by Jaide Fox
She had begun to thrash restlessly against him by the time he had thoroughly anointed her neck and throat, traced the dip at the base of her throat and examined the upper slopes of her breasts. The tips of her breasts, swollen now almost past bearing as was the lips of her womanhood, had begun to throb almost as painfully as an aching tooth. She clung to him desperately, arched, trying to press those aching buds against him.
The thirst arose to feel his mouth on hers again. Instead, he nuzzled his face deeper into the valley between her breasts, nudging aside the loosened neck of her gown. Skimming one hand up from her waist, he cupped a breast, kneading it, pushing it through the opening. The jolt that went through her as his hot mouth closed over the distended tip almost bereft her of consciousness. The air left her lungs as if it had been punched from them. Her belly clenched almost painfully with the first tug of his mouth.
Mindless with the avalanche of sensations jolting through her, she plowed her fingers into the cool silkiness of his hair, clutching at his head, uncertain herself of whether she most wanted to push him away or hold him more tightly to her. The tease of his tongue and warm adhesion of his mouth created sensations that were too keen, too intense to be borne. Tiny animal-like sounds scraped her throat with the panting breaths that were all she could manage to try to fill her lungs.
She’d begun to think she would faint with the torture when he released the tip and then a vast sense of disappointment filled her until she realized that he had merely moved to seek her other nipple. She froze, steeling herself against the sensations she expected and yet desperate to feel them, and still the first tug of his mouth on her stole her breath.
She strummed her hands over every part of his flesh she could reach, stroking and kneading his flesh like a contented cat, begging wordlessly for more and then more still as she felt the hunger grow more desperate, coil more and more tightly throughout her body.
His caresses did not appease the need and she could not think what would, she could only clutch and cling and arch against him as the fever in her blood rose higher, begging him wordlessly to end her suffering. And then, as he moved to torment the first breast again, she could no longer contain herself to silent suffering, to the moans and gasps she couldn’t contain. “Please,” she whispered brokenly. “Please.”
He lifted his head, looking at her, she knew. With a tremendous effort, she lifted her lids to stare back at him, moistened her fever dried lips with her tongue. “Nightshade,” she murmured in distress.
He surged upward, opening his mouth over hers and sending her mind reeling closer to the darkness of madness, but as he surged upward to claim her mouth, he caught her thigh, dragging her leg upward and to the side, and with it her gown, to allow his hips to settle between hers. The moment she felt his engorged member press against the swollen lips of her sex she knew exactly what she desperately wanted, needed. She arched against him when he pressed into her again, spreading her thighs wider, reaching down to take his manhood in her hands and push him inside of her.
Frustration filled her when she realized she couldn’t reach him. She lifted against him more demandingly the next time, rotating her hips in a desperate attempt to engulf his flesh as she felt the head of his cock breach her nether lips and slide tantalizingly along her cleft.
He tore his lips from hers. Sucking in a harsh breath, he shifted to one hip, grasped his member and aligned the head with her opening. Eagerly, she surged upward to receive him, uttering a grunt as she felt him stretching her, breaching the opening. He surged again, recapturing her mouth and spearing his tongue into the wet recess as his cock plowed more deeply into her channel.
She dug her heels into the bed, her nails into his shoulders as she fought her own body’s resistance to his invasion. Her frantic efforts to impale herself on his shaft send quaking shudders through him. He broke from her lips again. Burrowing his face against the side of her neck, gasping hoarsely, he caught her hips in his strong hands and thrust again, bearing down with determined pressure until her channel yielded to him, until he’d sunk to the hilt within her and Bronwyn was gasping with the fullness inside of her, dazed with the wonder of it.
She tightened her arms around him, wanting nothing more at that moment than to hold that feeling to her, to hold his massive member tightly inside of her. She discovered, though, that there was more, much more. As he withdrew slowly and then thrust again, delight rippled along her channel, radiating through her. The tension inside her coiled more tightly still, but this time she felt an instinctual tug toward the appeasement that had eluded her before and when he began to move more rhythmically, she moved with him, striving to reach it, urging him to move faster as she felt it nearing.
Releasing her hips abruptly, he shoved his hands beneath her, tipping her hips up to receive his thrusts. Instantly, the sensations intensified until she was nigh sobbing with the glory of it, the desperation that built and built inside of her until she thought she couldn’t bear anymore. Of a sudden, something seized inside of her and then broke with an explosion of exquisite, rapturous sensation that tore a series of sharp cries from her as her body convulsed with it. He uttered a hoarse groan as her body clenched frantically around his cock. Shuddering, shaking all over, he pounded into her fiercely as her body milked his of his seed and finally slumped against her, gasping hoarsely for breath.
Thoroughly spent, weak, drifting toward darkness and utterly content from the explosive release, Bronwyn lay perfectly limp beneath him, trying to catch her own breath. Warmth and a strange sense of fulfillment wafted through her as he finally caught his breath and nuzzled his face along her neck, brushing light kisses there. And when he finally gathered her to him and rolled onto his side, she snuggled gratefully against him without protest and allowed her mind to drift aimlessly toward sleep.
She was skating the rim between the world of knowing and the bliss of nothingness when she felt his hands begin to roam her body with more purposefulness.
Chapter Six
Reluctance to yield her lazy, cozy comfort for the harshness of reality rose in Bronwyn’s mind, but she felt a stirring of the warmth that had invaded her senses before. It beckoned to her, chipping the unwillingness away. Doubts arose as her mind drifted toward more awareness.
She should not yield to the madness again, she knew, dimly aware that there was danger to her in giving into her body’s cravings, mostly because she had not yielded so much as she had welcomed the loss of control, gloried in the gratification of her senses.
She’d bartered for once only.
He had demanded the night.
Where would be the harm, she lied to herself as he shifted downward until he could place his mouth over her breast once more, teasing the sensitive nub at the tip until blood flooded it and delightful sensations began to drift through her, stirring the heat of before? Sighing, already glorying in the rise of hunger he built inside of her, she stroked his hair caressingly, slid her palms over the taut muscles of his shoulders and arms in fond acceptance.
When he ceased to fondle her breasts and shifted upward, studying her face in the shadowy firelight that filtered to the bed, she touched his hard cheeks with her hands, lifted her lips to him in offering. He uttered a sound that was threaded with both hunger and relief and took her lips beneath his heated mouth, breaching the fragile barrier of her lips in the same moment with the thrust of his tongue. His mouth and tongue were possessive, aggressive with his rising needs. His passion fed her own, making her belly clench for his flesh, weep for him.
She encouraged his exploration of her mouth and body, rising to meet his every touch, surrendering so completely to the allure of pleasure his body could give her that she felt swept away by it, anxious, fretful to have him claim her fully. “Nightshade,” she whispered shakily when he freed her lips at last. “I want … I need to feel you inside of me.”
A shudder went through him and he lifted away to study her face, his own twisted and harsh with the needs he was struggli
ng to contain. Apparently he saw what he was searching for for he surged upward, guiding his member into the passage that longed to sheathe his turgid flesh. She gasped, arching her head back as he delved her, thrust deeply inside of her, squeezing her eyes closed to hold the wondrous sensation tightly to her. “Stay,” she gasped when he would have withdrawn, lifting her legs and wrapping them tightly around his hips, pulling him deeper still.
He stilled, lifting slightly away again to study her face, rotating his hips and pressing deeper. A sound of bliss sighed from her lips. Her passage clenched around him. Uttering a strangled groan, he lowered his mouth to hers. For several moments, he did no more than kiss her, stirring tremors of delight inside her with the slight rotation of his hips. Abruptly, he broke from her lips with a hoarse grunt, burrowed his face along the side of her neck, and began to move more forcefully, pulling almost completely out of her, thrusting deeply and grinding against her, and then repeating the deep stroke.
A whimper escaped her as she felt her body burgeon, tauten, and then begin to convulse with ecstasy. His cock bucked against the stranglehold of her body. Shaking, his great body jerking uncontrollably, he began to thrust frenziedly, pumping his hot seed into her until his body would yield no more.
Weak as she was in the aftermath, she clung to him, holding him tightly, wanting their bodies locked together. He was still inside of her when exhaustion snatched consciousness away from her.
She woke when he stirred, when she felt his warmth leave her and coolness rushed in to leave her feeling bereft and lonely. Sleepily, she felt for him, wanting to drag his warmth back to cuddle against her, and found only a pillow. A frown creased her brow, but his scent and warmth lingered on the pillow and she drew it to her, clutching it tightly as she drifted away again.
Utter contentment filled her as she floated toward consciousness again. She smiled, luxuriating in the unaccustomed joy that filled her.
“Ye slept well then,” said a familiar voice.
Bronwyn’s eyes popped open and she stared in blank surprise and dawning horror at Zella for several moments before she shoved herself upright and glanced fearfully around. Relief filled her when she found she was alone in the bed, and then disappointment and an odd sense of hurt. He’d left without even saying goodbye.
Gathering her wits, she turned to watch as Zella set the bucket of water down that she’d brought for bathing. “I can manage by myself,” she muttered in sudden apprehension as the events of the night crashed down around her and it hit her forcefully that Zella was bound to notice the telltale signs of her love making. “Go and break your fast,” she added at the look of puzzlement that settled over Zella’s face.
Shrugging, Zella left again, closing the door carefully behind her.
Bronwyn lay back again when she had gone, closing her eyes and allowing the memories to flood her mind. Warmth suffused her at the memories. Her body burgeoned as if she could feel the caresses she remembered.
Shivering, she touched her breasts and then skated a hand downward to soothe the ache between her thighs. His man’s flesh, she thought wryly, was like the rest of him, mammoth. The ache wasn’t altogether pleasurable though it stirred pleasant memories.
Pushing the thoughts away, she sat up and moved from the bed to the water to bathe herself. Her inner thighs shook and groaned with effort and she bit her lip, stripping her nightrail off as quickly as her complaining body would allow. His seed had dried upon her thighs and the musky reminder of their night together tickled at her nostrils as she quickly bathed herself.
She had not expected to find such joy in their coupling. Embarrassment colored her cheeks as she recalled how verbally she had displayed her pleasure, how wantonly she had encouraged him, demanded of him. What must he think of her, she wondered in sudden anxiety? She had meant only to yield, but then she had not expected to gain anything for herself. She had thought she would only give him ease.
She shook that thought off. In his single-minded pursuit of his own pleasure, it seemed doubtful that he would have noticed how gloriously she’d reveled in her disgrace. Doubt speared her when she recalled that he had looked down at her as he had thrust into her body, watched her face, but she pushed that away, as well.
It did not matter. He was not likely to carry tales. Perhaps he had even used some of his dark powers against her and that explained why she had enjoyed what she had never before been able even to tolerate?
It had felt like magic, but not of the unearthly sort.
When she had dressed, she resolutely pushed all thoughts of the night she had spent with Nightshade from her mind and went down to break her fast. She could not seem to contain the joy that kept trying to burst forth, however, the sense of hopefulness and cheerfulness that made the day seem brighter.
Zella and Marta could not refrain from remarking upon it either.
Embarrassed when she caught herself humming under her breath as she went about her chores and the curious gazes of the servants upon her, she tamped the urge, but it only returned and she would find herself smiling idiotically, or humming a tune.
“There’s none that would like ta see ye happy, my lady, more’n me,” Marta said finally. “But the servants are beginnin’ to talk.”
They were in her solar once more, where they usually gathered in the afternoon and Bronwyn had her head bent over her needlework. At Marta’s chiding tone, she felt a blush rising in her cheeks. “And what are they saying?” she asked, feeling a mixture of anger and anxiety welling in her.
“That ye’re behavin’ far more like a woman in love than a widow.”
Bronwyn lifted her head to gape at the woman who had tended her from her earliest memories, struggling against the guilt that flamed her cheeks.
“Yer husband’s scarce cold in his grave. ‘Tisn’t at all seemly ta be goin’ about hummin’ an’ smilin’ to yerself.”
The blood that had rushed to her cheeks abandoned them with a vengeance, leaving her feeling lightheaded. “Have I?” she asked self-consciously.
“It’s nae my business, I know, but ye’ll nae want them gossipin’ when the king’s man arrives, else he’s liable to inform the king yer nae behavin’ like a woman in mournin’.”
Bronwyn took a deep breath to steady her nerves and tamp the rush of temper that swelled inside of her. As angry as she was with Marta for telling her such things, she knew Marta was right. It didn’t matter that she had no reason to mourn her husband, that she’d felt nothing but fear and contempt for him. “I was ill--nearly died. And now I feel well. Is that not reason enough for me to feel cheerful?”
“Aye--and I make no doubt its even more cheerin’ to discover yer rid of that brute of a husband. I’m only sayin’ ye should be careful to behave the way yer expected to behave.”
Subdued, Bronwyn studied her needlework for some moments. “They think that I had something to do with his death?” she finally asked in a low voice.
Marta sent her a sharp look. “If they do I’ve nae heard it, but ye can nae trust that that won’t enter their minds … specially since ye sent yer maids away the other night and have been chirpin’ like a song bird ever since.”
Bronwyn couldn’t help it. She turned so fiery red her cheeks felt as if they’d caught flame. “That’s … absurd! They are speculating that I … that I … only because I wished to be alone?”
Marta shook her head. “It’s nae fer me ta say if ye choose a lover. But ye’ve nae the temperament ta be any good at pullin’ the wool over everyone’s eyes. An’ if they start thinkin’ ye’ve takin’ a lover, next they’ll be speculatin’ about when … and whether he had anythin’ to do with Lord Smytheson takin’ the notion he could fly.”
Marta had come so close to the truth, Bronwyn felt downright faint.
Focusing her mind on her needlework again, she allowed the subject to drop, hoping that Marta would take the hint and leave it, as well.
To her partial relief Marta appeared to be satisfied only to have warned her,
but she could not find any real relief knowing what the servants had been speculating about already.
She need not fear for Nightshade, she knew, for he was no weak mortal and none could touch him … she didn’t think. It was another matter entirely where she was concerned. If the king’s man did get wind of the gossip, she was liable to find herself questioned about her husband’s death at the very least and … the worst didn’t bear thinking on.
She was angry with herself for being so careless and stupid, for allowing herself to become so wrapped up in her pleasure that she had failed to realize that it was far more than an inner joy. It showed, and people noticed.
She should not have indulged her private musings at all, should have put the incident completely from her mind when it was over … for it was over. The danger aside, Nightshade was not her lover. What had happened between them had been a pleasant interlude--more than pleasant, truth be told, but no more than that. She could not take him as her lover. She could not even wish for it. It should have been enough that she had found pleasure in giving him ease when she had not expected to.