Chapter Eleven #11
When his release came shortly, it was with the most violent of blasts.
Her name gushed forth from his lips as he spilled himself, still moving, feeling her juices and his combine and making her unbelievably wet.
He continued to move, still wanting to feel her around him, still wanting to be within her until out of sheer fatigue, he slowed his pace and finally ceased.
With a great sigh, he lowered himself on the rug and pulled her with him as he went. She moved to unwind her legs but he would only allow her to remove one, so he would not lie upon it. The other leg he kept wrapped over his hip.
“Nay, madam, remain where you are,” he rasped. “I would still feel myself in you.”
Even semi-flaccid, he was absolutely enormous and she could feel his manhood throb and twitch as it diminished further. But it was the most wonderful, intimate feeling ever and she absorbed every move. Her lips, against his chest, moved over him softly.
They lay together, listening to the fire, for a countless amount of time. Nothing mattered at that very moment more than them, together.
“Shall we move to the bed?” she whispered.
He grunted; he had been dozing off. “I suppose. Are you cold?”
She snuggled up against him. “Never. How could I be? You are as hot as any fire.”
His hand was gently touching her hair, caressing it against her back. “But the bed would be more comfortable than the hard floor.”
He moved a little but she stopped him. “I am comfortable wherever you are, my love. Stay, stay.”
He did, tightening his arms about her. They were both dozing off when there was a soft rap at the door.
Gaston lifted his head, wary. “Who comes?”
“Me,” it was Arik.
He looked at Remington apologetically, mayhap a bit guiltily. Still embedded in her, he withdrew his member and put a huge hand over her mouth to stifle the soft groan. She grinned at him and sat up as he went in search of his breeches.
“My lord?” Arik called through the door.
“I am coming,” Gaston said, his words turning to a mumble as he secured his breeches.
Meanwhile, Remington had moved to the great bed and had hid herself behind the great silk curtains that hung from the canopy frame. In front of her on the bed was a lightweight cotton coverlet; she snatched it and wrapped it about her body as added protection.
Gaston gave her a final glance to make sure she was settled before opening the door.
Arik’s face was grim. “You are not going to be happy to hear this.”
Gaston’s mouth twitched with irritation. “What, then?”
“Your wife is demanding that you attend her,” he said. “Her physician tried to find his way up here to inform you personally, but was effectively halted by Nicolas. He insists your wife is greatly in need of your comfort.”
Gaston snorted. “Hmpf. A pity. Was that all?”
“Nay,” Arik raised an eyebrow in silent request for his lord to brace himself. “The soldiers you sent to return young Botmore home have returned. All but one of them is dead, and he was spared simply to relay a message to you from Lord Botmore.”
Gaston’s face went tense. He moved back into the room and pulled on his shirt. Arik followed him and Remington found herself pressing further into the folds of the curtains to keep out of sight.
“Apparently Lord Botmore is completely devastated over the death of his son and is vowing revenge on you,” Arik said, leaning against the canopy post as Gaston pulled his boots on. “He not only killed five of your soldiers, but he damn near hacked them to death.”
Gaston stood, donning his mail tunic and sliding into a heavy leather vest. “Too bad his son was stupid enough to cause all of this, but of course, his father will not admit it. The lad brought it down on himself when he kidnapped the women.”
Arik watched Gaston secure the vest. “You mean when he captured Lady Stoneley. You would not have killed him had he only abducted the sisters.”
Gaston moved to strap on his scabbard. “Since when do you read my mind and know my motives? ’Tis a dangerous sport, Arik, even for you.”
Arik grinned wryly. “I have made my life out of dangerous sport, my lord. There is nothing else where you are involved.”
Gaston slid his massive broadsword into the crafted leather and metal scabbard. “Where is my soldier?”
“In the new troop house,” Arik replied.
Gaston preceded him from the room, his boot falls filled with purpose. Arik secured the door behind them and together they marched down the hall.
“I rather like the smell of roses and lavender,” Arik remarked.
Gaston did not respond for a moment. Then he paused at the top of the stairwell and looked at his friend. “What does that mean?”
Arik shrugged evasively. “Just that. It mingles well with the leather and metal in your room.”
Gaston’s eyes glittered dangerously. “Not another word, Arik.”
Arik smiled; he found it amusing to see Gaston cornered. He had smelled Lady Remington from the moment he entered the room. “My lord, I would sooner cut out my own tongue than gossip. Surely you know that.”
Gaston did not say any more, descending the stairs and trying to ignore his second in command. He was positive Arik knew what he was thinking, and he did not want anyone to know.