Chapter 5
Isabella had never been kissed by a man before this day, and Amaury’s kisses made her realize how much she had been missing.
They also made her yearn for more. She wanted to feel his hands upon her body.
She wanted to locate that mysterious tip of which he spoke.
She wanted to kiss him all the night long.
When he lifted his head, they both were breathless and his eyes glowed in a wondrous way.
“We should bathe first,” he said, as if he regretted the delay.
“I bathed this morn, if my cleanliness concerns you.”
“I fear more for my own,” he replied. “I also bathed this morn, but I have ridden all this day. I would not offend you for all the gold in Christendom.”
His concern for her was sweet and unexpected.
In truth, Isabella did not know if she could bear a greater delay.
She leaned closer to him, so close that her nose touched his throat.
He smelled warm and alluring, like wind and leather, and being so close to him made her very blood hum.
“I think you smell fine,” she managed to say.
Amaury echoed her gesture, tucking his nose beneath her ear and inhaling of her scent. His proximity sent a fire to her very toes, and the weight of his hand upon her waist was a revelation.
“Offensive?” she whispered.
“Glorious,” he replied, pulling back enough to look into her eyes. “You smell like a garden, one blessed with every beauteous flower.”
She smiled and he grinned back at her. “Then we should proceed.” She caught his hand in hers and led him to the pile of pillows, well aware of the dampness of her palms. She pulled up her skirts but he stayed her with a touch.
“Not like that,” he chided. “This deed is best done skin-to-skin. Help me with my hauberk.”
Isabella felt her face heat, but she assisted as he instructed.
He set aside his belt and sword, then unlaced the sides of his tabard.
It went over his head, much as her own would, then he cast aside his boots.
His hauberk laced down the back, requiring her assistance or that of his squire.
When he hauled its weight over his head and cast it aside, it landed on the carpets with a thump and a rattle.
She watched as he rolled his shoulders and could only admire the ripple of strength within them.
Once his padded aketon was removed, he stood before her in no more than his chemise, the tan of his skin evident through the sheer linen.
He let her look, gave her time to note the difference in their bodies.
He seemed to be golden from head to toe, his black hair was tousled, and his eyes glinted as blue as sapphires.
There was dark hair in the midst of his chest, which she could see through the linen, and intriguing shadows lower.
He reached for the laces at the sides of her gown and made quick work of unfastening them, then tugged the garment over her head.
Her chemise undoubtedly revealed some of her body to him, as well, as she bent to remove her shoes and hose.
They faced each other, then Amaury untied the lace of his own chemise, loosened the neck and pulled the garment over his head.
The sight of him nude was a revelation and a marvel.
Isabella wanted to urge him into the sunlight and study him from head to toe, making note of the differences between them and discovering the spots that he felt more keenly.
But mostly, she wanted to know how it would feel when their bodies came together.
He was watching her as she deliberately let her gaze slide ever lower. Isabella could not disguise her relief at the sight of him.
“Much smaller than a stallion,” she said and Amaury chuckled.
“But still of sufficient size for what must be done.” He shook a finger at her, eyes dancing. “Did your garrulous maid not warn of the perils of disparaging a man’s dimensions?”
“Nay.” Isabella shook her head, mystified, her fingers toying with the tie of her own chemise. “I should not?”
“No one should. One might as well tell a lady that she is plump, or a queen that she is old.”
“Or a king that his wits are addled.”
“Exactly!” Amaury might have continued, but Isabella tugged her chemise over her head in that moment, abruptly revealing herself to his view. He fell silent.
She saw that he stared, as if she were a marvel to behold. She watched him blink, then his throat worked. He lifted one hand toward her, then let it fall, still staring.
“You may tell me if I am not alluring to you,” she said. “I have no fear of truth.”
“If I tell the truth, that will not be it,” he replied, his voice husky. “You are exquisite, my lady. You might have been fashioned to fulfill my dreams.”
Isabella could not hide her relief. Amaury caught her hand in his, taking a step closer then planting a kiss on her palm.
They moved together in silence and mutual understanding, her hands sliding flat down his chest, his arms circling her waist. This time, when he bent to kiss her, she eased her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer, opening her mouth to him in welcome.
His touch made her impatient for something she could not name.
She was filled with an uncharacteristic restlessness, along with an unfamiliar heat.
It seemed that Amaury shared her reaction, for his kiss became more hungry once they were nude.
He caught her up, his arm locked around her waist, and lowered her to their makeshift bed.
He never broke his kiss, but followed her down to the mattress with a grace she could only admire.
Exquisite. There was a word to fill her heart with joy.
Then his lips were on her breast, one of his strong hands cupping it so he could tease her nipple with his teeth and his tongue.
It tickled but not in the manner of a childhood game.
It fed that heat deep within her, giving her an urge for something she could not name.
She found herself writhing beneath his touch.
If anything, that only encouraged him to torment her more.
He turned his attention to the other nipple, drawing it to a taut peak with his caresses, and she barely noticed the weight of his hand sliding down her hip.
Then his hand was between her thighs, the sure touch of his fingertip upon one point making her gasp aloud.
“The tip,” Amaury assured her, his voice low and his lips against her nipple. “I knew you would possess one.”
Before Isabella could reply, he caressed it more boldly, sending hot shivers through her body and making her moan.
He braced himself on his elbow beside her, his eyes gleaming as his fingers tormented her.
She seized his shoulders and pulled him down for a kiss, one that could only reveal her desperation for whatever was to come next.
He rolled partway over her, pressing her down in a most satisfying way, and she felt his finger slide inside her.
His thumb continued its amorous assault and the combination made her both hot and dizzy.
She could not find the words to tell him, but Amaury smiled at her.
“It is right and natural,” he murmured. “All is as it should be.”
“I should feel such a tumult?”
“Until there is release,” he said with welcome confidence and kissed her sweetly. Isabella did not know what to do, so she chose to trust him and follow wherever he led.
His kiss turned demanding, and Isabella was so lost in sensation that she could only respond in kind.
No sooner did she abandon herself to this deed than the heat within her increased.
She felt her skin flush and her heart race.
She felt that she stretched for some goal that was just beyond reach, but Amaury drove her on toward it.
She wound her leg around his, she ran her hands over his hard strength and welcomed his kiss.
Suddenly, he moved his hand in some magical way, like a sorcerer summoning a wind, and Isabella heard herself cry out.
A tide rushed through her body, a torrent that seemed to lift her to the heavens, then cast her back to the earth in a most glorious sensation.
She called his name without meaning to do as much, then heard his chuckle of satisfaction.
Then Amaury rolled to his back, carrying her atop him.
Isabella felt her braid tumble free of its pins and land on her shoulder, but she could not look away from the delight in his expression.
He watched her closely as he guided her to straddle him, then gripped her waist to lower her over him.
Isabella caught her breath at the feel of him, but Amaury moved slowly and deliberately, letting her become accustomed to him.
Once he was buried within her, she saw that his teeth were gritted and felt the slight tremble in his hands.
“Is it not right?” she asked.
“It is perfection, my lady,” he said with heat. “I fear only to move too quickly. I fear to injure you.”
Isabella smiled. When had anyone in her life cared for her comfort? If this man was to be the first, then she could not regret that they were wedded. “I am not so delicate as that, my lord.”
His expression became intense and he moved, or rather he urged her to move so that his length was drawn out of her then back inside.
The action, which she recalled from the horses, seemed to give him immense pleasure – and Isabella knew in that moment that she must ensure that her handsome husband favored her bed above all others.
“A far cry from a stallion,” she said lightly, then moved herself, just as slowly and persuasively as he had done. She watched his nostrils pinch and felt his hands grip upon her waist. “But sufficient for the task, to be sure.”