Chapter Eight #8
Her breathing was coming fast and her stomach quivered as if she were ill. She found it difficult to hold a coherent thought. “Please.…”
“Please what?” His hands were gripping her knees, running down the length of her calves.
She couldn’t answer him for a moment as his hands whipped her into a panting frenzy. His touch was golden and she closed her eyes to better enjoy it when suddenly they drifted up her thighs and cupped her rounded bottom. At that precise moment, she snapped out of her passion-hazed trance.
“Gaston!” she gasped, jumping away.
His brow furrowed and he could see he had startled her with his bold touch. He dropped his hands from her bottom. “I am sorry, angel,” he whispered. “I did not mean to frighten you.”
Relieved that he understood her hesitation, she found it easier to speak to him of her reasons. Her hands moved to cup his great face.
“When Guy took me, it was with brutality and force. Never a kind word or a gentle touch, and I grew to hate it.” Her voice was quivering. “I still…hate it.”
He caressed her calves gently, groping for words.
“Then you and I have something in common. I have never made love to anyone I have remotely cared for. I have always looked at it as a necessary service,” he swallowed hard; words came difficult to him.
“I do not do it now because I need to. I do it because I want to.”
She looked hard at him, her fingers tracing the strong lines of his face. He saw her eyes beginning to well. “I am afraid.”
“So am I.”
“And I am married,” she choked in a whisper.
“So am I.”
“What about your wife?” She was starting to cry softly.
“She means as much to me as Guy means to you,” he said gently. “’Tis only you I care for, Remi. Only you.”
“Forever?” she breathed, tears falling from her eyes onto his face.
“Until I die,” he answered without a doubt.
Black and white. He had always seen everything in black and white; black was Mari-Elle and their farce of a marriage. White was his growing feelings for Remington, overwhelming his senses.
She fell against him, kissing his forehead, the bridge of his nose. Hot tears from her frightened eyes fell on his face, bathing him and drilling deep into his heart.
“I shall be your mistress, Gaston,” she whispered, her lips on his forehead. “Just promise me that you will never leave me and I swear I shall be your whore.”
He knew how painful it was for her to say those words, and it was equally painful for him to hear them. She did not deserve the title, the connotation, and his heart was nearly bursting with anger and regret and happiness, everything he could possibly feel was a swirling mass in his chest.
His hands came out from under her surcoat and he clasped her face between his huge hands, still on his knees.
“I shall never leave you, angel, and you will not be my whore,” he murmured. “’Tis a title for a cheap woman with no meaning to a man other than to relieve his needs. You are my lover, my life that will never be, and the fantasy of my heart. I never want to hear the word ‘whore’ again.”
She sobbed louder and he kissed her to quiet her fears and her pain. All they knew was that they needed each other in the most powerful way possible.
He remained on his knees, unlatching his armor and casting it aside.
Remington tried to calm her tears, releasing him long enough to allow him to remove his breastplate and short hauberk.
She knew what was coming, having never experienced it on an affectionate level before, and she was torn between terror and eager anticipation.
He removed his shirt and Remington studied him; his chest was splendid, broad and beautifully muscled with a fine matting of crisp black hair.
Never had she seen anything so exquisitely magnificent.
Timidly, she reached out and brushed her fingers across his skin and he responded by kissing her fingers fervently.
She was so curious about his chest that she had not realized that he had removed her cloak and spread it on the damp grass.
He grasped her arms and lay back on the cloak with incredible gentleness, his mouth kissing her passionately.
Forgetting about his chest, she wound her arms around his neck and responded to his kisses with all of the nervous energy she was feeling.
She could do nothing but trust him, and trust him she did.
He pushed her skirts up and undid the stays of her surcoat, pulling the bodice of it down far enough to allow his hands access to her rounded breasts.
As she had remembered, his hot mouth on her taut nipple was the most wonderful of sensations, and she bit off her moans on her hand as he suckled her to the brink of delightful pain.
Their passion was gaining momentum by the moment. The more he suckled and probed her breasts, the more she writhed beneath him and the more aroused he became. Neither one of them had ever known such an abandoned response and it only served to excite them even more.
They were lost in each other; nothing else in the world mattered at the moment.
Remington’s fear was gone, her instinctive inbred response to being touched.
She arched shamelessly into his mouth, his hand, her body aching for everything he had to offer, everything that had been denied her for all of these years.
She had no idea that a touch could be so sweet, a kiss so tender.
She did not even realize her tears were still falling; now they were for her newfound joy.
Gaston wanted her so badly he couldn’t think straight.
The more she responded, the more forceful he became.
Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he knew he must be careful with her and go slowly, but that thought was blocked out by blind passion overloading his brain.
Never in his life had he wanted a woman, much less wanted a woman as badly as his lungs needed air, or his stomach needed food.
This was what he had wanted all of his life and had not even known it.
He pushed his knees between her legs, pulling her knees up with his free hands.
His mouth never left her. Somehow, he managed to undo the stays on his breeches and free his massive organ, demanding to be sated.
His fingers trailed to her inner thighs and he heard her moan softly, although his own mouth swallowed all of her sounds.
Slowly, his hands moved up to the dark curls between her legs and delicately roved over the outer flesh.
Remington startled when she felt his fingers caressing her.
He did not probe her, merely touch her, and it gave her a chance to fight down her natural fear.
Guy had raped her so many times she had lost count, and he had never taken the time with her that Gaston was.
A touch she had learned to hate was quickly turning into the most powerful experience of her life.
His fingers finally probed her, gently at first, for he felt her body stiffen beneath him.
He kept on with his forceful kisses, trying to relax her again, for he was so massively hung that she would have to be completely relaxed in order for him to enter her.
The last thing in the world he wanted to do was hurt her.
He inserted his finger into her carefully, hearing her gasp softly.
“Did I hurt you?” he whispered raggedly.
She shook her head. “Nay, Gaston….’tis just that.…”
He kissed her fears, her explanations, away. Nothing mattered anymore except the two of them, right now.
He pushed two fingers into her, mimicking the thrusting rhythm that would soon be taking place.
She was unbelievably tight, but slick as rain.
Her muscles throbbed and pulled at him and he was near insane with his desire.
Quickly, for he was in danger of spilling himself on her cloak, he removed his fingers and placed his manhood against her.
Remington’s eyes flew open, meeting his cloudy orbs. “Gaston, I am scared.”
He kissed her fiercely. “I swear to you that you will like this, angel. I know you consider this so much hell but I promise you that you will not after this night.”
She gazed into his eyes, trusting him implicitly. He had not lied to her yet. Slowly, her slim thighs wound around his thick legs and her hands caressed the back of his neck. “Show me, then.”
He made sure he was meeting her eye when he thrust slowly into her; he wanted to see her face, measure her reaction. She was so tight that it took three full thrusts to move into her, and even then he wasn’t seated to the hilt. Remington’s eyes widened, but she did not utter a word.
He couldn’t help himself; he was a hairsbreadth away from spilling into her and refused to do it before he had taken any pleasure with it.
Withdrawing completely, he thrust hard into her and she gasped with shock.
He thrust again and again, feeling himself peaking and absolutely astonished that he was climaxing so quickly.
Beneath him, he could feel her pelvis moving against him.
It was his undoing; he blasted his scalding seed into her with a growl of utter satisfaction.
Remington felt him throbbing within her and knew exactly what it meant; she only remembered Guy’s releases too well. She had actually been enjoying his movements and was disappointed to realize it was over so quickly. Yet even after he climaxed, he continued to move within her, still full and hard.
He wanted her to enjoy this as much as he had and moved his hands under her hips, holding her to him as he thrust into her.
Remington felt her body responding, the heat in her loins like liquid fire, growing in intensity.
Every time their bodies came together it was as if the sparks were flying at the point where they touched; she swore she could feel them.