“Is that a fact, sir knight?” She panted. For the life of her, she could not remember his character’s precise name at this moment.
“It is,” he grunted. “Perhaps you do not know Sir Lusty Loins has more weapons in his arsenal than just his mighty staff.”
Sir Lusty Loins, that was it. “And what weapons might those be?” she asked.
“My tongue,” he answered. “My silver tongue that can soothe the most savage beast.”
“Your tongue?” she shivered. “That does not sound very … scary.”
“Oh, I’ll soon lick you into submission,” he promised.
Una caught her breath. “I do not think that will work on one such as I,” she practically whimpered.
“Oh?” he quirked a brow at her, before yanking her thighs apart. “But I am keen to try, for I have heard dragon flesh is so very succulent and juicy.”
Una trembled as he scooted down her body. Oh gods, conversing with him like this was making her feel so very strange! She felt like she was poised on the cliff edge and about to tumble off it already. It was too much, too intense. He paused a moment between her thighs, and she felt his hot breath on her most intimate parts. “W-wait!” she squeaked.
He looked up at her, his hair tumbled forward and winked at her. Una caught her breath, lost before he had even started. It didn’t take long before he had her squirming completely at his mercy.
“Oh! Oh! Sir Armand!” she screamed, completely forgetting the made-up name again.
He gave her a last lingering lick and then moved back up her body, breathing hard.
“That was a very naughty dragon to scream another knight’s name as I give you a tongue lashing,” he growled in her ear. “It seems I need to remind you who you’re dealing with.” Luckily Una was dead to all shame by this point, a heaving, roiling mess as he inserted his hips between her thighs and slid his hard cock between her wet cleft in a hot, teasing slide that made her sated body perk up again.
“Drenched,” he breathed. “Well, well, maybe you will swallow me whole yet, my dragoness.” He surged forward and Una moaned deep in her throat as his thick inches penetrated her slowly, making her ache for him. She wound her arms about his shoulders.
“More,” she groaned. “Please.”
He gave a breathless laugh. “Shh, my insatiable dragon, let me make this good for you.”
Una sank her nails into his back. “Dragons don’t like it slow,” she panted. “They like it fast.”
“Who’s conquering who here?” he demanded raspily, as he eased into her. Una wrapped her legs around his back, canting her hips, encouraging his penetration in any way she could. She moaned again, loudly, letting him know how needy she felt.
“Fuck, Una,” he grunted, as he slid the last few inches until he was buried deep. His breathing was ragged, and she watched as he closed his eyes a moment. She wasn’t sure if he was fighting for control or just savoring the moment. Her own eyes fluttered shut as she felt him so deep inside her, where she wanted him most. “Open your eyes,” he grated out, and Una obeyed. He was gazing down at her so intently, she felt scorched.
“So beautiful,” he ground out, in what Una dimly realized must be part of their bed play, but she could not help how it made her chest throb almost as much as where they were joined. Her eyes swam, it was nice he’d decided her wyvern was beautiful, she thought. He was kind. And breathtaking. And utterly—her thoughts broke off as his body flexed hard against her. Oh!
Her hips rose to meet his thrusts as he quickly fell into a punishing rhythm, that had her struggling to match his pace. She kept falling out of time, only for him seize her hips and jolt her back against him, hard until she matched him thrust for thrust. The sensations rising in her soon had her spiraling out of control. He wasn’t teasing or coaxing cooperation from her body this time. He was demanding it. There was no more dragon and knight talk either as he grunted loudly in time with each of his pounding thrusts. Una lost herself completely to sensation, the sounds, the pleasure.
She wouldn’t even know how to describe the strange keening noise she was making. She ought to release her grip of his rippling shoulders and cover her mouth, she thought, her senses reeling. But if she did that—if she did that, he might stop. And if he stopped then she would surely die of disappointment. It wasn’t as though he was trying to muffle her cries, she consoled herself. Between the two of them, they were creating quite a racket.
Then she gave up on conscious thought as her moans turned hoarse and her movements became frantic and the tension building and building inside her suddenly burst in a blaze like a ball of flame, that tore through her like wildfire utterly consuming her. She lay stunned and shaking as Armand shattered in almost the same instant. He gave a guttural cry, before slumping over her with a low, spent groan and thus they remained for several long moments, intertwined and panting.
“Holy fuck,” he breathed at last, kissing her brow. “That was … incredible.” He gave a small chuckle. “Your dragon was certainly … formidable.” Una tightened her arms around him, which had fallen slack. She didn’t feel up to words right now. “We’ll call that an even draw,” he mused. “Though in truth I think you defeated me utterly.”
Then he seemed to notice her silence and drew back, eyeing her almost warily. “Una?” She buried her face in his neck, unable to face his teasing. “Feeling shy?” he asked sounding amused. She shook her head but would not look at him all the same. He blew out a breath. “Very well, I’ll let you off the hook this once. But only because you were an absolute revelation.” He drew a lazy pattern against the skin of her back with his fingertip. “I never thought dragon-slaying would be so—” He broke off at the sound of some noise outside. “What the fuck?” It was a gentle knock on the door. “Go away!” Armand bawled.
Una winced. “Armand,” she murmured reproachfully. “They must be waiting on us to serve supper.”
“Supper?” He glanced at the window. “Oh yes,” he said frowning, clearly displeased at the thought of venturing below stairs.
“I could ask them to serve ours to us here,” she suggested. “At the small table in the corner?”
His expression cleared. “That’s a damned good notion,” he said with approval.
“And also, to bring us a bath,” she suggested, coloring slightly.
He looked thoughtful. “How large is the tub?”
*
They ate their supper intimately secluded in the privacy of their room. Armand’s bare feet brushed her own under the small table and after the first few passes, she realized it was by design rather than mere accident. By the time they were tucking into the roasted meats, her own feet were resting atop of his in an act of familiarity that quite took her breath away.
Feeling his eyes upon her almost stole her appetite, and he had to keep urging her to eat. “You’ll need your strength,” he teased, wagging his eyebrows at her, and Una felt her face grow hot. She had a terrible suspicion he was going to tease her about their dragon play, and she felt entirely lily-livered about the subject. It was one thing to be bold in the throes of passion, but quite another to have anything you might have said repeated back to you in the cold light of day.
His glinting eyes seemed to say he could guess her thoughts, for though she could see a jest tremble on his lips a time or two, he did not voice whatever it was, though his eyes brimmed over with wicked laughter. He ate voraciously, his eyes never wavering far from her face, and though she was dressed in a loose brocade robe over her shift and should have been quite comfortable, she felt as breathless as if she had been tightly laced.
When the bath arrived, Armand complained it was a good deal too small, though it looked to be of usual proportions to Una. To her surprise, he dismissed Rose and bade her take the hiding Abelard with her, for the dog must be wanting his supper. Una was relieved to see Abelard lick Rose’s nose in a display of spontaneous affection that made the girl laugh delightfully, and she carried him off in her arms, singin
g under her breath.
Then Armand locked the door and set about undressing and bathing her as though it were some task for him to savor. He dragged the sponge over her neck and shoulders, then peppered kisses in its wake. He lathered the soap flakes in his hands and rubbed them over her body with his fingers and palms. It was more like an act of worship than a cleaning exercise and Una was both heated and bewildered by the time she emerged from the water and was wrapped in a drying cloth.
As he quickly stripped and climbed into the tub after her, she crouched before the fire and dried her hair. “Should I help bathe you?” she thought to ask belatedly, as she heard him splashing the water about.
“Next time,” he answered briefly. “We’ll commission a larger tub.”
Una glanced curiously over her shoulder. “I suppose you do make that one look a little small,” she admitted. “But only because you are rather large for a man.”
He grinned back at her. “I want one we can share.”
“Share?” she repeated blankly. “At the same time?”
He nodded.
“Oh.” Una turned back to face the fire. At least the flames gave her an excuse for her overheated cheeks. It suddenly struck her that he might have been covering her in kisses to show her how much she had pleased him. After all, that was what he had demanded from her the last time he had brought her pleasure. She bit the tip of her finger and ventured another quick glance at him as he rubbed a cloth over the expanse of his chest.
Remembering how she had shrieked his name a short while ago, she could only suppose he must be expecting his own reward on the morrow! When he joined her in front of the fire a few minutes later, kneeling on the rug beside her, instead of rising to go and don her shift, Una turned to him and started drying his hair with the cloth.
Armand angled his head toward her and sat passively while she moved down to rub his shoulder and neck. By degrees, he maneuvered her into his lap, until her back was pressed to his front and they sat wrapped in the same sheet, their naked skin pressed together, in companionable silence before the fire.
A knock at the door was Peter and Janet come to carry the tub away. Armand kept his arms firmly around her, so Una remained where she was, facing the fire.
Rose brought in another flagon of wine and a bucket of logs for their fire, which she placed carefully down by the hearth, whilst scrupulously avoiding looking at their seated figures. She picked up the other wet drying cloths from the floor and hesitated at the door for just a moment. “Will I keep Abelard with me for the night, my lady?” she asked.
“Is he content to remain with you?” Una asked.
“Oh yes, I let him have all the supper scraps.”
“Then by all means,” Una responded warmly. After the door closed, she murmured, “I expect she’ll let him sleep on the bed. No doubt he’ll like that.”
Armand did not respond, merely dropped a kiss to her shoulder. She shivered and he asked quietly, “Are you cold?” Una shook her head. She felt warm and safe in his arms like this. She wished she had the nerve to say so, but it was hard for her to judge if such words would even be welcome. Armand’s actions and his past words did not seem entirely in accord, just recently.
“You remember those words you said to me on that first morning,” his voice rumbled behind her.
“Which ones?” she asked cautiously.
“About being amenable to me in all things.”
How strange that he was thinking along the same lines as she had done earlier! “Yes,” she admitted, still looking at the licking flames.
“I don’t want that anymore.” Una’s breathing came a little quicker. “In truth,” he carried on after a moment, “I feel like we already replaced that agreement, with our pact to be perfect traveling companions.”
“I felt that too,” Una agreed, remembering how overjoyed she had been at his suggestion.
He paused. “Good,” he said gruffly, his hands seeking hers and intertwining with them, before resting them on her knees. For a moment she thought he would say something else, but no other words were forthcoming, and they sat quiet until Armand suggested they get under the bedcovers. When they did, he immediately pulled her close and did not let go until morning.
When she was very sure he was fast asleep, she found herself whispering in the dark. “You need never worry about being a heavy sleeper, again. You have me now, and I will never let any harm come to you.” His arm tightened around her for a moment and then relaxed again. She was quite sure that he had not made out her words at all, but it was a nice reaction all the same.
*
The next morning bought an invitation from Anninghurst for them to dine with Armand’s family. Una received it with mixed feelings. On the one hand, it was an opportunity for her to redeem herself after the disaster of their visit. On the other, she rather dreaded the possibility that things might grow even more strained, for instance, if they grew aware of her real identity.
“’E’s a fine peacock and no mistake,” sniffed Fulcher, who was planning on leaving them shortly. He was looking out of one of the arched windows and Una crossed the room to see who he was regarding with such interest. It was Armand’s younger brother who had delivered the message from Sir Hugo inviting them to dine that night.
“That’s Armand’s brother Roger,” she said, attempting to cultivate a more friendly manner with Armand’s dubious friend. After all, if he would be collecting and distributing their ill-gotten gains over the next twelve months, she had better get used to having him about the place. “I suppose he is a well-favored youth,” she said surveying him critically. To her mind, his looks were nothing compared to his older brother’s.
“’Old ’ard,” Fulcher said. “I was wonderin’ why he was loiterin’ like that.”
Una noticed Rose was skipping up the path with a basket of herbs she had been gathering for the kitchen. Roger started toward her hastily and Una saw Rose’s step falter.
“Young dog!” Fulcher chuckled. “He ain’t much different to his bro—” He choked off his words hurriedly. “Beggin’ your pardon, milady, what I meant to say was—”
He didn’t get much further, for the next thing Una knew, Roger had seized Rose clumsily in his arms and her basket had spilled its contents all over the path. Rose cried out in alarm, struggling wildly to get free. Una made for the door, Abelard close on her heels.
“Now, milady, you don’t want to start interfering in what’s perfectly natural high spirits in young folk—,” Fulcher started uncomfortably, but Una already had the door open and was hurrying outside.
“Roger!” Una called censoriously as Abelard took off barking toward them. Una stopped abruptly, however, on realizing someone else had appeared on the scene before her. It was Otho. Quick as a flash, he had wrenched Rose free from the young man’s grasp and had slung Roger across his hip sprawling into the dirt, coughing and choking.
Rose had her hands clasped together and was gazing at Otho with stars in her eyes. He turned to her direly. “Get back to the kitchen, Rose!” She fled at once, Abelard taking after her. Una, seeing a martial light in her brother’s eyes, hurried over before Roger could clamber to his feet.
“Well now, that’s quite enough,” she said briskly. “I’m sure Roger will now offer me his apology for treating my maidservant so ill.” Roger who had opened his mouth hotly, closed it again, looking mutinous. “Otho, please extend a hand to help this young man to his feet.”
Otho glared at her, before remembering due deference. He grudgingly reached down, but Roger pettishly slapped it away.
“I want no help from this man!” he bleated. “I’ll have my brother turn him away from his door for this insult!”
“You want your brother to turn mine away?” Una asked coolly. “That might be awkward.”
Roger’s mouth fell open. He looked from Una to Otho and back again. “I thought he was my brother’s steward,” he said grudgingly.
“And so, he is,” Una agreed.
/> “I knew of no other relationship,” Roger gulped.
“No indeed, how should you?” she said pleasantly. “I will hear your apology now.”
Roger rose stiffly and dusted off his knees. “I apologize, sister,” he said rigid with affronted pride.
Una nodded. “Very proper. Now see that it does not happen again.”
“My-my attentions were not intended to be dishonorable—” he stammered, then broke off, his color very heightened. “Perhaps I might be permitted to apologize to the maiden.”
Una glanced at Otho who was looking at this point, very forbidding indeed. The black eye and swelling about his face made him look somehow even more alarming. “Perhaps in a day or so,” she said addressing Roger kindly. “Rose is a very sensitive girl and I fear you may have overset her feelings far too much for one day.”
He looked mortified, bowed again, and then hurried toward his waiting horse.
“Impudent young puppy!” Otho burst out furiously. “What other intentions would he have toward a servant girl?”
Una pursed her lips. “I think he’s a little green where girls are concerned,” she started tactfully. “His father intended him for the church, and I don’t think he has much experience—”
“I don’t give a damn if his father intended him for a eunuch!” Otho burst out angrily, before checking himself. He bit back his words with difficulty. “Gods, Una, I’m sorry, that was unpardonably rude—”
“Not at all, Otho,” she soothed him. “Indeed, I much prefer it when you speak naturally with me like this, without exaggerated civility.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “I don’t know why I got so worked up like that.”
“Well, Rose is a very innocent young woman, surely it is only natural that you should feel protective about a member of our household.”
Otho swung round giving her a very sardonic look. “Una, that girl is destined to be some rich man’s fancy, if ever any girl was.” At her sharply indrawn breath, he continued damningly. “She’s frivolous and good for nothing but ornamentation. Quite frankly, I’ve done nothing but delay the inevitable.”
The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok Book 3) Page 22