WinterofThorns

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  But he wouldn’t—couldn’t—do that to the lawful wife of a man he had loved since childhood, a man who was his brother in all but name.

  He let go of her hand, framed her beautiful face. “You are a veritable gift from the goddess, milady.” Drawing her to him, he slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her—plying his lips firmly over hers, tasting the honeyed sweetness there.

  Her arms were hanging loosely at her sides and he longed to have them wrapped around him. He was aching so badly he stepped back. Before he could speak, he had to clear his throat.

  “Turn,” he managed to say for his mouth had gone dry as the Diabolusian desert, and when she obeyed, he put his hands to the buttons at the nape of her neck and began to work them free. He was stunned to realize his hands were shaking. The long row of buttons from neckline to waist were tiny pearls that defied his broad fingers but he managed to undo every last one. The sight of her flawless back, the curve of her hips enticing him as no other woman’s ever had, the scent of gardenias drifting into his nostrils made him harder still. He had to clamp down hard on his wayward body for it longed to push his erection against her.

  Licking his lips, he slipped his hands into the back of the gown and gently slipped it over her shoulders. The lacy camisole that kept her naked flesh from his view as the gown slid to her waist was the sexiest garment he had ever seen. Letting the gown tumble from her hips into a satiny pool at their feet, he felt his palms burning with the need to rip the flimsy lace from her. He lowered his gaze to her legs and groaned as he took in the white silk stockings held up by pale-blue garters that circled her mid-thigh.

  “Milord?” she said, her voice raspy.

  He tore his gaze from her legs to her profile for her face was turned to the side. “Nothing is amiss, sweeting. I am merely in awe of your beauty.”

  A dark-rose flush stained her cheeks at his words and she returned her face to the front. The flush traveled down her neck and he wondered if it would spread to the rise of her sumptuous breasts.

  He bracketed her waist with his hands and eased her around to face him. Feeling as though every drop of his blood had pooled in his groin, he flexed his fingers on the lacy sides of the camisole and stared at her bosom—hypnotized by the deep valley that ran between the smooth globes. There were twin round shadows beneath the lace that drew his rapt consideration. Even as he watched, the lace seemed to jut outward as though his stare had stroked her nipples to attention.

  His gaze traveled to the hip-hugging white lace panties clinging to her shapely hips and he wanted nothing more than to tear them from her with his teeth.

  “By the goddess I am doomed,” he mumbled. “As surely as any man ever drew breath, I am lost.”

  She took a step back, breaking the contact of his hands, and crossed her arms over her bosom, studiously avoiding looking at his naked body and especially the jut of his cock.

  “Nay, sweeting,” he said, shaking his head. He took hold of her wrists and gently moved her arms apart. “Your body is much too beautiful to hide.” With her arms in his grip, he ran his gaze from her face to the toes of her satin slippers.

  He frowned.

  “Sit,” he ordered, walking her backward to the bed. She obeyed and he let go of her wrists, sank to one knee before her and reached for her foot. He removed her slipper, set it aside. He removed the other slipper then reached up to unhook each garter in turn, rolling first one stocking then the other down her leg slowly. He kept glancing up at her as he worked but she was staring into the distance above his head. Carefully he folded the stockings and set them on the floor beside her slippers, the garters cushioned atop.

  Returning his attention to her leg, he slid the palm of his left hand under her right foot to brace her heel. He used his other hand to gently rotate her foot—three times to the right and then three times to the left. Using the pads of his thumbs, he made one-inch circles on the center of her arch. His left thumb ran counterclockwise; the right, clockwise. As he massaged her, he stared up into her face, holding her gaze. He told her she had lovely feet.

  “Thank you, milord,” she mumbled.

  Beginning with her big toe, he pinched the digit lightly between his thumb and index finger then moved to the next toe then the next until he took hold of her pinkie. He smiled. “Sweet little piggy,” he said and arched a brow—expecting a smile from her and getting it. Once more cupping her heel with his left hand, he began to make tight, firm little circles on the ball of her foot under each toe. When that was done, he put both thumbs on the ball of her foot and pressed firm circles from the ball to her heel. As he worked, he could feel some of the tension leaving her body. By the time he had finished with her other foot, her shoulders were no longer rigid or hands gripping the side of the mattress as though it were a lifeline.

  Finished with the massage, he continued to kneel at her feet, looking up at her as if waiting for a command to rise. Before she could grow nervous at his intense look, he lithely came to his feet. She jerked her head to the side, for his cock was in a direct line of her vision.

  “No, precious one,” he said and took her chin in his hand, turned her to face him. “There is nothing shameful about the human body. Nothing shameful when two lovers share their bodies with one another.”

  She was beginning to shiver again and that he did not want that. He drew her from the bed and to her feet. Not giving her time to protest, he hooked his fingers under the shoulder straps of the camisole and drew it down her body. Exposing her breasts that were heaving from the fear building within her.

  “Oh!” she gasped, her face turning bright red. She closed her eyes.

  He let that pass. Though he wanted to go slowly with her, ease her gently into his lovemaking, he was on fire with need. His cock was so hard it was painful.

  The camisole fell to the floor and with one deft movement, her lacy panties followed suit. A hard shudder rippled through her. A quaking breath left her lungs in a rush. He slipped one arm under her knees, the other behind her back and lifted her onto the bed—stretching her out as if she were an offering to some sexual god.

  He joined her on the bed, easing his body beside hers, turning to his side so he could slide his leg over hers. His cock pressed against her hip and she whimpered. Her stomach muscles quivered.

  He smoothed the hair from her forehead, trailed his fingers to her chin and tilted her head toward him. “Jana, open your eyes,” he ordered.

  She did and yet again he felt a momentary pang of regret when he saw the fear and shame residing in her tearful gaze.

  This is wrong, his conscience chastised him but he pushed the reprimand firmly away. Nothing save the sudden explosion of the world around him would stop him from taking what he so dearly wanted.

  “I will not hurt you, milady.”

  She nodded, tucked her lip between her teeth. Her eyes slid from his as though seeking an exit.

  He released her chin, put his hand on the bed beside her head then leaned into her.

  What he did next was sheer torture but it was a torture he would gladly endure time and time again. He did not want her to view what he was about to do as rape. He wanted her willing and as desperate for him as he was for her. In order to see that happen, he set out to seduce her with every skill he’d learned over the years, and those skills were considerable. He’d been taught by the best courtesans of his father’s court. His intent was to have Jana writhing upon the bed, aching for him, pleading with him to take her.

  And that meant using restraint.

  Lowering his mouth to hers, he tenderly claimed her mouth. Her eyelids snapped shut and she stiffened against him.

  Slowly, he coaxed her into returning the kiss by gently nibbling her bottom lip, flicking his tongue across her tongue, placing light forays to the corners of her mouth, deepening the kiss for a moment before slanting his lips in the opposite direction and making the kiss a fleeting graze. He took his time—prolonging the kissing—until he felt her begin to relax. Her death
grip on the coverlet eased until her fingers lay still upon the material.

  Slowly, with every new position of his mouth upon hers, he eased his chest onto first her right arm then partway upon her breast. He could feel the soft mound give against his chest and his cock leapt against her hip. Once more she stiffened so he stilled, continuing the kissing as though nothing else would happen that eve. Moments passed and the tension eased the stiffness from her body.

  He deepened the kiss. Pressed his tongue fully into her mouth and kept it there for a moment before slowly withdrawing it then flicking it leisurely across the underside of her upper lip—grazing her teeth.

  He groaned low in his throat and knew she felt the vibration of the sound upon her lips. Kissing his way down her chin, along her left jawline, he moved farther over her as he pressed his kisses to the arc of her earlobe. A single lightening flick of his tongue over that sensitive little flange of flesh caused her to shudder.

  Easing to his back, he drew her with him until her head lay upon his shoulder. She was lying partially on his left arm so he inched his hand over until he could twine his fingers with hers—their arms trapped between them. He used his unencumbered hand to lightly stroke her arm that was pressed tightly against her left side. Beneath his trailing fingertips, he could feel the goose bumps rising on her flesh.

  Mentally, he began to count as he waited for her tense body to relax again. The soft brush of her breath against his neck sent shivers down his side but he forced himself not to move, not to speak. Just as he reached the magic number of fifty-two, he sensed the rigidity fading from her limbs. Her fingers laced with his became lax.

  Continuing to slide his fingers up and down her arm, he turned his head so his chin rested atop the sleek silk of her hair.

  “Jana?” he queried softly.

  “Aye, milord,” she responded, her voice breathy.

  “I want you to move your leg over mine,” he instructed.

  She tensed—her breath hitching—but she obeyed. The satiny expanse of her leg slid over his and he parted his thighs to make room for her crooked knee. When he made no more demands, the stiffness drained away again.

  Crooking his fingers, he began to drag his fingernails lightly up and down her arm. The cadence of her breathing changed as he moved his fingers so his nails were gliding wisplike along the edge of her arm where he knew the flesh was very sensitive. A few more passes and then he insinuated his thumb under her wrist until he could circle it with his hand. Unhurriedly, he plucked her arm from where it was plastered to her hip and moved it across his body until it lay over his belly. Pressing her arm firmly upon him, he began to slide his palm over and back along her arm from wrist to elbow.

  There was method to his madness. He was gentling her, accustoming her to his touch in a non-threatening way. His touch was tender, rhythmic and he knew it would lull her into relaxing even more. By the time took her hand and moved it toward his shoulder—gliding her palm across the hair on his chest—she did not stiffen.

  He gave her fingers a firm squeeze then removed his hand from hers. He was encouraged when she did not immediately withdraw her palm from his pec.

  “Run your fingers through my chest hair,” he told her.

  Her eyes had been closed but he felt her lashes flick upward as she snapped them open. For a moment she didn’t move but then slowly—hesitantly—she drew her hand across his chest.

  “Tell me what you feel.”

  She cleared her throat before she spoke. “Softness. The hair is not wiry as I imagined it would be.”

  “Think of it as a soft field upon which your ladies can play,” he said.

  Her hand stilled and she lifted her head, looked up at him with her brows drawn together. “My ladies?” she questioned.

  He smiled. “Your breasts.”

  Bright red flared in her cheeks and she lowered her eyes.

  “Oh,” she whispered and started to remove her hand. He laid his atop it to prevent her, pressing her palm tightly to the center of his chest.

  “The hair will tickle your nipples,” he said and watched the blush deepen.

  A soft moan of embarrassment vibrated in her throat and her hand jumped beneath his.

  “Trust me, sweeting. You’ll enjoy it.” He flexed his fingers around her hand and began to move hers in a slow circle between his pecs. “Now rub my chest.”

  He actually heard her swallow and he chuckled, coaxing her to do as he bid. He freed her hand.

  Slowly at first—and keeping well away from his nipples, not traveling as far as his navel—she ran her hand hesitantly over his chest.

  “Touch my nipples, sweeting,” he said. “I promise you they will neither sting nor bite you.”

  She giggled at his words then seemed mortified that she had. Her head came up and she shot him a quick look before pressing her lips together and lowering her gaze to her hand. She seemed to be holding her breath as she slid the tip of her middle finger to one of his paps. Her finger skidded away then returned.

  “My cock isn’t the only thing that hardens when I’m aroused,” he said softly.

  She ran her fingertip over him again as though she was entranced by the hardness and texture—no doubt so different from her own. She circled the darker skin around his nipple.

  “He likes that,” he said.

  She glanced up at him and there was a trace of a smile on her face.

  “Pluck it,” he said and hardly recognized the deepness of his voice. “Between your thumb and middle fingers.” When she did, he commanded her to repeat the action. “Harder this time and twist it slightly as you pull.”

  Her head shot up, shock registering in her stare. “Milord?” she questioned in a voice an octave higher than her normal voice.

  “You’ll not hurt me, lass. And trust me. Men like it. We truly do.” He winked. “Very much.”

  Tentatively, she closed her fingers around his nipple and tugged lightly.

  “Harder, sweeting,” he ordered.

  She took a deep breath and pinched his nipple. When he groaned, he thought she would remove her hand but she didn’t. Instead, she tweaked him a little harder and as his engorged nipple became a tight pebble between her fingers, she rolled it.

  “Oh, baby. You have no idea how good that feels,” he told her.

  Without him bidding her do so, she moved her hand to his other nipple and repeated the process. His deep breaths as she worked his paps seemed to interest her. Her natural curiosity got the better of her and she ran her fingers through his chest hair, tugging gently.

  “Aye,” he whispered.

  He saw her eyes dip to the thickening evidence of his erection and expected that gaze to leap away but it didn’t. She surprised him again by staring avidly at it. Her fingers went to his nipple and when she plucked, his cock leapt. She did it again and when his body reacted in the same way, a secretive smile stretched her full lips. She was beginning to understand the power she could wield over him.

  “Run your hand over me, sweeting,” he commanded. “All over me. Touch me wherever you like.”

  Her gaze went to his cock. She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Her hand moved from his chest to hover above his navel, the fingers flexing.

  She laid her palm over the slight mound of his belly, her fingernails grazing the tiger line of hair that flowed down to his groin. He held his breath as she spiked her fingers through the V-shaped nest of curls.

  “Touch me,” he whispered. “Touch me, Jana.”

  Apparently she was fully engaged in seeing what her ministrations could do to him and he wanted her to do anything that came to her inquisitive mind. He didn’t care what she did as long as she continued to touch him. He wanted her to know his body. He wanted her to be comfortable with his naked body. He had her attention and meant to keep it. She was a virgin, unaccustomed to being with a man, seeing one naked, touching one intimately, and unsure of what to do, fearful of what was to come. She wanted to explore what was before her b
ut was uncertain of how to proceed. At that moment he would have bet his entire future kingdom that she had forgotten all about Seyzon Montyne and their Joining.

  “Here. Let me show you,” he said, his voice husky.

  He took her wrist and lowered her hand to his aching shaft. She whimpered as he thrust his cock into her palm then closed her trembling fingers around it. He held his hand over hers, his attention riveted to her suddenly pale face. He tightened his grip on her hand then began to work it slowly up and down his cock.

  “See?” he said. “I’m no ogre ready to rut like a wild animal. I am a man.” He smiled. “One that wants the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen to be at ease with him.” He tightened her fingers around his shaft. “Can you feel him throbbing?”

  She nodded, her shy eyes lifting to his then skidding away.

  “I’m going to let go of your hand and I want you to sit up and then move between my legs.”

  Her eyes flared and her lips parted as she jerked her hand from his hold. The one wedged between them clamped down on his almost painfully and it took some doing to slip his fingers from her taut grip.

  “Don’t be afraid, sweeting,” he was quick to tell her. “Just kneel between my legs. I’m not going to ask you to do anything that would disgust you, Jana.”

  Not tonight, he thought as his gaze fell to her lush lips. He eased away from her so she could draw her right arm from between them. She shivered, pressing her arms over her chest.

  “All I want you to do is run your hands along my legs,” he said. “Nothing more.”

  For a moment she stared at him as though he had threatened to maim her in some way. When her tongue swept out to curl over her bottom lip, he thought he might unman himself in front of her. Her indecision was shining from her eyes.

  “Trust me, Jana. I’ll never do anything to shame or repel you.”

  He let her take her time—didn’t press again—so the choice would be hers. Over the years he had learned patience in dealing with the virginal maidens whom he brought to his bed. He found the forbearance and the wait was well worth the extra time he took to fully seduce them.