Sinful

by Nathalie Gray

  “I hear men enjoy such attentions,” she remarked as she leaned over and kissed his belly, his navel, before cupping his sack and squeezing slightly.

  His look of bliss confirmed the rumors she’d heard. So men indeed enjoyed such attentions. And he would surely enjoy the rest.

  Keeping one hand around his balls, she gently ran her other along his shaft, upward to its root then back down again to its glistening head, always gentle, never demanding or interfering with its own rhythm. A quick kiss on the tip made Gautier stop breathing.

  “Charlotte, you don’t—”

  “I want to.”

  Her words seemed to please him for the haunted, uncertain glint left his pale eyes. He leaned back against the wall and braced a hand behind him while the other reached out and twirled a lock of her hair.

  Kneeling, Charlotte let her hands land like feathers on his engorged member, cupped his balls, and allowed herself the brazen luxury of admiring his manhood, its symmetry, the quality of its form. After licking her lips, she wrapped them around the plumlike head and cautiously drew on it with her mouth. Gautier braced himself against the wall with both hands.

  Making sure she covered her teeth with her lips, she let his glans slide farther into her mouth. The salty taste of him made her salivate. She had never wanted anything more than him inside her. Every part of him she wanted to taste, to grasp and to rake with her nails. Small moans rumbled deep in his chest. Wanting to please him as much as he had her, Charlotte accentuated the pressure on her lips, the rhythm of her hands. Gautier gasped and pulled out of her mouth.

  “You’re going to unmake me too soon,” he growled through his teeth. Eyes squeezed shut, he took several long breaths.

  “I don’t care, I want you,” she replied before capturing his shaft again and plunging it down her throat.

  He cried out with shock or rapture or both, she couldn’t tell, other than what she did to him made Gautier close his eyes and loll his head side to side.

  Pumping her fist hard now, she kept him put with her other hand against his belly, which rose and fell quickly, shallowly.

  “Stop, Charlotte,” he warned, trying to pull out of her mouth. “I’m going to release.”

  With a moan, she sank along his member until her forehead touched him. She’d heard of this practice in much more detail than what he’d done to her and felt more comfortable with the idea of Gautier spilling his seed into her mouth.

  Heralded by a tiny pulsation at the base of him, she felt him release and greedily pulled through the gagging reflex. Like salty honey, his seed slid down her throat with natural grace and Charlotte understood then that she would find no other man to fulfill her the way Gautier did.

  His expression a mix of exhilaration and astonishment, he ran gentle fingers in her hair to slick it back behind her head. “Charlotte…” he began, shook his head as though unable to go on.

  After she’d drawn the last drop, Charlotte stood with a sort of triumphant pride to her. She felt more like a woman now than she’d ever before.

  “Now I want you to take me,” she announced. “Take me standing against the wall.”

  A flicker of grin pulled his lips. “Give me a little while.”

  She mirrored his grin and nodded. She spent the short reprieve caressing his body, not wanting to miss a single parcel of him, letting her hands roam everywhere on the hard and smooth surfaces while stroking and blowing on the more tender ones. Soon, he was aroused again and looking proud of it.

  Pivoting so he would face the corner while Charlotte had her back to it, he pressed himself against her. The hard swell of his member ground against her lower belly in a very pleasurable fashion. Charlotte gyrated her pelvis forward, desperate now for the feel of him inside her.

  Outside, rain now fell in torrents on the thick tarp. Moisture gathered along the cracks in the wall. Somewhere a thunderclap rumbled.

  He must have understood and shared her urgency for he fisted his shaft and with much caution pressed its head against her cleft. “Do you still wish for this to happen?”

  Charlotte replied with her hips, which she thrust forward so she’d force him to sink inside. Her entire world was instantly reduced to her pulsating sex. Everything else dimmed, faded. Except for his eyes, which were a dazzling shade of blue in the dim light of her makeshift home. He opened his mouth but snapped it closed again. He must have gotten his answer.

  They stood there, unmoving, touching, nestled. Then he began to move, driving ever deeper. Air came in shallow gulps to Charlotte’s aching lungs. Wrapping his hips with a leg, she rolled her pelvis forward. Gautier gripped her elevated thigh with bruising fingers. She did not care. As long as he thrust without pause, she cared not for much else.

  Stones biting in her back, she let Gautier crush her against the wall, take her completely, make her his.

  Moaning now without shame, she arched back until only her head was still connected to the wall. The rest of her was a bowstring. Gautier kept driving inside her with all the vigor she remembered. Then he let go of the wall to grab at her backside with both hands. Charlotte cried in shock when he lifted her off her feet and slammed her back against the wall, this time thrusting upward so sharply, so powerfully that a great snarl left him. Good heaven!

  “Do it again,” she moaned. “Again.”

  He did. Gautier drove upward with a marked curve to his lunge and pushed her up by a few inches. Her feet left the ground.

  Swinging her legs on either side of him, he half knelt, half tumbled to the ground. Now that he could use gravity to his advantage, Charlotte could feel the difference.

  Gautier slid some garment under her back before he resumed his powerful push. A mangled exclamation of joy squeezed past her gritted teeth. She had never felt anything like it, not even during her solitary pleasures.

  Gautier was using his member’s entire length from very tip to broad base to explore her deepest recess, hunt for the most elusive trigger of ecstasy, brand each and every measure of her as his own. Unable to keep the cry inside, Charlotte reached above her head and clawed at whatever she could find—her cape? She didn’t know, neither did she care.

  Her obvious pleasure seemed to spur him on. With her legs still wrapped securely around his middle, he let his whole weight bear down on her then repeated the process but keeping his elbows over her shoulders so she’d stay put and bear the brunt of his shoves. Hammering now, Gautier gathered her wrists in one hand while he angled his torso so he could have access to a breast, which he squeezed with unexpected vigor. While the waves of pleasure felt as though they were merging into one uninterrupted surge, Charlotte gritted her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the violent swell to sweep her away. And it did. Sweat slicked both their bodies, made matted strands of their hair as Gautier doubled his thrusts, began to breathe in harsh, shallow grunts.

  A brutal shiver shook him. Gautier raised his head back, his eyes shut. One mighty thrust sent them both gasping and moaning incoherently. He collapsed back against her.

  They remained thus for a long time. Long after sweat had cooled, even dried in places, Gautier kept his member sheathed snugly in her flesh. As much as she wanted to, Charlotte could not fight the first tendrils of sleep as they crept over her vision and obscured her mind. Languor deadened her body and dulled her mind. She drifted into warm, golden oblivion.

  * * * * *

  Gautier opened his eyes. He lay beside her naked form, his arm protectively over her shoulder, their legs entwined. Rain continued to tick against the cover over their heads. Moisture ran along the uneven wall.

  He shifted so he could watch her face. Peaceful, serene. Her hand rested light and hot on his thigh. He could see calluses from writing on her thumb and middle finger. Her breathing came low and regular. He caught himself wishing he could stay this way forever. A twinge of melancholy jabbed his heart. He could not stay this way forever—should not even be this way at all. Gautier peeled his arm off her shoulder. She stirr
ed and opened her eyes.

  With an awkward grin, she rolled away from him and into her cape. He did the same with his habit. They dressed without looking at the other, for which he was grateful. The blush on his cheeks was embarrassing enough already. No need to expose it as well. When he was done, he strapped his dagger back to his arm then sat cross-legged while absentmindedly toying with the cross on his chest.

  Twice now he had broken his self-imposed vows of abstinence. With the same woman. This did not bode well for the rest of his career. Could it be he chose wrong, could not rise above the needs of his mortal coil? Just looking at her as she pulled her cape over her tunic produced a tightening in his lower belly, tightening he had come to dread. Gautier lowered his gaze when she settled in front of him.

  “I’ll go retrieve my dagger—when I come back, we need to talk.”

  He heard her soft tread outside then nothing for a short while—which made him feel more alone than he’d ever felt—before she entered the tent again, sliding her weapon in the sheath at her belt. Her dark curls were in disarray around her angular face. How he wanted to touch it again—her silk. Control. Gautier breathed in deeply. “We do need to talk.”

  “Look, I’m not used to tiptoeing about what I have to say,” she began, stopped, cleared her throat and looked up for a moment.

  “I’d expect naught less from you.”

  She nodded. “They’ve been using you. Guilabert and his cardinal friend. Well, Guilabert for sure. He’s using the Church to further his own ambitions. It’s not the first time he’s done it. That’s why he went to the crusade in the first place, to get coin and status.”

  As much as he wanted to contest, Gautier could not ignore the clang of truth in her words. The knight undoubtedly was using the Church for his own ends. When he looked at her now, that canny, beautiful woman, Gautier tried not to dwell on the notion he would force things too if it would guarantee him her affection. Guilabert may be a boor and trickster but he was no fool. Such a woman would make any man happy. Himself included.

  Gautier shook the silly notion away. She was a noble—he a noble’s bastard, an artisan given the title of knight by a reluctant father so he would leave for the crusade. I’m now a brother first if not a real priest, he mentally reminded himself. He looked up. “Perhaps Cardinal Lanteigne hasn’t realized the kind of character—”

  Her eyes flared. “Lanteigne?”

  “Yes?”

  Charlotte nodded to herself several times, as if he had just confirmed something she had suspected for a long time. A mirthless grin tugged her lips. He could see the ruthless businesswoman right then, the “Iron Lady” as her townsfolk called her behind her back.

  “A wealthy family, the Lanteignes, owns the land upstream from mine. They’ve recently dammed the river, put a lock to it. The river’s level has been going down all summer. I knew they had someone in the Church—several, actually—but I never thought they had a cardinal. I’m willing to bet that it’s the same family, your cardinal and my meddlesome neighbor.” She knelt, as if too riled up to stay seated. A flash of anger crossed her features. “Oh that…Guilabert. Guilabert knew when he met that cardinal it was the same family. He knew it! He convinced him to meddle with the water just to show me who’s in control while Guilabert would wrestle me to the altar. It all makes sense now.”

  Gautier let the cross fall from his fingers. “It’s absurd. Cardinal Lanteigne resides in Rome. He would have to tell someone in his family to dam a river protected by a deed that’s ages old. No one would do it.”

  “He would. Guilabert. He lives with the Lanteignes. In fact, thanks to my father who long ago arranged with them to have the part of their land that connects on to the river transferred to Guilabert. My father bought it for him, to start him in life since he had nothing but pride and good looks. Guilabert put the lock there, protected by the vast Lanteigne family and their cardinal. That’s the thanks my family gets for helping that swine!”

  The scorn in her voice raised his hackles. He wanted to contest, to make his point known. It was all so ludicrous! A cardinal would never use his position to gain secular control. This woman was seeing enemies where there were none. “Impossible.”

  The word sounded weak even in his ears. He could have cursed.

  “You’re one misled man,” she remarked casually.

  Gautier avoided her penetrating gaze. Since when had he begun to avoid anyone’s gaze? Yet her words would not be ignored. Cardinal Lanteigne did come from France, from this province, no less. It was no big stretch of the imagination to believe the Lanteignes next door were the same family. That Guilabert de Lissi owned the one piece of Lanteigne land bordering the river, the recently dammed river vital to the Bourbon-Condé, was just one too many coincidences. He’d probably convinced the cardinal to have his family dam it. What if she were right? What did it make of him?

  “They tricked you. They needed someone with drive, someone they could point in one direction and know the work would be done. Don’t be mad at yourself, be mad at them.”

  He’d come so close to doing a very wicked thing. If she hadn’t convinced him of the error of his ways, he would have married her against her will. But now he knew. “What happens Sunday, why is it so important?”

  “My twenty-seventh birthday. If I were to marry now, everything I own would go to my husband. The deeds to all the lands, the chattels, the distillery, everything. My parents fought long and hard to treat me as they did Jean-Louis and before the ague took them, they made sure I would get a chance to make my own future. So unless I die, in which case the Duke of Valois will settle the family affairs as he sees fit, when I turn twenty-seven, the deed to the entire Bourbon-Condé empire goes to me, husband or not, as I am the last remaining heir.”

  Gautier met her gaze and held it. There was such earnest truth shining there. “I’ve been a fool.”

  She shook her head. “Sincerity is never foolish.”

  “Allow me to disagree on that one, Charlotte.”

  Her eyes flared. Gautier jumped to his feet as the blade of a sword appeared through the tent flap and slapped it up. Damn! He’d been followed. Despite his best effort.

  Under the canopy, Guilabert’s head appeared. “Sincerity is very foolish.”

  Chapter Eight

  Charlotte jumped to her feet. Dagger in hand, she rushed past Gautier and slashed at the tent flap. By that time, Guilabert had backed outside. He cursed when her blade nicked him on the shoulder. Then it was Charlotte’s turn to yelp in pain when the flat of Lussier’s sword bore down on her wrist. She dropped the dagger. Out of desperation, she threw herself at Guilabert and managed to land one good punch on his mouth.

  “Good God, woman, bridle yourself,” he said, looking half amused, half worried. Spitting blood, he grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around.

  Charlotte hissed a curse when he rested his sword across her throat.

  “Come out, Brother,” he said.

  Gautier did.

  Instead of exiting by the front flap, as she expected, Gautier crashed his way out the tent side, and by the time Lussier had leveled his sword at the man, Gautier had kicked him inside the thigh and taken his dagger. The knight dropped with a howl. Gautier crouched to retrieve the sword as well.

  “If you value her life, you’ll let that sword where it is,” growled Guilabert from behind her.

  Chancing a quick peek their way, Gautier froze in place before straightening. He held Lussier’s dagger by the tip of the blade, as though he would throw it. “You won’t be quick enough to stop me.”

  “But I’ll be quick enough to stop her.” Without touching the skin, Guilabert slid the sword across her throat.

  She drew a sharp breath, trying desperately not to let Gautier see her fear, though he must have known she was frightened half out of her mind. A moment elapsed. Gautier seemed to weigh his options. Finally, he lowered his arm. His eyes seemed lit from inside as he stared daggers at Guilabert, his loathing just
as plain on his curled lip.

  “You followed me,” Gautier snarled, clearly disgusted with himself.

  Charlotte felt Guilabert nodding behind her. “Lussier is a very patient man, much more so than I, frankly, and was waiting by the church when you returned from the distillery. The haste with which you procured a horse from the farrier told him you’d found something. He came to get me and yes, we did indeed follow you. Although we were caught in the rain and soon lost your trail.” He chuckled. “It seems I’ve underestimated your skills at furtiveness. And here I thought you were a forward man. It must be your true blood showing. But what else can be expected from a lowborn, a bastard?”

  Charlotte wanted to remind Guilabert he had little cause to boast about his own birthright but remained quiet.

  Lussier stood with difficulty, shook his head a few times. He made a rude gesture and retrieved his sword then without warning, he brought the pommel down hard between Gautier’s shoulder blades. With a snarl, he collapsed on one knee. A deep flush colored his cheeks. From anger or pain, Charlotte could not tell. A bit of both probably.

  Laughing a cold, mirthless laugh, Lussier reclaimed his dagger, slid it back in its sheath at his waist and pointed his sword at Gautier’s belly, letting the tip of it rest against the black habit. The man looked down at it as he would an annoying insect. The knight received the same look.

  “Don’t push me too far,” Gautier said very calmly.

  Though he snorted in derision, Lussier did appear to put a bit more distance between the tip of his blade and Gautier.

  “Quite enough, Brother,” Guilabert snapped. His chuckles ruffled strands of her hair. She tried to move away from him but he held her against his chest.

  “You’re not a priest and can’t be expected to show some restraint, but still, some man of God,” he remarked acidly. “Do you always sample the prey before you kill it? I’m willing to bet you’ve never tasted better than this one.”