by Tina Donahue
“Royce.” Tristan held up a squat brown bottle. “Care for some fine brandy?”
“No, thank you.” He spoke French as Tristan had. “I’m not much of a drinker. I prefer water.”
James shook his head. “Odd.”
“Never say that. He is not.” Simone leaned past Royce and frowned at James. “Water is good. I drink it.”
Peter snickered. “That’s because you’re a woman. You can’t take what a man can.”
Tristan elbowed him.
Peter threw up his hands. “What did I say this time?”
“Too much.”
Diana glanced from one to the other.
“Best we eat.” Royce speared a beef slice but didn’t slide it on his plate. “If that’s acceptable.”
Tristan took bacon, bread, fish, and a grape cluster. “It is if you don’t plan to starve. None of us are going to serve or feed you.”
James and Peter laughed.
Simone put her lips to Royce’s ear. “I will.”
His breath glided hot against her cheek. “Not here. Later.”
“Where?”
“Do you know another place besides the birthing room? One that’s rarely used?”
“Oui. When the world goes dark, I will take you there.”
* * * *
Even without drink stealing his good intentions, Royce couldn’t manage a saintly demeanor for long. He slid his toes over Simone’s.
She slipped her hand beneath his napkin and fondled his cock.
He swallowed the wrong way and coughed violently.
James pounded his back. “Easy. We don’t want to interrupt our fun to have to bury you.”
“We wouldn’t.” Tristan popped a grape into his mouth. “We’d simply throw him in the sea.” Tristan translated for Diana.
She laughed, her dark blue gown fluttering around her breasts. “He would do that, you know.”
“I would save you.” Simone squeezed Royce’s fingers.
He rested their hands on her thigh to keep her from any more mischief.
The islanders brought out their reeds, drums, and lutes. Torchlight consumed the coming darkness, the breeze balmy, moon and the brightest stars already winking down on the gathering.
Simone tapped her toes against his, matching the beat.
The pleasant tune, soft night, and her touch took years off Royce, allowing him to feel like the young man he’d been before his father’s betrayal. “Does anyone dance here?”
He’d spoken English.
Diana glanced at him, eyes and diamonds sparkling. “The islanders have their ceremonies, of course. We don’t intrude and we certainly wouldn’t ask them to perform.”
“That’s not what I mean. Have any of you tried the minuet?”
Peter made a face. “The what?”
Diana threw him a weary look. “It’s a dance between men and women. Would you like Royce to explain?”
“No.”
“Good.” She faced Royce. “I’ve heard of it, but never engaged in anything like that. Our father considered dancing scandalous.”
Tristan finished his ale. “He was a reverend. Quite dour. Right, my love?”
“Indeed. No one was more so.”
And she’d ended up wed to a pirate. It appeared miracles did happen. “I can assure you the minuet is quite respectful and fun. What say we try?”
James waved his hands. “Not me.”
“Then Simone and I will.” He spoke French, telling her what they’d said.
“Oui. I would love to try this dance.”
Tristan and Diana joined them. With Laure’s gentle prodding, Peter shuffled over. Adamo and Zola were next. After a quiet but heated discussion, James and Gavra followed.
Royce directed half the couples to one side and the other half several feet away, facing them. He spoke French. “Relax. This is supposed to be fun.”
The musicians had stopped playing and exchanged glances.
Diana waved her hand. “What did you say?”
Peter spoke first. “He said if we were armed, we could shoot each other easily this way.”
Tristan laughed. “Stop it.”
Royce translated his original comment for Diana. “Watch what I do and follow. That should be sufficient.” He slipped back into French. “The first thing everyone does is turn toward their partner.” Royce faced Simone, her hand in his. “The ladies curtsy, the men bow.”
Simone shook her head. “What is this curtsy?”
“You lift your cloth like I’m lifting my shirt and you do this.” He bent his knees.
James and Peter howled.
Simone ignored them and practiced her curtsies. She smiled. “I like this.”
“Everyone will. Let me go through the steps.” Once he’d finished the men and women’s parts, using hand signals for Diana, everyone said they understood the basics. “If you can’t recall what I did, simply follow what I do.”
Simone squeezed his hand. “The women too? Or only the men?”
“No. You—just do your best. The point is to have a good time.”
Peter huffed. “I’ve had less trouble learning Greek. I say we go back to the table.”
“Go ahead.” Royce shooed him away. “The adults will manage, I’m sure.”
Scowling, Peter grabbed Laure’s hand and remained.
The musicians didn’t have a tune that matched a proper minuet, making it difficult for the steps to match what they played. James kept choosing the wrong foot. Diana stepped on Tristan’s toes repeatedly. Adamo went in the opposite direction Zola had. Gavra bobbed in place, breasts bouncing. Peter and Laure ran into each other. Simone matched Royce’s steps rather than doing her own. Children wove in and out of the mess.
Royce laughed harder than he had in years, tears filling his eyes.
The islanders joined in.
Tristan clamped his shoulder. “Thank you for the lesson, but I’ve had enough. You’re an abominable teacher.”
“And you, sir, are a dreadful student.”
“I should run you through or shoot you for that. Perhaps after I eat.”
They retired to the table, filling their bellies, laughing freely, imbibing the ale and spirits.
Royce needed no drink. The night, these people, and Simone were enough.
She leaned into him. “Teach me the steps again.”
“Now?”
“Oui. Then I can show the others how easy it is and what a good teacher you are.”
Peter laughed. “Won’t take much for you to outshine us. We were frightful.”
“Come with me.” She took Royce’s hand. “We can go into the forest, so no one sees and laughs at what I do.”
Gavra frowned.
Royce wasn’t certain anything he said would change her distrust. Certainly not the truth that he’d want Simone till time ended.
With the others occupied by their own conversation or laughter, he followed her away from the crowd and into the shadows.
Chapter 10
Past the courtyard walls, Royce held back, forcing Simone to stop. He presumed she’d said what she had for Gavra’s benefit. Given that she wasn’t a concern any longer, he’d hoped Simone would lead him to another room near the birthing chamber. Ill-advised, considering the celebrants’ proximity. However, the forest wasn’t an adequate substitute for a soft bed and clean room.
If her intent had been their coupling.
Moonlight reflected in her eyes, her dark hair lustrous in the diaphanous rays. “Come.” She tugged his hand.
He weighed too much for her to budge. “You actually want to learn how to dance?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Not tonight. I thought we’d have other fun.”
“We will.”
“Here? The ground is wet.” Leaves and debris carpeted the area, mud oozing in between. “This won’t be comfortable for you.”
“The
beach was wet. Did you enjoy that so little?”
The moment had changed his life, and he wagered hers too. However, he’d had no choice except to lead her there, since he’d needed to dig up his pouch. Another lie he’d told that he prayed she’d never discover or could somehow forgive.
“Oh no. How sad you are.” She cupped his face and grinned.
“Are you making light of me?”
“I am. Follow me back to the stone house.”
They circled the wall and sidled between an opening that faced a door he’d never seen. “Where are we? What’s inside there?”
“A secret hall to Tristan and Diana’s chamber.”
“Wait.” He held her arm. “You want us to use their room?”
She laughed softly. “No. Tristan would shoot you. Me, he would scold. Come.”
The door opened to a narrow passage so dark he might have been blind. With one hand clasped tightly around hers, he slid his other on the polished stone to maintain his bearing. Their feet tapped the floor, the noise outrageously loud in the confined space.
She slowed and stopped.
A slight creak sounded. The black in front turned gray, revealing a chamber.
What had seemed a wall was the back of a large armoire set on small wheels to move it easily for entry into the room. “Did Tristan make this?”
“My people did. The cruel capitaine told them what he wanted.”
An escape route both clever and necessary given the blackguard’s occupation.
Royce checked the floor to see if their feet left any tracks. Shadows made it impossible to tell.
Laughter, music, and song sounded from the courtyard. However, the noise came from everywhere, the passage disorienting him from knowing which direction the gathering might be. Despite his and Simone’s whispers, the closed shutters, and little available light, he felt horribly exposed, worried Tristan or Diana would push through the door at any time. “We best leave here.”
In the hall, Simone trotted to the right, pulling him with her.
“Are we going to your chamber?”
“No. Here.” Panting, she opened a door and pushed him inside the room.
He stumbled and flailed his arms to right himself.
She opened the shutters.
“Wait. You shouldn’t do that.”
“Why? The moon is big and fat.”
Ashy light streamed across the space, showing a room not unlike his, and nearly as regal as Tristan’s. A crucifix hung above the bed. “Is this where the priest stays when he’s here?”
“Oui. No one would dare come inside or be near the windows. This is a divine space.”
He sensed she meant sacred. “If this is off-limits to the less than righteous, aren’t you worried about us using it for…”
“Our love? No. What god would be angry that a man and a woman did what they must to show how they adore each other?”
He couldn’t think of any, but he wasn’t a pious man. The long-ago missionaries who’d come here to change Simone’s people, including their culture, language, and beliefs hadn’t fully accomplished their goal with her.
He grinned.
“I see you like what I did.” She untied her cloth. The silk floated to her feet. “Why are your breeches and shirt on you and not the floor? Why are you waiting to undress?”
He tore at his clothes and stood nude before her. She before him.
Rays illuminated her curves, the moon designed to shine on no one except her.
She crossed to him and touched his healed wound, the scab mostly gone, then took his hand and placed it on her scar. Delight registered on her face, rather than sorrow. “Both of us are marked.”
They were and on the same leg. What were the odds of that happening randomly?
She stroked his thigh. “We match.”
In more ways than he could voice. They were from different worlds, cultures, and beliefs, yet they fit perfectly. Or had.
She’d stepped away, her breasts bobbing gently, hips swaying. Eve tempting Adam all over again.
He followed. “Where do you think you’re going?”
She regarded his fully erect cock and plump balls. “To bed.” She crawled onto the wide mattress and stopped in the center, arms at her sides, legs parted, hiding nothing.
No man deserved her seduction, certainly not him.
Her sultry smile encouraged Royce to be playful. He rested his knee on the cool white silk. “Come here.”
“Catch me.”
“What?”
“If you can. I think you may not be able to.”
He pounced faster than any rutting buck. Simone rolled away, escaping him easily. His chin hit the mattress. The bedframe creaked.
Her giggles filled the room, giving him a reason to live. He propped his head in his hand. “Are you going to make me work at this? Do you honestly want me to wear myself out running after you when we could be enjoying ourselves instead?”
“You hate my game?”
Anything she did was all right with him, even pretending insult or hurt to prolong the pretext. “I didn’t say that. But I toiled hard and long today, hauling countless tables to the courtyard. Twice—no, three times, I pulled a muscle in my back. My toes hurt so badly I can scarcely stand. My arms are too tired to lift more than an inch.” He raised his hand and let it plop to the mattress. “See? Yet, we will play your game if that’s what you want. Anything to please you.”
She sat on the mattress and eased his hair off his shoulder. “Anything?”
His laughter drowned out hers. He pulled her down to him and rolled them over.
She fought to go the other way. They ended up in the middle, facing each other, breaths colliding.
He rubbed his nose against hers. “What fun I have with you.”
“Me too. But it can be better.”
“How? Tell me. I have no idea.”
She looked skeptical. “Do you make light of what I say now?”
“Me? Never.”
“I should shoot you.” She pushed him to his back, straddled his hips, and took his rigid length fully within her.
Their curls touched. Her snug channel imprisoned and sheltered.
Heat whipped through him with cyclone strength. “I like this better.”
She leaned down, her hair veiling them, her mouth touching his. “Than what?”
“You shooting me.”
“Never would I point a pistol at you.” She ran her tongue over the seam between his lips, stopping before he could coax her more deeply inside for a much-needed kiss. “I would have Tristan do it for me. Perhaps Gavra.”
He laughed quietly. “In that case, I had better behave.”
“Love me. I ask no more than that.”
Such an easy task and possibly an unreachable dream with time and circumstances against them. Tonight, though, fantasy ruled, the moonlit room bewitching, her warmth and weight persuading him to believe they’d have a future, home, and children on this isle. An ideal life he’d already constructed when he knew better than to yield to preposterous wishes. He was an adult, not a child.
His own sorrow didn’t frighten Royce. Hurting her would kill him.
Their tongues dueled to see whose mouth they’d fill. He let her win, wanting to give her everything she desired. Steadily, Simone tightened her cunt around his rod. Each squeeze firm, though too slow to deliver release, yet too fast for him to ignore.
Carnal need enticed, drawing him into its web, refusing to let go.
He plucked her nipples, loving the sounds she made, a woman burning with passion. Caressing her supple globes proved insufficient. He wanted raw lust, not tenderness, her soft flesh coaxing him to forget restraint, to take her more as an animal than a man.
She pressed into his touch, wordlessly saying she wanted whatever he offered, then pushed to her knees and released his shaft except for his crown. Her moisture coated his rigid column, a thrilling
sight. She slid down, her channel consuming him.
Blood pounded in his ears.
She touched her chin to her chest, her hair gliding over his belly.
“More.” He’d pleaded as he never had with another woman, needing Simone to give him everything she could. “Squeeze harder. Pump faster.”
Her descents and ascents jiggled the mattress, the intensity she created shockingly good.
She lifted her face to the ceiling and gulped air.
Royce stroked her nub, keeping time with her steadily contracting channel. He and she matched here too, synchronized in their lovers’ dance. “Again.” He snatched air. “Faster. Don’t stop.”
She rode him as he would have done with her, giving no quarter when it came to pleasure, liberating delight, encouraging awe. They reached joy together, her voice raised in a timeless cry a woman gives a man she loves, her channel quivering around his shaft, his seed filling her.
Weakened and panting, he eased Simone to him, their skin slick, chests heaving. “Merci.”
She kissed his shoulder. “I’m a good student at last, doing what you wished?”
“Trust me. You couldn’t have been better.” Her lovemaking had nearly killed him.
“I can try to be even more.”
Royce prayed not now. Exhaustion pressed in, chasing away the glow she’d produced.
She twisted his hair around her finger. “Are you asleep?”
He was too weary to answer.
“Will you wake soon and do this again?”
He hoped so. There wasn’t a point in being alive if a man denied himself what he’d found here.
* * * *
Once Simone shook Royce awake, they made love twice. After the acts, he dropped to the mattress, arms and legs flung out, too tired to play. She traced the veins in his shaft, but couldn’t stir him. She licked his sac. He smacked his lips and stilled.
She drank him in. His complexion was more golden now than bronze from too many days spent indoors, his hair longer than when he’d first washed up on the beach.
He needed a shave.
She required every moment that he could give her, even if it meant bringing him to this room. The one place that would remain unoccupied and free from anyone’s presence.
