Chapter 11 – An Experiment in Lace #5
“Yes? He took my measurem—mmph!” Ophele squealed as he snatched her up and headed for the bed, his hands wrapping her thighs tight around his hips, his mouth crushing hers in a hungry kiss. The quick, hard grind of his body against hers made her gasp as he flung her onto the bed.
“He shouldn’t see you like this.” Remin’s tall shadow stretched over her, his breath harsh. He wasn’t angry. That was something else entirely in his face. “You’re my wife.”
“Yes,” Ophele agreed breathlessly. Her chin tipped back as he climbed above her with a muscular grace that made her heart stutter, sliding her arms over her head and pinning her wrists with one hand.
“Look at you,” he rasped. “Don’t move.”
Just the weight of his eyes made her nipples tighten.
Ophele’s chest hitched as he cupped her breast, watching the lace move over her soft curves.
And then he bent to close his mouth over one pink peak, his tongue moving in a lewd red roil that made her mind haze.
She couldn’t move, she couldn’t breathe, she was so excited it was almost painful.
Lower. He kissed her navel. Traced the gentle swell of her hips. His hands stroked her curves, sliding her legs apart, his stubble rasping as he nipped the inside of her knees. And then they both went still as he slowly slid the lace upward, so it framed the naked space between her thighs.
Remin’s eyes lifted to hers.
“Miche told me something once,” he began. “I thought he was lying…”
He licked his lips, clearly uncertain at the prospect. But then he bent his head again, pressed her thighs apart, and licked her between her legs.
Ophele’s eyes nearly rolled back in her head.
“B-but we can’t,” she gasped, feeling certain that somehow this must be against the law.
“Who says?” he asked, excitement purring through his voice. He licked again, his dark eyes riveted on her face. “Do you like it, wife?”
“I—I don’t know…ohhh, OH!” She grabbed for his hair as his tongue stroked inside her, drawing the heat and wet in a sudden scorching surge, so very different from his fingers. Licking, lipping, thrusting with his tongue, his hands pinning her in place as she writhed.
“You do like it,” he said, pleased, and when he flicked that sensitive nub between her legs, Ophele almost came off the mattress.
“Oh—oh, stars!” she gasped, her hips bucking, which only pressed her harder against his merciless mouth.
He wouldn’t stop. He was always single-minded in his pursuit of her pleasure, but it had never been this maddening, this overwhelming, this thrilling helplessness, like her body wasn’t her own.
Even as her legs shook and her body arched taut, she could see Remin’s eyes gleam, and his long fingers slipped inside her, curling up to rub mercilessly.
“Remin, please—” she began, maybe a protest, maybe a plea, but then his lips closed on that throbbing bud and sucked taut and the whole word detonated in an explosion of pleasure that blasted every word from her mind.
Arching, straining, blown into some elsewhere of incredible sensation, a place where time stopped and there was only him, only this.
She was still tingling to her toes when she heard Remin’s voice, as if it came from another world.
“Wife, I need you, I can’t wait,” he panted, sprawling beside her and yanking the sash of his robe loose. “Move down, get on me. I want to watch you.”
His hard length jerked against his abdomen as he lifted her above him, clumsy with eagerness.
“All right—wait,” she managed, her hands catching on his belly for balance. “Let me—”
Seizing her waist, he thrust upward, filling her in one deep stroke.
“Oh—oh!” she cried, as his hands closed tight and he thrust upward again, his teeth bared in savage pleasure.
There was not much to watch. All she could do was hold on as he pinned her on him, his hips spanking into her backside, jarring her to her teeth.
Wailing as he surged upward, deep and hot and filling her behind bearing, her heated skin stretched with him.
His hands were all over her, his mouth biting and ravenous, down her arms and up her neck and she didn’t know where she was or what was happening because it was happening everywhere all at once and it was so, so good—
Dimly, she realized he was coming, too. His head thrown back against the edge of the bed, the cords on his neck like iron cables as he cried out, deep, wordless noises of pleasure. Inside her, he surged up, a boiling lash as he dragged her hips against his in grinding surges.
Ophele sprawled over his chest, boneless. Her ears were ringing.
“That…was good,” he rasped finally. His fingers nudged her chin, turning her face up to his. His eyes were filled with wonder. “I never knew you could look so…”
His thumb traced the soft, swollen curve of her lower lip.
“Stars,” he whispered, and kissed her again.
Ophele could not have moved if devils burst through the doors. She was utterly limp as he rolled her over again, murmuring and caressing, working his way up her lace-covered arms in kisses that bit and scorched her skin. Only the jangling of a distant memory made her lift her head.
“Tower,” she mumbled. “The Tower—Remin, about the Tower. When we go to the capital. We really can’t see them?”
Remin sighed.
“I know it’s important to you,” he murmured. “But it will complicate things, if we let them test you and announce to everyone that you’re a genius, wife. We don’t want anyone thinking that you’re dangerous.”
“Couldn’t I just be a mathematical genius?” Ophele gathered her wits and lifted her head. “We could say I didn’t have anything to do but read books, and it’s true…”
His hand ran lightly up and down her back, thinking.
“I’ll talk to Juste,” he said, bending his head to tease her lips with his own. “Maybe there’s a way it could be done.”
Ophele submitted to his kiss, feeling both pleased and guilty. It felt a little like tricking him, to ask him this way. Troubled, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and was surprised when he nudged her gently backward, his fingers trailing upward between her exposed breasts.
“My wife,” he rumbled, like the warning tremors of an avalanche. That heated glow was back in his eyes, the one that made her blush and squirm and want to be touched.
“You’re…you’re not too tired?” she whispered.
“Oh, no,” he assured her, his big hands cupping her backside and pushing her down so she could feel him stirring anew. “Not at all.”
* * *
“Wife, do you want breakfast?” Remin asked the lump in the bed the next morning as he pulled on his robe. The lace nightgown lay halfway under the bed, in tatters.
The lump mumbled something that sounded like yes, please.
She sprawled on the mattress just as he had left her last night, too worn out even to turn on her side, and Remin felt a little guilty as he sat beside her.
Her hair was an explosive tangle around her head and red and purple blotches marched the length of both arms. It made him feel foolish, in the light of day, but the way the lace had looked against her skin, he had just wanted to bite her…
“I’ll bring it to you,” he said, kissing the top of her head. He felt excellent, himself. A bit sore, but pleasantly satiated in the most wonderful way, and he couldn’t help bending down to whisper, “do you think you would want to get another nightgown like that?”
One eye opened and rolled up to his face, round with alarm.
“Go back to sleep,” he said, pulling the blankets over her shoulders, and went to see if there was any more of Genon’s tonic about. Maybe he had overdone it a little.
Looking at her over breakfast, it was hard to imagine a more harmless creature in the world.
Ophele looked absolutely tiny in their massive bed, a slender woman with love-bites marking her creamy skin.
Even though he had let her sleep for another hour before he woke her for breakfast, she was nodding over her porridge, and at length Remin took the bowl away, poured some of Genon’s tonic down her throat, and went to tell Lady Verr to let her sleep for a few more hours.
“Her Grace isn’t ill, I hope?” Lady Verr asked, looking concerned.
“No. Just…tired,” Remin replied vaguely, and departed with her gray eyes reproaching him for an utter beast.
Harmless. That was what Juste said Ophele must be.
And if this was all they saw of her in Segoile, the vulnerable waif with eyes that wrung his heart, then Remin thought Juste was likely right; Ophele would be a powerful weapon.
Even the cynical people of Segoile would never dream of the ferocious intellect working behind those eyes.
Half the time, he forgot it himself.
“Will Jinmin be back in time for our supper?” Ophele wanted to know that night, busy with the plans for the small banquet with his knights. It was the first formal occasion that he had left entirely in her hands.
“I shouldn’t think so,” Remin replied regretfully. And then something prodded him to ask, “What do you think Jinmin might be doing, wife?”
Even though they were alone in their bedchamber and the door was closed, she started and looked around reflexively, as if someone might be listening.
“I…well, you said he was working on building ports downriver,” she said slowly. “I guess…it doesn’t seem like work you would assign to him. I think he’s working on defenses on the river. In case there’s trouble?”
It was closer to the truth than he had expected. She would never dream that her husband was planning to make war on the Empire, and Remin hoped it would stay that way. He kissed her forehead.
“Why do you think that?” he asked tenderly, and listened as she laid out her observations for him, marveling at how much she saw and thought. He knew she needed a real teacher, but listening to her talk underscored exactly how much.