Chapter Thirteen #3
“In your chamber, of course,” Jubil said with a twinkle in her eye. “I doubt she is asleep. You’d better hurry before she comes looking for you.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “She would, wouldn’t she? I have come to see that my wife is lacking in patience.”
Jubil shrugged. “A trait that can be improved upon. Mayhap having a gaggle of children will force her to learn the attribute.”
Alec nodded, glancing at the massive stone and oak staircase. “If we are indeed so blessed,” he moved toward the steps. “Good sleep to you, Jubil.”
His boot barely hit the bottom stair when he heard Jubil behind him. “You are already so blessed, my lord.”
He couldn’t help himself from halting his ascension, turning to peer curiously at the aged aunt. “And just how would you know that?”
Jubil smiled broadly, her blue eyes glittering in the dim torchlight. “Look at her, Alec. Can you not see that your seed has taken root? Look at her.”
He had no idea what to say and did not dare to hope that Jubil spoke the truth. After all, it had only been a matter of days and there was no way Peyton could have known that she had conceived in that time. Thoughtfully, he mounted the remainder of the stairs and made his way to his chamber.
The master chamber was warm and dim, the light from the blazing hearth affording the only illumination. Alec entered the room quietly, his eyes grazing the surroundings; the bed was prepared and fresh rushes littered the floor. Closing the door softly behind him, he looked about for his wife.
She wasn’t hard to find. Peyton stepped from the shadows clad in a shift made from the finest silk, spider-web thin, with ribbons of gold woven through it.
It covered her completely from head to toe, yet obscured none of her beautiful body from his lusty gaze.
One look at her and his mouth began to water.
“Welcome home, my lord,” she said seductively.
He grinned, a nervous, excited gesture. “’Tis good to be home.”
She moved into the light and all he could do was stare at her body though the screen of the transparent shift. “Christ, Peyton, you look…. magnificent.”
“I should hope so,” she purred, moving close enough to run her hand erotically from his narrow waist to his shoulder. “I have been waiting for you.”
He grabbed the wandering hand and her with it.
Peyton laughed softly as she found herself gripped against his mighty chest. His eyes blazed at her, the heat of his gaze searing her flesh and she licked her lips instinctively, waiting for his delicious mouth to descend upon her.
He grinned when he saw her pink tongue flick about her lips, his great head dipping lower and lower.
“Wait no longer, then.”
Alec suckled her mouth so hard that she was sure he had bruised her.
She responded to him wildly, without reserve, and in little time they had made short work of his traveling tunic.
The garment came off and Peyton couldn’t take her mouth from his magnificent chest, lapping the salty musk from his skin and biting delicately at his nipples.
She could feel his hands in her hair, the whispered inflections of her name riding on his breath.
With every passing moment, she grew bolder and bolder until she grasped his engorged manhood through his hose, stroking the length of it.
“Peyton….” he whispered.
“Nay, my Alec,” she returned softly, pushing his hands away as they attempted to remove his breeches. “I shall do it. I shall do everything.”
He was breathing heavily, watching the top of her head, feeling the molten liquid strands caressing his heated flesh.
Gently, and a bit awkwardly, she released him from his breeches and lowered them to his knees.
Without hesitation, her hot hands closed over his swollen organ and began to stroke it tenderly.
He watched her, fascinated and consumed, as she inspected his manhood.
She continued to fondle him, her bravery growing. He waited impatiently for her to ask him for suggestions on how to fulfill his pleasure, but she seemed content to simply stroke him. For now, he was content with that as well. But his tolerance would not hold out indefinitely.
Which was why he was completely surprised when she lowered her head and stroked his manhood with her tongue, from the testicles to the ruby-red crown. He jumped at the action, grasping her by the hair and forcing her to look at him. His gaze bordered on rage.
“Where in the hell did you learn to do that?” he demanded hoarsely.
She grinned, embarrassed. “The cook’s daughters are free with their advice. Ivy and I have learned much by listening to them.”
His instant relief weakened him. His imagination had run wild in that split second, and he realized he was consumed with jealousy and rage when he thought of his sweet wife pleasuring her dead betrothed in the same manner.
He could see Peyton’s mouth coming to bear on the pulsing organ of a faceless knight and his possessiveness nearly devoured him.
The alleviation at her admission was indescribable.
“I see,” he rasped. “And what else did you learn listening to the trollops?”
Her grin broadened. “I did not truly learn anything, merely ingested for future reference. I have yet to actually attempt to practice.”
He dipped his head low, kissing her fully on her ripe lips. “You may continue your practice.”
She did, eagerly. When she realized she could turn him into a writhing mass of flesh simply by putting her mouth over the head of his manhood and suckling hard, she continued with her torture until Alec weakly begged for reprieve.
She fully ignored his cries; before he realized it, she had maneuvered him into a chair and knelt between his legs, her hot mouth working him into a frenzy.
With every stroke and every suckle, he was thrust further and further toward the point of rapture.
He was delirious; he wanted to bury his manhood deep within the recesses of her sweet body, but her mouth was ecstasy beyond words.
With her hair splayed over his naked thighs and groin, he was incapable of summoning the effort to stop her onslaught so they could retire to the bed.
All he could feel was Peyton’s luscious mouth.
He erupted as she continued to suckle. First, she tasted the saltiness of his seed, and then she watched, fascinated, as he spent himself. The pearl-colored essence of life spilled onto her hand and she extended her tongue to taste it once again, gazing up into his eyes with great wonder.
“It tastes salty,” she whispered. “Does it hurt when you spill?”
Weak and thoroughly spent, Alec entwined his great fingers into her silken tresses.
“Nay, love, it doesn’t,” when she grinned, he seemed to snap out of his lethargy and scooped her into his arms. “You are a naughty, wanton wench, Lady Summerlin. How cruel. How terribly controlling. How lovely for me.”
She laughed softly as he swung her to the bed, tossing her onto the mattress and descending upon her with his exquisite body.
She continued to giggle as he kicked off his boots and restrictive breeches, but her laughter quickly turned to moans of pleasure as his mouth latched onto her earlobe and his hand closed over her breast possessively.
“Oh, Alec,” she whispered as his fingers peaked her nipple. “Make love to me, darling.”
He growled and his mouth left her ear to clamp down on a distended nipple through the thin silk.
She groaned with pleasure, pulling at his short hair as he tugged insistently at her breast. His hands were consuming her, his strength finding release through his driven touch.
The shift came off, somehow, she was not even aware; the very next thing she realized, Alec was fully aroused once more and driving his firm body into her swollen flesh.
His thrusts were deep, even, hard. Peyton planted her heels into the back of his knees and moved to meet his passion.
She heard a throaty cry, not realizing that it was her own, as waves upon waves of delicious convulsions swallowed her whole.
Alec had consumed her, digested her, until all that remained was a boneless, quivering form.
His desire had rendered her a content, weak woman.
Alec found his own release again as Peyton’s lusty body was wracked with spasms. His climax came so hard that he bit his lip, unaware of the pain yet totally cognizant of the pleasure.
Only when he moved to envelope her in his massive embrace did he taste his blood and he smiled wearily into the darkness. Christ, what this woman did to him.
He was home.
*
The next day at St. Cloven dawned bright and temperate.
Alec awoke shortly after dawn, as was habitual, and managed to disengage himself from Peyton without waking her.
Moving from the massive bed, he donned his breeches and slipped into the hall, summoning a servant for hot water and food.
The small bower next to the master chamber was virtually empty, and he proceeded to claim it for his private retreat.
He ate standing next to a lancet window, his gaze lingering on his new bailey as the sun rose.
Washing quickly, he silently returned to the master chamber to retrieve his clothes, passing a tender glance at his wife.
She was buried under the covers and he was only able to glimpse her wild red hair and half of her face. With a grin, he closed the door softly.
Clad in heavy breeches, thigh-high black boots and a durable tunic made from panels of black leather and black linen, he went about his new duties as lord of the keep.
Toby met him in the great hall, greeting him amiably and voicing his approval for the liberal use of cedar.
But in the same breath, Alec could read a strange confusion in Toby’s eyes. He moved past the pleasantries.
“What’s wrong?”
Toby tried to shrug off the question but he found he could not. In fact, he was glad Alec had asked and lowered his voice. “Aunt Jubil….”