Chapter Thirty-One #2
He froze, staring at her beautiful shape.
“It has been seven weeks, hasn’t it? Christ, I’d lost count after the first two for it seemed like an endless eternity.
” The towel went sailing and his breeches were already half-off; it was miraculous how his fatigue suddenly disappeared.
“Are you sure, sweetheart? Are you up to this?”
She reached up and pulled him down even as he struggled to free his feet from his breeches. “More than up to it, husband. I want you to make love to me all night.”
The breeches were off and his lips were on hers, his exhaustion vanished at the warm softness of her flesh. She moaned in response as his huge hands latched onto her breasts, giggling against his fervent lips and he smiled as he kissed her eagerly.
Truth was, with everything on his mind, he had nearly forgotten about the sweetest thing a man could taste; his very own wife. He thought he had banked his urges quite well until he saw her nude form in front of him; then, it was as if he had no control whatsoever.
He was trying to be gentle, to pace himself but, Christ, he wanted her so badly he found himself being rough.
Yet Dustin didn’t complain; in fact, she encouraged him and even yanked his hair cruelly as he suckled a nipple, causing him to raise his head up and she descended urgently on his lips with her own strong drive.
The rougher he became, the more she liked it.
Suddenly she rolled him over on his back, her hot little lips blazing a scorching trail all over his broad chest, peaking his nipples with her tongue and grunting with pleasure the whole while.
He groaned with his own satisfaction as she moved down his abdomen before closing on his engorged organ with relish.
Yet he could stand no more than a second or two of her ministrations; winding his fingers in her wild hair, he pulled on her hard enough to bring a scream to her lips.
He was fearful that he had been too rough, but his fear turned to overwhelming lust and desire when he saw her gazing up at him with a grin to seduce God himself. He’d never known his wife to enjoy brutality in their lovemaking but, Christ, he was loving it, too.
Dustin was on her back before she realized it, whispering words of encouragement as he fell atop her and positioned his great shaft at her threshold.
He was trying to be gentle, but she simply would not allow lt.
He knew it was likely to pain her a great deal when he entered her, but her legs were wrapping themselves around his thighs and he could feel how slippery she was, throwing him over the edge into oblivion.
As Dustin told him in no uncertain terms what she wanted him to do to her, Christopher coiled his rock-hard buttocks and drove into his wife like a great battering ram.
Dustin cried out with the thrill of pleasure-pain, her nails digging crescent-shaped wounds into the flesh of his arse. He was unstoppable, thrusting into her hard enough to rattle her teeth, feeling her tightness enclosed over him, so pleasurable it was painful.
She rose to meet his every thrust, crying out his name and begging him to move harder, swifter, and hotter.
He was absolutely mad with his wife, filling every corner of his mind until nothing else in the world existed but her.
His plunges became more forceful, his hands squeezing her breasts, the sweat of his body mingling with hers until he finally climaxed in a great searing blast of convulsions.
He heard her soft screaming pants and he knew she had achieved her own pleasure, their pulsing muscles interacting with each other, responding one to the other.
The warm glow that was descending on them was almost visible.
He held her tightly, not withdrawing, overwhelmed with the passion between them.
Never had he made love to a woman with such blind desire and force, and he found he was actually astonished with the drive they shared.
The seven weeks had been well worth the wait to have it peak in such a glorious fashion.
“Dustin de Lohr,” he growled into her ear. “You are a reckless, wanton wench.”
She pulled her head up, smiling through her tousled hair. “You make me that way, husband. I have been dreaming of your magnificent body for seven long weeks.”
“I know, you told me six weeks ago,” he teased her. “Was this more wonderful than your dream?”
Dustin was suddenly struck with the remembrance of Marcus.
Lord, she’d almost forgotten and inadvertently Christopher caused all of the pain and guilt and confusion to flood over her again.
But she was strong and fought it for all she was worth.
She threw her arms around his neck tightly, hoping if she held on firmly enough, that Marcus’ memory could not disturb her.
“More wonderful than anything in this world,” she whispered fervently. “Promise me it will always be like this, Chris.”
“If I have anything to say about it, it will,” he kissed her cheek. “You are choking me, sweet.”
She loosened her grip but didn’t let him go, laying her head back to look him in the eye. His gaze was loving and warm, drinking in her face just as she was devouring his.
“You are going away, aren’t you?” she whispered after a moment.
He blinked at the rapid change of subject. “Where did you hear that?”
“Do not be evasive with me. I have heard the rumors, I know John has a large army and is preparing to strike King Richard’s holdings, holdings which you will have to defend.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “When are you leaving?”
She could see his expression become unguarded. “Dustin….”
“Please tell me,” she begged. “I am not a silly, simpering female who will fall into swoons like a weakling. Just be honest with me, Chris, please. I want to know when I will be losing you so I can prepare myself.”
After a moment he reached out and stroked the stray hairs away from her face, tracing a finger over her lower lip. “I do not know exactly when,” his voice was hoarse. “But soon. Mayhap within the next week or so.”
Dustin suddenly felt like crying, but she had promised to be strong.
Her sweet Christopher fighting against the evil bastard John, possibly dying for a king who had never actually ruled England from English soil, angered her to the point of madness.
But she had promised to be strong, and she intended to keep that promise. Even if it killed her.
“Are you going north to Nottingham?” she asked. “My grandsire is housing John’s troops, is he not?”
He nodded slowly, kissing her hand. “He is, and north we will ride when John moves.”
“Are you taking David and Edward and Leeton?” she asked.
“I must,” he replied. “And Marcus, too, if I can ever get through to the man.”
Dustin was glad Marcus was gone. It was much easier for her to recover without having to deal with his face every day, and without having to face an additional level of guilt. If he were gone it was easier to pretend nothing ever happened.
“Marcus’ keep is far north of Nottingham,” Christopher was saying.
“ ’Twould be a good thing to launch an attack against John from two fronts, me from the south and Marcus from the north.
But Nottingham is so damned fortified, we must wait until we know John is moving his army from the protective walls.
’Tis the only way to destroy him – out in the open. ”
Moving off the subject of Marcus, Dustin’s guilt shifted to her grandfather, a man she had never even met, and his loyalty to John’s cause. She wondered if Christopher blamed her somehow for causing so much grief.
“I am sorry,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For my grandsire’s evil nature, for helping John,” she said softly. “Lord, Chris, Ralph is my cousin. Doesn’t that make you angry or repulsed?”
He shrugged. “Why should it? You cannot choose your relatives, sweetheart, and you certainly are not responsible for bloodlines.”
“I consider you a noble Barringdon, Dustin, not a Fitz Walter.”
“I am a de Lohr,” she whispered.
He grinned. “Aye, you are, aren’t you?”
They kissed sweetly, lingeringly. Kisses of love grew into kisses of desire and they made love until the dawn.