"I like him," she said.
"He's been a friend since we were in knee pants," he told her. "He is very much enamored of you."
She cocked her head to one side. "When I touched him, I felt a tingle all the way up my arm."
Sierran smiled as he looked down at her hair. "He said the same thing happened to him." He glanced up at her in the mirror. "Should I be jealous of the two of you?"
"Silly man," she said. "You know better and if he mentioned it to you that should tell you he has no intention of acting upon the feeling."
"I know," he admitted and laid the brush on the vanity. Turning away, he went to the bed and sat down to remove his boots.
"Let me," she said. She got up and came to him, squatting down to tug off his boots.
"All that sleep I got today and I'm still tired," he said.
"You need to rest," she said, taking off his stockings as well. "Your feet are like ice, milord!"
"Cold feet, warm heart," he said as he put out a hand to help her get up. He pulled her between his legs, lassoing her slim waist within the span of his arms, and bringing her against him.
"Be careful of your wounds," she warned.
"They hurt but it's worth it just to hold you like this," he said.
She cradled his head against her chest, smoothing her hands through his hair. "Who did you send to Dragonmoor to fetch the strongbox?" she asked.
"Mac will go in the morning and take along a contingent of men just to be on the safe side. I doubt the servants at your father's estate will protest or put up a fight but I'd rather be sure of my men's security."
His hand dipped down to the sweet upturn of her rump and she giggled.
"I know where you're mind has gone, milord," she said.
He eased back so he could look at her. "And where is that?"
"To your dangly," she said. When he shook his head in disagreement she asked where, then, had his thoughts gone.
"To your sheath," he said in a husky voice. "I develop this problem between my legs every time I think of it."
Celeste felt her blood thicken and pool between her legs. She moved her hands to either side of his face and lowered her lips to his, placing a sweet, heated kiss to his mouth. When she released his lips, she smiled.
"Why don't you finish undressing, milord, and let's see if we can't get down to the root of that problem," she whispered as she moved back from the bed.
Sierran stood up to tug his shirt from his britches. Making quick work of the buttons, he kept his gaze locked on his lady, taking in her tempting beauty as she stood there in her soft nightgown, her bare little feet peeking from beneath the hem.
"I love your toes," he said and felt like an idiot.
"Is that normal?" she giggled.
"Some men have foot fetishes," he replied, stripping off his shirt and tossing it aside. "They love to suckle a woman's toes."
She wrinkled her nose. "I hope those toes are clean when they do that," she commented.
Peeling off his britches, he kicked them aside and held his hand out to her. "Come here, bantling, and let's begin that discussion of my problem."
Celeste glanced down at the problem as it presented itself and sighed. "It's a rather big one, milord," she said, coming closer.
"Aye, so it will need a lot of discussion, don't you think?" he parried as he took her hand in his.
"A lot of discussion," she agreed as she climbed up on the bed with him, not once relinquishing her hold on his hand.
Sierran scooted halfway across the thick mattress, tugging her along with him. His back felt raw and his chest prickled with pain but nothing was going to stop him from claiming his woman as he had wanted to since their Joining.
"Be careful," she warned as he pulled her closer. She was eyeing his chest and the stitch that she'd had to re-sew. When she saw him wince, she put a staying hand to his shoulder where there was no cut. "No. You lie down."
"Celeste…"
"Lie down, Sierran," she ordered and then she sat up, pulling at her nightgown, raising her shapely little ass until she could lift her nightgown over her head. She tossed it over the side of the bed.
Her husband's eyes were shooting amber sparks of desire as his gaze slid over her lush bosom then down to the dark triangle between her legs. He would have reached out to her but she shook her head.
"Lie there and let me handle this problem of yours," she said. “It looks to need a bit.”
Though he would have liked nothing more than to slide between her legs, lay outstretched upon her sweet body, he knew he'd most likely do himself damage if he did. Instead, he did as his lady ordered and reached up to grab the rungs of the brass headboard as she knelt between his legs—nudging them further apart. His back was a mass of burning pain but he said nothing. It relieved his back to lie on his side but lying on his side put pressure on the cuts on his chest so it didn't seem to matter how he lay. Something was going to hurt. At the moment, he was more concerned with the burning, throbbing ache in his cock than the burning, throbbing pain on his back.
Celeste took him between her hands and gently massaged the hard silk of his shaft. She ran her fingers over his sac and along the insides of his thighs.
"Is that enjoyable to you?" she asked.
"Aye," he said, his breath coming in gasps for her tender, innocent touch was playing havoc with his control.
She looked up at him. "Tell me how best to suckle you so you will find pleasure in it."
Just hearing her say those words was a pleasure unto itself. Her statement drove straight into his aching desire and it was all he could do to lie still. Unconsciously he lifted his hips in invitation.
"Kiss him," he whispered breathlessly.
Celeste scooted down in the bed so she could bend over his cock. The moment her lips touched the head, Sierran shuddered, his legs quivering.
"You like that, too?" she asked.
"Aye." He started to tell her what to do next but her mouth closed over his straining flesh and all thought fled.
Celeste's lips were locked around the head of his rod and she was licking the moist slit with the tip of her tongue. Suckling was the last thing on her mind at that moment for she was marveling at the salty taste of him. Instinctively, her hand went under him to cup his balls and as soon as she did, his lower body arched up and his cock went down her throat, gagging her.
"Oh, dearling, I am sorry!" he apologized, lowering his hand from the headboard to reach out to her. "I didn't mean to…"
Celeste was staring at him. "Do you realize your dangly can go almost all the way down my throat?" she asked.
Sierran winced. "Aye, but I didn't…"
"Let's see how far it will go if I relax my tongue!"
Before he could stop her, she was bent over him again and her lips were down to the very base of his shift, his cock nestled in the warm, moist haven of her mouth. Stunned at her willingness to try something most women found unpleasant—save for the whores who made a living from it—Sierran didn't dare move. He was afraid he would frighten her, disgust her, or hurt her in some way that she wouldn't want to do this with him ever again. He lay perfectly still with his hands clamped like vises around the rungs of the headboard, and endured the most wonderful pleasure he had ever known.
Celeste was experimenting with squeezing his cock with her tongue in such a way she would not gag again. When she began suckling him, she heard him groan and pulled back.
"Did I hurt you?" she asked anxiously.
"Nay, wench!" he said, shaking his head from side to side. He was on the verge of coming and he was having trouble controlling the urge. "Get on me. Now!"
Celeste didn't question his order. She straddled his hips, reached down to take him in her hand, and settled her warm channel over him.
"Oh, gods!" he hissed. He could no longer hold his orgasm at bay and his hands came down to her clamp her thighs as he arched up and poured himself into her.
"Yes," Celeste said and began wriggling
on that sweet rod. She was beginning to experience that wild itch that came each time her husband put his cock or finger inside her and she bore down on his length while it was still stiff, giving in to the release that brought a trill of pleasure from her lips.
Staring up at his lady as she came for him, Sierran felt his heart swell and his throat clog with emotion. She was so open to him, so unspoiled and he wanted desperately to keep her that way forever. He slid his hands to her breasts and held her, his thumbs stroking the hard little nipples as though he were worshipping at the altar of her body.
She came again then again as his hands kneaded her, each release as strong as the first until she was practically bouncing up and down on his thighs, pulling him deeper inside her, riding him, milking him until she felt his flesh softening, easing free of her warmth. A little pout formed on her lips when she realized he had slipped out of her.
"Oh, Sierran, your problem dissolved," she complained.
"I'm sure it will pop up again," he breathed.
“I sincerely hope so,” she said. She slipped down beside him and lay facing him, her face relaxed and soft from spent passion. "I love you, Sierran," she said.
Those four little words rocketed through him as nothing ever had. They slammed against his heart and wiggled inside to take root. No one had ever said that to him. No one had ever felt love for him. He found himself on the verge of bawling like a babe and had to bite down on his tongue to keep from doing so.
"I really do," she said, putting a hand to his cheek. "With all my heart."
"How…" He had to swallow before he could go on. "How do you know, dearling? We've not been together that long and…"
"I know," she stressed. "Women know these things." She caressed his face. "The gods put us together, Sierran, and the gods best protect anyone who tries to pull us apart!"
He turned on his side to face her. "Celeste, I would mutilate anyone who attempted such a thing," he said earnestly. "I would turn them to so much bloody mush."
“And I would in turn stomp on that mush until it soaked into the ground,” she swore.
She leaned forward to kiss him. It was a sweet kiss but it held all the promise of many nights and many discussions of problems to come.
Chapter Eleven
Lord Jameson Morgan was fit to be tied. His face was as red as an apple and his piercing black eyes glistened with malice. With his fists opening and closing as he stalked from one end of his office to the other, he was cursing a blue streak his sole companion found very entertaining. It had been two days since his eldest son had returned empty-handed from Zykanthos and Lord James had been stewing ever since.
"Do sit down, Jamie," Beatrice Summerall commanded the man who had been her lover for nearly ten years. "You are fair pacing a hole in the carpet."
"How dare he disobey me?" James shouted. "The impudence of the little bastard is appalling!"
"And you shall duly reprimand him for upsetting you but before you push yourself into a stroke, pray do sit down and relax. Nothing will be accomplished with you striding about like a caged bear."
James shot Beatrice an angry look but he stopped and threw himself into a chair, his fist pounding the arm in frustration. "I will not have one of mine acting in such a disrespectful manner, Bea! What unmitigated gall!"
"I understand, my love, but until you can bring him to heel, nothing can be done."
"No wonder Thurston had him remanded to the Dungeon Master," James fumed. "It's a good thing Thurston is dead else one of us would have been honor-bound to kill him for daring to order a Morgan horsewhipped!" His lips twisted. "Although by disobeying orders, the brattling deserved to have his back torn to shreds. Sierran does tend to bring out the very worst in people."
Beatrice had schooled herself never to frown for such actions would eventually mar the perfection of her smooth brow. At forty-two, she prided herself in the softness of her complexion and the lack of wrinkles on her beautiful face. She had learned to take very good care of herself for her lush body and fine, unspoiled features were her only true assets.
"And this is the man you have foisted off on me?" she inquired, mentally frowning as she patted her silky blond hair.
"'T’was Judith's notion, not mine," James said as he referred to his wife of fifty-eight years. "I say again I believe she suspects you and I are involved and it was her way of putting an end to the affair."
"Nothing will put an end to our arrangement," Beatrice said, lifting her chin.
"Aye," James said. He began picking at a loose thread on the chair arm. "That is true. The only good thing about your being Joined to Sierran is Patterly. I want Patterly under my control before the year is out, Bea."
"That is less than a month away, Jamie," she reminded him.
"I'll have Sierran here well before then," her lover stated. "All he need do is sign over Patterly to me and be on his way, free to go back to his little whore."
"There is the matter of the Joining being consummated, first," she said, a hint of disgust in her soft voice. "According to Argonnese law, we must be true man and wife for him to inherit my husband's estate. You know the old saying of leading a horse to water but being unable to make him drink."
James cursed. "If I have to tie him butt-naked, spread-eagled to the bed and have you crawl over his cock and impale yourself, the Joining will be consummated, my love," he snapped. He glanced at her. "Once that is done, you'll not have to ever touch the little bastard again."
"I should hope not," Beatrice said. "If he's anything like your other sons…"
"Worse," James snapped. "He's much worse than the others and he takes after his mother." He shuddered. "He's as gods-be-damned ugly as that old witch!"
Beatrice shivered delicately. "Pray come and wipe that brutal thought from my mind, James." She held out her arms to him. "I want a strikingly handsome man to comfort me in this trying time."
James grinned. "Strikingly handsome, eh?" he chuckled.
"A veritable Argonnese god," she cooed, batting her cornflower blue eyes.
The Morgan patriarch got up from the chair, ever eager to do her bidding when it came to sharing her body. Already he was hard and ripe for her.
* * *
Vaughn, Dyllon, Fallon, and Peyton Morgan had spent the night before in the seaside town of Edgeville where each of their personal ships was berthed. It was there the four brothers kept a plush set of apartments that overlooked the harbor and to which their lady-wives—and certainly not their parents—were never invited. Though their father knew about the apartment, he dismissed it as being a necessary evil where his randy sons could go to relieve the boredom and staleness of their marriages.
"The old man was beside himself, eh?" Peyton observed as he joined his siblings at the breakfast table where a duo of shapely maids had just set down huge platters of scrambled eggs and crisply fried potatoes to join the bacon and toast already laid out.
"Livid," Vaughn replied. "My ship had barely docked before he was all over me demanding to know why I had not returned with that idiot brother of ours." He slathered marmalade over his toast. "One would think he had been prowling the harbor waiting for me to land."
"He had," Dyllon said. "I saw him out there pacing just as the sun was setting."
"He's tupping the widow Summerall," Fallon reported. "Did you men know that?"
"He's been tupping her for years!" Vaughn snapped. "That's no secret." He took a big bite of toast. "Not even to our saintly mother."
"Saintly, my hairy arse," Peyton snorted with a roll of his eyes. "You can't tell me the head stableman hasn't been tupping her since long before I was born."
"I daresay Sierran is most likely a by-blow of that stableman," Fallon quipped. “Looks a bit like him, I’d say.”
"That would explain a lot, now, wouldn't it?" Vaughn said dryly. "Our mother and the randy stableman. What a fitting pair to produce a bastard like our youngest sibling!"
The brothers laughed. Not a one of them cared a whit f
or the woman who had bore him and not one ounce of respect was ever sent her way.
"I must admit the woman he married on the Austru is quite lovely, though a harpy of the first order," Vaughn related. "If she were mine, she'd damned well learn her place." He bit off a piece of bacon.
"Well, Sierran need not set her aside if that's the case," Fallon said. "He can go back to her once he has slimed old Bea's slippery cunt."
Vaughn thoughtfully chewed his bacon. "She is really quite lovely," he repeated.
“Bea?” Fallon gasped.
“Hell, no!” Vaughn snorted. “Sierran’s doxy.”
"Do you want her, Vonnie?" Dyllon asked.
The eldest Morgan brother cocked a shoulder. "Wouldn't mind breaking her to saddle but I'd have to gag the bitch in order to ride her."
"What was it you said Sierran told you?" Fallon asked. "Something about where he went, she went?"
"He said 'where I go, she goes'," Vaughn answered in a whiny voice.
"Well, that's it in a nutshell, then, isn't it?" Fallon asked.
Vaughn's brow slashed together. "What do you mean?"
"Father wants Sierran here," Fallon said as though speaking to the village fool. "Sierran doesn't want to be here but if his tart were, don't you imagine he'd follow after?"
"I know he would," Vaughn said. "But how do we get her to come here?"
Dyllon stopped scooping eggs into his plate and looked at his eldest brother. "We snatch her, of course," he said.
"Precisely," Fallon said.
"And just how do we do that?" Vaughn demanded. "That DuMond bastard has guards all over the place. Not even a mouse could get into Vista del Mar to make off with the strumpet."
"Well, now, that will need thinking on," Fallon said. "But between the four of us, I'm sure we can find a way to get Sierran's whore here and our little brother into father's grasp."
Dyllon snapped his fingers. "Jillian!" he stated, referring to the youngest of their three sisters. "If we send Jillian there, Sierran won't turn her away. He’s too much of a gentleman to do so. Of us all, he has a bit of affection for Jilly even though she hates his guts."
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