Chapter 17 Honeymoon Hideaway #2
“He claims that transcendents inherited their abilities through birth, but that’s not possible. And not what I learned.”
“Reginald raised your ire. I can see it.”
She shook her head, cheeks draining of color. “I apologize. I should not show my disapproval of a learned man.”
“Yes, you should. I like you when you’re angry.”
“Liar.” But she smiled.
“Tell me what you learned,” he murmured against the fragile skin of her wrist where he placed a kiss upon her pulse.
“That a divine spark was placed into the bodies of a handful of great men long ago, and those original sparks have been passed down from eldest son to eldest son since that time.”
He laughed, the huff of it warming the skin that swept into the bend of her elbow. Where he placed a kiss. “Is that a literal spark or a metaphorical spark?”
She skipped a breath, several, her chest pausing at the top of an inhalation.
Because he’d skimmed his lips up her neck, kissed the edge of her jaw?
Hopefully. “I-I had always thought literal, but your implication is”—she stuttered a breath as he tugged her earlobe between his teeth—“noteworthy. Of course the spark could be a metaphor for birth, but… Oh, Temple, I can barely think when you do that.”
“A shame. I like it when you think. But also… I might be prouder of clouding that superb mind of yours than anything else. Diana, if you cannot think at the moment… then do not.”
“You rogue.” Said in the tone of You wonderful man.
He grinned against her skin, and her lashes fluttered.
“But your point is very intriguing. Yet wrong at the same time. I am proof that transcendent talent is not born but poured from one person into another upon death. It is why Princess Victoria will likely be passed over for her cousin when King William dies. He needs a body to pour his talent into, and that cannot… be… a— Oh. Damn. It can be a woman, can’t it? ”
“Hmm.” He kissed the pulse of her throat. “It must be a literal tale. Before I met you, I would have called all of it nonsense. But now…” He shrugged, tugged her earlobe between his teeth. “Sometimes divine is the only word that comes close to describing you.”
“Temple,” she sighed, “what nonsense.” But finally her hands were on him.
“But I do not seem to care.” She slipped her arms behind his neck and leaned into him.
When he wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted, she held on tighter.
He set her on the table and stepped between her legs, bunching her skirts and petticoats around her hips.
She found his lips and finished what he’d been working toward. She kissed him.
All bloody day. That’s how long he could do this. Kiss her softly and kiss her soundly. Kiss her until their lips were chapped and their stomachs grumbled for food. Then he’d feed her and fix her and take her upstairs. Or not. The worktable was a perfectly respectable location for a tryst.
“Not a tryst with a wife,” he mumbled against her lips.
“Nonsense.” But she laughed between hot breaths, fast breaths. She tore at his shirt, seeking skin. Her other hand wandered lower, rubbing against his cock. “Already at attention, I see.”
“Painfully.” He gasped, breaking the kiss. “Put me out of my misery.”
Her eyes flashed gold. “Poor dear. I suppose I shall have to.” Fingertips and skin, just above the waist of his trousers, delving lower, seeking.
Finding. Sweet little fingers wrapped around him, dragged up and down. She might as well drag his sanity along with her. Gone. All of it.
He slipped his hand beneath her skirts and up her inner thigh. Soft and warm. Higher. Softer, warmer. Wet. “I’m going to take you right here.”
“Your work, the tools—”
“Be damned.”
“Temple!” But she didn’t seem to mind. She removed his shirt. She stroked his muscle. She clawed her hands down his abdomen to seek what she’d abandoned.
He didn’t want her hand around his cock, though. He wanted her whole blessed body. He brushed her hand aside and rucked up her skirts, stroked the hottest path up her thigh and tested her center. Wet and ready.
So was he. She drove him to the very edge with her lips, her hands everywhere.
He couldn’t wait. She was a fever ravaging his body with need. He positioned himself between her legs and—
“Temple,” she gasped.
“Almost, sweetheart.”
“No. I mean, yes, but… the stone is glowing.” She cupped his cheek with one hand, the other pointed to the small gray stone on the table beside her. “Do not scowl at me like that. Scowl at the king. You’re being summoned.”
“When your lips are on mine, woman, you’d better notice nothing but that.” He swiped his cock against her core, groaning. “And I most definitely am not being summoned.”
“My skirts were burning where they brushed against it. How hot does it get?” She picked it up, hissed, and dropped it. “Quite hot, I see. Ouch. Mine only ever got pleasantly warm.” She sucked the tip of one finger.
The more it glowed, the more heat the metal kept in it. The more urgent the other person needed you, the hotter it would burn, too.
Burning heat meant urgent need. But answering that call meant danger to Diana.
He brushed the stone off the table, and its glow extinguished when it hit the floor. He took her burned finger out of her mouth and inspected it. A red welt was already rising. “I said be careful, Diana.”
“I simply do not want you to be in trouble with the king. You take care of me every day, and I should be allowed to take care of you. I—oh.”
He slipped her finger into his mouth, sucked it, ran his tongue along the length of it. She watched him, mesmerized, her chest frozen. Not a single breath drawn until he released her hand.
“Where were we?” he said.
She grasped his hand and placed it between her legs. “Right here, I believe.” Each word breathy, impatient.
He pulled her to the very edge of the table and thrust inside. She threw her head back with a cry, raking her nails down his chest.
“I can’t go slow,” he ground out.
“Do not.” A command. She would not be questioned. In this way, at least, she would take care of his needs.
Let her in this. He needed care in no other way.
In and out, the pressure building. The only pleasure in the world caught up between Diana’s soft thighs. Her cries and her touch—they could make him forget the world, his responsibilities, everything but her.
Madness.
But at least she was mad with him. He drove her to it, circling her clit with each thrust, fisting his hand in the hair at her nape with each deep kiss.
She cried out, hugged him hard, her body shaking.
And he let himself go, too.
Was it madness to take something for himself? To hold a happiness close even though it threatened everything else?
Yes.
But hell if he cared.
He scattered kisses along Diana’s jaw as she caught her breath, and when she smiled up at him, blessed Juno, he saw himself in an entirely new light. Not the king’s lapdog. Not his family’s only knight. Not a lone fool crossing into enemy territory…
With Diana, he was only a man who had found his heart. And would do anything to keep it.