My Lady Faye (27 page)

Her lips opened beneath his. Benediction.

A primal surge coursed through him. His. For now, for always. His shaft swelled, hard and thick, his ballocks tight and ready. Physical love had always been something only for procreation. How limited his view had been, mired in his ignorance and stubbornness. It was an elemental connection one soul craved with another.

He dipped into her mouth, to taste her essence and draw it into himself. His flesh hardened to the point of discomfort. Spreading his hands over her back, he learned the feel of her. So soft and warm, it hit him like a blow to his knees. He needed her. Hungered for her.

Her breasts pressed full and ripe against his chest. Gregory cupped them in his hands. Firm and round with her nipples jutting out, demanding his touch.

The man in him ripped free of control. Lust he could master, but this held him in its thrall. He marveled at the differences between them. The gentle curve of her hip into the fullness of her ass. How tiny her waist beneath his hands and how lush the rise of her bosom against his chest. She touched him, the power her hands wielded at odds with their size. She could bring him to his knees with the merest brush against his muscle.

She dug her nails into his skin and he gloried in the proof she matched his desire. She kissed him with little pants and moans that reverberated through him, fueling the fire and driving it into a blaze.

Beneath his tunic, she touched his bare skin. Dear God, he would come apart if she did not stop. He would perish if she did. He wrenched his mouth from hers.

Slowly, Garrett had said. Love her slowly and carefully, see to her pleasure before your own. How did a man accomplish such an impossible feat when his flesh demanded nothing more than to lose itself in her sweetness?

He pushed her hair from her beautiful face, his hands too large and clumsy. Drinking in the sight of her flushed, silken skin, the fullness of her mouth, wet and swollen from his kisses. Her desire unmanned him. Her need matched his.

Slowly. It would kill him for certain. His hands trembled and ripped the ties on her bliaut as he loosened them. Clumsy hands.

She did not seem to mind. With fistfuls of fabric, she pulled his tunic over his head. As if he were a thing of marvel, she stared at his bare chest. Spread her hands over him, her face alight with delight.

He had to see her. Fabric tore as he pulled her bliaut over her head and then did the same with her chainse.

Nothing in all creation could be as perfect and as beautiful as Faye standing naked before him. His shaft throbbed insistently for him to bury himself in her.

Her breasts stood firm and proud from the gentle rounding of her belly. Between her legs, a pale patch of hair beckoned him atop the long, graceful sweep of her thighs. His hands stood out dark and rough against the pale silk of her skin, Her nipples, pale pink, between his dark, coarse fingers. They swelled and hardened to his touch and he stayed a moment and explored.

Pressing into his touch, she moaned. Inside his braies, she closed her hand around him. Sensation shot through him and he nearly spilled in her hand, again. Not this time. Slowly. God, give him the strength to give her the pleasure she gave him.

Over the curve of her belly and into the fascinating patch of hair he slid his hand.

She cried out, exposing the long column of her neck. Beneath his lips, her throat vibrated as he savored her skin.

She parted her thighs. His hand delved inside, as if it had its own mind. Wet, hot and silky, his fingers slid over her. He had to get inside. Every part of him strained to sink into her core.

He nearly cried out in protest as she stepped away from him. Like a slave, he followed her and her soft smile of challenge to the cot at the side of the tent. She laid down on her back and opened her thighs in silent invitation.

Bedamned. Glistening and pink, the naked core of her drove him to the precipice of control. His ballocks tightened at the base of his shaft, throbbing and ready to spill. Laying over her as one bewitched, he feared crushing her.

Her slim thighs bracketed his hips, bringing the tip of his shaft into contact with her wet heat. Instinct drove and he thrust. Sweet God, she wrapped around him in a moist, hot fist.

He couldn’t hold it. He drove into her, deeper until he couldn’t tell them apart. She gripped his shaft, hot, silken and wet. Thinking ceased, it was only his flesh joined to hers as he thrust again. She whimpered beneath him, her hands on his ass pushing him deeper.

His completion curled up from his toes, fastened like a fist around his belly and into his stones. With a roar, he pushed as deep as he could and emptied into her. His. It surged through him until he had nothing more and collapsed boneless atop her.

* * * *

Faye delighted in his weight. Intimacy with Gregory had been so different from her experience with Calder. No fear or pain or discomfort. She should be giddy with delight. Yet, something was missing.

Other women spoke of this. Good Lord, her mother had even told her to expect pleasure from coupling. She had always supposed there to be something wrong with her that she dreaded intimacy with a man. Through the kissing and the touching, she had experienced everything those women spoke of. The heat, the dizzying delight, the pulse throbbing at her core—all of it.

His flesh remained joined to where she still throbbed, wanting. The excitement had been intoxicating and heady. As if an exotic dish had been placed before her, for her to smell and see and delight in and then ripped away before she could taste. Blast. It had begun so well. She shifted beneath him, restless and incomplete.

Pushing onto his elbows, he gazed down at her. His face gentle and flushed with completion.

Her heart thrilled to see what she had wanted for so long. Like a nagging tooth, her woman’s flesh pulsed.

He assessed her, and frowned. “I went too fast.”

“What?” A little tendril of annoyance surprised her as it curled deep inside her.

Gregory pulled a face. “Garrett warned me that might happen.”

“Garrett?” Faye gaped at him. Her cheeks flamed at the very notion. “You spoke to Garrett about us? About this?”

“Aye.” The irksome man nodded. “He said it would get easier to control.”

“You spoke of this to Garrett?” Even as she asked the question, she prayed he would answer differently this time.

“I wanted to make it perfect for you.” He cupped her face between his large hands. “I have no knowledge of women.”

Dear God in Heaven! She would never be able to look Garrett in the face again. Faye wanted to kick him. If he were not holding her pinned to this cot, she might have done just that.

Faye took the opportunity as he eased to her side and scrambled off the bed. She didn’t get far before his hands on her hips hauled her to her back again. Her back hit the cot and drove the air out of her.

“He said to let your reactions be my guide.” Gregory frowned as if he were studying a difficult problem from all sides. The mortification washed through her and rushed heat to her exposed parts. She brought her hands up to cover her nakedness.

“Nay.” He placed her hands by her sides.

“Gregory.” The man had lost his mind. “Let me up.”

He stroked the side of her neck and grinned down at her. “I think not.”

Under his fingers, her skin tingled. His fingers drifted lower to her hardening nipples. Good Lord, only wantons responded in this manner. Yet the place between her thighs heated.

“You like this.” His long fingers caressed her swollen nipples.

A bolt of heat shot between her thighs. She did like that. She liked it even more as his fingers continued to play with her.

“Tell me.” His breath brushed warm against her neck as he whispered against her ear. “Do you like this?”

“Aye.” It left her mouth as a breathy moan.

“And this?” He lowered his dark head and took her nipple into his mouth. That sent an even stronger wash of desire through her. She arched her back into the silky heat of his mouth.

“Aye?”

“Aye.” She writhed against him. She needed more. Every part of her sensed there was more of this and yearned for it.

He dipped his hand between her thighs.

Her legs dropped open like the lowest woman.

He touched her center and other thoughts fled as his fingers brushed a place that made her jerk. With a low, contented growl he brought his fingers back to that place.

In counterpoint to his stroking fingers, her hips discovered a new rhythm. The thing she had been missing hovered closer and closer. Low moans of pleasure built in her throat and escaped her lips. The feeling spread through her belly, growing stronger and stronger, it drove her on relentlessly. It built and grew more insistent. Dear Lord, she would die from this. “Aye.” She demanded, lest he stop now.

It hit her in a sudden wave of sensation and heat, curled into her muscles and shattered. Finally, she understood. The heat in her cooled, but she still could not move a muscle.

Gregory gazed down at her, a small smile on his mouth. “Aye?”

Indeed. A great big smile worked its way on her face. Aye, indeed.

“We will get better at this.” He kissed her with heartbreaking tenderness.

“Is that what Garrett says?” As soon as she could work up any sort of ire, she would have strong words about him talking to Garrett. It might take some time.

Against her thigh, his shaft hardened again. She tingled in response. If she carried on in this unchaste manner, she would be heading straight to hell. Then again, being chaste had never won her this soaring sense of wondrous. She wrapped her hand around his length. He groaned and dipped his head to kiss her. His tongue swept into her mouth.

If they were hell bound, at least they would make the trip together.

Gregory could not believe they were arguing already. Not an hour ago they had been wrapped around each other enjoying the benefits of Garrett’s wisdom. Now, she stood with her arms jammed on her hips and her chin thrust out at him. “I am not leaving for Anglesea before this is settled.”

“Faye, you cannot remain in the midst of a siege. We cannot risk you, again.” Sir Arthur lost patience and his voice rose to a near bellow.

Normally, Faye was the image of her mother, but with her shoulders back and her chin thrust forward, she strongly favored Sir Arthur as her father attempted to order her home.

“Think of Simon.” William tried a different approach. He poured Faye a cup of wine and held it to her. “A siege encampment is no place for a boy and he has already been through too much.”

“Do not use my child against me.” Faye snatched the cup and downed the contents in one gulp.

William blinked at the goblet she held for a refill and then obeyed her silent command. He turned to Roger and raised one dark brow in challenge.

“And what of little Arthur?” Roger stuck his chin out. “He misses his mother. Surely, you would not remain here when you could see him?”

Gregory flinched at the low blow. It was not right using her children against her.

Faye gulped more wine. She turned to him, silently beseeching him for support.

He would have done so gladly, but he would not risk her again. It seemed he was going to have to beg her forgiveness for this as well.

She read the refusal in his face and her shoulders slumped.

“I will see Faye safe to Anglesea.” Garrett looked to him and not Sir Arthur for agreement. “I need to check on Beatrice and there is nothing I can do to help here.” Gregory hated to let her out of his sight. Bad things occurred when he left Faye under anyone else’s protection, but he needed to see this finished with Calder. There would be no future for him and Faye until this was done. He nodded.

“Good.” Sir Arthur rubbed his hands together. “Get together an escort and leave as soon as you are able.”

“My lord.” Sir Arthur’s squire entered the tent. “They are signaling for parley from the keep.”

“Let them wait.” Sir Arthur took the wine and poured himself a goblet.

Triumph surged through Gregory. They had Calder beaten and the sod knew it. The siege might take months, but would end in surrender. With Faye and Simon’s escape, Calder had lost his last pawn in this battle. None of the Anglesea party felt inclined to let the matter rest and go home. No mercy.

Faye’s face hardened. “Tell him I want Ruth.”

“We will get your girl.” Sir Arthur turned to her. “This time, however, you need to trust me.”

Faye hesitated before she nodded. Trust did not come easily to his Lady Faye, and what she had seen in Calder’s hall still gnawed at her.

The tension in the tent mounted as Sir Arthur finished his wine and poured another. William seemed to be the only one impervious to it as he sipped his wine. Either the man had deep thoughts or a great, gaping hole between his ears to remain so calm.

“My lord.” Breathing ragged, the squire hurried back into the tent. “They are pressing for parley from the keep.”

“Are they now?” From cheek to cheek, Sir Arthur moved the wine in his mouth. “William, where did this wine come from?”

William craned his head to stare at the tent roof. “I believe this one is from the monastery at Fairhaven.”

“I like it.” Sir Arthur took another sip.

Gregory bit back a chuckle. The wily Sir Arthur made a formidable foe.

The squire peered from him to William and back again, shifting his feet. Gregory pitied the boy.

“Tell them I require a gesture of good faith,” Sir Arthur said.

The boy gaped. “My lord?”

“The castle.” Sir Arthur waved a hand. “Tell them I require a gesture of good faith before I will parley.”

“My lord?” The boy squawked and reddened to his hairline.

Sir Arthur leant his elbows on the table and glared at his squire from beneath his unruly brows. “You. Go and tell the keep I require a gesture before I will parley.”

“Me?”

“Aye, you. You have a voice, I have heard you use if often enough.”

The unfortunate boy opened his mouth and shut it again. He glanced at William and back at Sir Arthur. “I am a squire, my lord.”