Chapter 24 #2
Tentatively, she licked him. His eyes shot open, his entire body stiffening. “Oh God,” he said, swallowing.
Gwen laughed. Oh yes, he liked it. She swirled her tongue around the tip, down the length of him, finally taking as much of him in her mouth as she could. His hand came up to cup the back of her head, guiding her, tightening in her hair until he moved away abruptly.
Then he pulled her to her feet and kissed her.
“My turn,” he whispered huskily. Before she could voice a protest, his arm swept across the table, knocking the chessboard to the floor.
Then he bent her over, face first, and slammed into her from behind.
Gwen gasped, her fingers clutching the edge of the table.
The polished wood was cool on her sensitive breasts, a sharp contrast to the scalding heat of the man bending over her. Shivers raced along her nerve endings, multiplying, finding new erotic points of impact along the way.
“Tell me what you want,” he commanded in a husky whisper.
“Touch me.”
His hands came up beneath her, cupped her breasts, his fingers teasing her nipples. “Like this?”
“Yes, oh yes…”
“And this?” he asked, one hand moving down to stroke the swollen bud of her arousal.
“Yes, yes!”
“Jesú, it had best be soon, sweet. I won’t last much longer.”
But he needn’t have said it, because at that moment, all the nerve endings in Gwen’s body built and shattered, leaving her gripping the table and crying his name as the incredible sensations rocked her.
He grabbed her hips and impaled himself to the limit—once, twice, three more times—before her name left his lips in a harsh cry of fulfillment.
He collapsed in a chair and pulled her down on top of him. He nuzzled her neck, his breath heavy in her ear. “Your mouth is magical, Gwen. I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard in my life.”
She put her arms around him and sighed. “Aren’t you glad I won?”
He kissed her throat and laughed. “I think we both won, sweet.”
It was a week later when Gwen stood on a stool, a length of cream velvet draped around her, as Alys pinned and tucked and mumbled to herself.
They were leaving for London within another week and Alys was frantically trying to finish the new gowns she’d insisted Gwen must have.
“Be still, my lady,” Alys said, straightening and putting her hands on her hips. She tilted her head from side to side, studying the lay of the cloth.
“Sorry,” Gwen replied, fidgeting. It was impossible to get comfortable with all these pins sticking in her!
Richard had acquiesced to the old woman’s whim, and had even accompanied her and Gwen into the village to buy cloth of silk and velvet.
Gwen remembered his hot eyes on her as Alys had held up bolt after bolt of different color fabrics. “Oh yes, definitely that one,” he would say when a color struck him.
Alys had hummed and clucked to herself, preoccupied with her task, but Richard’s gaze had told Gwen far more than mere words.
The devil was letting his prick decide and she’d told him so when they finished. He laughed and said, yes, but it had good taste. Gwen got him back then. She told him, yes, it did taste good.
“Be still, my lady,” Alys mumbled over the pins in her mouth.
“Sorry,” Gwen said. It had been very satisfying to watch Richard’s eyes darken with longing, to know it was her he desired.
He was so much different than she’d once thought. She no longer believed the awful tales about him. Richard was a warrior. He did what his king ordered, the same as any of her father’s warriors would do if Llywelyn commanded it.
And she didn’t really know he would make war on her father if she bore him a son. Still, she prayed every day Elinor would give birth to a boy so she would never have to find out.
Alys removed the cloth. “There.”
“Thank heavens,” Gwen said. Alys frowned. “I’m sorry, Alys, ’tis just that I’ve been standing here for so long. I need to go for a walk.”
Alys waggled a finger. “Nay, ’tis to find that handsome husband of yours. Gracious, it’s a wonder the two of you ever leave the bedchamber.”
“Alys!”
The woman laughed. “’Tis the way of young love. Soon, we’ll have a castle full of children.”
Heat prickled Gwen’s skin. She knew she should keep her mouth shut. “You are wrong, Alys. I do not love him. I cannot.”
“And why is that, pray tell?”
Gwen uttered the words that were like a litany to her. “He is my father’s enemy.”
Alys sighed. “You don’t live with your father, you live here. I’ve been around long enough to recognize love—”
“I don’t want to talk about it!” Gwen realized she was clutching her chemise in her fists. She smoothed the material over her body with shaking hands, then retrieved her gown and slipped into it. “I’ll be in the hall if you need me,” she said calmly.
Alys sank into a chair and bent over her sewing. “Aye, my lady,” she said, her voice clipped.
It was all Gwen could do to keep from running out of the room. She needed to be alone for a while, needed to think.
It wasn’t true, was it? Wouldn’t she know if she loved him?
She loved the way he made her feel, the things he did to her, but that did not mean she loved him any more than he loved her. And he did not love her, of that she was certain. Not once had he ever said it, not even in the throes of passion when he slipped into Welsh.
No, what he felt for her was desire. Passion. And one day it would fade, just like Anne had told her it would.