Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
In just a few hours, camp had been set up, yurts placed correctly, and everyone was settled.
Eve had been to the marketplace, and she had purchased vegetables and grains, cooked dinner, and fed the men.
She also had organized the yurt she would share with Michel, setting up the space as was traditional, taking great care with his things.
Now, she stood at the central campfire, surveying the men, the darkness separating the camp from the greater part of the city, while their firelight illuminated the massive wall behind them.
It was the first time in a long time that Eve felt satisfied with the work she had accomplished.
She had not, however, finished her duties for the evening.
She leaned toward the fire and rotated a log as she waited for a pot of water to boil.
The feelings she had been avoiding were coming up.
Intimacies were blooming between her and Michel that she feared but enjoyed at the same time.
She lived now with a heat swelling inside her that she wasn’t quite sure what to do with or how to soothe.
The only thing that seemed to make it better was being near him, even though proximity also made the feeling glow warmer.
The truth was, she wouldn’t mind having his hands on her again.
It was also probably the reason she let slip why she had run away.
She felt too close to him. Eve had sworn never to speak of what had happened, the circumstances that led up to the murder of the man who had forced her to wed.
She believed that by keeping the information hidden, she wouldn’t put anyone else in danger.
Her hope had always been to get to France uneventfully without causing any more problems. Yet she had connected herself to a man who was heading in the opposite direction, closer to those looking for her.
Then they had seen Ganbold, and she knew there would be more coming for her.
She also knew she owed Michel an explanation, but she didn’t know what information would be helpful and what would be harmful.
Until she could unravel everything in her mind, she would not say anything else.
She did need someone to trust, though. Since the moment she had been stolen from her own lands, she had been destabilized in such a way that nothing she did seemed right.
She didn’t have her family, she didn’t have her home, she didn’t have the pillars of comfort she had relied on all her life.
She wanted badly to rely on Michel, to trust him.
It would make her current position much easier.
She also wished she could dive into the feelings that he made her feel—safe and unhinged at the same time.
She didn’t know if she would be a fool for doing so.
The pot of water steamed over the fire, so she carefully dipped and rolled several towels and put them in her basket.
She took a last glance over the settled camp before she went to the yurt, removing her shoes before she entered.
The coals glowed hot at the stove in the center, creating a sensual warmth in the space.
On the low table behind the stove sat a lantern which filled the enclosure with a soft light.
Michel had traveled with only one bed, and she had set that up on the eastern edge of the space for herself.
For Michel, she created a bed out of soft blankets on the western side of the yurt.
She felt pride in having set the yurt up correctly.
Eve began the preparation for their evening tea, then she prepared herself and dressed in her nighttime shift.
It was a clingy linen that buttoned snugly around her waist. No man had seen her dressed in such a way, she knew, but such were the circumstances, and she would not sleep in full dress.
Once she had prepared herself, she completed the tea, then moved to the area she had arranged for Michel.
Soon, she heard his voice come into focus from the camp as he barked the last orders at the men for the night.
Always so surly with the men, she thought, bringing her hands up to her lips in a laugh.
She opened the door of the yurt, called his name, then kneeled beside the stool and waited to serve her master, a man she had begun to enjoy being bound to.
The evening was cool and, when he opened the door, she felt the wind swirl the air before being pulled upwards through the open space at the apex of the yurt. Michel stepped through the entrance and stopped. He watched her wide-eyed.
“What is this for?” he asked.
Eve, her hands rested calmly on her thighs, explained, “I will wash you now and prepare you for sleep.”
He took a tentative step toward her. “This is not necessary,” he said. “You have done a lot today, I don’t need—”
“Hush,” she said. She nodded toward the stool. “Sit.”
He hesitated a moment, then came further into the yurt.
She stopped him. “Sword and boots,” she instructed.
He removed his sword belt and then his boots and placed everything by the door. He stepped forward and sat on the low chair. His eyes never left hers.
She moved her own body so that she kneeled directly in front of him, watching him as she did. She relaxed her posture, soft and calm. His was the opposite—rigid and restless. She rose to her knees, this new affection drawing her closer. “Relax,” she said, moving closer to whisper into his ear.
Michel breathed deeply through his nose, and she watched his muscles ripple under his clothing.
The night air felt cool, but heat flamed from his body—heat of his own desire, branded into his skin.
She had known the want of men before. She had seen desire in their eyes when they had looked at her.
This was different. His desire for her came off him so strongly that it penetrated her skin, sank into her deep, and braided down her own want.
She touched him then, aware suddenly that if this man chose to take her, she could do nothing to stop him.
Part of her wondered exactly what that would feel like, but it wasn’t something Michel would do without permission.
She knew his character. She could take as much of him as she wanted without worry.
She leaned down to dip her hands into the bowl with warm water and cleansing oils, then ran her fingers through his hair.
She inhaled his scent deeply, musky and yet sweet, wanting to pull this part of him into her.
Michel ground his jaw, his eyes stalking her as she ran her fingers through his hair again, this time to pull it back and knot it on the top of his head.
“Eve,” he said. His hands gripped the stool beneath him, but he leaned into her. “It’s difficult not to touch you.”
“Where would you like to touch me?” she said, the words playful, drifting with the closeness.
“Here,” he angled his head into the crook of her neck, “with my lips,” he said, his words dusting against her skin.
A course of goosebumps ran down her spine. “No,” she said, “you may not.”
“Okay,” he said. He moved his head to the other side and tucked into her neck there. “What about here?” he asked, letting his lips brush her skin.
Eve shivered as goosebumps exploded down her back once more. She felt Michel smile at her reaction to him. “No,” she said, now breathless. “Not there.”
“Then where?” he asked, still whispering against her skin.
“Nowhere, Michel,” she said, wedging her hand between them, pushing him back with her fingertips, enjoying the power she held over him very, very much.
“Siren,” he said, drawing the word out in frustration as he fell back in the chair.
The way he looked at her, with his brow angry and his want so clearly on display, she couldn’t help but respond. She felt tremors traveling up her thighs and coming together deep inside her. It was a new sensation, and she didn’t want it to stop. She smiled.
“Hands to yourself while I work,” she ordered. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, and Michel let out a low growl in response, his eyes darkened with desire.
She reached up to undo his shirt, watching his eyes as she pulled the laces from their holes.
He had leaned back, with his arms still gripping the sides of the chair, thick muscles straining.
She pushed his shirt back over his shoulders, taking the opportunity to lean close again and explore him with her hands.
She liked the feel of his skin—smooth, supple leather over iron muscles.
She liked his reactions even more when she touched his bare flesh.
He breathed heavily, jerked at every stroke of her fingers, and made low noises deep in his chest.
Once his shirt was off, she took the wet towel and ran it over his naked chest, following each trail of water with her eyes.
She lifted his arms and washed over each muscle, from his hands down his side.
Then she went across the ridges of his abs as low as she could travel until she was stopped by the belting of his pants.
She cared for every piece of his skin before dropping the towel back in the basin.
She watched him now and reached toward his pants.
“Eve.” He jumped and grabbed her hand to stop her.
“Hands back,” she demanded.
Michel gripped her a moment before releasing her and dropping his hands, still breathing through his nose, clenching his jaw.
Eve undid his pants. “Up,” she said.
Michel lifted his bottom, and she pulled off his pants, leaving him covered only by his undergarments, a thin material that came to just above his knees.
Michel reached forward to cover himself, to the muscle that let his intentions be known.
Eve was quick to place another towel over his most intimate spot.
Michel accepted it, but let out a long, labored sigh as she continued to work.
She did enjoy teasing him.
She continued his cleansing. She ran her cloth over each leg, taking away the dirt and sweat from the day.
When she had finished with the water, she took a cream for his skin and ran it over the same parts she had cleaned, this time starting from the bottom and going to the top: first his legs, then his torso, and across his back, the smooth cream allowing her to massage deep into his skin.
At the end, she rubbed her hands over his cheeks, darkened with stubble.
She held his face in her hands and looked into his dark eyes, glowing with want, as she pressed her body close to his.
“All done,” she said, her lips parted with a smile.
Suddenly, Michel’s arm grabbed around her waist, his hand spread across the small of her back, holding her tightly, aggressively.
Eve dropped her arms in surprise. Then, his other hand was in her hair.
He gripped her by the nape of the neck, and his hungry lips were on hers.
The tremors that had been running through her tore across her body, causing her to moan against him.
His grip tightened, holding her body to his.
She had never felt anything like it, both inside and out.
His lips on hers caused everything to sparkle: all the places they touched, new places deep inside her, and the air around them.
He parted his lips and took hers again, connecting and melding them together.
Part of it felt perfectly right, a physical display of all the intimacies they were sharing, while the other part caused her heart to boom in warning that she shouldn’t hook herself deeper into this man, for his safety, for her own.
Then he opened her mouth as he tilted her back, and the only thing she could think was that she wanted to taste all of him.
She felt his tongue, and she met it with her own, not knowing what to do other than follow her instinct and his gentle instructions.
Heat poured from him into her—or her into him, she didn’t know—and it caused her head to swim, her body to cling to him, and for an exciting heat to throb down between her legs.
The sensations thrilled her. At the same time, the rush of new feelings startled her, alarmed her, made her world spin.
Suddenly, she feared tipping over into an abyss where she didn’t have control anymore.
So, she did the only thing she knew to do when a man took more than he was allowed.
She pushed him back and smacked him across the face as hard as she could.
“Ah,” he grunted as he squinted, his hand coming up to his face. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
That was all she needed to cage her control once more.
Before she could think of anything else, Eve grabbed him around the shoulders and kissed him herself.
She met his lips again, his body still just as hard.
His hands flew to her once more, grabbing and pulling at her greedily.
She loved this. She had never experienced a desire like this, boiling inside her, turning her blood to steam.
How did his lips on hers make her stomach tremble and her inner thighs ache?
She thrust her tongue into his mouth, and Michel met it with his own.
He took control of the kiss again and now held her strongly, kissing her intensely, his lips and tongue soft but insistent, dominating against hers.
His hands ran up the back of her as he pulled her to her feet.
Then he moved one up across her breast, while she felt the other unraveling the lacing up the side of her shift.
With heavy steps, he backed her up and Eve realized he was leading her to the bed.
Amazed by how quickly she forgot everything and let the sensations take her over, she panicked.
This was a dangerous fire that had to be tamed.
So, she pushed him back again. And with the force of all the passion coursing through her, she smacked him a second time.
This time, when he stopped, she turned away. She leaned down to collect the bowl of water and the rest of the items she had laid out.
“You should sleep now. You have important business in the morning.”
She glanced up at him. His expression was incredulous, but humbled, eyes still dark with lust, his hand on the place where she had smacked him.
Eve clicked her tongue and turned in a huff.
Though she had admonished him, she couldn’t stop smiling as she realized his scent was still clinging to her skin.