few minutes, leaving me bereft and himself still hard.

  He slid downward, rubbing his cock everywhere. My breasts ached as he tapped my nipples and petted my breasts, then pushed them together around his silky rigid length.

  He entertained himself by playing with my restrained body and aroused me to heights indescribable.

  When, at long last, he arrived between my thighs, I was more than willing to spread them wide. I implored him, babbling, telling him to take me, finish me, or I would not survive.

  This time, thank God, he did not advise me to be patient. It seemed he had reached his own threshold as well. He pushed my legs even further apart and then bent my knees, splaying them outward, offering every tiny piece of my sex to his gaze.

  Blinded, my hands tied, I felt so open to him. I was on display for his pleasure, and yet knew that if he decided to take it, I would get equal if not more satisfaction from the act.

  And I was right.

  I felt him settle, and then his strong hands slipped under my buttocks and lifted me just as he slid forward. He pulled me to him and then, finally, that which I so desired above all things happened.

  He thrust his cock into my body, a sharp, deep penetration, filling me so wonderfully I could not help crying out with joy.

  “Now, Gwyneth,” he whispered. “Let go for me.”

  He moved, slowly at first, sliding in and out, rubbing me with his thickness, and bringing me so much pleasure with each stroke I believe I wept tears of delight.

  He must have been as aroused as I, since he moved more rapidly, in and out, his breathing harsh even as mine came in quick gasps.

  “Royce.” I remember crying his name as my lust rose rapidly.

  “Yes,” he answered. “Let go, Gwyneth.”

  I could not have disobeyed even if I had wanted to. My body was too far down the road to ecstasy. I broke as he thrust so deeply inside me I could feel nothing but him. I gripped his cock with my muscles, and deliberately tried to cling to it, to make it shudder as I was shuddering.

  He groaned aloud, a strong sound that echoed around the room, and then he came, pushing deep into me, cock throbbing and pulsing, as I felt his hot seed flood my passage.

  My spine bowed and his lips on one of my nipples sent my frenzy to another high peak.

  How long we remained thus, glued together in the madness of our releases, I do not know.

  But eventually we eased enough to part, and he immediately untied my blindfold and my wrists. I could see the concern in his eyes and reassured him that I was well and happy as he rubbed the marks his bindings had left on my skin.

  We lay together, our hands linked, enjoying the silence and the aftereffects of our ecstasy. The scent of our loving mixed with the fragrance of our bodies, a heady elixir that told the tale of some excellent physical pleasure.

  Turning a little, I could see him lying next to me, his eyes roaming my
body, his expression one I can only describe as amazement. It touched me so deeply. But instead of words, I took his hand and placed it on my breast, holding it there.

  Incredibly, his cock hardened, and I shook my head in astonishment. “Again?” I asked.

  “Can you?” he answered.

  What else could I say to this man I had desired for some time? “Yes. Oh yes, of course…”

  But this time I made sure to ride him, to be on top almost before he could catch his breath. We were possessed, perhaps, in a state of erotic bliss. We were so very hungry for each other that every touch of our skin, every kiss, every murmur was an arousal in itself.

  I brought him to the edge with my mouth and then slid down on him, enveloping him with the hot slick walls of my womanhood.

  He groaned as I moved, then reached for me in an attempt to set the rhythm.

  I am so proud of myself for what I did next.

  I leaned down and whispered one word. “Patience.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Royce woke as he always did, quickly and completely, a habit learned in his years as a soldier. But this time he was not in his own bed—nor was he alone.

  Gwyneth.

  He turned to see her, resting on her pillow, angled toward him and with one hand reaching his way. He ached to touch it, to hold it and wake her and take her again in the wee hours before dawn. But he knew his night of wondrous bliss was over. He’d broken a rule, gone against his military nature and indulged his desires instead of his duty.

  She turned slightly, sighing in her sleep.

  He admitted that it had been worth it. She was—a dream come true. And although he’d steeled himself to spend his life ignoring the softer emotions, preferring to expend his free time with a few select friends or alone, one look into her eyes and he’d been lost.

  But now, now the sun would rise in a couple of hours, and so would the house. He wasn’t sure how this night might be perceived by those he nominally led. Would they feel awkward? Unhappy that he’d now joined their ranks as the Lady of Wolfbridge’s lover?

  He had no idea, but it was a fact, and thus irreversible. He slid carefully away from her, a last lingering look at her face, blurred in the faint light of the dying candle.

  At least he would see her every day. He could hug her, hold her hand, walk with her and perhaps sneak a kiss or two. It would have to be enough.

  Silently picking up his clothes, he slipped on his shirt and with the rest under his arm he fled the room, returning to his own chamber, finding it cold and empty.

  The cold was remedied quickly as he stirred up the embers and put a log on his fire, but there was nobody there to fill the quiet space.

  He slithered under the covers of his bed, shivering a little at the icy sheets. He’d sleep, perhaps, and wake to face a new day, a new year, with a night of memories that would last him a lifetime.

  But Morpheus deserted him, and finally he gave up, laying there, staring at the fire and letting his mind wander where it willed.

  Just before dawn there was a quiet scratch on his door. Frowning, Royce got out of bed, cursing because he’d finally managed to warm himself. He grabbed his robe and strode to the door, tying the belt as he walked.

  “He heard something. Woke me.” Harry grunted as Darcy gave a tiny woof and hurried into Royce’s room, heading for his favourite spot near the fire.

  “Damn nuisance,” muttered Royce, frowning at the dog who completely ignored him.

  “Yes.” Harry’s voice was level. “You were with Gwyneth. All night.”

  Royce’s head jerked back to face Harry. “What? No…I…”

  “It’s all right, for God’s sake. Don’t get upset. That wasn’t an accusation, just a statement.”

  “And an accurate one, I’ll wager.” Gabriel appeared behind Harry, peering around and grinning.

  “Oh Jesus. What did I ever do to deserve this?” Royce wandered helplessly back to his bed and sat on it, his head in his hands.

  “Well, you spent the night with our Lady,” said Jeremy, who had joined the growing crowd at Royce’s door.

  “I trust she’s still asleep?” Evan yawned. “It’s cold out here.”

  “This is no place to have this discussion,” began Royce.

  “You’re right. Come on, lads. His fire’s going nicely.” Harry led everyone in and Evan closed the door behind him.

  The four men disposed themselves on the end of the bed, the two small chairs near the desk and on the carpet next to the dog.

  Royce raised his head from his hands and looked at them. And surrendered. “All right. Yes. I spent the night with Gwyneth. I broke the rules of Wolfbridge. And…” he paused.

  “And what, Royce?” Gabriel encouraged him. “And what?”

  “And I don’t regret a minute of it.” Royce lifted his chin and stared at the assembled company, daring them to upbraid him for his misconduct.

  “Good for you.”

  “That’s more like it.”

  “About time, too.”

  “I’m amazed you waited this long.”

  The words came like bullets, sharp and crisp, penetrating Royce’s brain, but making such a mess of it that he had to close his eyes for a few moments to get them to make sense.

  “Wait.” He held up his hand. “Just wait a minute…”

  Darcy’s snores could be clearly heard in the silence that followed his words.

  “You mean you think it’s acceptable that I slept with Gwyneth?” Royce finally regained some kind of language ability. “Even though I’m supposed to be her Giles?”

  Jeremy sighed. “It’s like this, Royce. Giles was Giles. He was here for years, he was in love with another woman, and he was never tempted. Or so he says.”

  “I’ve always thought that he must have been tempted a time or two,” agreed Evan. “But knowing that Ione was waiting helped keep him away from the current Lady.”

  “That’s quite possible,” nodded Gabriel. “Besides, Giles was the model butler, a perfect leader, and irreproachable. A source of knowledge, a man of action and the heart of Wolfbridge for many years, as you’ve pointed out. Several Ladies came and went during his tenure. No man of his nature would dally with them.”

  “But I would?” Royce frowned.

  “No.” Harry spoke quietly. “No, Royce, you’ve not dallied with Gwyneth. You’ve simply joined the rest of us. You love her. Every bit as much as we do.”

  He looked around, the earnest faces staring at him with understanding, sympathy and a definite measure of amusement.

  Closing his eyes, he nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do. She is…well, I suppose she’s grown on me. On us. More on you than me, but now me too.”

  Gabriel shook his head. “For an intelligent man, that was a rather convoluted statement. What worries me more is that I completely understood it.”

  “So did I.” Jeremy added.

  “Yes. You’re quite right.” Evan smiled.

  “Well, dear fellow, I believe you’re as doomed as the rest of us. Welcome to the world of normal men.” Harry’s wry grin expressed his delight in this situation.

  “I’m going to have a hard time living this down, aren’t I?”

  Jeremy nodded enthusiastically. “Of course not. We’ll never mention it, would we?”

  The others, taking their cue from their friend, all nodded the same way and said “No” at the same time.

  If Royce had had his pistol, he might well have shot them all at that moment, but all he could do was sigh. “All right. Best get it out of your system now.”

  A snicker, a chuckle, a snort—and everyone burst out laughing.

  Which, mused Royce as he leaned back and watching four grown men convulsed by a situation he had created, wasn’t really the worst way to start the day. He’d indeed joined their club. The gentlemen who loved their Lady.

  And now he had to wonder…when would he be able to love her again?

  *~~*~~*

  Within a week of the new
year, the school project was well underway.

  Each day, one or other of her gentlemen took himself off to assist, since they’d all agreed that someone from Wolfbridge should be there, working alongside the tenants. It was good for the men to do something out of their regular activities, and good for the farmers and carpenters and builders working so hard on it to see a Wolfbridge resident hammering next to them. Even better when they could teach that man how to do something new.

  Gwyneth hoped that a bond between them would develop and strengthen, since a cheerful and respectful working relationship was, in her opinion, the key to a profitable estate.

  Royce had agreed; in fact, he was the one most often stripped down to his shirt, sawing, swinging a hammer and lifting things along with the rest of the crew.

  Royce. Gwyneth couldn’t keep from thinking about her time with him, and though she’d said nothing, nor asked any questions, she could clearly see that the others knew—and approved.

  Finally, one night alone with Gabriel, she had mentioned the situation.

  “It would seem you’re all aware that Royce has broken with tradition and shared my bed.”

  Gabriel was lying next to her, his head on her bare stomach, grinning at her over her breasts. Every now and again he’d toy with one or the other, making her shiver with his featherlight caresses to her sensitive nipples.

  “Of course we are. He’s one of us, my dear. He loves you every bit as much as we do.” He snuggled closer. “But tell me. Is he…is he as big as we think he might be?”

  Gwyneth couldn’t help a laugh at Gabriel’s expression of fascinated curiosity. “I am certainly not engaging in any kind of comparison. So don’t expect me to answer that completely improper question, you devil.” She tapped him gently on the nose. “I will simply say that he’s as big as he needs to be. Just as you are, just as the others are. You all satisfy me so well…”

  For some reason, the words caught in her throat and tears filled her eyes.

  “Oh don’t cry, love.” Gabriel scrambled upward, sliding his arms around her, pressing his chest to hers and kissing her. “Please don’t cry.”