Chapter 19
When Richard awoke, the sky beyond the windows was dark. He pulled himself up and looked around. The soft orange light of the fire bathed the room in a warm glow, and a delicious smell assailed his nostrils.
Curiosity got the best of him. He stretched, shrugged his stiff shoulder, and climbed from the bed. Gwen was curled in a chair by the table. Her head lolled to one side, the fiery curtain of her hair spilling over her arm to trail to the floor.
Something very like tenderness spread through him as he went to her. He ignored the smell coming from the table and knelt beside her. A fierce, primal hunger surged in his veins. He was going to make her his.
Now.
Tonight.
She’d not see another dawn without knowing him as a man in the most intimate sense of the word.
It surprised him he was in no hurry. After burning for her for so long, he was content to watch her for a little while. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear carefully. How had Llywelyn ever managed to sire such a beautiful creature?
She was so innocent, so angelic in sleep. Richard felt a pang for the lost innocence of his own youth. When had he ever not known the depths of despair the soul was capable of sinking to?
Richard pressed his lips softly to hers. She stirred, but did not wake. He did it again. She mumbled something and swatted at him. Richard smiled.
This time he kissed the exposed skin of her neck. She sighed. He nibbled her ear and she jumped.
“Richard!” she cried, leaping to her feet. He sat back on his heels, chuckling.
Gwen rubbed her ear. His soft breath had sent a chill all the way to her toes. “I did not mean to doze off. I’m sorry.”
“’Twas my pleasure to wake you.” His gaze traveled down her body. “There are even more interesting ways to awaken. I shall delight in showing them all to you in our life together.”
Still smiling, he stood and removed the covers from the dishes.
Gwen heard the intake of his breath. “How in the hell did you get old Oliver to make blankmanger?”
“I told him, of course,” she replied.
“Jesú, he complained so bad whenever I told him to do it, I ceased telling him. Says it’s too damn time-consuming.
” He stared at her for a minute. “’Tis not just Owain and Bruno then, you’ve enchanted Oliver too.
” He shook his head. “Go away for a fortnight and a Welshwoman conquers my castle without even one siege-engine. Have you eaten yet?”
“Nay.”
He sat down and beckoned her over. When she went to sit beside him, he pulled her into his lap.
Gwen’s heart fluttered. His eyes were breathtaking.
They drifted slowly from her face to her breasts and back again, as though he was undecided whether to taste the food or taste her.
He made her so very aware of herself—of her desires and her inexperience.
He dipped a spoon into the blankmanger and held it to her lips.
“’Tis good?” he asked.
Gwen nodded. The dish was rich and almondy and she tasted the slight flavor of anise.
He fed her another spoonful before trying it himself. “Mmm, you’re going to have to tell Oliver to make this more often.”
“If you wish it.”
His eyes narrowed playfully. “I have to wonder just what you did to the poor old man.”
Gwen looked away, trying to hide her blush.
Richard laughed and held a goblet to her lips. “’Tis lucky for you that he is an old man, or I might just wonder about the state of your purity.”
Gwen sucked in her breath. It was too much like the old accusations to ignore the memories it brought. “You—”
His arm tightened around her, his expression sobering. “I am teasing, Gwen. ’Twas a poor choice of words. Do not doubt that I fully appreciate the gift you’re giving me.” He held the goblet up again. “Drink.”
Gwen relaxed against him, the warm glow of the wine spreading through her limbs. He drank after her, then teased her with a light kiss.
When they had finished off the dish and shared more wine, Gwen waited for him to try something else.
He pressed his mouth to hers with barely restrained hunger.
“What of the rest of the meal?” she asked breathlessly.
“I’m not hungry for food, Gwen.”
His voice rippled smooth as velvet over her spine. A thrill of anticipation shot through her and she shivered. It was finally happening. His hand closed over her breast. Even through the layers of her gown, his touch branded her like a hot iron.
He bent to kiss her again and she wound her arms around his neck, careful not to touch his left shoulder. Eventually, he moved down her throat, licking and kissing until she thought the ache between her legs would consume her.
His shaft bucked beneath her, pressing into her bottom. He pulled her gown up and caressed her knee. Stroking his fingers along the inside of her thigh, he moved slowly upward. When he was almost to the apex, Gwen clamped her legs tightly together.
He leaned back. His eyes probed hers with such force she felt as though he had looked into her soul. “You want it as much as I do, Gwen. Just let it happen.”
She turned away, feeling the loss of his mouth and hands acutely. She burned so hot for him it hurt. “I’m frightened,” she whispered.
He kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose, then pressed his brow to hers. “I won’t lie to you. ’Twill hurt at first but I promise it gets better very quickly.”
Their eyes locked, and she ran the back of her hand down his cheek. “Show me how to please you, Richard.”
“I will,” he promised, lowering his mouth to hers. He kissed her for a long time, making no move to touch her anywhere else. He took her from soft, feather-light kisses to intense, soul-searching ones, and back again. When his hand slid up her thigh a second time, she didn’t protest.
She gave a little gasp when his fingers stroked her curls. He parted her folds and found the tiny bud within, his thumb circling slowly. She whimpered and he slipped a finger inside her.
Gwen jumped. His mouth slid to her ear and he began to suck on her earlobe. Her insides melted.
“Richard… you must… stop.”
“Why, love?”
“’Tis sinful,” she said, gasping as a tremor shook her.
“Nothing I will ever do to you is sinful, Gwen.” He slipped another finger inside her, stretching her. She threw her head back and he tongued her throat.
Gwen cried out when he removed his hand. What he did to her was wicked, but God how she loved it! He unknotted her girdle and let it fall to the floor. Next, he undid the laces of her surcoat and raised her up to slip it over her head. Soon the rest of her clothes lay in a heap on the floor.
Richard took a deep breath to steady himself. The glow of the fire licked over her body, bathing it in sensual light. He ran his fingertips down the silken skin of her belly. She shivered.
“God, you are more beautiful than I could have ever dreamed,” he said. Her skin gleamed like fine pearls, her nipples puckered, and the flaming curls between her legs beckoned him to lose himself in the delights of her body.
He wanted to carry her to the bed and ravish her, but he knew he must go slowly. In this moment she trusted him and he would not break it.
He slid his tongue around a firm nipple. She gasped and he sucked it into his mouth. He caressed the silk of her mons, and she arched into his hand, urging him.
Richard sucked harder. Her moan sent a surge of raw male power spiraling through him. She was unbearably sweet and he thought he might never get enough. He was very aware of his own effort to breathe, of his desire to take her now, hard and fast and deep.
He slipped a finger inside her again. She was incredibly tight, so wet and hot, and it no longer mattered to him whether she had done this before.
He swore she would never remember any lover’s caresses but his.
He would do everything to her, worship her body with his, teach her all he knew of loving until anyone else paled by comparison.
When he was finished with her this night, she would know that no one else could ever take his place. He took her other nipple in his mouth, reveling as it hardened beneath his tongue.
She writhed on his lap, and he knew her body was building to a feverish peak. She wanted him. The knowledge thrilled him like it never had with any other woman.
“Stand up,” he commanded.
Gwen stood. Her body pulsed as he rose and removed the black tunic. He wore nothing beneath it and her eyes widened at the sight of his thick shaft protruding from the nest of charcoal curls.
She swallowed heavily. He would never fit inside her. He was going to hurt her.
He pulled her against him and skimmed his hands along her spine. “You’ve no idea how many times I’ve dreamt of making love to you.”
Gwen fought a rising tide of panic. She was awkward and unskilled. He would be disappointed. “I do not know what to do.”
“I will show you everything, my sweet.”
He bent to kiss her, pressing his hand into the small of her back and bringing her abdomen against his hard shaft. She marveled at the feel of his naked body against hers, hard against soft, unyielding against yielding.
He lifted her against him, still kissing her, and sat down on the chair. Her knees pressed into the cushion on either side of him, and she was almost amazed he had gotten her into that position without her realizing it.
“I’m going to let you do it, love.” He reached for the flagon of wine and poured some into the goblet they had shared.
“First you must drink this. ’Twill help you relax,” he said, holding it to her lips.
She swallowed, then leaned back and dared to glance at the vermilion head of his shaft cleaving up between them.
Tentatively, she touched it. He grabbed her hand and her heart turned over as their eyes met. Dear Lord, he was so handsome, so dark and beautiful, so… carnal.
“Do not,” he said hoarsely. “Not this time.”
The gravity of her situation—what she was about to do and the man she was about to do it with—rolled through her mind unheeded. Right now, she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything else in her life.