by Karin Tabke
The pressure between her thighs increased, and Isabel had no idea how to make it better. But she knew Rohan was the answer. “Rohan,” she whispered, “I ache with a fever. Make it go away.”
Rohan moaned, and if it were possible, he pulled her tighter against him. What he did next shocked her. He slid his finger along the wetness of her opening. And as nature intended, Isabel moved against him. When he slid the finger into her, she cried out and clasped her thighs tightly around him. She closed her eyes as tight as she could and knew she had crossed a line with him she should not have. Yet he had become an addiction in such a short amount of time. Her body craved him. He was the only one to ease her ache.
“Jesu, Isa, you are so tight and so warm.”
Isabel clung to his shoulders, writhing against the movement of his hand. He moved his finger in a slow slide in and out of her, pressing the heel of his palm against her hardened nub. Her body glazed in sudden perspiration. Her hips bucked in an uncontrollable tempo against his hand. Waves of desire swelled between her thighs. Her skin heated almost unbearably. Rohan’s body, slick with desire, slid up and down against hers.
A sudden storm gathered between her thighs, taking Isabel by surprise. It swelled hot and wet, with the velocity of a summer squall. And just as suddenly, it crested and crashed deep inside her. The tempest in her swirled out of control, taking her high up before dropping her in an out-of-control dive back to earth. “Rohan!” she cried. He silenced her with his lips, as her body jerked and spasmed. The shock of what had just happened numbed her brain. Rohan slid his finger from her, and Isabel cried out again. Her body undulated toward him, and even though the feral ache in her had subsided, she wanted more from him.
He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. His blazed. She licked her lips, and, still panting she asked, “What just happened?”
“’Tis the right of passage for all women.”
Isabel contemplated his answer. “What of men? Do you—?”
Rohan pressed his erection against her belly. “Aye, ’tis the only way to take the stiffness from me.”
Isabel reached out and pressed her fingertips to him. He sucked in his breath and trembled from her touch. “Isabel, you play with fire.”
She pressed her palm against him. “Does it ache as I ached?”
“Aye.”
“Would you like me to release you?”
Rohan groaned and pulled down his garters. Isabel looked innocently up at him. “Tell me what to do.”
“Jesu, Isabel, you would tempt a saint. Push down my clothing.”
She did, and when she moved the fabric over his erection and down his thighs, Isabel could not help but admire the smooth, thick length of him.
“Touch me, Isa.”
Tentatively, she touched the wide head. In the firelight, she could see it glistened. The warmth of him surprised her. She gasped, pulling her hand away. Rohan grabbed it back and pressed it to him. He groaned and undulated against her hand as she had against his. “Wrap your fingers around me, Isa. God, yes, like that.”
He surged in her hand. He wrapped his hand around hers, and in a slow up-and-down motion, he showed her the way. Isabel was a quick study. Rohan dropped his hand from hers, and she added her other hand. Wrapping it around him, she squeezed, and Rohan nearly spilled into her hand that moment.
Fervently, he thrust into her hands, and Isabel squeezed him tighter. She boldly maneuvered him around so that now his back was against the cold stone. He grinned down at her. A saucy wench she was. Rohan grabbed her breasts with his hands, and as she pumped him, he massaged her mounds. Rohan closed his eyes, pressed his head back against the stone wall, and let the wild, hot rush of their play take him to paradise.
He sucked in a harsh breath and gritted his teeth, erupting with a force he had never experienced. He grasped her tightly against his chest as his hips slowed. Isabel kept at her slow, rhythmic milking of him until he was depleted of every drop of his seed.
Finally, he relaxed back against the wall, not feeling the hard cold of the stone. Indeed, all he felt was hot and sated. For the moment. Isabel wiped her hand across his belly. Rohan laughed, coming down slowly from the storm Isabel had created, and slipped his arm around her waist, drawing her to him.
Once their breathing resumed a normal cadence, Isabel moved away from him and grabbed a linen towel from the cabinet. She dipped it into the pitcher by the hearth, and with care she cleaned him. And damn if he didn’t rise beneath her ministrations. She looked him boldly in the eye. “Your hunger is voracious, Rohan. Is this normal to want again so quickly?”
“My desire for you, Isabel, is insatiable.”
She leaned against him and touched his erection. In a slow trail, she traced the full head of it. “I will admit, I have a hunger for you as well.”
He looked down at her, wanting her to grasp him tighter. And God, put her lips to him. The vision of her doing just that swelled him.
“Rohan, I cannot stay in this chamber with you indefinitely.”
Rohan swooped her up into his arms and tossed her onto the bed. “Do not talk to me of tomorrow.”
“It will come whether we wish it or not.”
“Aye, ’twill come, and with it”—he plopped down onto the bed beside her, sweeping his hand down her belly and cupping her damp mound as she closed her eyes and pressed against him—“we shall come together.”
“Rohan,” Isabel breathed. “Take me there again.”
“Isa, I—”
She pressed her hand to his and cried out. Her slick, swollen folds teased his fingers. “Do not deny me.”
He pressed his lips to hers and slid a finger deep into her. She arched and moaned. Rohan’s head reeled, overwhelmed by her passion for him. He had known the minute he saw her up on the rampart, the icy November air ripping at her hair, that she was a tigress. The vision of her soft and yielding beneath him flashed in his mind at that moment as it did now.
Rohan knew that if she gave him the slightest signal, he would be buried to the hilt in her. Not trusting himself, he withdrew his finger. Isabel cried out, “No!”
“Isabel, I cannot watch your face as I touch you and not want to fulfill my desire in you.” He kneeled and flipped her over, pulling her hips up with his left arm. The vision of her firm creamy derriere and what he wanted to do to it caused him a moment’s pause. Rohan sucked in a deep breath, wondering if he had made a mistake turning her over. His rod swelled against her cheeks. He could so easily…
Groaning, he slid his middle finger deep into her hot, wet opening. Isabel sucked in a deep breath. “Oh, God, Rohan,” she breathed. He closed his eyes, steeling himself. She moved back against him, and he hissed.
“Nay, Isabel.” It would be so easy to replace his finger with his cock. She was so hot and slick for him, would she forgive him his loss of control in the throes of passion? He told her he could not promise…
“Rohan,” she begged as she pushed her bottom against his hand.
“Jesu, Isa, I am not made of stone.”
Rigidly, he kneeled behind her, afraid he would not be able to control himself if she moved against him again. She must have sensed his battle. Her body trembled. “Rohan,” she softly said, “please, ease my ache.”
Rohan thrust his hips against her bottom, his cock slid between the firm cheeks, and in a slow, rhythmic movement, he moved his finger in and out of her.
Isabel closed her eyes and reveled in the erotic charge of him. She’d no idea such sensations existed. His finger was large and thick, and Isabel knew if he were ever to press her with his cock, she might not be able to accommodate him. He hit a spot deep inside her each time he pushed into her. His cock had stiffened to capacity and slid back and forth against her bottom. Still slick with his previous ejaculation and her perspiration, he moved between her cheeks. Rohan bent over her and nipped at her back and whispered, “Isa, you make me forget my promise.” He bit the back of her neck, and Isabel shot off like a shootin
g star. She screamed as a hard wave of release slammed into her, then shuddered through her body with the force of an army.
Her muscles clasped tightly around his finger.
“Isa!” he cried hoarsely. His hips slammed against her, and she felt the warm spill of him against her backside. Slowly, their breakneck ride came to a panting halt. Isabel dropped to the bed, breathing heavily and knowing she was forever lost to this man. She also knew that if she continued on this path with Rohan, she would lose not only her maidenhead to him but her heart.
Rohan wiped his seed from her back with the linen she had used, then slipped into the bed beside her.
Isabel turned over, her body still warm and slick with sweat. Rohan slid up against her and kissed her deeply. She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him closer to her. For it would be their last kiss. As she realized that, she suddenly felt cold and empty.
She closed her eyes. Aye, it was already happening. She had feelings for this knight that she should not have.
Breaking away from his kiss, Isabel caught her breath, and in the firelight she looked up into his hooded eyes. He smiled the smile of a happily sated man. Her heart swelled. It made it all the more difficult to separate from him. She pushed back a heavy lock of his hair the better to see his face. Scars and all, he was the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on. Even at court, the nobles garbed in rich silks and velvets did not compare. His wide, muscular shoulders hovered above her, and she knew he would slay one hundred dragons should she but ask him to.
She should be angry with herself. For now she was truly a wanton. But at least she was still intact. And, she reasoned, many noble Saxon women were praying this very night that they carried no bastard Normans. Ravishment ’twas but a casualty of war, the maidenheads taken as a trophy. She was spared. For now. Because this knight had given her his oath. An oath that she would break if she continued to sleep in this bed. Isabel smiled.
“Ah, such a rare and beautiful sight,” Rohan said softly.
“In these times, there is not much to smile about.”
Rohan rolled over and pulled her with him. “But this eve we forget the war. Forget our sorrows. Here with you, I care not what is happening outside that door.”
Isabel rose on an elbow and traced a finger down the scar on his chest. “How came you by this?” she softly questioned.
Rohan pressed her hand to the scar. “A brand.”
Isabel gasped. “A brand? How barbaric! The person who did this to you also did it to Manhku?”
Rohan nodded and closed his eyes. “Aye, and Thorin and Wulf and Rhys—”
“All of your knights?”
“Aye.”
Isabel pressed her lips to his chest just below the point where the cross bar was burned into his skin. Rohan stiffened and grabbed her hand. “What are you doing?”
“Kissing the hurt away.”
Rohan squeezed her hand, then brought it to his own lips. “The physical pain is long gone, Isabel.”
“Mayhap, but what of the memories?”
“They are few and far between.”
Isabel searched his face. “Was the man who did this to you and your men named Tariq?”
Rohan sat up in the bed, his eyes flashing wildly. “How do you know that name?”
Fear shot through her, but it subsided just as quickly. “That night you awoke from the night terrors. You called out the name.”
Rohan jammed his fingers through his hair. And the wild look left his eyes. He lay back on the pillows, drawing her with him.
“Aye, Tariq was the sultan’s son, sent to hone his torturing skills on Christian knights.”
“Rohan, I’m sorry. I should not have asked.”
“’Tis truly but a vague memory.” He yawned and pulled her tightly to him. “I am fatigued, wench. You have worn me out with your demands; now, cease your talk so that we both might find some sleep.”
Isabel nodded and snuggled close to him, amazed at her comfort with him. She cleaved to him as if he were a lover known for years instead of just recently.
“In the morn, we must talk about this thing between us,” Isabel said as she yawned. “It cannot continue.”
Rohan’s soft snore told her he had not heard a word. She pulled a thick fur blanket up around their shoulders. Isabel closed her eyes and dreamed of Rohan taking her in the final way a man takes a woman.
The pounding on the door startled them both awake. Rohan shot out of the bed and grabbed his sword. Isabel moved back against the huge headboard, the fur blanket pulled up to her chin.
“Lazy lout!” Thorin bellowed from the other side. “Your men grow restless while you dawdle in bed.”
Rohan heaved the bolt and pulled open the door. Isabel gasped as he stood naked, wielding his sword before his man. Thorin grinned and looked past Rohan to where she huddled in the bed. He scowled, then looked to the younger man.
Rohan turned away and faced Isabel. Her eyes grew huge. Rohan’s manhood hung heavy and stiff against his belly. “As if it is any concern of yours, Thorin, the maid is still virtuous.”
Thorin looked to Isabel for affirmation. Hurriedly, she nodded. “There are no bloodied sheets for display.”
“You are a stronger man than I, Rohan. We await your pleasure below.” Thorin backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Rohan turned and grinned at Isabel. “Wouldn’t you ease my ache this morn?”
She shook her head and kept her eyes from his glorious erection. Her dreams of him thrusting that weapon in and out of her sheath until she screamed for mercy had her tossing and turning most of the night. Each time she awoke, Rohan slept. She had used the quiet to study him more closely in the firelight. He was a most magnificent specimen of a man. And a bolder one she had never met. Several times she had pressed her hand to him to feel him surge in his slumber.
Finally exhausted, she found sleep.
Isabel climbed from the bed, dragging the fur blanket and wrapping it around her nakedness. Rohan scowled. “Isabel, we have gone beyond—”
She put her hand up. “Rohan, my oath to you is paid. We must stop now before it becomes impossible to do so.”
Confusion clouded his features. “Your oath paid?”
“Aye, for Russell’s life, I gave you free rein with my body except for my maidenhead.”
Rohan poured water from the pitcher beside the hearth into a deep bowl and began to wash. “The terms were free rein to explore what lies beneath your gown. And while I agree that last night I did so”—he pressed the linen to his face, then looked at her—“I have yet to explore all that lies beneath.”
“What else is there?” she demanded, suddenly feeling as if she had been duped.
“You will see this eve.”
Frustration flared. “Rohan, I will not be your leman!”
“You already are.”
She grabbed the cup from the table by the bed and hurled it at him. “You bastard! How dare you? I met my part of the bargain, now let me go!”
Rohan strode over to her and grabbed her by the hands. The fur fell to the floor. His erection jutted up angrily between them. “The bargain is not yet met. I will tell you when it is.”
“I will not stand for this!”
He let her go and returned to his bath. “It matters not. I will see you in this chamber tonight. Whether I have to hunt you down or not.”
“I will leave Rossmoor!”
He turned quickly and pinned her with a narrow-eyed glare. “You will not.”
“My betrothed is near, Rohan. He will take me thus. Leave me some dignity!”
He grabbed her again, and this time he shook her. “Betray me to another man, Isabel, and I will personally take the lash to your back.”
Eighteen
Isabel scowled as she descended the wide stairway. Seated next to Rohan at the lord’s table and hovering over him like a camp whore was the lovely Deidre. Rohan’s eyes rose to meet and clash with Isabel’s. Her back sti
ffened when a small smile wound its way around those lips that had so recently scalded her skin. As it always did when Rohan scathed her with his attention, Isabel warmed. She dragged her eyes from the scandalous knight to the woman beside him.
Deidre looked up and smiled. The gesture reminded Isabel of one of the stable cats that had just snagged a fat mouse from the hay.
A hard jolt of jealousy speared Isabel, piercing straight into her heart. It felt as if she had been hit in the chest, the reaction was so strong. She nearly missed the second-to-the-last step. And as much as Isabel told herself it was for the best, her heart continued to interfere. As she wrestled with these harsh feelings, Isabel knew that if she stayed at Rossmoor, she would end up heartbroken.
Taking a deep breath, she smiled. Let Rohan find succor in another woman’s arms. It was how it should be. There was no future for them together. Yet the vision of Rohan’s dark head buried deep in Deidre’s ample bosom made her sick to her stomach.
Isabel looked past Rohan to Manhku, who sat quietly in his chair with his leg hiked up on another one. He nodded silently to her. Her eyes traveled around to the rest of the lord’s table. As one, les morts, rose as she approached. Isabel was relieved to see Rohan had the decency to stand in her presence as well. And despite her resolve to steer clear of him, she had some small feeling of victory when he took her hand and seated her to his right. Though she had no appetite, Isabel sat.
With her presence, the morning meal commenced. Grateful that Rohan separated them and feeling the need to lighten the mood, Isabel asked the Viking who sat across from her, “Where do you hail from, Sir Thorin?”
He smiled, the crinkle at his one eye deep. “In truth, milady, I have no place to name.”