by Megan McCoy
And with a lover like Hugh Isarnon, that was saying something.
Time slowed. Perhaps it stopped entirely. The world beyond the edges of their box-shaped bed simply ceased to exist. The entire house could have crashed down around them and Elena wouldn’t have noticed it. The wild, thrashing violence of her release came and went rather quickly, but the pleasure of it did not. It lingered, growing in waves and crashing, falling, fading away, then growing and crashing over her again. She lost count of one orgasm as it blended into the next, since all she had the energy for, was to give out a long, mournful groan as one climax died away and turned into another after it.
“Oh, God,” she said - perhaps a whisper, maybe a shout, she couldn’t tell.
“I’m here, Elena,” Hugh said. His voice was only a murmur, which meant that hers likely had been as well. That was good, probably.
“Hugh.” Elena said his name two, three times, like she’d forgotten how to say anything else. She barely had enough strength to open her eyes at first. Elena felt like a fish, boned and gutted, her core hollowed out and carted off to God only knew where. But Hugh was still behind her, still cradling her with gentle, loving intent, even if he was the whole reason she needed such gentleness in the first place. She rolled her head slightly to one side, opened her eye nearest to him, looked up. He had to crane his neck at an odd angle to look down at her. For a time, they looked at one another, not speaking.
It took her three attempts to speak: each time licking her lips, taking a breath, then giving up and closing her eye again to catch her breath. On that third attempt, she turned so both eyes could look up at him, narrowed near to slits - whether from accusation or exhaustion, Elena didn’t know. “You,” she said.
The man had the nerve to try and feign innocence. The absolute nerve! “Me?” he said.
“You... are a... devil of a man... Iron Hand,” she added. Her eyes closed again, and she had to rest after a statement as abbreviated as that one, but she smiled all the same, turning her head and nuzzling his chest with one cheek.
“In my defense,” he said, “you did seem to be enjoying yourself.”
“Beast!” Elena found the strength to turn and gently slap his shoulder. “If you do such a thing again, my heart might burst out of my chest and fly around the room.”
Hugh pressed a hand to his chest, as though he was offended. “Perish the thought, starling. Honestly, the very idea.”
Elena laughed, pushing his hand away. She had another burst of energy to turn around onto her knees, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him with all of the heat, desire, love and fire that a man like him deserved. He, of course, let his hands settle to a place more of his liking, sliding down her back before cupping them around the curve of her ass, but that was to be expected. Once upon a time, even alone in bed, she might have been embarrassed by his touches or tried to push his hands away. Now those caresses made her heart beat faster and she smiled, letting the kiss linger on so as to enjoy the feel of them for just a little longer. Such a wonderful thing, falling for a man like him - if only it hadn’t taken her so long to fall in the first place.
Chapter 3
From outside their room, somewhere in the house, there was a muffled roar, the sound of numerous throats raised in a cheer. The kiss broke, and both of them looked to the door - Elena, in confusion; Hugh, in recognition. “I was wondering when it would get here,” he said, looking back with a faint smile.
“What?”
“Oh, that’s right,” he said, tapping his temple, as though to remind himself. “You’re usually in bed by this hour anyhow.” He touched her cheek. “It’s customary that the guests usually offer a toast at midnight. That makes it officially Cristes Mæsse today.”
Elena carefully knelt on her heels, licking her salty lips again. Before she could say anything, he raised a finger. “Wait here.” Hugh moved in a spry manner for a man with such bulk as his. He was taller than she by a foot or more, and outweighed her by nearly ten stone, better than a hundred pounds, at least. But the burst of energy had him bouncing out of bed like a boy a quarter of his age. Hugh hurried over to one of the oaken chests at the foot of their bed, one of a matching set they shared. It was irrational, silly even, but a part of her missed him while he was out of bed, even though she watched his every move while he lifted out extra blankets, old clothes, several of her summer dresses, and more, in search of whatever he was looking for.
Outside their bedroom, Elena could hear the sound of muffled instruments and singing as their party guests joined in some song she didn’t recognize or couldn’t pick out at a distance. “Whatever are you doing?”
“I have something for you,” he answered, rifling through the chest’s remaining contents. “Thought I made it clear, not to go and rearrange everything,” he said, mumbling that and several other half-formed sentences that she only caught bits and pieces of. His prolonged search at least gave Elena time to cool off after the vigorous treatment her husband had given her, and soon started to wonder if he’d find whatever he was looking for.
“Ah!” he finally said with a gesture of triumph as his search ended. “At the very bottom - because, of course it was.” Hugh gave an annoyed-sounding snort, quickly piled the things back into the chest and closed it. Elena bit her lip, wondering if it was worth pointing out that she’d just have to sort out that mess later, then decided not to. There were more important things than chiding her husband on his packing habits.
Hugh came back around to sit next to her on the edge of the bed, handing her a small package wrapped in brown paper and string. “For you,” he said.
She looked down at the package, then back at him. “What is it?”
He made an urging gesture. “It’s for you,” he repeated. “Open it.”
The string was tightly bound around whatever was inside, but she managed to get it off. It took a moment to adjust herself and sit cross-legged on the bed again, but once she managed, she laid the parcel on the bed between them and carefully folded it open, revealing the item inside.
It was a metal disc no larger than the palm of her hand, a pin brooch made of beaten silver. Ornate line work decorated one side, swirling shapes and designs carved into the curved face. A stylized image of a man and woman stood on either side, hands joined together to clutch a gemstone of pale blue, like a robin’s egg. The gem was small, no larger than a fingernail, but it sparkled even in the low light of their bedchamber.
“Oh, Hugh.” Elena pressed a hand over her mouth, muffling her words and the gasp of surprise that came before them.
Hugh Isarnon said nothing, only watching her face as she continued appraising the piece of fine jewelry.
At the very center of the brooch was a bird in flight - made of dark-colored enamel, brown or black - small wings extended above and below. She brushed her fingertips across the little bird; her vision was swimming already, and she could feel cold tears on her cheeks, but Elena was too far gone to care.
“It’s a starling... isn’t it?”
His smile was answer enough.
“And,” she touched the blue gem, “that’s a starling egg, not robin’s egg. Isn’t it?” Such a small, silly thing to notice.
Again, Hugh said nothing.
“But...” Elena tilted her head, squinting at him, daring to show a tiny smile. “We’ve hardly even managed the one yet, my lord. I mean, it took this long-”
Now Hugh shushed her, pressing a finger to her lips. For a long time, they stared back at one another, her mind a whirling dervish of thoughts and uncertainties. “If we need to add more in the future, then I can afford to get the brooch adjusted, starling,” he finally said, cupping her face in one of his enormous hands. “Consider it hopeful optimism on my part. If it takes another ten or twenty years, I’m willing to wait for that.”
Elena couldn’t speak. She clutched the brooch in her hands, bent her head over it, and began to cry. When her husband folded her up in his arms, pulling her into his lap l
ike a broken-hearted child, she only cried harder, shoulders shaking, sobbing through lips she couldn’t bite hard enough to stifle the sound. As one muffled song faded and blended into another at the edge of hearing, Elena cried in such a way that she hadn’t cried in many a month, like she was full of so much unwanted emotional pressure that finally had a chance to release itself.
“I... I...” She sniffed, tried wiping her eyes clear, but more tears came. Hugh produced a handkerchief from somewhere, bless the man, and she dried her eyes and cleaned her nose as best she could. “I’m s-sorry,” Elena said.
“For what?”
“For... all of it, I guess,” Elena answered, waving a hand, as if that could encompass the entire night, not to mention all their years together, at once. “But this,” she motioned to the brooch in her hands, “this is... such a precious, precious gift.” She looked up at him, managed a trembling smile. “Thank you, Hugh,” she said, pressing a long, tender kiss to his lips.
Hugh waited. “You wearing it will be thanks enough, starling. I’m glad you like it. I had it made the last time I was away at Winchester.”
“But that was almost two months ago!”
“Well, I wanted to give it to you today, and Cristes Mæsse does come once a year,” he said, following up with a shrug, as if that should explain everything.
“And I have nothing to give you in return,” Elena protested, suddenly feeling a pang of guilt. Given her feelings on the holiday, and her reluctance towards the matter of their marriage as a whole, Elena hadn’t made the giving of gifts much of a priority over the years. “Oh, my precious Hugh-”
“Shush,” he said, gently. “The last few months you’ve given me, have more than made up for a few ungiven gifts over the years. And now we have him, too. I can’t think of a greater gift from you than that.” He pressed one hand over her round belly, showing such a smile that her heart wanted to melt all over again.
Elena looked at him for a long moment, processing all of the rush of emotions, thoughts, feelings and desires that filled her almost to gushing in those moments. The Lord Isarnon was someone who could still manage to surprise her after all of their years together, and she wondered just what she’d done to deserve a man like him.
She carefully wrapped the precious brooch in the handkerchief, giving it back to Hugh to put to one side. Once that was done, she kissed him again, hard. Curling her arms around his neck, pushing her mouth hard to his, she dug her knees into the bed to push him backwards. Hugh didn’t fight or protest, but did give a loud, bubbling sort of chuckle into the kiss as he fell to his back on the bed, which allowed Elena the chance to crawl on top of him, to take the dominant position for a change. Her hands went everywhere and all over him: across his kind face, into his hair, across and under his shoulders. She trailed her fingernails through the mess of black and grey curls on his chest, found his hands, squeezed them tight with hers. There was no pretending that she was in control in anything but name, but that didn’t matter to her. She wanted to show him just how happy she was, how much she was in love with him. But to do that, Hugh had to give her the lead for the time being, and he seemed happy to oblige her.
While one kiss ended and another began, Elena set her knees on either side of him. She reached down past the swell of her stomach, between her legs, searching for and finding the thick proof of his manhood. It was soft for the moment, warm to the touch in its nest of black hair, and she began to tug insistently at it, caressing it, stroking it, urging it to life again. She broke the kiss to catch her breath once more, used the opportunity to press more of them over his face, his worn and weathered cheeks, his neck, another dozen times into his beard. His cock was responding quickly, just the way she’d hoped, and she could hear the quickening of his breath.
“You’re a touch more aggressive than usual tonight, starling,” Hugh said in a teasing tone.
“Do kindly shut up, my lord,” she answered, looking down into his eyes with a mocking smirk. It made him laugh, and she nearly floated right off the bed with happiness to hear it.
But she didn’t do that. Instead, Elena judged his hardness stiff enough for her purposes, set it into the proper place, pressed her other hand against his chest and slowly pushed herself backwards, sliding onto his shaft with a long, laborious moan. It was a feeling she’d never tire of, filling herself up, inch by delicious inch; she saw tightness around her husband’s eyes, watched with pleasure as he opened his mouth to expel the sound of his own pleasure. Elena didn’t stop until her bottom was snuggly pressed tight atop his thighs, as full as she could be.
Elena couldn’t remember ever feeling so beautiful as she did then. But at that moment, her eyes glistening, body luminous, the candlelight shining about their bed and across her body, his son resting in her belly, full of lust and love together, Elena truly did feel beautiful.
Hugh appeared to think the same thing. “God above, but you are beautiful,” he said, reaching up for her.
Elena laughed, taking his hand to press it to her face. New tears stung at the corners of her eyes, but she had no more time for weeping. “Am I really, Hugh?” she said.
“Truly,” he answered.
“Then being yours makes me that way,” she said. There was more to speak of, but the time wasn’t right. What Elena wanted then had nothing to do with words, so she didn’t waste time or breath on more of them. Instead, she rested her hands across his chest and began to move, sliding up and down his ready shaft, pricking herself deep with his desire again and again.
It felt good, watching him, knowing that she was pleasing him while getting pleasure in return. Her swollen belly was a comforting, loving thing. Her full breasts swayed with every motion and movement of her body, but they didn’t trouble her. What she felt, stronger than anything else, were the bursts of pleasure coming from their joined center, where his full cock stretched her sensitive walls and left her wanting more. What they had was stronger than any exhaustion she could’ve experienced, and it urged her to do more, to keep going, ignoring the chill in the air or the trickle of sweat sliding down her back.
A devilish thought popped into her head then: couldn’t she tease and toy with him in the same way that he’d done with her? How much could he withstand if she controlled the pace, if she gave back to him a little of what he’d subjected her to? Some tiny piece of her thought that it would serve him right, and Elena hid another smile as she closed her eyes and began to slow her riding, pushing him in as deep as she could take him each time. As further enticement for him, she reached up to cup her breasts in both hands, rolling and caressing them just for him, trying to distract him from the slower movement of her hips.
A lifetime ago, the cold, repressed woman she was wouldn’t have dreamt of ever doing such a thing. Now, when they were alone together, she felt free and unrestrained, a sexual creature of a bygone age, a pagan priestess parading her body in devotion of his lust and love. She did so because she could, and just for him. From the sound of his breathing he didn’t expect that from her, and the thrill of satisfaction she felt was almost better than the sex.
But Elena’s plan was foiled when he took hold of her round hips in his large hands and urged her to move faster, to pick up the pace again. She gasped and opened her eyes, looking down at him with surprise and the tiniest hint of panic, not anticipating that. He looked more smug than she thought he had any right to be, but now they both knew there’d be no retaliation, at least. It was a tiny disappointment, but Elena was feeling too good to care for longer than a moment, and by then, the two lovers were speeding up even more. It was a workout for her, but that entire night had been a workout of one kind or another.
If Elena survived the night, she was going to sleep for a week.
The rhythm continued on, unceasing, for several glorious minutes, but in time it was too much for Hugh to withstand. Those strong hands of his forced her to stop moving, and with wordless urgings, Elena was pushed off of him. She knew he was now intent on finishing t
he deed, not that she minded in the slightest. They both had a mind for speed then, and given her swollen abdomen, Elena crawled onto her hands and knees, presenting her backside to him and its moist, aching center that awaited him. She had enough time to wrap her arms around one pillow and press her face tight into it before her lover grabbed her hips, found his target, and filled her up in one thrust.
Now she could be as loud as she wanted, and Elena cried out her encouragement to Hugh, from mewling whimpers to desperate shrieks. It seemed old habits were hard for her lord to break as well, and he took several opportunities to bring his hand down on her bare bottom, but the pain only heightened the pleasure further, just like he knew it would. Elena wasn’t sure that anything on Earth could’ve stopped her from feeling as good as she felt just then. With her shoulders down and ass upraised she was exposed, but his familiar weight and presence behind her was a comfort like nothing else she could name. She felt safe, controlled, and wanted, nothing more required of her than to push her hips backwards in time with his forward thrusting, waiting for the inevitable end to come.
And how it came, how he came. She heard Hugh call out, the timbre of his voice as it melted into a low growl, and the way his breathing took on a hard, graveling moan with every thrust. Elena wrenched her eyes shut tight and waited, counting every motion, every pounding connection of his hips to hers. Four more times he filled her flesh with his, and on the fourth, he let out such a bestial noise that she half-wondered if he wouldn’t start howling after. She felt him break, the rhythmic pulsing of his cock, the near-indescribable sensation of his seed spilling inside of her. Giving into another whim, she strained and reached back even further, finding her clit and swollen lips, the still-throbbing shaft splitting her in twain.