With water caressing their bodies, she pressed herself against him, made room once more for his leg between her knees. His kiss began slow and leisurely then became more insistent, more passionate. She responded to his tongue’s probing with her own. Small moans of pleasure escaped them both. While he caressed her face and neck, she let her hands venture farther down his hard front until she reached the base of his member. A shiver shook him when she stroked it.
The man pulled back again, but this time she could tell he did not mean to leave, only to look at her. Carnal hunger blazed like a firestorm in his eyes. With trembling fingers, he unlaced the front of her undertunic and pulled the opening wider apart. Then he stood there, admiring her form, drinking her in. He could have been a starving man gazing at the most exquisite of feasts, yet still unable or unwilling to allow his body satisfaction.
Perhaps he was shy? As though she were not awkward herself!
She could have laughed at the situation had she not been trying to remain at least partially under control. Charlotte loosened the undertunic even more, which exposed the crease underneath her breasts. When she looked down at herself, she saw a tiny sliver of areola exposed to his ardent gaze. God, she wanted, needed, to taste his mouth on her flesh. Everywhere. Anywhere.
Extending a hand, she cupped his chin and guided him down to her chest. He did not need more encouragement and avidly enveloped her nipple with lips so hot Charlotte gasped. Against the cold water stroking her skin, his blistering mouth contrasted pleasurably. He enfolded her in a tight one-arm embrace while his free hand kneaded her breast and his mouth devoured her nipple showing partly through the thin, wet linen.
Raising her face to the sky, she let him satiate them both. With fingers she strove to keep gentle, she raked his hair back from his face while keeping a constant pressure against his nape. A sharp twinge of heat announced he’d nipped her. A gasp escaped Charlotte, which seemed to trigger a feeding frenzy in him. Her mouth opened in a silent O as she encouraged his feast of both her nipples. He held her breasts in hard hands, gathering them in the middle so he could taste them both in quick succession.
Urges so base she could barely contain the thought assailed her. She wanted him in her. Now.
Charlotte pushed him at arm’s length and scanned the area. A somewhat flat rock protruded from the river, near the foot of the cascade. Understanding her intent, the man preceded her there and hoisted Charlotte up onto the rock then climbed on himself.
When she sat on the rock, Charlotte was shocked to realize she felt no awkwardness, not even a grain of embarrassment at being half dressed in front of a complete stranger. A very naked, very aroused stranger. Leaning back on her elbows, she slid her legs apart a little bit wider and stared hard at him.
Those luscious lips of his parted at the sight of her gleaming wet curls and he leaned in, placing an arm on either side of her hips. While he licked with feverish abandon her breasts and throat, he maneuvered her so his glistening member was poised over her. Suddenly he stopped and stared.
Did one last, desperate doubt plague him still? Then she understood. Not doubt, confirmation. Without words or other signals, she felt he was asking for her approval, was making sure she still wanted this, offering her one last time an honorable retreat. What a strange, considerate man.
For reply, Charlotte latched on to his strong back with both hands and forced him down. Her strength seemed to surprise him. His elbows buckled while his weight drove the air out of her. He was much heavier than he looked. With a hand visibly shaking, he guided his member near her entrance and slowly, very slowly, introduced his searing flesh to hers.
Charlotte stopped breathing as heat diffused from her engorged sex through her whole belly. A tremor shook her. Finally, his shaft filled her tight channel completely and the man stopped moving. For several heartbeats he lay there very still, inside her to the hilt. His mouth was poised over hers, a hair’s-breadth away. His breath smelled of lemons and sage.
Heat started to spread to her legs, the urge in her belly to heighten. What was he doing? She rolled her hips forward but he did not budge. Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, he started to retreat. The head of his member felt so close to the opening she feared he was leaving for real. He did not. With a long shuddering breath, he entered her again, not stopping until he filled her completely and their skin connected at every point.
Charlotte stared up at him in wonder. Then a heartbeat later, she understood. A wave of heat blasted up from her distended folds, in a straight line to her navel then tingled all the way up to her nipples. Before she had time to voice her pleasure, he did it again, harder, faster. With impressive strength, he wound an arm under her middle and arched her up. A ripple of pleasure coursed over her stretched skin.
God!
Another thrust, this one so deep she gasped audibly, practically lifted her off the rock and with the acute angle, the length of him rubbed along her bud. She felt wetness other than river water slicking her sex.
He must have felt the difference for his drive became more ardent, more desperate, as if he fought against time itself, wanted to take as much as he could before he was abruptly torn from her. Each jab heaved her higher into the strong arm he kept wrapped about her waist. Simultaneously, he gave a mighty push and sucked hard on a nipple. His shaft rubbed and crushed her sensitive pearl, triggering tiny jolts of pleasure and forced Charlotte to let out a ragged cry of bliss that would have shamed her any other time. She did not care right then. Propriety and demureness could go to hell.
And she, well, she would be in heaven.
A long shudder rocked his hard body and with a lengthy sigh that sounded as though it’d never end, he rolled onto his back, pressing her against his chest to keep his pulsing member inside her. He buried his face in her thick dark curls.
Wrapping her arms around his head, she leaned over and rested her weight completely on him and stayed thus for a long time. Blood had long ago ceased to flow to her feet and they tingled. Sweat, water and both their essences joined them. As much as their hurried coupling had satisfied her, Charlotte felt remnants of fire still burning low in her core and knew she hungered for more.
Slowly she began to gyrate over him, kissing his wet hair, his forehead, his eyelids for his eyes were closed. The broken bridge of his nose, the exquisite mouth, corner to corner, even nibbling on his bottom lip, then Charlotte moved down to his strong chin and neck, which she play bit, then to his jaw. One of his hands traced serpentine shapes along her hip before his other joined it. Shivers stiffened her hold around his member. His eyes flared wide. Gone was the misery, the desperation. Instead, pure, untainted desire shined there. She could tell he wanted her again. So did she.
He parted her undertunic wide so he could wrap it down her shoulders and underline her breasts with it. Charlotte allowed his mouth to cover a nipple by leaning over and offering it to him. A moan left her when he gently suckled. Clutching him with her sex, she pulled upward then slid back down along him. Then again. And again. Adding pressure, increasing momentum, with a twist of the hip here, a throaty moan there, Charlotte soon had him silently twisting beneath her and felt formidable for it. To have such a strong and intense man between her legs, a stranger no less, made her giddy with her own femininity and for that dazzling moment, she thought she could do anything, accomplish whatever she set out to do. Even love a stranger.
When he grabbed her waist and arched his hips under hers, she cried out and threw her head back. Though he lay underneath her, he was managing to pump hard enough to lift her knees off the rock. His fingers digging in her flesh, the man pushed deep. Then he pushed deeper.
Unlike their previous lovemaking, when he’d taken her with urgency and near desperation, Charlotte could tell he was now pacing himself for the long ride. Thrill at their forbidden affair added an intoxicating effect to the mix. Spreading her thighs as wide as she could and not caring that she was scraping her knees against the rock, she rolled her hips rhythm
ically, reaching behind her and using his knees as anchors. Fire lanced through her opening. When he abandoned her waist so he could clutch at her breasts, what began as a startled gasp turned into a hoarse sigh then one long, uninterrupted whimper. Even more honey spilled out of her, coated his member. With a violent shudder that nearly jettisoned her, the man flopped back down onto his back and bucked with astounding force.
Their simultaneous, ragged cries startled a night bird, which flew away with a piercing keen.
She panted so hard that she could barely force her dry throat to swallow what little saliva was there. Between huffs, he squeezed his eyes shut tightly before letting his head loll side to side.
Charlotte took a moment to admire her nocturnal companion. Such perfect form of body. He was fit to paint. When he opened his eyes to look at her, a flicker of smile lifted his mouth but was subdued right away.
For support, she brought her left hand onto his chest. The ring flashed in the moonlight. He stared curiously at it. For a moment, she regretted not having hid her ring in her boots. What if he decided to steal it from her? She doubted she could take on such a strong man. He only looked at it though, as if surprised to see it there. Then she understood. She may be a baroness but she wore her hair unbound and a man’s undertunic—and ill-fitted, for that matter. How could he know she was of the nobility?
Charlotte bent over his chest and kissed his nipples. The tiny gold cross flashed. She ran a gentle finger over it and looked up into his face to find him staring at her. The pain had returned to the pale eyes. He looked away as he gently but firmly forced Charlotte off him. Without a word and avoiding her gaze, he rolled onto his side and slid into the cool water.
With her heart still pounding a mad cadence, Charlotte followed suit and used the gentle current to wash herself of his seed. Everything burned and pulsated down there. She felt herself blush. Wondering at the man’s strange behavior, she retrieved her hose and tunic and splashed over to the spot where she had kicked off her boots.
Meanwhile, the man had retrieved his things and was hurriedly wrestling them back on. When she turned to him, hesitant, shifting from one foot to the other, he looked ready to talk. He must have changed his mind for he shook his head, looked up into the night sky and let out a great sigh.
“God, forgive me,” she heard him whisper.
A weight settled in the bottom of her stomach. She did not look up when he retrieved his pack, slung it over his shoulder and proceeded to climb back up to the road.
* * * * *
Charlotte stifled a groan of pain when she bent down to rub the dogs. Her encounter with the strange man had left her bruised and sore. Pleasurably so.
Guilt was quick to poke some sense into her. How could she have done such a thing? With a complete stranger, no less. The folly, the sheer recklessness of it, flushed her cheeks. She had never, ever, been so irresponsible. Regret gnawed at her soul. What if he had attacked her, robbed her? What if he had killed her? She would have been found sprawled by the river’s bank, exposed to the most personal level for all to see. Charlotte groaned in misery.
A whimper brought her back to reality. The three massive bloodhounds fought one another for her attention and Charlotte had to get down on her knees to make sure they all received their fair share. The female as usual shouldered her way closer, a wide sloppy grin pulling her russet skin. Charlotte smiled at the dogs’ antics. After a while of petting and wrestling her only friends, Charlotte sensed another presence.
In the doorway leading inside the mansion stood Constance, Armand’s acid-tempered wife. The simple delight of her dogs’ companionship dimmed somewhat and Charlotte stood. She stared hard at Constance until the older woman uncrossed her arms and left.
Charlotte may be half the head servant’s age but she was the mistress and owed nothing to anyone, especially not to a sourpuss like Constance. If she felt the urge to get down on all fours to play with her dogs, she did not have to ask anyone’s permission.
The groom appeared around the corner of the large stone mansion, a grin on his face and a large pewter bowl in his hands. At once, the dogs forgot their precious mistress and nearly knocked the young man off his feet as they competed for the spot closest to his legs.
“The poor dears are starving, yes,” he said, giving Charlotte a wide grin.
She would have liked naught better than return the favor but could not bring herself to. Her conduct was too fresh, her shame too acute. For the span of a moment, the dogs had helped her forget her torrid encounter with the man at the cascade.
The young man set the bowl down and wiped his hands on his hose. “Father Simon is here to see you, mistress. He’s in the library.”
Charlotte hid the apprehension this news caused and nodded. Not that she disliked the old priest. In fact, she quite liked him. For as long as she could remember, old Simon had been the town priest, tending to the souls and spirit of her townsfolk as well as her own family. His kind ways had soured toward her of late, ever since Guilabert’s return.
Charlotte tried to tame the scowl creasing her brow as she made her way through the ancient mansion and toward the library. Musty smells of linen and leather filled her nostrils when she stepped into the darkened room.
Father Simon stood with his back to her, admiring the same old book he had been admiring on his every visit there—a plants compendium older than even him, bound in tan leather with faded gold trim.
“My offer still stands,” she said to his back.
He turned and offered her a sad smile. “Its home is here.”
“If you change your mind, I’d be glad to know the little book found a more appreciative home than mine,” she replied, entering the room and coming to stand a few paces from the old man. He wore his Sunday best today, she noticed. An official visit?
“I know how you dislike dallying,” he said, rubbing his thin beard with a hand so gnarled it resembled a talon. “Sir Guilabert sends me.”
She grimaced mentally. Guilabert was getting more energetic with his proposal to have enlisted yet again the help of the old priest. “He knows my position, as do you.”
He nodded. “He would treat you well. Your parents would have loved for you to marry him. Perhaps they should have done more than ask you to consider.”
Charlotte took a deep breath. “Father…”
“I know, child, forgive me. Your parents gave you the choice and, God rest their souls, that decision is still yours to make. I’m only suggesting that Guilabert already knows the region and its people. He is fairly well-liked.”
“Was fairly well-liked. He’s changed. Anyway, he’s never wanted me, not then and certainly not now. It’s the name he’s after.”
She had figured it out shortly after Guilabert’s return. He had mentioned in passing how lucrative the Bourbon-Condé name was and how fortunate she was to be heading it. The cold glint in his eyes had not set well with her, not at all. Guilabert had never been rich, or not as rich as her family, but her parents had treated him as one of theirs, bestowing on him gifts and endowments much above what he ever would have received from his kin. Shortly before fever had killed them, her parents had even arranged to buy a piece of the neighbor’s land for Guilabert to own and run. But it hadn’t been enough, for to further his fortune and name, Guilabert had gone to the crusade, acquiring there what he lacked here, standing. Reputation.
To put credence to her words, Father Simon’s face tightened around his wrinkled mouth. She knew he thought so as well. Anyone with half a brain could see it. Guilabert wanted more than just to marry a baroness, he wanted to accede to the higher spheres denied him by lineage.
But not just Guilabert. How could she trust any man when she had the business to care for? How could she ever find love with such notion lurking at the back of her mind, the fear that they would only want her fortune? Since trust had never come easy to her…
“You don’t deny it,” she remarked.
He shook his head. Then after s
ome obvious internal struggling, he drew near and leaned in to her. “You have family in Spain. Go to them, visit for a while. Armand would take good care of the distillery in your absence. I would help with the books.”
The earnest tone to his voice stoked her curiosity. And her ire. There was a note of warning there. “Why do you want me to leave?”
“There’s no fooling you, dear. Just like your mother. Tall and strong. And stubborn,” he replied with another sad smile. “Sir Guilabert is a driven man, Charlotte. While he was in the Holy Land fighting for our Lord he acquired much more than battle scars. He has friends in high places. High indeed. Only God knows what he did to deserve them…”
Anger bubbled close to the surface. She hated riddles. “Come out and say it, Father Simon. What is Guilabert up to?”
He took a long ragged breath. “Should one highly placed in the Vatican decide that it would be best for an orphaned young woman to marry, said young woman would not have much of a choice. A cardinal could be convinced to sign an edict…especially since…well, Jean-Louis hasn’t returned—”
“So if my brother is considered dead, I get to be sold to the highest bidder?”
She forgot herself and let her voice rise, something she always tried to avoid. The last thing she needed was to have people gossip about how she could not keep a hold on her temper. Hysterical females. Possessed. Demented. She had seen it happen to other women—their assets seized or transferred to male relatives, their holdings gone. Charlotte would not let this happen to her. Control yourself, she repeated in her head. He is trying to help you.
“No one says that he’s dead, dear child. Oh God, what a fix we’re in.”
Simon’s voice sounded flat and tired. He looked about and sat in a narrow chair. His wispy hair brushed over his liver-spotted brow when he ran a hand through his bangs. “Please, Charlotte, as a favor to an old man, leave Montmorency, leave France. Let Guilabert’s temper cool. Perhaps in a few weeks, a few months, he will have seen his folly for what it is. And by then you’ll be twenty-seven.”
Sinful Page 3
