by Julia Latham
Among other things.
Deep inside, an urgent voice told him to ignore her call, to climb back out on his rope, where it was less dangerous hanging three stories above the ground.
Instead he turned his head and looked at her. Although she had not rolled over, she was reaching behind her, lifting the coverlet as if in invitation.
“Anne.”
He cursed how hoarse his voice sounded, how much he betrayed. He didn’t even know what he’d meant to say. But he was immobile, unable to move to the window. He desperately wanted to slide in behind her, his thighs molding to hers, his chest to her back, his hand pulling up her night rail.
She tugged the coverlet slowly toward the wall, and he watched stupefied as the edge of it slithered up from the floor and flowed over her body.
She was wearing nothing at all. By candlelight, he could see the creamy length of her back, and the mass of her black hair, spread out over the pillow, where her head rested on her arm. His gaze traveled down, over the roundness of her hips, and the tantalizing cleft between. Her legs seemed to go on forever, long smooth lines, delicate ankles and feet.
And then she began to stretch, moving so slowly and sinuously that he gave a soft groan. She lifted her other arm over her head and arched her back. Now he could see the mound of her breast teasing him, daring him.
Oh so slowly, she rolled onto her back, and he stopped breathing. Her perfection had lived in his dreams each night, her breasts so full, tipped the color of dark pink roses. Her belly was smooth and slightly curved inward, leading down to a swirl of black curls where her thighs met.
And all the while he stared at her, his cock straining his breeches, she smiled at him, her eyes narrowed, as if she knew exactly how much power she wielded over him—and how helpless he was to resist.
But she was yet an innocent, and perhaps she didn’t know the consequences of where she led him.
He took a step nearer, and stood right over her. “How brave do you feel tonight?” he whispered.
She said nothing, only lifted her arms to him.
“How much are you willing to do?”
She betrayed only a moment’s confusion, but the expression faded away. She was far too good at hiding behind a mask. But if he made her do too much, go further than she’d known she could, she might realize that she was only living in the moment.
“I want to see more of you,” he told her softly. “Spread your legs.”
She hesitated, and he warred inside, part of him praying this torture would be over soon, and the other part praying that she would be his this night.
Then her knee started to move, and his breathing became even more ragged. She put her hand on her knee and slowly lifted it up and out.
She’d called his bluff.
Chapter 17
A nne lay still, barely breathing, baring herself in more ways than one to a man whom she did not know if she could trust. They had been here once before, and she’d been the one to reject him for his honesty. She didn’t care about the future anymore. He loomed above her, so broad and powerful and dark. But as the candlelight flickered across the harsh planes of one side of his face, she did not see one hint of rejection or hesitation. His hands were fisted, and he stared at her as if she were a feast for a hungry man.
He’d asked to see more of her, and she complied without thought. She would do anything to keep him here, to feel a part of him.
She’d revealed the most private depths of herself. Then she straightened her leg, pulling it even closer to her body, and she thought he choked.
“Enough,” he whispered.
He reached out and took her foot in both his hands, smoothing the bones gently within his warm, callused palms. He slid his hands along her ankle and calf, and then circled her knee with gentle, teasing fingers. Her skin tingled at his touch, and she barely kept herself from squirming, so desperate was she to move her body. He bent her knee back down, and then slid the back of his fingers down her inner thigh, pressing lightly until she parted farther. She could not seem to take a deep enough breath as he stared at what lay so revealed to him.
She almost groaned when he did not touch her. Instead he knelt down at the side of the bed, which brought him so much closer. As he leaned over her, she didn’t know what he was going to do. Then he blew softly over her breasts, and her nipples shrunk into hard little points. She whimpered and panted.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
She almost balked; it seemed too vulnerable to be blind in the dark when he could see her. But wasn’t she already so vulnerable now, naked when he was clothed, open to whatever he wanted to do to her?
He watched her with narrowed eyes, as if he thought she would not follow his command. When she closed her eyes, she thought he might have sighed.
But she couldn’t think, could only lie still and tremble, as every part of her skin came alive in anticipation. What would he do to her? Where would he touch her?
She felt his warm breath only a moment before he kissed her lips. With a groan she opened her mouth and let his tongue plunge deeply inside her. She fought it with her own, wanting to taste the inside of him. He touched her in no other way, and she needed to feel him against her. She slid her hands up his arms, and immediately he pulled away.
“No touching. Keep your eyes closed.”
She whimpered again, too needy.
Several long seconds passed with nothing except the sound of his ragged breathing. It made her feel as satisfied as if she could see the passion in his eyes.
Suddenly his tongue dipped into her navel, and she gave a start. He laughed softly against her belly, his whiskered cheek lightly scraping her. His fingers suddenly teased the hollow at the top of her inner thigh, and she shuddered.
More seconds passed, building up her tension until she wanted to roll her head back and forth with the anticipation.
Then the warm wetness of his tongue swirled across her nipple and she convulsed, biting her lip so as not to cry out. She had never imagined something could feel so good. How could the pleasure be any deeper, any richer?
When he blew softly across her damp breast, she moaned.
“You taste…like heaven,” he whispered.
She could feel his breath over her other breast only a moment before he took her nipple deep into his mouth, using his tongue and his lips in a dance that had her writhing beneath him. His fingers found her other breast, and she thought she could not bear the pleasure as each nipple was stroked with tongue or fingers. She wanted to hold his head to her, and instead she clutched the bed sheets with frantic fingers.
He suddenly released her, and it was as if her body was denied sustenance, it ached for him so.
“Oh, Philip, please!”
But still he made her wait, until her skin felt like it hummed.
And then he swirled his fingers through the hair just below her belly, and she gasped, letting her legs sag open gratefully. Aye, this was what she wanted, what her body needed, where every sensation seemed to be centered.
With one finger, he slid lower, parting her, sending the most exquisite pulses of pleasure shooting deep inside her. She felt the moistness of her body and was almost embarrassed, but he gave a groan as if she pleased him. He probed deeper and deeper, to the very core of her, as if he would enter her like this rather than with his penis. And he did, teasing and stroking until she was shuddering helplessly. But still it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t all she wanted, but she didn’t know what to ask or how to say it.
Then his fingers slid higher again and swirled in a circle about the little nub of her flesh. Her body answered with a tense stillness as she concentrated on this new, wonderful sensation. He teased and tormented, plucked and stroked. He set her aflame when his mouth returned to her breasts, and she could no longer remain still, undulating on the bed with each masterful caress.
Just when she thought she could bear it no longer, when each touch was full of painful pleasure, her body seemed to come apa
rt from the inside, shattering into a million pieces of pleasure, suffusing every inch of her skin. She shuddered with it, rocked with it, and still he caressed her, though with ever slower motions.
At last she fell back in exhaustion against the mattress. When she opened her eyes, he was watching her, his head resting below her breasts. She could feel his hand cupping her possessively where she was now so sensitive.
She blinked and looked at him, a slow, secret smile curling her lips. He answered in kind, though his face seemed too tight for his skin.
“You played me like a lute,” she whispered.
“Hmm.” His voice rumbled against her skin.
She shivered. “Remove your clothes.”
As he straightened, his smile faded. “Nay, I should not.”
Her mouth fell open and she couldn’t seem to find the words. He did not want pleasure from her? Did he think her too innocent? Or did he think she could not handle it?
Before he could speak, she said in a harsh, low voice, “Don’t tell me this isn’t what I want!”
“You want our coupling now, but will you regret it tomorrow?”
“I’ve always wanted you!”
He stood up with the slowness of an old man.
He leaned down to caress her breasts in both hands, holding their fullness. Her body arched and sighed with pleasure, needing more. It was her choice to have him, and she would make him realize that. She stood up slowly, and he stepped back, staring at her naked body.
He didn’t look like a man who wanted to refuse, and she took power from that. She put her hands on him, touching his flat abdomen to find his belt. As she undid the buckle, she felt the increase in his breathing.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked hoarsely.
“You know what I’m doing.”
Dropping the belt to the floor, she slid her hands down his hips, then up under his tunic, lifting it in her wake.
He grabbed her shoulders as if to push her away, but when he touched bare skin, she could hear his indrawn breath. She felt his thumbs move over her collarbones, and the roughness and heat of the gentle gesture made her tremble. She desperately wanted to press herself against him, but she held back.
“Anne.”
He said her name again, harsher this time, with an element of desperation that thrilled her. This was it; he would not be able to resist.
Beneath his shirt, she felt the heat of his skin, his sides so smooth and warm yet hard with muscle. She could not hope to remove his garments by herself, with their height difference, so she concentrated on touching him, running her fingers forward along the waist of his breeches.
She could hear the breath gasping in and out of him. It ceased completely when she dropped her hand lower and cupped along the length of him, so very different from her own body. He hissed in a breath. He felt long and hard, and she wanted to see him, but her sense of touch would have to do.
Suddenly he tried to back away from her, but he hit the edge of the bed and abruptly sat down. Giddy at the opportunity, she moved forward and straddled his lap. She put her arms around his head and held him to her, his face pressed into her neck.
“Take me, Philip,” she whispered, stroking her hands through the silkiness of his hair. Holding onto his shoulders, she arched backward, feeling his face slide down her body. It seemed like forever, but at last his cheek was pressed to the upper curve of her breast, his mouth so close to where she wanted it.
“Make love to me, Philip.”
She slid along his thighs until their hips were pressed together. It felt so good to clutch him with her thighs, and to feel the long ridge of him that made her groan. But he wasn’t touching her with his hands, made no effort to hold her, and in desperation she rubbed herself against him, a long smooth stroke that gave her so much pleasure.
At last she felt his big hands cup her bottom and hold her tight to him, immobile. She whimpered and tried to move, but he didn’t allow it. Letting go of his shoulders, she fell back on his thighs, head dangling past his knees. He was trembling as much as she was, and they seemed at an impasse, for he said nothing.
At last, with a groan, he slid his hands from her hips and up over her rib cage to cup her breasts. She gasped and started to move again, and this time he didn’t stop her, only caressed and kneaded her, teasing her nipples, pressing himself between her thighs.
She clutched at his back and started pulling on his tunic. As he leaned over her, his open mouth found her breast. His tongue weaved circles about her nipples, distracting her, but still she tugged until the garment began to come between them.
With a muttered curse, he straightened and pulled it off over his head. This time he nipped her breasts with his teeth, yet still she pulled relentlessly on his shirt. That came up over his head, separating his mouth from her body. When he yanked at it, she heard a seam tear and felt a primitive satisfaction.
But now when he leaned over her, the heat of his bare stomach was against hers, and she delighted in tracing the muscles of his shoulders and back with her hands. He felt so very different from her, and she reveled in it.
He could not so easily leave her now, not half undressed. With her arms about him she held him to her, moving against him, whimpering softly when his breeches came between them.
She gasped when he turned and deposited her on her back in the bed. He dropped his breeches, and suddenly he was above her, his bare knees pushing her thighs wide. She reached for him, felt the rough hair on his thighs. Though she tried to feel higher, he moved away from her, down her body, following with his mouth. She moaned when his lips traveled over her breasts and continued on down. She shivered when he passed her navel, stopped breathing when his shoulders spread her thighs even wider. His warm breath stirred the curls at the center of her.
Uncertainly, she whispered, “Philip—” then had to bite her lip to keep from screaming when his tongue parted her and swirled a long path from the tender nub straight down until he licked inside her. She writhed and moved, unable to stay still until he held her down. He sucked her forcefully, and then gently licked to soothe her. He teased and tormented, never doing one thing long enough. She was awash in circling desire, damp heat, embarrassment and excitement. When his long fingers probed inside her, she felt the resistance and so did he, for he withdrew, leaving her frustrated. He cupped her hips and tilted her even higher to him, working the magic that wound ever tighter between them, drawing them together with invisible bonds. His tongue explored and tasted and caressed, until as she rode higher and higher, she moved less and less, seeking, rising, waiting—
And then he stopped and rose over her, smothering her cry of neglect with his wet mouth. When he came down on top of her she whimpered her satisfaction at the heavy weight of him. With his thighs he pressed her ever wider, then he pulled up on her knees until she felt him probe against her.
“Yes,” she whispered, urging him on, thrilled that at last she would have him.
He needed no urging, for he found her entrance and sank in. To her surprise, pain flared and she gasped. He froze, waiting, as if he thought that she would reject him at so crucial a moment.
But she pulled on him until he bent to kiss her. She slid her tongue between his lips in imitation of what he did to her.
And then his hips began to move, and the pain was forgotten in passion that swept her body from toes to head.
Chapter 18
P hilip felt the hot cradle of Anne’s body as if he were coming home. He had longed to be there, deep inside her, her thighs clutching his hips, her hands on his chest playing with his nipples as he had done to her. He rose up and came down over and over again, with each thrust a little closer to the heaven they both craved.
He did not think about the past or the future, only the here and now, locked in darkness, warmed by the heat of shared nakedness. He could not get enough of the taste of her, bent his back so that he could kiss her over and over again. She tasted of Anne and passion, and he craved
it as if she were a long-denied sweet.
He could feel the pleasure rising through her, knew by the frantic way she met his hips and clung to him, her breath hissing in and out of her lungs. He held out until he felt her quake in his arms, felt the ripple of her sheath clutching at him. He smothered a groan into the pillow beside her head and gave himself over to the pleasure that stole him away, shook him until he was shuddering and weak against her. He collapsed at her side in the narrow bed and held her to him.
They said nothing for endless long minutes, as their breathing evened, and perspiration cooled on their skin. Her heart still beat wildly against his, and he caressed her back, sliding his fingers through the long curtain of her hair.
He lifted onto his elbow and simply stared at her voluptuous beauty. The candlelight flickered warmly against her skin, all ivory and shadows. Her long hair, as black as the rest of the chamber, swayed down past her shoulders, curling evocatively beneath one breast.
Then she reached for the candle and lifted it above them. “You are beautiful,” she murmured, her dark eyes warm with appreciation.
He lay still, enjoying her admiration.
“I want to remember everything,” she said.
“I do not yet have to leave,” he answered. “My duty is to watch over you.” He tried to take her free hand.
She only lifted the candle higher. “I seem to be watching over you.” As the candlelight found his lower leg, she frowned. “That is the burn from the sword tip so long ago?”
He bent his knee so that he could see his calf. “Aye, it is a reminder never to be clumsy.”
“You are certainly not clumsy,” she breathed, finally setting the candle down.
“And you have so much experience to know?”
She laughed softly. “Nay, as you can now attest to.”
“I noticed nothing except willingness and eager passion.”
He reached for her, turning to pull her atop him. She sighed as their limbs entwined, the roundness of her breasts against his chest making him shudder with renewed desire.