Three Nights With the Princess

by Betina Krahn

  He could see the surprise in her face and feel her uncertainty in the stiffening of her frame. With a knowing look, he kissed each of her hands and placed her palms against his chest, covering her hands with his.

  “How do you want to touch me? What parts of me would you explore and claim? What kisses do you want?” His voice dropped to a sultry, compelling rasp. “Take them, Thera. To discover this pleasure you must take.”

  Still she hesitated, and after a moment he nudged her head toward his . . . offering his mouth. And she took it. With a depth of hunger that she hadn’t known she possessed, she claimed his lips . . . licking, nibbling, teasing his tongue, raking his lips gently with her teeth.

  Somewhere in the midst of those feverish kisses her hands began to move over his chest and up his neck, molding to his shape and caressing him, raking him lightly with her nails . . . exploring the textures of his skin. Soon her kisses drifted down his throat and across his chest.

  Pleasure cascaded through her as she gave her desires free rein over his marvelous body. Dimly she began to understand what this was about . . . it was her desires that drove their loving now. In taking, she was learning what she wanted . . . exploring her passions as she satisfied her need for him. And that insight set her free.

  Sliding sinuously atop him, she fitted her body to his—reveling in the contrast of their shapes—and began to undulate against him, drawing helplessly responsive movements from his roused frame. She rubbed her breasts down his stomach, gasping at the erotic friction of hair against her nipples, then caressed his hip, his swollen shaft, and his thighs with her breasts. Then she nuzzled the soft-skinned expanse of his inner thigh, and kissed her way up his leg, his belly, and his chest.

  “Saxxe,” she whispered hoarsely, the flame in her body visible in her eyes as she rubbed her womanly heat against his rigid staff. He knew what she wanted, and it took every particle of his self-control to keep from pulling her beneath him and giving her exactly what she was asking for.

  “Take what you want, Thera,” he managed, on an inrushing breath.

  “But . . . I . . .”

  “Claim me. You’re very close . . . just claim me.” When she gave a soft moan of frustration, he put his hands on her waist and guided her hips downward on him.

  Suddenly she understood. Parting her thighs to accept him, she lowered herself slowly, moaning as her body yielded and accepted the heat and hardness penetrating her. Then she stilled, steeping in the liquid sensations, luxuriating in the spirals of pleasure radiating from her body’s core. She held him within her, had claimed him . . . had taken him in that most exquisitely primal way.

  A new sense of power flooded through her, more rousing than even the lush delights her body was experiencing. She met his eyes, then slowly pushed herself up on her arms, above him. The sight of him lying naked between her thighs, with his flesh imbedded deeply in hers, was wildly intoxicating.

  She moved her hips and watched his eyes close and his body tense. Slowly, more purposefully, she rounded her hips again and again. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, pushing her to breathtaking new levels of excitation. She straightened farther, so that she sat upright on him. With every seductive movement of her hips, she pushed his control toward its ultimate limit . . . aware that she was reaching her own limit as well.

  With a soft moan, she stretched out on top of him and sank her arms beneath his shoulders, inviting his arms around her. Together, they began to move . . . long, languid strokes that propelled them both higher and faster along a tightening spiral of sensation. All motion seemed to slow, and she plunged, body and soul, into a breathtaking storm of sensation. And as she burst free of sensory bonds, she felt his body gather and arch, then convulse beneath hers.

  “Saxxe—oh, Saxxe—now I know.” She sighed as she floated on a sea of release, not knowing whether she spoke aloud or not. “Now I know.”

  It was some time later, when they were lying relaxed and sleepy in each other’s arms, that her words finally righted in his mind. “What is it you know now?”

  “Why taking is one of the seven pleasures,” she said languidly. “And I know I’ve never been happier than I am right now. And I know you’re the cause,”

  He grinned recklessly and drew her close against him, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “I am? I make you happy? Are you sure I don’t make you furious or suspicious or embarrassed?”

  It was said lightly, but there was a serious undercurrent in his tone. She looked up at him with a soft-eyed smile. “Of course you make me furious . . . and suspicious . . . and even embarrassed, sometimes. But you also make me feel warm and wanted and complete in ways I never imagined possible.” She ran a finger down his breastbone and felt him shiver. “Who are you, Saxxe Rouen, to come charging into my kingdom and into my heart like this?”‘

  “Your heart?” he said in a hush.

  “My heart. I died a thousand deaths tending you this evening. I was so afraid you would die and I’d never have a chance to—”

  His face nearly split with a triumphant grin. “To what? Tell me.” He caressed her hip warmly, coaxing her to say it, needing to own her love.

  “To do this again,” she said, rocking onto her elbow to place a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Or this.” She ran her tongue around the sworl of his ear, wringing an eloquent shiver from him. “Or this.” She laid her head on his chest and nuzzled until she found just the right place, then she wrapped her arms securely around his waist. Then, after a few moments, her grip loosened.

  When he raised his head to look at her, her eyes were closed and her breathing was settling into a slow, predictable pattern. He laid his head back and closed his eyes with a smile. Before long, he had joined her in sleep.

  Hours later, Thera awakened to the sensuous feel of a big warm body curled around hers. The lamp was flickering low, slowly abandoning everything to shades of gray and deep midnight blue.

  When she stirred, her hip brushed the fully erect column of his manhood, and she froze. His hands slid inquisitively over her breasts and down her belly. She responded with a languorous arch of her back . . . which thrust her breast more fully into his hand. His unasked question was answered without words.

  “Ready for the Fifth Pleasure, I see,” he murmured hotly in her ear. His fingers toyed with the sensitive tips of her breasts as he coaxed her passions to ignite again. The flame was not long in catching. She slowly turned in his arms and reached for his kiss.

  “The Fifth Pleasure. And what is that?” she whispered.

  “Giving,” he said, rolling onto his back and carrying her atop him again. “As you took pleasures . . . now you must learn to give them.” His voice flowed out of the darkness around her, alluring, compelling . . . pure temptation. And the quivering resonance it created in her body must have been akin to what Eve had felt in the Garden of Eden. It was utterly irresistible. “How closely have you been watching?” His voice set her ear humming. “Do you know what will give me pleasure?”

  Without a word, she pushed onto her hands and knees astride him. Her tousled mane transformed her into a voluptuous animal, set to devour him. Shaking her hair, she set it tumbling over him like a silken shower. She flexed and swayed so that her body brushed his, ever so lightly, and he inhaled raggedly as her nipples raked his chest and jolted as the liquid heat of her femininity slid across his swollen shaft. The sight and feel of her undulating above him was wildly arousing.

  Then she lowered her mouth to his, kissing and nibbling his lips, and began to suck his tongue with soft, rhythmic motions that imitated the way her body would soon demand his. Every square inch of him caught fire.

  “My wicked little cat,” he groaned as she writhed erotically against him. “You did pay attention, after all.”

  She had indeed absorbed his every sigh and shiver of response, but it was not memory that now directed her body against his. With a feminine instinct older than memory itself, she simply did for him what had given her
such intense pleasure. And it was more than enough.

  In the play of hands, the weaving of limbs, and the heated press of bodies, his arousal mounted quickly. She curled over him like a sleek, silken pet . . . rubbing, teasing, bringing him to aching hardness . . . then slowly engulfing his heat with her responsive flesh. With each rise and fall of her hips, he felt the pressure build until he couldn’t see or speak, could scarcely breathe. And when the tension grew overwhelming, a jagged bolt of pleasure shot through him, exploding up his spine and searing along his nerves . . . to the very ends of his body.

  In a sensual haze, he rolled Thera onto her back and continued his deep, penetrating strokes, raking against her throbbing center until her fingers dug into his back and she arched and stiffened, flung past all sensual limits. For a time she was insensate . . . lost to sight and sound and even touch.

  For a time they drifted together, not speaking, content just to be in each other’s arms. But even as exhausted as she was, she had no desire to sleep.

  “Did I do it right?” she finally said, rubbing her nose against his lightly stubbled chin. “Did I give the way you wanted?”

  “Umhmm.”

  “Everything?” she said, teasing, propping her chin on her fist to look at him.

  He looked into her love-weighted eyes and had to speak the truth. “Let’s just say it was all I’d hoped for and a good bit more. Everything will take more than just one night, I’m afraid. We greedy barbarians are notoriously insatiable.”

  “Oh?” she flirted with him through her lashes. “And what more could I give you, greedy barbarian? More kisses? More caresses? I could hardly give you more enthusiasm. . . .”

  “You could give me your trust.”

  The instant he said it, he knew it was a mistake. But his defenses were down and his longings were too near the surface to suppress. It was what he wanted . . . perhaps more than anything in his life.

  Those simple words struck Thera’s thoughts like small stones, catching her unawares with their sting. She started and sat up, feeling an edge rising in her. “Trust? A strange request, I believe, considering I’ve just given you my body and my passions . . . and my heart.”

  “Part of your heart,” he said. “The private part, the woman’s part. And greedy barbarian that I am, I want it all . . . the princess part as well.”

  She looked into his glowing golden eyes and shivered at the raw determination in him. The stormy pleasures of the night had blown through her emotions, sweeping away her old defenses and leaving her with no refuge and no weapons against his honesty.

  Abruptly she rolled aside, but he caught her by the arm and held her. “Nay, this time you cannot flee. I would settle this between us, Thera. You make me your mate and lover in the cloistered darkness of your bed, but you dread the possibility that someday I may walk with you in the light . . . as your husband. Why else, except that you do not trust me?”

  “My reasons are my own.”

  “You trust me with your body and your passions, but will not trust me with your people. And until you do, until you share your kingdom with me willingly, I will not have your whole heart, Thera of Aric. There will always be a part of you that doesn’t belong to me.” He rose onto his knees and overcame her resistance to take her by the shoulders and turn her to face him. “I know how you watch my every step . . . how you try to prevent my contact with your people . . . how you mistrust my efforts to help them.”

  “You call tearing down the forge and disrupting the marketplace and getting my councilors drunk being helpful?” she declared, trying to squirm away. “You think teaching my men to shoot arrows at human targets will benefit them?”

  “Yea—I do!” he roared, hauling her back and imprisoning her against his chest. “Your people must learn to defend themselves and their land, and since you will not—nay, you cannot—teach them, then I’ll do it for you. Mercia needs a new forge, a garrison, fortifications, a number of improvements in the stables . . .”

  He halted, staring into her angry face and understanding the distrust there in a new way. She could do nothing about the defense of her kingdom; she knew nothing about arms and strategy. She was used to doing everything for her people herself, and the thought that they might need something she couldn’t give them terrified her.

  “I swear to you, Thera, you don’t need to protect them from me. Can you honestly believe I would ever willingly hurt you or your people?”

  She didn’t want to believe such a thing, but the longings of her heart were at war with her obligations to her people. Was he her heart’s desire or her kingdom’s destroyer? Or both? Long-suppressed doubts came roiling up, and she began to tremble.

  “I don’t know what I believe about you,” she said in a desperate whisper. “One moment you’re a fierce, hard-bargaining mercenary; the next you’re a tender, larcenous rogue who steals my senses and my people’s affections. You boast openly of your greed, you ignore every standard of civilized behavior, and you tell whopping lies when the truth would suit better. You won’t say where you’re from—I don’t even know with certainty that Saxxe Rouen is your real name.” Tears welled in her eyes and clogged her throat. “How can I give you any more of me when I may have already given you too much?”

  His fists clenched and his face burned with frustration.

  “What would you believe? I rescued you and brought you home . . . I kept my word . . . I cared for you. Everything that is important to know, you already know about me. What proof can I give you, if you will not accept the honesty of my actions?”

  Searching the depths of her tear-rimmed eyes, he could see her pained longing for him . . . and he could see that it wasn’t enough.

  “Damn it!” He released her and rolled from the bed, pacing furiously. Then he stopped, looked at her for a long moment, and began jerking on his hose and jamming his feet into his soft new boots. The fierceness of his motions and the determined set of his features alarmed her. She swiped at her eyes and snatched up a sheet to shield herself as she slid to the side of the bed. But as she reached for her clothes, he lunged for her and scooped her up into his arms.

  “Wa-ait! What do you think you’re doing?” She dragged the sheet over her, trying to cover herself as he carried her toward the doors. “Put me down—no! No! Have you lost your mind?”

  Panicking, she began to squirm and push against him, but it was no use. He kicked open the door, then strode briskly along the colonnade toward the Great Hall. He carried her through the main chambers of the palace and down the east corridor to his quarters. Once inside, he slammed the door with his foot and dumped her in the middle of his bed, snarling an order for her to stay put if she valued her hide. Struggling to wrap the sheet around her bare body, she saw him throw open the trunk at the foot of the bed and pull out one of his leather saddle pouches.

  In the dim morning light he came to stand by the bed, looming dark and powerful above her, his eyes turbulent and his jaw muscle twitching. “You want to know who I am? I’ll tell you. I am Saxxe Rouen, born Saxxe de Challier, sixth son of the Earl de Rouen . . . the youngest of three who survived to adulthood. My father controlled an estate much dwindled and impoverished by the bold thievery of water from our streams. He had no inheritance for me, no money or influence to send me to foster elsewhere . . . and so made me his own squire. He was a wily old man—strong as an ox and twice as stubborn. He taught me well the skills of fighting . . . then sent me off at sixteen, spurless, into the company of knights pledged to King Louis the Pious . . . bound for the Holy Lands. He gave me a mount and a sword and an order not to come back without spurs.

  “I went with King Louis to Alexandria and Damietta and I fought hard and well.” He reached into the pouch and drew out the golden spurs, one in each hand. The glimmer of pain in his eyes took her breath. She knew without hearing; they were his. Shame burst hot against her skin as she thought of her arrogance that day by the stream, and of her continuing blindness to the truth about him. Her eyes stung
and a hard lump formed in her throat.

  “I received them at the hands of the king himself after the battle at Damietta. And when the Crusade ended and Louis disbanded his knights, I proudly carried these home. . . .” He paused and drew a harsh breath, struggling for control as old memories boiled up inside him.

  “Only there was no home. In the king’s absence, a long-standing rival had provoked a fight over the water rights and killed my father and my elder brother . . . and in the regent’s court had taken the land and castle of Challier for damages. My only remaining brother had sought refuge in an abbey with the monks. As a royal knight, I petitioned the king for relief, asking that he set aside the judgment and allow me to reclaim the land, so that the title might be preserved in our line.” His hands tightened around the spurs. “But the king had his own problems with greedy nobles and moneylenders and an angry pope; he could not, or would not, be bothered with what he deemed a petty land squabble.

  “Such was my reward for honorable and valiant service.” He raised his head. “I ripped the spurs he had given me from my boots . . . and I never looked back.”

  The sight of his pain seared through her tears. She wrapped her arms around her waist, desperate to comfort him but afraid he would not accept it from her now. He was a knight, the son of a nobleman. But somehow that mattered less than the fact that he had opened the rest of his life to her and entrusted her with his past.

  “The rest you know. I roamed . . . and fought . . . and sometimes bled. And more often than not, I received the same reward Louis had given me for my troubles. Noblemen have short memories for their promises, I soon learned.” Her face burned with shame as she thought of their early encounters and of how she would have escaped her own debt to him if she had found the chance . . . how after all he had done, she was still reluctant to give him his due.