WinterofThorns

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  The feel of him. The scent of him. The weight of him. The heat from his mouth. The wetness of his tongue. Jana was aching as she never had before to have him inside her. Her cunt was dripping and pulsing with need. She tugged at his hair for his mouth was creating havoc with her body and she wanted him to take her. She toed off her slippers, kicked them off the bed for she wanted to feel her feet touching his.

  Instead of entering her, he slid down her body, shoved the gown aside and put his mouth to her core. He licked her sweet folds, flicked his tongue against her clit then thrust it into her.

  “Seyzon!” she hissed and came hard. Her legs tensed—heels pushing into the mattress—and ground her lower body against his mouth. He lapped at her until she pleaded no more and pushed his head from her overly sensitive flesh. “Enough!” she begged.

  “Not even close to being enough,” he said in a deep, passion-filled voice she barely recognized. He was up and over her—his cock buried deep within her—before she could take another breath.

  Ramming into her just as hard as he had before, he arched his back into the thrusts, plunging forward with heavy slaps of his body against hers. His arms were like steel columns to either side of her as he drove mindlessly into her in search of the release she knew would be fierce. At the moment he came, he threw his head back and howled. The sound shocked her but it seemed right.

  His arms gave out and he collapse atop her—one-hundred-seventy-five pounds of spent male. The weight of him was so delicious it made her ache between her legs.

  “You—”

  “No talking, sweeting,” he asked. “No words. Just hold me.”

  Her arms came down to circle his back and she pressed him to her. She draped her legs over his calves and closed her eyes to better savor the moment of having him with her.

  Seyzon stared across the room at the desk. There was a digital clock atop it. He wondered if it had been there all along or had been left to let him know how much time he had left. The thought of leaving Jana with Vindan hurt so bad it made his heart stutter. They had twenty-six minutes left and he wanted to make each one count.

  He rolled off her and sat up. Without a word, he held out his hand to lift her to sitting position. Slowly, he peeled the robe from her shoulders and pushed it down her arms. There were no words needed for she shrugged it away then lifted her hips so she could remove her gown. She pulled the garment over her head and his eyes dipped to the absolute perfection of her firm breasts. He wanted to be skin to skin with her.

  Swinging his legs from the bed, he jerked off his boots and tossed them aside. He stood, ran the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoned the cuffs and let the shirt fall behind him. His pants were unbound and it took little to push them down his legs and kick them away.

  His cock pulsed as Jana’s attention dropped to the juncture of his thighs. He climbed back on the bed and lay down. His head had barely touched the pillow when she threw a leg over his hips, straddled him and leaned forward to put her hands on his pecs. She massaged his chest then leaned down to capture his mouth. Her hands went to either side of his head to hold him steady. Her tongue was velvet heat as it slipped firmly between his lips to duel with his own.

  He clamped his hands to her hips, lifted his ass so he could press against her. Skin to skin, the feeling was intoxicating. As she raped his mouth, licked his lips, nibbled them, her nipples tickled his chest.

  She kissed him until he was hard enough to slip between her folds. As her hand went to his cock—fingers wrapping securely around him—he was filled with such love for her, such overwhelming desire he could have died then and there and been the happiest man on the face of the planet. He expected her to place him inside her but instead she thrust her legs downward and glided down his chest until she could take him in her mouth.

  “Mother of the goddess!” he hissed as she sucked him deep. The pull on his shaft, the lap of her tongue as it traveled from base to the midway point on the underside was an exquisite torture that had him squirming beneath her. It was his hands to her hair this time as she drew upon his flesh, slid him nearly out then swirled her tongue around his engorged head. She flicked her tongue into the opening and he fought hard not to come.

  He wanted to.

  The gods knew he wanted to but he held back. He opened his mouth to tell her to stop but only a croak came out for she shot up in the bed and was stuffing him inside her before he could make another sound. She began riding him as though he were a wild pony to be broken to saddle. Her breasts bounced with each downward push against his groin and when he came, she tightened her inner muscles so firmly it took his breath away and…

  He came hard.

  Sweet Merciful Alel he came so hard he thought the top of his head would blow off. He literally saw flashing lights at the periphery of his vision and thought he would black out the pleasure was so intense. Her vaginal muscles were clamping, releasing, clamping then releasing again as wave after wave of cum pulsed from his throbbing shaft. The last spurt drained him completely and he found himself as limp as a noodle as she sat perched on his groin, her smile so knowing, so wicked it sent a shiver down his spine.

  She stretched out atop him and laid her head on his shoulder, her long legs between his, her cute little toes stroking his ankle. One hand tangled in the hair matting his chest and she began to twirl the hair.

  “Seyzon?” she asked softly.

  “Aye, sweeting.”

  “There is something I need to tell you.”

  The knock came at the worst possible moment. Not only was he not prepared for it, one glance at the clock told him he had nearly ten minutes left.

  “Milord?”

  Seyzon sighed. “Aye?”

  “You need to leave now. The prince is searching for the lady.”

  Jana lifted her head and gave him a look that cut him to the quick. He shook his head when she would have spoken.

  “I’ve got to go.” He eased her from him and rolled out of bed, reaching for his pants in the same move.

  “Seyzon, please,” she said. “Take me with you.”

  “Baby, you know I can’t,” he said as he thrust his legs into his pants. “But I will be coming for you. Never doubt that for a minute.”

  She watched him as he shrugged on his shirt and when he sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots, she got on her knees and put her arms around him, fiercely hugging him from behind. Her nipples felt like brands burning their way into the flesh of his back. He reached up to catch her hands in his and brought one to his lips. Placing a light kiss on the underside of her wrist, he let her go, broke her hold on him and got to his feet, tucking in his shirt as he moved toward the door.

  Again the insistent knock came. “Milord?”

  “All right. I’m coming!” Seyzon hissed. He gave her one last look and reached for the door handle.

  “Seyzon, I have to tell you—”

  “I’m sorry, sweeting,” he said, opening the door and putting out his hand to gently shove the servant back. He knew if Vindan was looking for her it was only a matter of time before he raised the alarm and that he couldn’t risk. He couldn’t be taken. Not now. He turned, blew her a kiss then hurried through the door, closed it behind him.

  Jana put a shaking hand to her mouth. As much as she wanted to run after him—naked through she was—she knew it would be dangerous for him. She posed a threat to his safety and freedom. Since the prince was looking for her, she had to make sure he found her.

  And quickly.

  Flinging herself from the bed, she quickly donned her gown, threw the robe over her shoulders and stabbed her arms into the sleeve. She went to the door, opened it and poked her head out. She prayed she could find her way back through the maze of corridors to the place where she had entered the hidden passageway.

  * * * * *

  Vindan was growing worried. His concern for his wife had taken him to their bedchamber to check on her. Upon not finding her in the bed or in the bathing chamber, anger bu
bbled in his throat.

  She had not wanted to come to Dungannon. Did not want to suffer—as she so succinctly put it—the congratulations of the ton who had come to celebrate the announcement of the impending birth of a new royal, the firstborn of their prince.

  “It is a lie,” she said. “The babe is not yours!”

  “Don’t say that again,” he had warned. “Don’t even hint it. Think of the child, Jana. It matters not what your feelings are for me, think of our child.”

  “My child,” she’d thrown at him, eyes flashing. “Mine and—”

  “Don’t say it,” he had shouted at her.

  He checked the closet, their luggage, but everything she’d brought with her was in the bedchamber. The only things missing were the nightgown and robe and the bed slippers he had watched her servants packing two days earlier.

  Now traipsing through every place he thought she might conceivably be, he knew she couldn’t—wouldn’t—go far in her nightwear. The longer it took to find her, the angrier he became. He feared she was hiding from him and reached up to rub at the back of his neck for he thought he could feel someone watching him.

  No one he encountered, spoke to, had seen the Lady Jana. They all gave him strange looks that puzzled him. Did they know more than they were saying? Did they know where she was and were either too afraid or too disloyal to the crown to tell him? Or had she bribed them to keep her whereabouts secret? Was someone helping her to avoid him?

  That thought brought him up short.

  Had she met someone here who might help her to escape?

  “Fuck!” he snarled and spun around. He marched back to the kitchen where there were many servants to question.

  As he passed the library, a flash of green caught his attention and he looked that way to see his wife sitting in a chair. He skidded to a stop and stared at her. She looked back at him with unblinking eyes, her hands curled over the arms of the chair, her chin up as though daring him to chastise her for not being where she was supposed to be.

  He entered the room. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded.

  “Right here,” she said.

  He took several steps toward her, close enough to see a vein pounding hard in her neck.

  “That’s a lie. I checked this room earlier.”

  “Mayhap you did not check closely enough,” she said. She licked her lips—a tell if he’d ever seen one.

  “I’ll ask you again, Jana. Where have you been?” He was five feet from her but it felt like a thousand miles. The coldness in her eyes, the stillness of her face made his heart ache.

  “I’ll tell you again, Vindan. I have been where you see me,” she said.

  He clenched his teeth. They needed to talk but they did not need to be where servants or a passing guest of the Duke could hear them.

  “We’ll take this to our bedchamber,” he said. “Come.”

  Her head came up. “I am not a dog that you can command me in that tone, Vindan.”

  A brief thought of the silliness he and the Lady Millicent engaged in when they were on good terms flitted across his mind and he almost relented and would have had it not been for the distant, indifferent way she was glaring at him.

  “Come here, Jana,” he ordered. “Now!”

  “Go. To. Hell,” she said.

  In two long strides he reached her and bent over to grab her left forearm where it rested on the chair. It was at that moment he caught the scent. As he did, he felt an invisible dagger plunge into his heart. His grip on her arm became brutal as he jerked her from the chair.

  “You’re hurting me!” she said as he turned and began pulling her behind him from the room.

  “Not yet, but the evening is young!” he hissed through his teeth.

  Unmindful of her stumbling along in his wake, he kept his hold on her arm though she tried to pry it loose. He glanced down and realized she was barefoot. That infuriated him beyond measure and he marched to the first door he found, flung it open then dragged her inside, kicking the portal closed. Thankfully the room was a storage chamber of some sort and no one was within.

  “What is wrong with you?” she questioned, her eyes wide.

  “Shut up!”

  He spun her around, pushed her against the nearest wall then reached down, pushed the robe apart, snagged his hand in the hem of her gown and jerked it upward. Despite her desperate attempts to keep him from doing so, he shoved his hand between her legs, his fingers into her cunt then pulled them out. The tale-tell moisture that clung to his fingers made him want to vomit. There was no mistaking the odor of spent semen nor the slick feel of it as it coated his skin. He stared at it for a moment then slowly raised his eyes to hers.

  “Whose pond scum is this?” he demanded. When she didn’t speak, he put his hand to her mouth and smeared the filth over her lips.

  If he thought in the doing it would shock her, shame her, cause her acute embarrassment, it didn’t. As he watched, she flicked out her tongue and licked her lips.

  Uncontrollable rage drove through him like a spike and before he knew what he was doing, he drew back his arm and backhanded her. Her head snapped to the side with the imprint livid on her pale flesh. Her soft cry of pain hurt him but the thought of another man’s cum on her tongue—gladly taken into her mouth—twisted the blade piercing his heart.

  “Whose?” he asked and heard the way his voice broke.

  She slowly turned her head to face him. There was triumph in her green eyes.

  “Whose do you think it is?” she asked.

  “He is here?” he questioned. “He is here in the keep?”

  The leisurely smile she gave him was filled with victory. “He was,” she replied.

  He whirled around and ran to the door, jerking it open even as he shouted for the guards.

  “You’re too late!” she yelled after him. “He’s long gone by now!”

  Her laughter followed him as he ran down the corridor.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Did the little brat have’m fun this eve?” Dyson inquired. He was sitting by the campfire peeling an apple with the black dagger he kept strapped to his thigh. He grinned as he cut a chunk of the fruit then popped it into his mouth.

  Seyzon grinned. “Where is he?” he asked of Lord Bray.

  “Turned in for the night,” the border lord’s 2-I-C replied. “He has megrims and one came calling with a vengeance.

  “I can sympathize. I have them too,” Seyzon said. He hunkered down beside the fire and held his hands to the warmth. “I wanted to thank him for this night.”

  “He’d been planning it for some time,” Dyson told him. “You’ve helped him. He wanted to help you.”

  “I am grateful,” Seyzon said. “More than you know.”

  “She is well, your lady?”

  “She is.” He lowered his ass to the cold ground and crossed his upraised knees, corralled them within the span of his arms. “She swears he treats her well.”

  “Given her condition, I would hope so,” Dyson replied.

  Seyzon lifted his head. “Her condition?”

  The other man’s eyebrows shot up. “Did she not tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  Dyson clamped his lips together and his eyes shifted away from Seyzon’s.

  “Tell me what?” Seyzon repeated.

  The answer came from beyond the campfire.

  “That she’s pregnant.”

  Seyzon looked around. The border lord was standing in the shadows. Though all that could be seen were those vivid-blue eyes with the flames from the fire dancing within them, for the first time he was without his ever-present mask.

  “Pregnant?” Seyzon whispered.

  “I’m surprised she did not tell you,” Lord Bray said. He crossed his arms over his chest—a stance that seemed to be second nature to him.

  Thinking back on the many times she’d said they needed to talk, that she had something to tell him, made Seyzon groan.

  “She is carr
ying his child,” he said, agony ripping through him.

  “Either his or yours.”

  Seyzon jerked. “Mine?”

  The border lord shrugged. “Could be. Not likely, but it could be.”

  Seyzon shook his head, feeling the pain of the situation burrowing into his heart. “Were it mine, she’d have told me straightaway.”

  “Probably so,” Lord Bray agreed. He cocked his head to the side. “Does it make a difference in how you feel about the girl?”

  “Of course not!” Seyzon said. “It isn’t her fault he got her…” He couldn’t say the words.

  “We would have thought you less a man had you admitted that it made a difference,” Dyson said quietly.

  “I love her.” Seyzon felt the sting behind his eyes. “More than my own life.”

  “Trust me, lad,” the border lord said. “I know it hurts to have the woman you love carrying another man’s child but it makes me proud that you can look beyond it.”

  “Takes a good man to do so,” Hawkins spoke up from where he lay outside the light of the campfire.

  “You’ve got a lot to think about,” Lord Bray said. “Best hit the rack, now. We’ll be moving out at first light.”

  Seyzon nodded. “Have you formulated a plan to get her out that bastard’s clutches?”

  “Still working on it,” the border lord replied. “But don’t worry, lad. I swear to you we will.”

  Later as he lay under the cold canopy of the black night, staring unseeingly at the sky, Seyzon felt as though his heart was in a vise and the screw was slowly being cranked tighter. There was a lump of hurt lodged in his throat but the momentary anger he’d felt at hearing the news of Jana’s pregnancy had given way to concern for her safety. Childbirth always carried with it dangers—for mother and child—and that worried him. His first wife, Jacqueline, had died giving birth and she had been a robust woman. Jana was a small woman with very narrow hips. Birthing a child was painful and the thought of her suffering even one labor pain made him break out in a cold sweat.