“¡Joder!” Javier swore quietly under his breath; his cock was not going to be ignored this time. He reached to unbutton his buckskins and began to rub himself along with the rhythm of her lips. Up and down. Her hips tilted slightly and she bit down again, as she had the night before. Javier stroked himself, imagining the tension he saw on those wanting lips surrounding him. The way she drew her lips around the rope, pulling her cheeks in, it was no stretch of his imagination. He watched as she found her gentle pace and then her eyes closed tighter and—aaah—Javier went with her.
He tried to keep his breathing low and steady but he let one strained sigh escape. She hummed her sleepy satisfaction and tilted her face away from the rope, her profile showing her slightly opened mouth to tantalizing effect.
I am ruined, thought Javier dismally as he took his handkerchief out and used it to clean up after himself. For the second time in as many nights. Ruined.
***
For the three nights that followed, Isabella presented her hands and legs to Javier for binding. On each successive night, she became more agitated and excited as the time approached for him to wrap her. As soon as he began the ritual, she slipped into some miraculous place, as if she were the most precious object in the world and he was preparing her like a gift.
If only he would open her, the way the hands in her dreams opened her. She supposed he opened her each morning when he released the beautiful ties and bindings, but it did not seem effective or complete somehow. In her confused imagination, there was some way that he would be able to keep her in those meticulously tied ropes and release her anyway. But that was impossible. Throughout the long days of riding, Isabella’s mind continued to circle back around these vague and titillating ideas, trying to make sense of what he was doing and how she was responding.
She shook her head, feeling the weight of her wide braid against her back as she rode her horse, galloping a few strides behind Javier, across the rocky plain. It was their last day and they were a few hours outside of Aveiro. It was still unclear what would happen to her once they got there. Rumors of unrest in Madrid had already begun. Several passing travelers had commented upon the violence that was building in the capital.
Isabella had her own ideas: she would sell her sweet mare (she patted her just then in anticipation of their parting) and then use the money to buy passage to London. It was rather a loose plan, she admitted to herself, but at least it was something. Marco, Sebastián, and Javier had been quite taciturn about their plans, never revealing any more than Isabella had overheard that first night when she came upon them.
Something about Mexico. Something rebellious. Something that did not involve her and Javier touching each other every night and every morning in that beautiful, ceremonial way.
Isabella spurred her horse on. She needed to ride faster, harder, anything to shake off these persistent desires for Javier’s hands on her body.
A few hours later, as the four riders pulled their horses to a halt, the city of Aveiro spread out before them. Isabella had never been anywhere in her life. She had been in her father’s castle. She had been in the convent outside of Burgos. She had been in a closed carriage between the two.
Here, stretched out in front of her, was a teeming array of pale terracotta rooftops, glistening turquoise canals, and beyond, the beckoning infinite sapphire Atlantic with the city’s famous piles of blindingly white salt drying in the bright sun along the shoreline.
***
Javier stared at the girl’s profile as she admired the city. Her cheeks were ruddier than they’d been just a few days before. None of them had had the benefit of a proper bath for many days, and the earthiness suited her. She was flushed and captivated by the city’s splendor. It was glorious by any standard, he conceded, and he was not going to chastise her for her blatant, unguarded reaction.
She turned to him, gesturing toward the city with one gloved hand. “You certainly do not expect me to conceal my thoughts upon first beholding this, do you?”
He thought she was challenging him, ribbing him for his controlling ways. Then he looked at her gleaming eyes, her deep pleasure at the beauty that was laid out before them. “No, Sol. I wouldn’t dare ask you to conceal your enthusiasm.”
Something sharp and hot passed between them when he said it. Their horses must have felt it too: Goliat whipped his large, strong head around and tried to nip at Sol’s prancy, too-close mare. Javier reined him in with a bit too much force. Goliat showed his master the whites of his eyes, as if to chide, You are going to punish me for her foolishness?
“Isabella,” she whispered.
“What?” Javier asked, patting down Goliat’s neck to calm the beast. And himself.
She looked at him directly. “My real name is Isabella.”
He paused. “Oh.” He wanted to thank her, or devour her. Her lips were moist and slightly open in awe at the sight of the city. Her first city. He wanted to see that look on her face when he showed her things. Intimate, hot, physical things that would astound her in the same way. He felt his buckskins tighten around his swelling cock and redirected his thoughts. “It is a lovely name. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” He reached his hand out in a sort of offering gesture.
She put the tips of her fingers into his hold as if they were meeting at a ball for the first time. She dipped her head. “Thank you, sir.”
His thumb rubbed her knuckles through the fine kidskin of her glove, then he released her hand. “The pleasure is entirely mine, I assure you.”
“Are we going to stand here admiring the city all day and miss our ship?” Marco called from a few yards ahead of them. His horse was eager to make it into town where oats and fresh hay from previous visits must have stirred his memory.
“Yes!” Javier laughed at all of their shared enthusiasm. “Vámonos!”
They loped down from the crest of the hill with the joyful whoops and cries of an invading horde. Isabella looked glorious, free as she had never been in her life. She looked as though she no longer touched the earth.
Within the hour, the horses had been sold to the stable master at the bustling Rossio Inn, near the harbor. Three large sailing vessels along with innumerable barcos moliceiros, the distinctive gondola-like fishing boats of Aveiro, dotted the bay.
Marco pulled his spyglass away from his face and slid it back into his satchel. “Our friends are here.” He smiled at Javier. “Everything is in order.” The smile faded when he turned to include Isabella in his look. “Well, almost everything.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I am quite fine. I will find a jeweler and trade in my piece and, along with the money from the sale of my horse, I shall easily secure passage to London. I have heard that women are able to live freely there, unencumbered by the constraints of the Church.”
All three men began laughing, not just short bursts, but actual howls of laughter.
Isabella pursed her lips. “When you are quite finished.”
They renewed their peals of laughter. Javier was especially amused at the absurdity, wiping at the tears that accompanied his enjoyment.
“Freely?” he finally gasped. “Women live freely in London?” He paused to collect himself, then had to rest his hands on his thighs to relieve the pain in his middle from laughing so hard. “Oh, my dear Isabella. You are simply adorable.”
Her eyes darkened and her lips set into a defiant line. “I am no such thing.”
Sebastián patted her shoulder. “My dear lady. Please. There is no place on this earth where women live freely. Where have you ever heard such nonsense?”
“Santa Joana Princesa,” she said with conviction.
“Pardon me?” Javier asked, his laughter gone.
“Princess Saint Joan of Portugal. Her tomb is right here in Aveiro.” She pointed at the cobbled street beneath her feet. “She was real. She wasn’t a pawn. She was free. S
he refused offers of marriage from kings of France and England.”
Javier stared at this angry, desperate young woman in front of him. He was reminded of himself, how much he had hated the idea that he would have to fit into a predetermined, prescribed version of his life that his father (and grandfather and great-grandfather) had set into motion all those generations ago. Obligation.
Isabella’s eyes were shining with passion, either unshed tears of frustration or the gleam of real power. She wanted to live her life on fire. Badly. He knew he loved her in that moment. Sol. Isabella. Whoever she was.
It crossed his mind then: what if that other Isabella, his intended, had possessed the same fire as the woman before him? Perhaps, in that case, he could have obeyed his father after all. As it was, he doubted he would ever look at another woman again. This Isabella, his Isabella, would never allow herself to be handed over to anyone.
Marco and Sebastián stared in openmouthed silence as they watched their friend contemplate how to respond, to her and to the realization of his own obvious feelings.
“There might be a place,” Javier began slowly.
“No!” Sebastián protested immediately.
Marco chimed in. “Absolutely not! We are about to get on a miserable, rat-infested brig-ship. She is not—”
Isabella continued to stare at Javier. “Where? Where are you going?”
Sebastián and Marco turned away in disgust, swearing and grabbing the hilts of their ever-present swords.
Then Sebastián turned back and snarled at his friend. “I am going to get an ale and a wench before I get on that godforsaken ship tonight. If she comes, you will not be taking only your life into peril, but ours. Think of that, friend.” He spit the last word and stormed away.
Marco was torn between his allegiance to Javier and the rational truth of Sebastián’s words. And he liked Isabella. He looked from her face to Javier’s then back again. “I am sorry to disappoint you, my lady, but Sebastián is correct. This is not a journey you should undertake.” He bowed and took his leave, walking briskly and calling for Sebastián to await his company.
Javier and Isabella watched as the two men moved on, eventually turning down a side street and out of view.
“Tell me,” she pleaded.
Javier rubbed his face, then turned to face her. The rough riding of the past five days had done nothing to diminish her beauty. If anything, she looked stronger and more enticing. She looked like she could take him. In all of his enthusiasm.
“Isabella.” He spoke it like a benediction, with reverence, but also with a touch of pity.
She caved then. His sympathy was far worse than his arrogance. Her tears spilled out. “Damn you,” she muttered as she turned away from him to face the pale salmon-colored wall of the building near which they had been standing. They were on a narrow residential side street. The bright blue midday sky ran like a waving banner above them, but the high walls of the pastel-colored houses left them in cool shadow.
When his hands pressed into her upper arms, she shut her eyes and bit down hard on her bottom lip to keep the gasp of pleasure from escaping her. Damn him. Damn her. Damn her evil, sinning body that wanted his hands on it. All over her flesh. She did not even like him. Why did she want him so badly? Her stomach quivered and below, that damnable heat built between her thighs. She stamped her foot.
“Damn you,” she whispered again, but she was speaking to herself this time.
Javier leaned in slowly and kissed the exposed skin at her nape.
“Damn you,” she said, even more quietly this time, and tilted her neck to invite him further.
“Stay with me, Isabella,” he spoke softly between kisses. “Come with me to Mexico. We can build a life together there. You can be free…” he promised as he kissed the length of her neck, then pulled at the edge of her dress’s neckline with two fingers to place hot kisses along her shoulder. “You can be free of everything and everyone… except me. You will never be free of me.”
She could not repress the gasp that time. Her head tilted back of its own accord and a sweet, strained cry of pleasure flew from her wanting mouth. She had to place the palms of her hands flat against the rough stucco wall a few inches in front of her to keep her balance.
He reached his hands around her body and pulled her hips back so her bottom slammed into his erection. Did she have any idea what those mewls of pleasure did to him? She did now.
She leaned her face in and bit the knuckle of her right hand to stifle the sound of her cries. The neighborhood was quiet, all of the families preparing for lunch, the stray sounds of kitchens and servants and the random dog flitting past them. The clop of hooves and the clatter of carriage wheels could be heard farther afield.
“Here,” he growled. “Take mine.” He thrust the index finger of his left hand into her mouth.
She began to suck and lick that single digit as if her life depended on it, circling her tongue, drawing in her cheeks, whimpering with the wave of burgeoning desire that the action stoked in her body.
Javier reached his other hand around to the low curve of her belly, thrusting her even more forcefully into him. His face was inches from hers, his eyes inches from those lips as they savored and taunted and sucked on him. Her lashes fluttered, black against the pale, delicate skin just below her eyes. Then her eyes flew open when his other hand moved lower, skimming her warm mound through the layers of fabric.
Her groan and increased suction on his finger encouraged him to continue. He looked quickly to his right and left, relieved that they were still alone on the quiet street.
“You know what to do, Isabella…” He began rubbing her slowly, then with increasing pressure and speed. He watched her closely as the surprise and then joy of his movements fanned her desires.
When the orgasm overtook her, she bit down onto his knuckle and small tears sparkled at the corners of her eyes.
He kissed her everywhere, lightly, tasting her tears, lingering at the edge of her lips, her temple, behind her ear. “Oh, my Isabella, you are a wonder.”
She released his finger from her mouth and put her forehead on the back of her hand, which was still resting against the stucco wall to keep her standing. “I didn’t know it could happen when I was awake.” Her voice was quiet and mystified, as if she were waking from a complicated dream. She turned in the circle of his arms and faced him, letting her shivering muscles recuperate against the warm, rough stone behind her. She reached up and caressed his cheeks with both of her hands.
“What about your husband?” he asked with grave concern.
“What?” She was lost in the amber and golden sparks that radiated through the dark caramel brown of his luscious eyes. Eyes that incarcerated her. She might have wanted freedom, but she would be a slave to those eyes for the rest of her life.
“Your husband,” he said, shaking her shoulders to jar her, then smiling slightly.
She gave him a guilty smile in return.
“There is no husband, is there?”
She looked down at the cobblestones while she composed her answer. Should she tell him the truth? That she had been promised to another? Quite officially promised. Betrothed.
“You are quite the worst liar, Isabella. Just tell me the story, please.”
She looked at him and raised one eyebrow. “I am certainly not the worst liar. I lied quite competently to my lady’s maid—whose name is Sol, by the way—and to my father, and to everyone else in… in my past who tried to imprison me.”
“I admire your defiance, and the intelligence it must have taken to plan it, but I need to know who, if anyone, will be coming after me… us.”
“Oh, how I like the sound of us,” Isabella crooned, pushing her hips toward him in a provocative motion.
“You are a quick study, aren’t you?” He moved her hips away from his and smiled when her little
pout replaced her first amateurish attempt at a look of seduction. “We’ll have plenty of time for that, my lady. In the meantime, you must tell me: Who will be looking for you? And how soon? Did you leave at dusk so they wouldn’t discover you until the next day?”
She leaned her face into the fabric of his shirt, warm across his chest. They were both filthy from the days of traveling, but she found herself inhaling the rich scent of his sweat and the leather of the horses and the earthy aroma that she had been dreaming of.
“Why does it matter? We will be on the ship before nightfall, won’t we?”
“What are you hiding, my lady?” He cupped her chin with his firm hand and she leaned her lips down to kiss his palm.
“It’s over. That life is over. Please.”
He stared at her, her eyes, the aristocratic turn of her nose, the plump red lips. “I suspect someone is very, very disappointed by your absence.”
“Javi—”
He pressed the pad of his thumb against her lips to silence her, and the minx bit him. He smiled and continued, “But, if you wish to put it behind you, for now I will allow it. I have my ways of making people tell me their secrets.”
She smiled wickedly at that. “That’s a torture I will very much look forward to, my lord. Though I’m not sure you’ll have to work too hard, if you are able to…” She blushed at her own audacity and looked down.
“Aaah, yes.” He lifted her face again so she was forced to look him in the eye. “I am quite able to make that happen for you, whenever it suits me.”
“Suits you?!” Isabella replied, affronted.
Now it was his turn to smile. “Yes, my dear. Me. You will be my wedded wife, and as such, you will do my bidding in all things—”
Megan Mulry Page 5