Chapter 7 #2
“How many women?” Isabella asked, though it was scarce the time for such confidences. She closed her eyes, cursing again her own impulsive tongue.
But Amaury did not seem to mind. “None since I left Montvieux,” he said, his words a breath against her skin that made her shiver.
“None?”
He chuckled then flicked her nipple with his tongue. “Not a one in all those years, my lady. I took a vow of chastity in Montvieux’s chapel before embarking on crusade.”
“But it was years!” She sat up a little and looked at him, noting the increasingly familiar resolve that claimed his features.
“And a vow is a vow,” Amaury replied with heat. “No matter how long it must be kept.” His gaze bored into hers. “Not one lady, perhaps the better that I might have more affection to share with you, my wife.”
Isabella could not help but smile and blush at that. “You planned to wed on your return,” she guessed.
“I did, perhaps not the first day of my arrival, but all is well in that.” He frowned then and studied her, his fingers still stroking that beguiling spot. “What of you? When did you think to wed?”
She caught her breath at the brush of his fingertip but strove to continue their conversation. “When my father so chose.”
“I might have expected that to be years ago.”
“So did I, but he changed his view often.”
“Were you betrothed?”
“Twice.” She felt her lips thin. “Both times until the man in question visited Marnis.”
“What then?”
She strove to sound indifferent, though the incidents had both stung. “They changed their view and withdrew their offers. Perhaps I was not so appealing as they had hoped.”
Amaury’s eyes flashed with outrage on her behalf, a sight that sent a different heat coursing through her.
“Nay, it was a greater design, my lady. It was because we were meant for each other.” He spoke with surprising conviction and her heart warmed at the sentiment.
“Ours will be an enviable match, Isabella. I vow it to you.”
Isabella might have protested that he could know no such thing, but Amaury ducked his head beneath the hem of her chemise and she was startled to silence.
To her amazement, she felt his mouth close over the spot his fingertips had teased, and when she might have argued with that, the flick of his tongue dismissed every rational thought from her mind.
She was awash in sensation, lost in the tide of pleasure that Amaury conjured within her, and truly there was nowhere else she wished to be.
Could there be any greater satisfaction in this life than giving pleasure to Isabella?
Amaury doubted there could be. She was so surprised that he wished to be with her, so delighted with his touch and so responsive to all he did.
He was prepared to couple with her hourly and knew he would have been happy to spend days abed with her.
He strove to be patient and protect her from his own ardor, reminding himself repeatedly that she had recently been a maiden.
But the honesty of her response was sufficient to put him in her thrall forever.
Already he noticed where she was ticklish and where she was most sensitive.
The graze of his teeth upon her earlobe made her arch her back and made her lashes flutter closed.
He loved how her lips parted and her entire posture softened when she was aroused, that she, this most articulate lady, could not summon a single word to her lips when he caressed the pearl between her thighs.
He adored how she gasped, how she shivered, how she moaned before she gained her release.
He loved the sense that desire held her captive and the glimpse of wild joy in her eyes before she reached her climax.
He felt like a champion when she surrendered to the tumult, then would have fought lions for her as she shuddered in the aftermath. She nestled against his side, striving to catch her breath even as he ignored his own need.
“You,” she said finally and he laughed at her astonished tone.
“Me,” he agreed with a grin.
She poked a finger in his chest. “You are wicked, sir. I cannot believe that most ladies accept such tributes from their lord husbands.”
“And yet would they not be more content if they did?”
She laughed, a glorious sound. “I shall have to endure it again to be certain,” she said, her manner playful, and Amaury could only chuckle.
“And I have no choice but to obey my lady’s command.”
Her hand swept down his chest, halting over his navel.
He could barely discern her features in the shadows.
He watched her bite her lip, then her hand eased lower.
Amaury was the one to gasp when Isabella’s fingers swept down the length of him, then he inhaled sharply as her fingertips slid across the end of his shaft.
“You like this,” she whispered.
“Aye,” he managed to say, his voice husky with need.
She braced herself on her elbow, looking down at him, her hair tumbling over her shoulders in disarray.
She could have no notion of how fetching she was, her shoulder bared and her nipple both taut and rosy.
Her lips had been kissed to softness and he liked that he had been the one responsible for that.
She eyed him and he could fairly read her thoughts when her gaze lingered upon his erection. “Is that a deed I should do for you?”
Amaury closed his eyes, unable to imagine how he would endure it. “Perhaps in time,” he said.
“But are you not aroused now?”
“I am.” He guided her hand, wrapping her fingers around his strength. “You might touch me thus and bring me to pleasure.”
“Truly?” She smiled. “How?”
But she was already stroking him, her confidence growing with every caress.
Amaury guided her a little, then let her explore, leaning his head back and surrendering to her touch.
He savored the soft warmth of her against his side, the stroke of her foot against his calf, the gentle demand of her fingers upon him.
He showed her but once how best to grip him and caress the length of him and she repeated the gesture with both gentleness and power, as if she had been wrought to drive him mad with desire.
He felt her watching him as she coaxed desire within him, as she summoned the fire with increasing skill, as his blood pounded and desire held him captive to her touch.
She stroked him again and again, alternatively teasing and demanding, driving him to greater need.
He felt his body tighten as he strained toward release and he moaned aloud when Isabella caressed him with the flat of her hand.
And then she leaned over him to kiss him, her mouth locked over his, her tongue demanding more of him that he thought to offer.
Amaury caught her close and kissed her back, then rolled her to her back as he thrust against her hand with a surge of power.
She opened her mouth to him, welcoming him against the alluring softness of her skin, the welcome hunger of her kiss, and then he felt the tide roar through him.
It seemed to last forever, raging on and on and on, taking him to the heights of pleasure and beyond. He drove against her hip one last time, his teeth bared as he collapsed, and he kissed the nipple he found before his lips when he opened his eyes.
Isabella laughed, her delight in her accomplishment most clear. “You liked that,” she whispered and he gazed into the sparkle of her eyes.
“You will make me your willing captive, my lady,” he growled and kissed her nipple again, flicking his tongue across the peak so that she giggled.
“You are wicked,” she accused again, seemingly having no complaint with that.
“Then we shall have to be wicked together forevermore,” he said, rising to fetch both the water and the cloth to wash up.
There was a chill in the air following his words, one Amaury could not explain.
“Will we be?” Isabella asked quietly and he turned to look at her. She frowned, her consternation catching at his heart. “It seemed that pleasures always diminish in time, and interests stray.”
He knew the reassurance she sought and though Amaury could not see the future, he could confess his own intent. “If we are honest with each other and each contrive to see the other satisfied, I see no reason why we should not be.”
She considered him for a moment, then nodded, apparently unconvinced. She took the cloth and washed herself, practical once again, which only made Amaury wonder how often he might coax the return of his mischievous companion – and whether he might eventually persuade that lady to remain.
He made progress, to be sure, and told himself to be content with that.
And yet, he was not. He wanted more with Isabella.
He wanted her all.
“Are you too tired to speak with me on this night?” he asked, hoping she would argue otherwise.
Instead, she granted him a polite smile, the kind of smile she might offer to a stranger. “I am, I thank you,” she said. “Perhaps the morning would be better.”
She did not wait for his reply but returned to bed, her back turned toward him, and Amaury felt he had lost something precious, through no choice of his own.
Alas, he did not know how to retrieve it on this night, but he would learn.
Isabella lay awake beside Amaury, content and yet uncertain.
She wished it had not been her nature to look for the shadow when she saw the sunlight, but she had learned to distrust aught good.
Favors were withdrawn, promises broken, treasures stolen or confiscated, treats denied.
It was the rhythm of her days that all good things failed to endure – indeed, they faltered quickly – and so it was only natural that she expected the marvel of her marriage to Amaury to vanish.
Or to be taken from her.