Chapter 5 #3
Gwen’s breath caught as his arm encircled her waist and he pulled her tighter against him. The fury that clouded his features was melting, changing into something even more frightening.
She felt light-headed, dizzy with the speed of her reckless heart, and when his head descended to crush her mouth beneath his, her eyes closed in anticipation.
At the last minute, she clamped her mouth tight against his probing tongue. He let go of her wrists and cupped her head in one large hand.
Gwen’s heart hammered in her breast, filling her ears with the sound of her own blood rushing through her veins. The smell of leather and steel, of sweat and horses, of raw power held tightly in check came strongly to her nostrils.
This was nothing like the time when Rhys had kissed her. That had seemed so harmless, so friendly, compared to this.
Suddenly, Gwen wanted to taste the man kissing her, to experience what he was doing. It couldn’t hurt, could it?
She softened, melting against him, and his response was immediate. The kiss changed, became less demanding, more seductive. Running his tongue along her lower lip, he nibbled, then sucked it like a sweet. With each soft tug, there was an answering surge of fire in her veins.
When he stopped, Gwen opened her eyes to find him staring down at her.
His eyes were incredible! Moments before, they’d been the color of slate, but now they were almost black.
“Kiss me, Princess,” he murmured. Slowly, he lowered his head and slanted his mouth across hers. She opened. The tip of his tongue slipped between her lips, searching, stroking.
Gwen’s tongue touched his cautiously. He delved deeper and she mimicked his practised movements, stroking, teasing, tantalizing.
A fire born of his touch kindled in her belly, pulsating, spreading outward and racing along her limbs in a torrent of shivers. She sucked his tongue deeper, tasting him, wanting—what?
Her hands entwined in his dark hair, reveling in the velvety crispness of it. She pressed against him, shock coursing through her at the much harder part of him that pressed into her abdomen.
He groaned, his breathing quickening. Strong hands traced a path of fire down her back, grasping her buttocks and pulling her against the marble hardness of his erection.
She stiffened. Dear God, what was she doing? Another minute and she would prove herself no better than the whore he’d marked her for.
A cry rose low in her throat and she gripped the solid expanse of his upper arms, trying to push away.
Richard lifted his head. “Don’t worry, no one will come in here. We’re quite safe for about an hour. I would certainly like more time, but that will do for now…”
He buried his lips against the slender column of her throat. He’d never expected her response to send him into such a frenzy of need. But she tasted so sweet, like clover and wild honey, and he wanted her beneath him so he could taste the rest of her.
And he intended to do just that.
“No!” she cried, twisting in his grasp, pushing against him. “Let me go! Please!”
Richard marshaled every drop of willpower he possessed to release her. What kind of game was the little wench playing?
She moved to put the table between them. He stared at her, torn between desire and anger. God’s bones, she was beautiful! Her face was flushed, her lips swollen from his kisses, her hair in glorious disarray.
Richard ignored the insistent throbbing of his manhood. He let anger take over. “What’s the matter, Princess? Afraid you might enjoy it?”
“May you rot in hell, Black Hawk de Claiborne! I will never enjoy anything with you! Being your wife will be like never waking from my worst nightmares!”
Richard leaned against the table. “And what makes you think being your husband will be any more of a treat for me? Marrying a Welsh whore is not my idea of a dream come true.”
Gwen turned purple. “You—you—vile, disgusting, murdering—”
Before she could discern his intent, he reached across the table and grabbed the front of her gown. He dragged her toward him until she found herself on her back with him leaning over her.
“So full of fire. Did I fail to tell you that I will enjoy you very much when we are in bed together?” His gaze traveled over her breasts and down her belly. “And I can promise that you will enjoy it too.”
“Never!”
He brushed his lips across hers. Gwen trembled, despite herself. He did it again, soft, gentle. She watched his eyes darken, felt his hand slide up to mold her breast.
Again, he bent to her, his lips firmer this time. The protest she intended came out as a whimper. Her hands slipped up his arms.
And then he let her go. “Your body disagrees with you, my dear.”
Gwen felt her cheeks flame. She hopped from the table and smoothed her gown, refusing to look at him, to meet his mocking stare.
She barely had time to compose herself before he grabbed her hand and led her to the adjoining solar.
Her father and King Edward looked up. Gwen stared at her feet. She’d never been so humiliated in her life. She glanced at the arrogant man next to her. At least she would have a lifetime to pay him back.