Chapter Twenty-Nine #4
He received no answer, but he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning sharply, he was met with a figure dressed entirely in white. White, fine silk that was absolutely transparent, provocative and enticing, covering all but not concealing. His anger melted into liquid fire.
“Greetings, my lord,” Remington said seductively.
He was actually speechless for a moment. He found himself drawing in a long, appreciative breath. “You… you did not meet me in the bailey.”
She smiled, making his heart thump madly in his ribs. “I thought I would greet you here. Properly.”
He watched her, frozen, as she approached. Her hair was unbound, cascades of curls flowing to her waist. He’d never seen her so beautiful.
Remington stopped before him, her face upturned and gazing at him with such a seductive expression that he felt his knees go weak. By God, he had missed her.
“I am pleased,” he managed to choke out. “You look incredible, Remi. When I last left, you were….”
“I know,” she interrupted softly. “As fat as a cow.”
He shook his head, reaching a hand up to remove his helm. “Nay, love, you were not fat. You looked every bit a new mother.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Well put.”
He smiled, his gaze raking over her. “We were speaking of something else not a moment ago. Ah, yes; you were preparing to welcome me home.”
She returned his smile, standing on her toes and snaking her arms behind his neck. “So we were.”
He pulled her to him, all hard armor and mail, but they both knew the gear would come off momentarily. “Make me a warm welcome, then.”
She lifted her mouth for a kiss and he instantly responded, but she stopped just short of meeting his lips. She lingered a moment, feeling his body quivering with anticipation, and they both smiled at her “torture”.
“Welcome home, my lord.”
Their mouths met with a furious clash of passion, lips fusing intensely.
Her fingers entangled themselves in his inky hair, feeling the sweat and strength of the strands.
He was gripping the back of her head with his gauntleted hands and they both laughed when he tried to remove them, entangled, in the silken web.
“I should not have done that,” he said, unwinding a curl from his index finger.
She smiled, reaching out to unlatch his breastplate.
In less than a minute, his armor was off and they were both going to work on his clothing, their desire doubling by the second.
By the time he removed his breeches, Remington had already removed her filmy robe and was lying on the bed, completely naked, demanding he hurry.
Her eyes raked him hungrily, drinking in his beautiful body. “Gaston, is it possible you have grown larger since we were last together? I do not remember you being quite so… muscular.”
He ripped the breeches free of his feet. “Fifteen more pounds of beef, angel. All I did was work myself ill during the time we spent apart. It kept my mind off you.”
She had not the chance to respond. Suddenly he was on her, their naked skin touching for the first time in months.
They had not made love since she had been three months pregnant with the twins, and Gaston’s breath was shaky as his hands roved her newly luscious body.
He couldn’t touch her fast enough, tenderly enough; he couldn’t get enough.
Her breasts, so round and plump and engorged, drew his mouth and she moaned softly with the sensitivity. He kneaded her breasts, somewhat surprised when milk dripped forth.
“I am sorry… did I hurt you?” he whispered, concerned.
She smiled, running her finger to catch the drops, and then plunging her finger into his mouth. “What does it taste like?”
He’d never seen a more provocative action; a painful jolt of pure lust shot thought his body. All of his resolve to go slow fled like a puff of smoke.
“Sweet,” he said huskily. “Like you.”
She cried out softly as he suckled her hungrily, low groans of pleasure rumbling from his throat. He kneaded and suckled, finally trailing down her slightly rounded stomach to her satin thighs. His actions were almost rough, firm, and she encouraged him lustily.
“Oh, damn,” he suddenly muttered.
“What?”
His mouth came up from her fleshy mound, his eyes glazed with passion. “I…brought something for us to use.”
“Brought what?”
He looked hesitant, almost at a loss for words.
His fingers probed her fleshy lips, stroking her, before he answered.
“You almost died with the twins and…Remi, I would rather have no more children. I do not want to lose you, angel, not even for the sake of heirs. We have two sons and two daughters. Our family is complete, I think.”
She looked at him curiously. “No more children? You would not want a son from me?”
He touched her face, his hand shaking. “Oh, angel, a son would be the greatest gift. But I will give it up if it means losing you. Do you understand what I am saying?”
She did; sort of. “But just how do you intend to prevent me from conceiving again? Gaston, I conceived the twins within a few weeks. We happen to be potent together, my love.”
“There is a woman in London who makes pessaries,” he said softly. “She guarantees that it will prevent pregnancy. I paid a good deal of money for them.”
“A pessary?” she repeated. “I have heard of them. What are they made out of?”
He was stroking her thighs, running his hand over her belly. “Coltsfoot. Bayberry. And other things; I did not ask.”
“Where are they?” she asked.
“In my saddlebags,” he laid his great head on her torso.
She raked her fingers through his hair. “You are not leaving to go and get them,” she grabbed hold of the hair, yanking him up sharply to look at her. “Take me. Now.”
He looked hesitant for a brief moment, but she smiled and wrapped her legs about him. He wanted to protest; to bid her wait until he could dress and retrieve the pessary, but the words would not come. He wanted her so badly that he couldn’t wait, either.
Bracing his arms on either side of her body, he arched into her.
She cried out softly and he thrust again, shuddering.
She was so terribly tight that he swore he was elongating as her walls clutched him, drawing him inward.
He thrust again, and again, before he was finally seated to the hilt.
Beneath him, Remington was moaning softly with pure pleasure.
They rocked together, pelvis’ meeting with force. Remington’s legs gripped him tightly, her nails biting into his massive arms. She clung to him, moving with him, feeling their heat take flight like a racing fire.
It wasn’t long before they were cresting together, the waves of pleasure rolling over them like ripples on the surface of a lake. The ripples faded, the pleasure blanketing them in a warm glow. Gaston held Remington tightly, his face buried in her hair.
“I wasted my money buying those damn pessaries,” he mumbled.
She smiled, snuggling against his huge body. “Nay, you did not. What is this one time out of the rest to come? By the way, how do I use them?”
“You put them inside you – thusly,” he took his index finger and shoved it upward, and then he grinned at her. “In fact, I may do it for you.”
“You may have to,” she made a face of displeasure. “I do not think I want to stick my finger – thusly.” She made the same motion and they both laughed.
They settled into comfortable positions, he holding her tightly, and she pressed up against him as if she were a physical part of his body. It had been so long since they had been together as this, and each one savored it.
The afternoon passed, closing in on dusk.
Remington dozed lightly in his arms, never so content as she was at that very moment.
Gaston stroked her back absently, staring off into the room, not thinking on anything in particular.
He was simply enjoying the feel of her, the smell of her. He was enjoying her.
“What happened in London?” she asked.
He thought she was asleep. Shifting her slightly, he gazed down into the sea-crystal eyes. “Let’s eat supper first, and then we will discuss it later with de Tormo.”
She sat up. “Why do not you want to tell me now? What happened?”
He sighed. “Remi, we have just spent a wonderful afternoon together. Do you really want to spoil it with talk of the papal council?”
“Am I getting my annulment?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Did they deny me already, before I have a chance to speak?”
“No, they did not deny you. In fact, you and de Tormo and I will have to speak on the future testimonies,” he ran a finger up her soft arm.
“I told the archbishop and the legate that Guy worships the devil. They were most outraged, of course, and I believe if we can convince them that Guy is the devil’s disciple, then you shall have your annulment. ”
“Truly?” her face lit up with hope.
He smiled faintly and touched her cheek. “Truly.”
She suddenly bound out of bed, hunting for her clothes. “Well, get up. We must eat and meet with de Tormo. And when do we leave for London?”
He snickered, rolling to his side and propping himself up on an elbow as she paraded about, collecting garments. His flaccid manhood began pulsing with life again at the sight of her nude body, nubile and round.
“’Tis a shame you must cover that magnificent body,” he said, eyeing her as she walked past him.
She gave him a coy look, laying her shift and dress across a chair.
“I do not think de Tormo would appreciate my showing up to supper in the nude,” she put her hands on her hips.
“Do you know that he does not believe in bathing? He told me so. He says it is a danger for men of the cloth to expose parts of the body that should remain covered.”
“I believe it. He reeks something fierce.”
“Well, I think it is disgusting,” she pulled the shift over her head. “Gaston…do you think that ordained men are subject to the same urges as normal men? I mean, do they feel lust and desire as you do?”