Angie Arms - Flames series 04

by The Strongest Flames

  “One night. Only a night.”

  “I cannot,” he stated firmly.

  Anger rose in her chest. “Are you like all the others? Am I not fit to wipe your boots on?”

  “No,” Cyrille said, appalled. “You are far more than a man like me deserves. You should have a husband, someone who cares for you. Not me.” Cyrille shook his head, his face sad. “Not me.”

  “I know you could never feel for me what I feel for you. But I have loved you from that first day, and I will love you until my last. Please Cyrille. Can you not spare one night?”

  “Do you know how long it has been since I had a woman? A real woman? I can’t even get a whore to lay with me.”

  She was beginning to notice his voice did not rasp or crack as long as he whispered. “But a troubadour will. Is that what you are saying?”

  “No. I’m saying you are a real woman. I never let myself believe I could ever have a woman such as you in my bed again.” He studied her for a moment. “Think about this before you give me an answer. Do you want to be that close to me?”

  Grace nodded without hesitation. She did not need to think about it. She spent years thinking about it.

  “It will be my greatest pleasure to have you for a night. But I don’t want it to be here. You deserve better than a stall in some stable. I will get a room at the Inn.”

  “I do not want to put you out. A room costs money,” she tried to protest.

  “You have given me a night. It cannot be a long night on the floor of a stall. Besides,” he replied with a wink of his good eye, and the same crooked smile she saw behind the scars, “I can afford it.

  Cyrille felt as if he couldn’t breath as he stepped back to allow Grace into the room. She entered slowly, looking around herself.

  “I’ve never been in an Inn before,” she said, as she looked about.

  “Does your troupe not travel?” he asked, stepping into the room and quietly closing the door behind them. It felt as if he was sentencing her to torture, wasn’t that how the other women acted?

  “We do, but we sleep outdoors mostly.”

  “What if it rains?”

  He watched her shrug as she sat down on the edge of the bed, and bounced up and down twice.

  “Where do you go in winter?”

  “We travel then too. We just try to find places that will let us sleep indoors.”

  Cyrille studied her as she looked up at him. He knew not many places would allow a troupe such as theirs to sleep under their roofs, especially with the woman performing with them. Slowly he moved forward, and stopped in front of her, before slowly sinking down into the floor.

  “Here,” she said, quickly jumping up from the bed and taking his arm, pushed him off balance so he had no choice but to fall onto the bed. He was left staring up at her. She reached for the hood he put back on for their trip back to the inn, and he squelched the need to push her hands away. She lifted it from his head, and flung it into the floor.

  She took a step back and lifted the bottom of her tunic, as she did earlier. He watched her, the fabric slowly slid upward. He felt he couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe, as she slid the fabric up higher and higher. She paused at the bottom of her breasts, and he licked his lips, trying to get some feeling into them, some moisture in his mouth. When he lifted his gaze to her, she smiled, and lifted the tunic on up and over her head. He tried to draw in a breath, but it caught in his throat, as she continued to unclothe herself. He watched her, each movement was like a song she danced to with her graceful body, until she stood gloriously nude before him.

  Her little body was perfection as she came to him, cupping his head in her hands to bend over him, and kiss him gently on the lips. It was like she broke a spell, and suddenly he knew it was okay to touch her. His hands came up to take her by the hips, where he held on to her, as if she would still flee. Her lips were gentle, her fingers gentle, as she dug them into his hair. She planted her feather light kisses over his face again, and he let a sigh escape him. Then her fingers were trailing down his neck, to tickle across his chest, before she began kissing him there.

  Slowly he slid his hands up her sides to her breasts, cupping one in each, caressing each nipple with his thumbs. She gasped and leaned into him. He rolled them between his thumbs and index fingers, and she moaned. He grabbed her and pulled her into him, his mouth going to one of her nipples, his lips closing over it. Her fingers locked to his head, and she held him as his fingers squeezed the sides of her breasts, gently to lever her nipple easier into his mouth, as he sucked on it. He felt her nails as they lightly dug into his scalp. His mouth grew more urgent, his hand squeezed tighter. Suddenly he pulled away to look up at her. “Are you a virgin?”

  “Y-yes,” she stammered, looking at him with irritation, trying to pull his head back to her.

  He wrapped his arms around her and held onto her.

  “Are you well?” she asked, as he continued to cling to her. The question was barely out of her mouth when he lifted her, flipping her onto her back in the center of the bed. He rolled to her, seizing her breast again, and sending her into a bout of writhing moans. His mouth left her breast, and he leaned over her to take her lips into his, and he kissed her, long and gently, delighting in her taste. He wanted to shout for joy, and weep all at the same time, because this woman he was about to make love to claimed to love him. When was the last time he held a woman, and that it was this one, made it so perfect he felt it could not be real.

  He moved lower again, kissing and suckling on her neck, her shoulder. Before he could make it back to her breasts, she pushed on him, and he gave way, letting her push him all the way on to his back on the bed. She raised herself, and began removing his clothes, beginning with his boots. As she moved upward, she kissed and licked the scars she revealed, setting him aflame with each gentle touch. When she reached his groin, she ran a finger lightly up the length of him, and it sent a shock wave of pleasure through him. She stroked it again, with two fingers on either side, circling her index finger around the tip, before using her circled fingers to stroke back down. Then she shifted, and he felt her warm mouth encasing him, and a deep moan escaped him. He felt every stroke of her lips, the pressure and the tip of her tongue, as she moved up and down on him.

  He did not enjoy the feeling long before he was over taken by the pleasure, and need to release himself. He tried to sit up, but she clung to him, her hand firmly wrapped around the base. “Stop,” he said, trying to delicately push her off, but she still clung and refused to release him. He got as rough as he dared, but the extra pressure she was applying to his cock was too much, and he fell back onto the mattress and exploded in her. She swallowed his seed, and began to lick the length of him again, and he found he was hard again within an instant.

  Grace continued in the task of uncovering his scarred body. Kissing her way upward, every now and then her tongue would lap at him, and a groan would inevitably escape from him. He raised enough to get his tunic off, and she saw the scars from the whip, where it wrapped around his sides, but the worst was his back. Seeing it she rolled him to his side, her feather light kisses he didn’t want to tell her went largely unnoticed, the nerves there had long since died. When she reached a hand around and began stroking his balls, he groaned, and forgot all about the loss of feeling, because he had much, as her fingers tickled and stroked.

  Finishing with her attention to his back, she pushed him back down, and climbed on top of him, to straddle him. He saw the tears on her cheeks, and used both hands to wipe them away. Then he reached between them and guided himself into her warmth. It was heaven, her tight sheath. She was ready for him, and within an instant he was beyond her barrier, and despite he relieved his lust a moment before, he was close again. He took Grace by the hips, determined to control the pace so he could give her pleasure, before finding his own.

  He began slowly, gently pushing her down and pulling her back up himself, so he felt himself stroke in and out. She moaned and thre
w her head back. He applied more pressure, sped the pace up, and she moaned loudly. Gritting his teeth he pressed her down as firmly as he could, putting himself deep inside her, their pelvises locked together. He sped the pace up into a frenzy, as she thrust with the movement of his hands. She cried out, a captivating sound that made him lose all his senses, except the feeling as she pulsed around him with her release. He joined her, and it felt as if she milked him, pulling him deeper with her spasms.

  “Dear God,” she said, as she panted for breath. She lay down on top of him, and he wrapped his arms around her. He felt her breaths slow along with her heart beat and his. “Can we do that again?” she asked, after their breaths returned to normal.

  He laughed, a deep sound that was unfamiliar to him. “You have to wait a little. Lay down here,” he said, sliding out of her and tucking her against his side.

  She lay with her head resting on the pillow his shoulder made, one hand stroking his chest lightly. He wanted to talk to her, but he didn’t want to detract from the feel of her pressed against him, so remained quiet.

  Cyrille spent the entire night making love to Grace time and time again. Rough and gentle, it was as if they packed a lifetime into the night. The next morning, after Grace fell asleep, he donned his clothes, and quietly slipped from the room.

  Chapter 14

  March 11, 1199 Chateau Gaillard, King Richard’s castle in Normandy

  Emma looked behind herself nervously, as she hurried through the hallways. Richard moved Emma and Roland into the castle a couple days before. She couldn’t help but think the King suspected Roland of siring her child, which of course he would have, if she was now carrying one. She imagined the chances were pretty good. For three days they did nothing else but eat and rest between attempts. Her heart lurched at the thought of the web of lies coming untangled, and the King catching them. She didn’t see Roland for two days, and she hated to admit it to herself, but she missed him.

  Since being forced into the company of the other women in the castle, she heard their chatter about the man she shared her bed with. He was quite admired by the women, but despite many of their advances, she was yet to hear one of them claim to be successful. For some reason, this made her happy. But, at the evening meal she heard the women talking of Roland leaving the next day.

  Emma couldn’t let him go without seeing him one last time. Truthfully, she wanted him again. It seemed as if each waking moment was filled with a desire to be in his bed. It drove her to distraction, and the only solution was to go to him. She knew where he slept at night. She listened carefully anytime his name was mentioned after they were apart, and was finally rewarded for her patience.

  A voice came to her from the adjoining corridor. She ducked into the shadow of a door, and waited quietly for them to pass. Richard found a man interested in marrying her. That was the news she was greeted with when moving into the castle. The man was the Captain of the King’s mercenaries, Mercadier, who pulled Roland’s wife from her horse and killed her. She wondered if it was a coincidence, or if there was something sinister in Mercadier’s interest in her. Though he was easier to look at than the last suggested husband, this one scared her. He was the leader of the men who were known throughout France as The Flayers. She shuddered each time she thought about exchanging vows to be obedient to a man such as him. She did not think it would matter if she vowed or not, he would make her obedient.

  The pair of interlopers passed and she stepped back into the corridor. She hurried along on silent feet. Afraid her slippers would make noise, she walked the halls barefoot, her nightgown she did not bother to change, was covered by her cloak. She was sure someone would question her if they happened upon her. She had no idea what excuse she would have for her attire, or her presence in the men’s barracks. Her heart hammering in her chest, she hurried on.

  Emma stood outside his door, staring at it, wondering if she was doing the right thing. Never was she faced with so many quandaries. In the woods it was simple, but here everyone was watching, and judging her. She was used to following her heart, but here she was beginning to realize that was the last thing she should do. Perhaps, when Roland was gone, she would be able to behave as everyone expected her too. The thought of her husband came to mind, his cold visage that made Roland’s look warm. She quickly raised her hand to knock.

  At the last minute she chose not to pound on it, which was her first instinct. The hour was late, and he would likely be asleep, so she tapped lightly and listened intently. What if he was with another woman? Lord knows there were enough of the hussies throwing themselves at him. It really was embarrassing. Heat flooded her cheeks. Wasn’t she as bad, actually worse, since she was the one that kept crawling back into his bed?

  The door opened quickly, startling Emma, who let out a tiny gasp as she took a quick step back. His eyes studied her, while hers devoured him hungrily where he stood, one hand held onto the door, and he stood before her in nothing but his braies. He was such a well muscled individual, and she had the urge to run her hands over him, feel his hard chest, his muscled stomach. Roland licked his lips in anticipation, his eyes lit to an intense blue, his desire evident.

  Taking a step back, he opened the door a little wider, so she could walk in. He dipped his head toward her neck, inhaling her scent, as she passed close to him. Emma spared a quick glance about the room, as she untied the cloak at her neck. She let it drop to the floor, feeling the fabric flow down her legs, to pool at her feet. She cast a glance back to Roland, whose back was still to her, so she moved to the bed.

  By the time Roland turned to locate her, she lounged on his pillows, in the center of the bed, in her black shift. His lips thinned and stretched upward into a smile. His blue eyes were bright, even in the low light of the fire crackling in the quiet room. Its light flickered with the shadows against the walls, dancing and twisting. He moved toward her with unhurried steps. He stopped at the edge of the bed, and her eyes travelled over him. She felt the intense blue gaze on her, and slowly his hands came out to untie his braies. He slid them down his muscular thighs, his desire for her was evident. When her eyes moved back up to his face, she could not help her gasp to see his eyes never strayed from her, they were full of a deep desire that took her breath away.

  Roland walked up onto the bed on his knees, and she reached for him. He slapped her hands away. Roland leaned over her, his hand stroking her neck. His touch sent tingling sensations ricocheting throughout her body. His head swooped down and he licked her neck, and then suckled it with his strong lips. She could feel his tongue caressing gently, and a moan escaped her. She reached for him again, and he quickly stopped her hands, and pinned them at her sides. All the way down, he kissed her, until he reached the top of her breasts. He raised his head, and a smile of anticipation lit his face as his eyes met hers. Then Roland’s head was swooping down, and clamping on a nipple through the fabric.

  Emma writhed upward toward him, and Roland repositioned so the one arm stretched across her to hold her hand out at her side, and pressed down on her to hold her flat against the mattress. Again his head lowered, and he took her nipple between his teeth. She tried to raise herself closer to him, to feel his body against hers, but his arm caged her. Her toes curled, and she released a frustrated moan.

  Roland did not linger on the one breast, before moving to the other, nipping the side, before taking that nipple between his teeth. Emma felt like she would fly from the bed, but with her hands and torso pinned by the strong man over her, she could not move. She thought he would bite them again, but instead, she felt his lips on her neck, kissing, all the way up to her ear, and she gasped, feeling his teeth graze the skin just behind it. Her head rolled back, her eyes closed tightly, as the sensation of frustration and anticipation coursed through her.

  Then he was releasing her hands and using his to pull her breasts upward, exposing them to his view. Again, she reached for him and his hands recaptured hers, once again, entwining his fingers with hers, press
ing them back to the bed. He lowered his head and took a nipple back in his mouth, his tongue wrapping around it, as he licked, before sucking the bud into his mouth.

  “Let me touch you Roland,” she begged him, as she rose toward him, seeking his strength against her.

  “Not yet,” he said, raising his head. He watched her breasts rise and fall with her breathing for a moment, before he looked up at her. His face was as serious as she ever saw Roland’s face. He spared her only a momentary glance, before lowering his head again. She ached to rub her hands across his chest, to hear his gasp as she sank her nails into him when he sent his bolts of pleasure through her.

  His tongue lapped at the hard, sensitive buds her nipples became. She moaned and writhed groaning her frustration then he was touching her there. Her hands were free and his thumb was there on her woman’s mound. She felt as if she would melt, as he pressed against her and she continued her undulations. The tip of his finger slid into her and she heard the wetness of her own arousal, as this limited contact built only more anticipation. Her nails dug into his back as he bit down on a nipple, she gasped loudly. Then the warmth of his mouth was leaving her breast and he was kneeling between her legs. Again, he looked at her with the seriousness in his blue eyes that made her nearly beg him to take her. Instead, his head dipped down, and the warmth of his mouth was on her, his tongue entered her, and her hands clamped to the back of his head as her hips involuntarily spasmed upward, needing him deep, but knowing his tongue could not satisfy the hunger growing within her. As her hips rose and fell, her hands holding him to her, she felt the warmth of his tongue filling her, then leaving her, and the scrape of his teeth against the bud that made her nearly release her passion. But it was not enough.

  Just when she thought she might go mad, he was raising himself, and with one quick thrust of his hips, his thickness was filling her, stretching her, and her moan was too loud to be caught by the pillows she worked her head down between as she wiggled on the bed. Slowly he eased in and out. Emma locked her heels against his buttocks, trying to speed his rhythm. Instead, a satisfied smirk crossed his lips, as he continued his slow strokes.