The Virgin, the Knight, and the Unicorn (BookStrand Publishing Romance)
Page 9
“My lovely girl.” His long, strong fingers caressed her, brushing between her thighs and exploring there, one hand rounding over her bottom, the other fondling the most intimate places of her sex. “It shall be exactly as you wish, but later. Later, eh?”
Slowly, tenderly, he slid a finger into her, one, then two. He rocked his hand back and forth, chuckling softly as bursts of pleasure flooded through her. Too joyfully speechless to reply, she nodded.
“Good.” He continued to stroke and slide, and her body helplessly responded, feeling heavier, lusher, more open. “Good as gold you are now. I knew you were gold down there, too.”
She felt too pleasured to protest at his earlier looking.
He laid her gently down onto the bed and his lean, hard body bowed over hers as he tongued the back of her neck. She raised herself toward him, tumbling back to the mattress in delighted shock when she encountered his hard, aroused manhood.
So large! I did not know. How could she know? Her parents had been discreet in their lovemaking, and though she had guessed part of human mating from her dealings with animals, she had not known or understood the whole.
“Hush, now. No need for hurry,” her new husband was saying, “We have all night, many long days and nights, especially now winter is coming. There is no rush for anything in our bed, Matilde, only love. Keep your eyes closed and feel.” Gawain touched her again, delicate and sweet. “I would not harm you for a king’s ransom.” He folded her into his embrace and kissed her lips. “Sweet little unicorn.”
“Unicorns are male,” she almost said, but his mouth demanded an answer in kisses and she paid him back gladly. “Please,” she said then, “Can I see you? Can I touch you?”
* * * *
Caring, clever, brave, loving, kind, passionate, and wise. How had he won such a maiden, and won her as his wife? This is my best quest, my greatest prize. Thank God above Matilde was sent with me, to me, that we found each other.
But prayer and thanks were for later, for church. Stopping himself from besieging her maiden castle at once, Gawain crawled to the edge of the bed. After much fumbling, he found a lantern and lit it. Balancing it on top of a thick roof crossbeam, he turned.
Matilde knelt on the bed, goggling at him. The worship in her eyes made him feel like a pagan god, and when her fascinated gaze reached below his navel, he had much to do not to laugh.
But his young new wife was not laughing. Slowly, as if she was a puppet controlled by strings, Matilde raised both arms toward him, reaching out. “Beautiful,” she whispered. “Made in God’s image. I never understood that before. I do now.”
He saw himself reflected in her great, wide eyes, a big, strapping man, sinewy and tanned, honed like a blade. Hair curling up and down his long legs, his chest, his muscular arms. His manhood, thick as a branch, rising, soaring for her.
Matilde looked into his eyes, then stared lower at him. As lingering as a caress, her eyes traced the swollen tip, the straight column of his aroused sex. Slowly, as if he was a nervous beast, she shuffled on her knees to him. Will she? Dare she? Does she want to?
“Yes!” Gawain moaned aloud as she took him, unprompted, into the warm, tight cave of her mouth, kissing and sucking. One of her small hands cupped him and he was in a garden of delight. To be sure, her elbow kept needling into his thigh and she was enthusiastic in her intimate kisses rather than experienced, but even so—
“Stop,” he managed to grind out. “Better, both of us—”
Desperate not to be clumsy, to make this first time special for her, he drew her down onto the mattress. Matilde, being Matilde, was talking.
“Did I do right? Did I do something amiss? It looked so hard and delicate together, I just wondered if I might touch you there, and a kiss is so lovely, do you not think?”
He kissed her, tasting his own salt and then her sweetness on her trembling mouth. “It was, is lovely,” he said, cuddling her close. “You did nothing wrong, my love, nothing.” You startled and amazed me, but since you are Matilde, I should be becoming used to that. “You gave me much pleasure.” Much more and I could not have restrained myself.
Her clouded eyes brightened. “I like to please you.”
“And I you, my sweet, and this is one journey where we shall go better together.” Promising himself an intimate kiss of Matilde before the night was out, Gawain cupped her breasts and kissed her pink, tightened nipples. She was as supple as a weasel, pretty as a pine marten—prettier, for she was a woman, his woman.
“All mine,” he murmured, tasting the silk of her navel and licking the cream of her flanks. She reared up as he shifted to capture her mouth again, her eyes half-closed, her face and throat rosy and flushed, as if she was staring at the sun. She feels this for me. He was gratified and humbled, all at once.
“Easy.” He grasped her wandering hands and closed his fingers about her wrists, marveling anew as she arched her breasts into his other hand as if she was a living bow. “Easy, there. Soon we shall be one, true man and wife.”
He floated his free hand through her golden curls, sinking slowly into her secret place, easing and pleasuring with his fingers. She was slicked with moisture, panting and openmouthed, her golden hair loose and wild.
“Gawain!” she cried, bucking up a second time, and he loosened her hands, feeling her arms lock about his neck. He lay on her and over her a moment, savoring her pliant, supple body, allowing her to learn his. “More,” she moaned, trying to pull him closer.
Deftly, he coaxed her smooth thighs apart, wallowing in her scent, the way the candle flame dappled light over her skin. Sliding his hands beneath her hips, he cradled her. Gliding his manhood between her legs, he began a voluptuous, slow plunge into her sex.
She shivered once, like a plucked harp string, and he felt himself being drawn deeper into her. “Yours!” she cried, a strangled sound, but one of triumph, too. “More,” she said again, rocking against him, her breasts clashing deliciously against his torso.
Ordering me already? No matter, here.
“Hook your legs round me, sweeting,” he whispered against her flushed face, and now, as she did so, he could not hold back the building charge within him any longer. Moving as one, they rode each other, an ambling canter at the start and a furious, hot gallop at the end. He heard her cry out, yelling his name, and saw her stiffen, giving herself to him utterly. Unable to resist he, too, gave, roaring into that final, dazzling rapture.
* * * *
“Are we still on earth?” Matilde asked, an uncounted time later. Content, sated in a way she had not thought possible, she doodled her fingers up and down her husband’s chest and flanks.
“Yes, thank God above.” Gawain snuggled her into the shelter of his arm and kissed the tip of her nose. Clearly admiring her by the light of their guttering candle, he smoothed his hands over her and even growled softly, like the purr of a cat. “You are perfect.”
She raised herself on her elbow. “Although I argue and question?”
* * * *
Gawain blew playfully on her cloud of hair, enchanted by its soft rustle, like rain. “I like you disputing. It makes me think.”
He felt her shrug. “If you lose, you can always spank me. As my husband, it is your right.”
Clearly, she was trying to be sanguine, but he could see her blushing. He wrapped a tress of blonde about his fist and gently pulled her to his mouth for a long, slow kiss. “You have a very smackable arse, Matilde,” he admitted when they surfaced a little, “but I hope I am not so unjust.”
“You were when we first met.”
“But no longer?”
He was relieved when she shook her head. Later, not yet but very soon, he would teach her the luxury of a purely pleasurable spanking. I know she will savor it as much as I. And afterwards, when we mate…
“What are you smiling about?”
“Our future,” he said quickly, and rolled on top of her again.
She kissed him as heartily as he embra
ced her but then paused, midcaress, clearly listening. “What is it?” he asked, disappointed where once he would have been vastly annoyed.
“Soft hooves, outside. Perhaps a sheep or goat has got free.” She slipped out of his arms and felt her way to the small casement, a golden shadow, peeping out. “Oh!”
He joined her by the shutters and, after silently worshipping her flawless profile, he looked down with her into the street.
There was a waning moon and by its silver glow, he saw a chalk-white flank, the proud curve of a graceful neck, dainty, tripping hooves, soundless on the cobbles.
A creature of allure and enchantment herself, Matilde leaned against the shutter. “I sensed it. I did not hear anything, not exactly. Is it…?”
She stopped as the creature reached a crossroads. Like her, Gawain watched and waited, the hair on his neck feeling to stand on end. How could I have presumed to hunt down this?
“Here, with us, in town?” whispered Matilde.
“Why not? It is a magic thing,” he answered. “It can go where it likes.” Where better to hide than in a town, where all are free?
Silent as silver, the beast turned into another street. Its flowing mane and tail, illuminated and reflected by the moon, glittered as golden as his wife. A shimmering shadow, like a long, straight horn, played against the thatched walls of the houses across from their own, then it was gone.
“A pony loose, do you think?” whispered Matilde when the night was normal again.
Gawain shook his head. He was not certain what he had seen, but he felt it was a blessing for them both. “Does it matter?” Turning to face Matilde again, he smiled. “Come back to bed.”
“Yes, Gawain,” said his wife, with a loving gleam in her eye. “Most gladly.”
The rest of their wedding night was blissful.
THE END
WWW.LINDSAYTOWNSEND.NET
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lindsay has been writing stories since she was six years old. History and the past have always intrigued her, and writing stories about heroes and heroines overcoming massive problems and finding love as they do so is a wonderful way to earn a living!
Lindsay is married and lives in England in the beautiful county of Yorkshire. When she's not writing or researching about the past, she enjoys reading, walking, swimming and cooking. A member of her local writers' group, she teaches creative writing at her local college.
For all titles by Lindsay Townsend, please visit
www.bookstrand.com/lindsay-townsend
www.BookStrand.com