by Julia Latham
Once more, she felt his hands low on her back, felt the laces give way, and his hands pushing on her garments. The last of them suddenly slid to the floor, leaving her wearing only her stockings and shoes. She stiffened, not sure she wanted him looking at her entire body, so different from other women’s, with its scars and bruises and long lankiness.
But he only moaned against her breasts, let his mouth move up her body to meet her lips. His kiss swept away the last of her fears, and his arms drew her against him. She could feel the smoothness of his silk doublet against her flesh, the warmth of his thigh easing between hers, separating her. His kiss deepened, roughened, became all the more exciting as his tongue mated with hers. Distracting her, she knew, from the strange, new, thrilling things he was doing to her.
Suddenly, he grasped her waist and lifted her up to sit on the edge of the bed. He was kissing her again before she could even protest, stepping between her thighs, separating them even farther. She felt suddenly out of control, wanting to pull him harder against her, needed to feel him deep where the hunger seemed unappeasable.
“Wait, wait!” she said against his mouth.
He stilled, and lifting his head, looked down at her. In that moment, she knew she could stop this, that he would do as she wanted. His eyes searched hers, burning with urgency and promise, but he was leaving the choice up to her. In this at least, she trusted him.
“You are wearing too many garments,” she found herself saying breathlessly.
A relieved grin stole over his face, and then he was tugging at the buttons of his doublet, at the laces of his shirt, pulling them both off over his head. His wide chest was scattered with dark hair, hard with muscle that rippled downward.
His smile faded with her intense regard. Hoarsely, he said, “Touch me, Diana.”
And she did, smoothing her trembling fingers over his hot, firm chest. Beneath the skin his muscles were as hard as if forged by a blacksmith, and he inhaled sharply when she rubbed her thumbs across his nipples.
“Do you like this?” she asked.
He groaned and came down over her, forcing her back onto her elbows, her knees on either side of his clothed hips.
“Wait, wait!” she cried again, this time biting her lip to hide her laughter. She hadn’t known lovemaking could be playful as well as passionate.
Again, he stilled, although this time he trembled as he met her eyes, waiting as she’d ordered. She let the moment drag out, enjoying the anticipation, the press of his groin against hers. At last she could not hold back, and did the brazen thing she’d been dying to do. She rolled her hips against his, groaned with the undying pleasure of it, and cried, “You are still wearing too many clothes!”
He stared at her as if he’d been expecting rejection, and the expression on his face when he dropped his hose and codpiece was primitive with a satisfaction that made her feel all woman. She’d reduced him to a man who needed her, needed what she could give him.
He came over her again, hands braced on either side of her shoulders. As she felt him hard and heavy between her thighs, she stiffened, closing her eyes, ready for his bold entrance, knowing that it might hurt.
But instead she felt his mouth pressing delicate kisses on the tips of her breasts, his fingers sliding in a slow caress down her inner thigh. Her eyes opened wide when he touched the moist depths of her, tracing the feminine folds no man had ever touched. She trembled and tensed, not knowing what she was supposed to do.
“Relax, Diana,” he murmured against her skin. “I wish to give you the pleasure you’ve given me.”
“I’ve given you pleasure?” She hated the neediness in her voice.
His expression was fierce. “Ever since we met, I have thought of nothing but touching and kissing you. Even when I was angry, I knew what I wanted.”
She tensed when his fingers slid deeper, easing into her. She couldn’t seem to breathe, didn’t know what she wanted.
“Just touching you and being touched in return gives me pleasure,” he murmured, leaning over her.
“But…I know not what to do,” she found herself whispering at last, knowing she could reveal her inadequacies to him.
His grin was wicked, his brown eyes dark. “Trust me, you will learn.”
His smile faded, and he only watched her as his fingers moved inside her. She should look away in embarrassment, but she was caught in his spell, in the intensity of their connection. And when his fingers slid out of her and moved higher, touching the small, hidden nub, she shuddered at the beginning of an explosion of sensation that only made her desires more urgent.
“Oh, please,” she whispered, pulling at him, “Finish this!”
But this time he did not do as she wanted, only teased her lips with his, while his fingers caressed and circled, sometimes slowing until she felt mad with restlessness, other times moving faster, taking her higher.
And then he moved his hand from her, and she cried out, desperate, no longer caring what she sounded like.
Still standing on the floor, he pulled her hips to the edge of the bed, then sheathed himself inside her, going deep. The shock of pain was swift and faded almost immediately as he rubbed his hips slowly against hers, where his fingers had just been. Immediately, her passion surged again.
“Oh, yes,” she said on a moan, trying to move against him, but feeling awkward and unsure.
Then he pulled almost all the way out, and surged into her again. Her body stiffened, and she flung her head back as his mouth settled on her breast. The world seemed to turn upside down as she reached the crest and rode the pleasure of his body, each even stroke of his erection inside her bringing on more shudders of pleasure. She didn’t understand what she’d just experienced, but knew he must want the same thing, for he strove to move faster inside her. She pushed back against him, intuitively understanding the rhythm, taking it inside herself and wanting to give it back, to give him the pleasure he’d granted her.
She wrapped her arms about him, and to her shock, she felt the scars she’d only witnessed from a distance, long hard ridges that once must have hurt terribly.
And then he shuddered hard against her, his groan a release, and she held him until a damp, exhausted stillness claimed them both.
At last he came up on his elbows and looked down at her. She stared back, not really knowing what she saw on his face, the quiet gaze of his eyes, the slight curve of his mouth.
She’d given herself to him, another impulse she’d been unable to control. But in this peaceful moment, she found she couldn’t quite regret it. That might come eventually, but she would find a way to deal with it.
Though winter’s chill haunted the stone walls of her bedchamber, beneath Tom she was incredibly warm. Their skin was moist where they touched. Still joined most intimately to him, she reveled in the way he filled her, made her feel a part of him.
Tom didn’t know what to think as he stared down into Diana’s languid eyes. He hadn’t imagined that she’d let him take her, was overwhelmed by how unprepared he’d been for sharing lovemaking with her. He’d never felt any joining so deeply, so movingly, as when she’d offered him her virginity. Had she felt so free because she assumed she wouldn’t marry? It troubled him, the thought of her always alone but for her occasional surrender to her need for a man.
The heat of her surrounded him, pulled on him, and his thoughts faded away. He was overcome with the need to have her again. He moved inside her gently and felt the quick shudder that spoke of pain rather than desire.
He stilled at once. “Diana? Have I hurt you?”
Her smile was sweet and embarrassed. “I feel a little…sore.” She looked away, dark lashes fluttering to hide the gray jewels of her eyes.
Regretfully sliding from her body, he climbed up beside her and collapsed on his side with a groan.
“You are hurt?” she asked in obvious surprised.
He propped his head on his arm and smiled. “Nay, just tired. You take everything out of me, but
leave me well sated. Did I please you?”
He was surprised at her faint blush, for she always seemed so forthright and unflappable to him. Her skin continued to pinken, clear down her chest, and he traced the path with his fingers, causing her to tremble.
“You know you pleased me,” she said in a low voice. “I could not disguise what I felt, and practically shouted it to the world.”
“No one heard,” he said, laughing and leaning over to kiss her. “All are busy celebrating.”
She came up on her elbows. “I should be there. What will they say if they cannot find me?”
He kissed her shoulder, then the side of her breast. “I think they are too engrossed in their own enjoyment.”
But she sat up, not meeting his eyes, looking about as if she didn’t know what to do first.
He put his hand on her thigh and she stilled. “Diana, do not regret what we’ve shared.”
She took his hand, and instead of pushing it away, she squeezed it gently and at last met his gaze. Something in him eased, and he realized what she thought of their lovemaking mattered to him greatly.
“I do not,” she said softly. “But…I cannot think now about what it means, or…or if it should even happen again. You might marry Cic—”
He reached up and covered her lips with his fingers. “Do not say it. You know that I will not marry your sister. You have won in that regard.”
Her eyes widened and she ducked away from his hand. “You do not think that I…that I would let this happen just to stop you from—”
He sat up and put his arm around her. “Nay, I do not think that. You wanted me as much as I wanted you. But as for Cicely, what would you have me do? What will make things easiest for you?”
“I—I know not. You cannot hurt her by telling her that you do not favor her.”
“That I favor you?” he asked wickedly.
Diana visibly shuddered. “Never say such a thing to her. I know not what she’s capable of, and I feel that her desperation is overcoming her. Be kind to her.”
“And what of you, Diana?” he asked, knowing her answer mattered so much more.
This time when she moved to leave the bed, he allowed it. She found her garments and, endearingly, could not meet his eyes as she drew on her smock and pulled tight the laces gathering her neckline. Now that her nudity was covered, he sensed that her usual cool nature was reasserting itself. She raised her calm gaze to him, and when she saw that he was still naked, her breathing hitched.
He rolled onto his side, his head propped on his hand, and she watched his body with wide eyes.
She licked her lips, but didn’t look away. “What of me?” she repeated. “I…I will think on what this was between us. I did not plan it.”
“I know you didn’t. I am the one who surprised you in your own chamber.” He hesitated. “You say you do not regret what we’ve shared, but you can barely stand to look at me.”
She bent and picked up her gown, but he swiftly sat up and caught her arms, bringing her to him.
“Diana.”
She looked at his mouth, and he saw the softening in her eyes the moment before she touched her fingers to his lips. “I cannot help my embarrassment. And I will not use this to discuss marriage, not when I never knew if I wanted it myself.”
“You told me this before. Why would a lovely woman such as yourself not want marriage?”
She gave his question thought, and he wondered if she was debating telling him the truth—or concealing more of herself from him.
“I knew from childhood that I was different,” she said quietly. “Most men want a very typical woman.”
“Apart from your skills on the tiltyard, you seem like all women to me, if you can call any woman alike with another.”
“But my skills are a part of me, and something I will not give up, not for any man.”
She spoke urgently, firmly, and he knew that this, at least, was the truth.
“I understand,” he said.
She pulled the gown over her head, and Tom knew he surprised her by turning her about and tying up the laces himself.
“I am very forthright,” she said over her shoulder. “Now tell me if you regret what has happened between us.”
“I am a man.” He bit her softly on the neck, and she jumped. “We never regret such things.”
“Only a few short years ago, you never thought you’d have such things.” She didn’t hide her curiosity.
Tom jumped lightly to the floor and began to draw on his own clothing. Hiding himself, he thought with sarcasm. “Aye, I would have given myself to the church, would have given up women with that vow, all because my family demanded it of me.”
“Your family, or your father?”
He gave her a half-smile as he tightened the laces of his shirt. “And my brother, after my father’s death. I thought I would be free to pursue my own life, but Nicholas decided otherwise.”
“And to you, that was a double betrayal.”
He shrugged. “I had already begun to see the kind of man Nicholas was, so I shouldn’t have been so surprised. But I was young and naïve, and hoped for too much.”
“Was he the one who ordered the lashing on your back?”
He was used to a version of this question from women he’d bedded. Once or twice, his disfigurement had sent a woman running before anything physical could happen between them. Other times, their pity drove him away. But Diana wasn’t pitying him. Her solemn eyes studied him.
“The priest who tutored me,” he finally said.
He saw the surprise in her eyes, but all she said was, “A man of God?”
He looked down her body, making light of the past. “When I was fourteen, he caught me eyeing a girl. He decided that pain would help me remember to deny my ‘base nature.’”
“And your father allowed this?” she asked, not bothering to hide how appalled she was for him.
“My parents did not know until it was done. My father accepted it; my mother cried as she cleaned my wounds with her own hands.”
“And this foolish priest thought such tactics would work with you.”
He cocked his head, smiling. “You don’t think it did?”
“Nay, you probably perfected the art of concealment more than anything else.”
He caressed her cheek. “You already know me too well.”
For a moment, they didn’t speak. He looked into her eyes and saw a sweet softness that made him feel too good.
He shouldn’t feel that way, not about her. She admitted she thought he’d mastered the “art of concealment” from a young age. He knew she was a master at it as well. He did not yet know if she was a Bladeswoman; he had found no medallion that would identify her. He’d seen a wax tablet deliberately smudged, but she could have been writing anything. And she’d put him in a dungeon, by God.
But once he was out of the dungeon, he’d found himself admiring her daring.
He put his arms into the sleeves of his doublet. “The priest’s usual punishment was more original.”
She reached for a bedpost and leaned against it, waiting quietly. He found he wanted to tell her so many things, but he had to hold back. How could he be thinking about trusting her, when she was still concealing so much?
“I knew from a very young age that I was supposed to be different from the other boys, not involved in worldly matters. But all I wanted was a sword, even the wooden ones the other boys had.”
She smiled. “I had one.”
He rolled his eyes. “Of course you did.” Then he sobered. “One reason it was difficult to believe the worst of Nicholas was that he defended me when I was young. When the other boys taunted me, and I was forbidden to respond, Nicholas took them to task for me.”
“He was a complicated man.” It took everything in Diana to keep her face impassive, to let him talk without showing him the sympathy he didn’t want. What must it have felt like to know that the brother who took care of you could turn around and abuse i
nnocent women? “But you did not tell me the priest’s usual punishment.”
He cocked his head, studying her. “So interested in me?”
“And I should not be, after what we just did together?”
His smile was slow in coming, full of promise. “And to have my way with you, you’ll make me tell sordid secrets of my childhood?”
“You began this.”
He reached for her, pulled her close. She made herself relax in his arms, told herself that she would not allow more to happen.
“Nay, sweetling, you began this by putting me in a dungeon.”
“And I would not have had to, if you had not deserved it. But you are still forgetting to tell me about the punishment.”
He sighed, rubbing his cheek gently against her hair. She didn’t move, wondering if he realized what he was doing, the very tenderness of the gesture. She felt safe in his arms, and that was so very troubling. For she was lying to him—betraying him, she realized with dismay. That was what he would think if he discovered her mission.
“When the priest caught me with a sword, he decided that I was far too active, that if I were tired, I would not be so inclined to amuse myself with something forbidden. At that time, my father was having a new parish church built near the woods outside the village. So the priest had me push blocks of stone at the site for hours on end. And while I did it, he wanted me to think about my sins.”
“And as a young man, you had so many of them,” she said lightly.
He smiled. “I must say, that hard work did pay off in the end, when I was newly the viscount, and had to prove that I could lead my men, even though I was not yet a knight. They saw my strength, and knew that it was just a matter of training.”
She liked how he didn’t allow bitterness to overcome him, considering the trauma of his childhood. Without thinking of the consequences, she let her hands trace his muscular arms through his garments, and then across the impressive width of his chest. He went still, barely breathing, and she looked up to find him staring down at her, all trace of amusement chased from his eyes.