Chapter 16 #2
His mouth closed over hers, his tongue probing urgently. One hand splayed across her back, crushing her against his hard chest.
He picked her up and when she sat down again, her legs were over his thighs and his swollen manhood pressed against her mons. He grasped her buttocks in both hands and slid her upward along the length of it.
Gwen tore her mouth from his as fear welled up inside her. “Nay!” she cried, pushing against him. He was a big, brutal warrior. His mating would be savage, feral, uncontrolled.
“I want you,” he breathed against her neck. “God, how I want you! Do not deny me, Gwen.” His voice was hoarse, almost pleading.
Indecision washed over her. It was happening too fast. Her body ached for him even while she feared him.
He was her husband and it was only right she give in.
And yet if she did, she knew she would be lost—hopelessly, irrevocably lost. He would demand nothing less than total surrender, and when he was done he would leave.
She was just another conquest, and she couldn’t bear it.
“I-I cannot,” she said.
His arms tightened around her briefly, and then he shoved her away. His eyes flashed in the firelight. “I’ll not wait forever, wife.”
Gwen looked away, crossing her arms over her breasts as he stood and stepped from the tub.
When she finally stole a glance at him, he was nearly dressed. His face was hard, savage. The muscle in his jaw twitched.
Gwen knew despair in that moment. He would spend the night in some other woman’s bed, touching her, kissing her with all the passion that should be Gwen’s.
“Ask Owain for anything you might need while I’m gone. I will instruct him to teach you how to administer a castle in your lord’s absence. I doubt you had much training for that in your father’s household.”
Gwen gripped the padded edge of the tub. “When will you return?”
“Do you care?” he asked harshly. He rubbed a hand over his brow, his voice softening. “I don’t know. It could be days, maybe weeks.”
Gwen’s heart sank. She almost changed her mind, almost asked him to make love to her, but the words were too foreign.
He scooped up the armor. “’Tis best if I sleep elsewhere this night. I will send Alys to attend you.”
Gwen’s blood roared in her temples. “You mean you will spend the night in another woman’s bed.”
His face darkened. “You’ll not question me, wife,” he growled. “I’m a man. I have needs. If you cannot meet them, ’tis your own fault if I spend myself on another.”
He left and Gwen smacked her hand against the water. Fat droplets splashed her face, trickling down her neck to wash away the lingering sensation of his kisses.
Richard strode into the Great Hall. A pretty wench eyed him and licked her lips. He watched her, undecided. His body throbbed. This girl was new. He’d not taken her before.
She swung her head toward the pantry. Richard nodded. He followed, closing the door behind him. The pantry was deserted, as she must have known it would be. Loaves of bread, and the remains of prepared dishes from the kitchen, were laid out on the shelves and tables.
The girl lifted her skirts, smiling. Richard swallowed. Goddamn his flame-haired bitch of a wife to hell! He would not wait for her to give him the release he sought. It was her fault she drove him to this.
A niggling voice told him he’d gone too fast with her. He’d let his need spiral out of control and he’d frightened her. If he went back and started over, plied her with sweet talk and gentle caresses, she would surrender to him, he was sure of it.
But going back would mean humbling himself. Richard clenched his jaw. He would not beg a woman for her favors, especially when there were others willing to appease him.
He’d wanted to deny her accusations of infidelity, but anger and pride prevented him. She would learn her place and she would learn not to question or accuse him.
Richard eyed the wench doubtfully. If he did this, it would put Gwen in a bad position. He shook his head. He was the lord of this castle. The servants would obey Gwen because she was his wife, whether he tumbled serving wenches or not. The lord always kept lemans.
Despite the display of legs and female attributes, his shaft was flaccid. Richard closed his eyes and thought of Gwen. He pictured her in his tub, her creamy skin glistening with moisture, her green eyes wide, her lips parted in discovery.
His manhood cooperated. He was going to do this. He was going to prove, to himself and to her, that he would not be ruled by any woman.
He released the drawstring of his chausses and braies. The girl smiled and licked her lips.
Richard swallowed again. “Like this,” he said, turning her so she was bent face first over a table. Her round bottom wiggled, inviting him to sheathe himself within the glistening pink folds of her womanhood.
He shoved all thoughts of Gwen from his mind and stepped closer, gripping the girl’s hips.
“Aye, milord, aye,” she panted.
The sound of her voice, high-pitched, not throaty and musical like Gwen’s, shattered his single-minded concentration.
Richard backed away, his stomach twisting. “Not tonight.”
Bloody hell if he wasn’t losing his mind. His hands were actually shaking as he fastened his clothes!
He turned away when the girl faced him. Her skirts dropped into place with a swish. She waited, as if he might change his mind.
“Get back to the hall,” he snapped.
“Aye, milord.” The door closed behind her and Richard leaned against a table, bracing himself with his hands.
God help him, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave Gwen to face a servant he’d recently bedded. They might obey her, but they’d laugh behind her back.
He should have taken the time to introduce her in the hall tonight. Now she would have to forge her own way with the staff. Owain would help her, he would see to it.
He almost succeeded in convincing himself that was the only reason he’d stopped.