WinterofThorns

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  “Wickedly enjoyable things, milord,” she responded and he saw her thighs clench even tighter.

  He drew his fingers together until he could mold his thumb, index and middle fingers around her nipples.

  “Seyzon,” she groaned.

  “Aye, my love?” he asked.

  “I need you.”

  “And you shall have me,” he returned.

  “Now,” she said, her voice filled with what sounded to him like desperation.

  He plucked hard at her nipples and she ground her ass against him.

  “I’ll not have our first time be in a tub,” he stated.

  “I would prefer that it was,” she said quietly.

  And in that moment he knew. Vindan had taken her in a bed and she did not want to be reminded of it. Their first time together needed to be as different from what had happened at Riverglade as he could make it.

  “All right,” he said. “But first…”

  He slid his hands down her body until he could rest his right hand against the spiky nest at the apex of her legs.

  “Relax,” he said and put his other hand down so he could pry her legs apart. “Let me have you, dearling.”

  He felt rather than heard her swallow and then she eased her legs open. Using the backs of his hands, he pushed them as far apart as the tub would allow. With slow, measured rhythm, he began running his hands lightly along the insides of her thighs. His thumbs flexed against her nest with each upward pass but never quite touched that part of her he knew would cause a shivering reaction when grazed.

  “Can you feel me hard against you?”

  “Aye,” she said—the word low and drawn out.

  “When I take you to the bed, you are going to feel that hardness deep inside you.”

  “But you were going to—”

  He stopped both the words and the breath in her throat when he ran his right hand to her center to cup her firmly. He pressed his middle finger inside her warm slit.

  “Seyzon!” she gasped and a shudder ran through her.

  “Jana,” he replied and started another rhythm withdrawing and entering her as he fanned his thumb over her clit.

  She squirmed and would have closed her legs but he kept them apart by clamping down on her thigh to hold it in place.

  “No, milady,” he said sternly.

  Her hands were gripping the tub’s rim.

  “Lift your knees,” he said.

  There was a moment’s hesitation then she complied. When her knees were raised, he slid a second finger into her and increased the speed of his thrusts.

  Her breathing became more rapid, shallower. The back of her head pressed hard against his shoulder and her heels were jammed against the bottom of the tub. By all rights, her grip on the tub should have dented the copper, it was so taut.

  “Dearling,” he said softly. “Relax. I cannot pleasure you when you are so tense.” He kissed her ear, his next word a mere breath. “Relax.”

  In slow increments, her body lost some of its tension though her breasts were rising and falling rapidly as he gently plied her body.

  “So hot,” he whispered. “So slick.”

  A third finger entered her then he crooked his fingers upward until he found the rough little mound.

  “Oh!” she said, jerking against him.

  From that point on he did not let up on the slow, measured thrusting or the deep penetration until he felt the first spasm grip her. At that point, he increased the speed and drove his fingers deeper inside her—no longer able to keep contact with her clit but he had that other wondrous spot under his tight control and led her into a violent series of pulses that tightly gripped his fingers.

  “Come for me,” he said and her hands shot from the tub to the hand between her legs and took hold of his wrist. “Come, little one.”

  Her body was quickening rapidly against his invasion and when the last, strong quiver faded away, she sagged against him though she still kept a death grip on his wrist. A shudder undulated through her and she lay still with her thighs splayed far apart.

  “Something tells me you liked that.”

  “Evil, evil man,” she said in a throaty voice.

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet, dearling,” he cooed.

  Chapter Six

  Lavenfeld, nearly three months later

  Jana fanned her hand through his chest hair. She liked the way his pectoral muscles jumped now and again when she touched his hard little nipples, the way his belly clenched when she dipped her fingernail into his navel.

  “What do you do to keep yourself so hard, milord?” she asked.

  “I think of being inside you.”

  She lifted her head from his shoulder to give him an exasperated look. “’Tis not what I meant and well you know it,” she grumbled.

  He lay on his back with his hands under his head. One of her legs lay across his while his opposite leg crooked outward. “Oh, you mean exercise-wise?” he inquired.

  “Aye.” She wound a lock of the hair in the center of his chest around her index finger.

  “I do sit-ups, pull-ups, work the salmon ladder, bench press…”

  “Salmon ladder?” she questioned, her hand stilling.

  “It’s a free-standing apparatus which has two parallel walls with a series of seven notches on each wall. The notches begin well above your head so you must jump to reach them. In your hands is a bar. The object is to jump up and snag the bar into the notches, snatch it out, propel yourself upward without touching the floor then slam the bar into the notches above where you are hanging. The gap between each rung of the notches gets larger as you go up the ladder. It builds upper strength.”

  Her fingers trailed down to his thighs. “And what do you do to make your legs so muscular?”

  He chuckled. “To tone and increase my lower body strength, I run. I do squats with weights, lunges, kickbacks. It helps that I had a rather solid body structure to begin with.”

  “I like your body.” She curled her hand over his thigh to run it along the inside.

  “My body likes that you like it,” he told her as his cock leapt against the back of her hand.

  “It does seem to,” she said before gliding her hand to his shaft and circling it.

  He looked down into her beautiful face—his eyebrows going up as she slid down in the bed. “I’ve created a monster,” he stated as she positioned herself between his legs with his cock gripped firmly in her hand.

  She’s taken to oral sex like a pro, he thought as he stared down at the top of her head as she took him into her mouth. He sucked in a slow, satisfied breath as she began to lave his head with her very skillful tongue.

  “Did he teach you that?” he had demanded the first time she asked if she could taste him.

  The look on her face had cut him to the core.

  “No,” she had said, those well-defined brows clashing. “You have done it to me and I wanted to…”

  “I’m sorry,” he’d said, cutting her off. His jealousy, his hatred of that night three months earlier when what was rightfully his had been usurped by a man he thought his friend, riding him like a cruel master.

  “He is not in this bed with us, Seyzon,” she’d stated. “I will not have him in this bed with us!”

  It was difficult for him not to think of Vindan when he and Jana made love. The bastard’s presence between them was a palpable entity that robbed him of some of the pleasure of his wife’s lush body. The knowledge that Vindan had known her first would always rankle.

  “What are you thinking now, Zonny?” she demanded.

  He glanced down at her. She was licking her lips as she stared up at him.

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar,” she snapped. “Stop thinking. Concentrate on what I am doing!”

  When they made love—which was every chance they got—she required all of him. If his mind wandered, she would pull it back on course. She knew what bothered him. She also knew there was nothing she could do about i
t. What she could do was distract him.

  As she was doing now by licking his shaft from stem to stern then puckering her lips over the head to suck hard. She had his balls cupped in her hands and was tugging them gently away from his body.

  His knees flopped open wider.

  “Gods, woman,” he breathed, reaching up to grab the brass headboard rungs behind his pillow.

  “Umm,” she said around his cock and the vibration was as effective as a finger in his ass. His body jerked.

  As though he were a lollipop, she gave his head quick little forays with her tongue then lapped the pre-cum from his slit like cream. All the while her eyes were locked on his—holding him captive—and her hand was tight around his scrotum.

  His cock throbbed with every swipe of her tongue and when he pulled against the brass rungs, she smiled around his tip. With practiced ease, she raised up, jerked the nightgown from her body then straddled his thighs, reaching for his cock to place it at her folds.

  “Do you want me, husband?”

  “Always,” he replied.

  She slid down on his cock until he was seated tightly within her. He watched in awe as she lifted her arms to thread her fingers through her hair, push it behind her. Reaching around, she placed her palms on his thighs, arched her back then began to ride him—swiveling her hips upon his, lifting her body then settling it down upon him again.

  As he knew she wanted him to, he reached for her breasts to mold them in his palms. His thumbs played over her nipples as her long hair tickled his thighs with each movement of her lower body. He jacked his hips up to meet her downward plunge, staring hungrily at her breasts as they bounced.

  By the gods I love her, he thought as she took possession, control of him. Her body was his master. He would do anything for her. She was everything to him.

  The blood in his veins.

  The air in his lungs.

  Everything that made him what he was.

  He held back—clenching his jaw tightly—until her inner muscles started to milk him and her orgasm sent spirals of spasms through her. Her fingernails dug into his thighs and she pushed down hard on his cock, her thighs tightening against his.

  Just as he climaxed—hard and long inside her glorious body—a knock came at the door.

  “Ignore it,” he said through gritted teeth as wave after wave of cum shot from him. The pleasure was so intense he would have thrown back his head and shouted had not there not been a visitor at their bedchamber door.

  His lady turned her head to look at the door as though she expected it to open. She crossed her arms over her naked chest then looked down at him with concern.

  “Go away!” he yelled. He slid his hands to her hips and jerked his body to hers one last time.

  But the knocking only grew louder and more insistent.

  Then Arbra’s stern voice intruded like a pail of cold water thrown over him.

  “Milord, you are needed posthaste.”

  “Go. Away!”

  “Milord, there are riders coming.”

  “Tell them to go away!” he shouted.

  “They bear Prince Vindan’s personal standard.”

  Those words were another pail of icy liquid tossed upon his body. His eyes met his wife’s.

  “What could they want?” she asked, worry forming in her eyes.

  He said nothing for a moment then shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  She moved off him to sit beside him on the mattress. Her arms were still locked over her bare chest.

  He sat up, swung his legs off the bed. “Get dressed.” He reached for his pants that were crumpled on the floor.

  “Seyzon…” she said and he could hear the fear registering in her voice.

  “It’ll be all right.” He thrust his legs into the pants and stood. He bent over to retrieve his white shirt from where it lay.

  “What if they’ve come for me?” she asked, her lips trembling.

  “That’s not why they’re here.” He stuffed the shirt into his pants then zipped his fly.

  “But what if…?”

  “I won’t let them take you, Jana. Have no fear on that account.”

  “Then why are they here?” she asked and he looked over to see tears gathering in her eyes. He went back to the bed, dipped a knee to the mattress and pulled her into his arms. He cupped the back of her head against his shoulder.

  “I am on the king’s counsel, his adjutant general,” he said, soothing her back with his other hand. “The king has probably bid all the lords to Blackhall Castle.”

  “Milord?” Arbra insisted from beyond the door.

  “I’m coming!” Seyzon snarled. He kissed his lady on her forehead then got up from the bed. He snatched up his boots and headed for the door.

  “I love you!” his wife called out.

  He turned with his hand on the doorknob. “I love you more,” he replied.

  “Not possible,” she countered with a tremulous smile.

  He blew her a kiss then opened the door. “This had better be a matter of life or death,” he told Arbra as he closed the portal. He glanced at the man as they fell into step beside each other. “How many?”

  “Nine,” his mother’s Master-at-Arms informed him. “I don’t like the looks of it, son.”

  “You think they are here to fetch my woman back to him?”

  “I pray not,” the older man said.

  “If that is the case, I want you to get her to safety,” Seyzon said. They had reached the stairs. “Take her down through the tunnels to Caldwell. Guard her with your life, Sir Frederick.”

  Arbra nodded. “I will see to it.” He put out a hand, stopped Seyzon from going down the stairs. “Be careful, milord.”

  “As careful as they will allow me to be,” Seyzon said grimly. “If they are here for my woman, I’ll not roll over and show them my belly this time. They’ll get a taste of steel.”

  * * * * *

  Sir Gilbert Tohre entered Lavenfeld Keep for the second time in thirty-odd years. He was as uncomfortable this time around as he had been the last. When Lady Millicent excused herself and closed the study door behind her departure—leaving him alone with her son—he hooked a finger under his collar.

  “You are sweating, Gilly,” Seyzon told him.

  “It is hot in here,” the other man said.

  “I’ve a feeling it will get hotter before all is said and done,” Seyzon quipped. “Why have you come?”

  “The prince bids you come to Wicklow.”

  Seyzon folded his arms over his chest and stood with his legs braced a hip’s width apart. “For what purpose?”

  Tohre’s eyes shifted nervously from the hearth to the windows to the floor then back to his host. “You know the Selwyn Reivers overran Frostgate and are now using it as their headquarters in Ventura?”

  “Aye, I heard,” Seyzon said then tilted his head to one side. “But that isn’t why you are here. What does he want with me?”

  “I’m not privy to the why, milord. I was given orders and…”

  “Am I to go alone to Wicklow or accompanied?”

  The Primary Elite Guard’s brow furrowed. “Who do you wish to bring with you, milord?”

  Seyzon raised a brow. “Did he not bid my wife journey with me?”

  “Nay, but if you wish to bring her…”

  “No, I do not,” Seyzon said sternly. “How long will my presence be required?”

  “I do not know the answer to that, either, milord,” Tohre admitted.

  “And the other council members? Will they be attending this meeting?”

  Once more the Elite Guard’s eyes wandered away. It was obvious he knew more than he was either willing or able to admit.

  “Well, let me ask you this then,” Seyzon said. “Were you told to bring me to Wicklow even should I refuse to come?”

  Tohre squared his shoulders, took a deep breath then released it loudly. “Aye, milord. I was told to bring you back without fail and to use force if necessa
ry.”

  “But no mention was made of my lady-wife.”

  The other man shook his head. “No, milord. None whatsoever. The lady’s name did not come up.”

  Seyzon looked to the windows where the morning light came through the panes in a shaft of golden color. “Did you bring shackles?” When Tohre didn’t reply, he turned back to the man. “Did you bring shackles, Gilly?”

  “Aye, milord,” Tohre said softly, “but I was told not to use them unless you got violent and tried to escape.”

  “Violent,” Seyzon echoed. He snorted then shook his head. “All right. Give me ten minutes to say goodbye to my wife.”

  “I will need to go with you, milord.”

  “Well, of course you will,” Seyzon groused. He started toward the door. “Can’t have the rebel climbing out the window, scaling the walls and hot-footing it across the battlements now, can we?”

  “I’m sorry, milord.”

  “Aye, well, not as sorry as I am,” Seyzon snapped.

  * * * * *

  “Why does he want you to come to Wicklow?” Jana asked. She was standing beside the closet as he took his saddlebags down from the shelf.

  “I don’t know,” he said, not wanting to lie to her.

  Her attention flicked to Tohre who was hovering in the doorway. She lowered her voice. “Why is he here?”

  “Gilly and I have known one another for years.” He took the bags over to the armoire.

  She looked around at Tohre whose smile didn’t seem to reassure her. She moved closer to her husband. “That didn’t answer my question, Seyzon. I don’t like the looks of him.”

  “He can’t help the way he looks, sweeting.” Seyzon turned his head toward Tohre. “Just try not to make eye contact with him and you’ll be okay.”

  Tohre pursed his lips as though trying not to snicker at the comment. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

  “He isn’t going to snap chains on you the instant you are out of my sight, is he?”

  “Why would I do that, milady?” Tohre asked. “Has his lordship done something he shouldn’t have?”

  “That’s not funny, Gilly,” Seyzon muttered.

  “I don’t like this, Seyzon. Not one bit.” Jana took his arm. “When will you be back?”