An Earl for an Archeress
Page 29
“I’m nervous,” she finally admitted.
Robert brushed a wisp of hair behind her ear. “So am I,” he confessed. “You’re doing fine.”
He didn’t move, allowing her explorations. With the garment finally unclasped, it fell to the ground with a heavy jingle, filled with his traveling money. Her eyes riveted to the plume of fine linen undergarments at the joining of his thighs where the legs of the trousers didn’t come together. And the column of fabric wasn’t simply loose linen bunched together between his legs. It was filled completely with the thick pillar of his endowment and bollocks straining against the material for freedom.
She inhaled, and he shuddered, knowing she was taking in his musk mixed with the smell of his soap. Her eyes fluttered closed, and he used his threads of restraint to keep from grabbing her head and drawing her to him. With her hands still unsteady, she brought them back around his hips and slid her hand over his shaft, then leaned forward, bracing each hip, and brought her cheek against him. She inhaled again, sliding the tip of her nose along his manhood until she reached his helm dampening the fabric as it pulsed.
He hissed, sucking in, and now his hands instinctively clasped each side of her head in the cradle of his palms, kneading her hair and ears as she trailed her cheek back down to his base.
“Mercy, Mari,” he whispered, his voice harsh as he fought for control. “’Twill be over before it’s begun if you stay this course…”
He pinched his eyes shut, his head tipped back, and his manhood jumped. His broad hands gripped her face to hold on for dear life. She caressed him once more with her nose. His eyes shot down to her in disbelief and appreciation. He was at her mercy,
Placing a gentle peck to his damp helm through his undergarments, she reached to his laces, pulling them loose until the two flaps of his trousers enclosing his waist laid open. And then she did the same to his undergarments. And as she pushed them down, they hung upon his shaft like a washrag thrown over a rod to dry. His hair, darker than that of his head, tufted out in coarse curls.
She pulled his tunic loose from his waist, standing back up, and lifted it so that it bunched beneath his armpits. He released his hold on her and raised his arms dutifully to allow her to drag it over his head, bending forward so she could pull it down his arms. She let the garment slip to the accumulating pile of clothing and looked at him.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispered.
She ran her hands across his pectorals. He shivered. Her fingers slid across tiny nicks and cuts that had accrued over time, and down his shoulders, down his arms toned from years of archery. He gazed at her hand lingering on the scabbed arrow wound, before it continued to his fingertips.
His chest swelled at the compliment, that he had impressed her so. He knew his physique was deemed desirable, but it still pleased him to hear the words from Mariel’s lips.
Her hands returned the way they had come, back up his arms to his chest. The air was chilly, but her hands blazed a trail down his stomach to brush around his waist to his rear. Her fingertips teased the sagging waistline of his trousers then roved back around to his front, where they skimmed his private hair, making him twitch with anticipation.
He heard her breath hitch, his thoughts growing predatory, attuned to her slightest body language. His eyes lingered on her chest. Though she still wore her chemise, the fabric sloped off the tips of her breasts and hung in the valley between them. He would know the peaks and valley well before the night ended.
“My turn. Again,” he said, and reached out to each of her shoulders where the chemise still hung, but instead of dragging the garment down to her elbows to reveal her breasts waiting for his lips, he slid his hands down her front, to her waist, watching as the tips of her breasts pushed against the chemise while his palms moved downward.
They slid over her hips and he knelt down on one knee as his hands continued over her thighs, then her knees, then her boots, to the hemline of the undergarment.
He slid his fingers beneath, feeling her shaking with nerves and excitement. His hands found the tops of one boot and he pulled free the laces, loosening them, then lifted her foot—she was like a skittish filly—and slid the leather free. The boots, he noted, as he set them aside one by one, were in poor repair, old, nearly worn through on the soles, much like her stockings had been. He made no outward expression, but his wife would have the finest of whatever she desired. Fine boots made of deerskin and lined with fleece, fine tunics and trousers of the best linens and wool, if she so chose to keep wearing them, fine adornments for her body, fine gauntlets for archery. He would never see her in poorly stitched clothing again.
Wife.
He tried the word on for size, and though it was new and awkward, it was also exciting. He had just eloped. He, whose king would have had to drag him to the altar kicking and screaming had he never met Mariel, had just pledged himself in marriage of his own volition.
Wife.
He liked it. His other half. He couldn’t delay knowing her body any longer.
His hands now slid up her legs, slowly, in part to draw out the torture and in part so as not to rush in, thrust madly, and turn her away from him at his animalistic rutting. Her breathing, he noted as he glanced up at her, still on bended knee, was uneven, shallow, her cheeks pink, her lips parted, and her eyes fluttering closed, then open again, then closed again as his hands crept upward over her thighs, taking hold of her hips.
He found her trouser lacings, wanting to chuckle at the humor of untying a man’s trousers other than his own for the first time in his life, and pulled them loose, working the knot until he had untethered it. Then using his thumbs and pointer fingers, he spanned each side of her waist and allowed them to slip beneath the garment, beneath the waist of her stockings, rolling the fabric downward. He dragged it lower still, feeling the warmth of her soft skin, his thumbs brushing against the curls nestled between her thighs. She jumped and her hands shot out to brace his shoulders. He grinned, knowing he was only beginning to exact his sweet revenge for her innocent, doe-eyed nuzzling of his shaft.
Still, he pulled the stockings and trousers down, lower, lower, until they stretched around her ankles and she stepped out of them. He added those to the pile as well. He felt her knees threatening to give out and her fingers clenched his shoulders, as he brushed his fingers back up over her skin, lifting her chemise with it, bending to at first kiss her calf, then her knee, then thigh, and then…
“Rob…” she whimpered, digging her nails into his flesh as he kissed her inner thigh, smelling the sweetness betwixt her legs, knowing she was more than ready for him.
Letting the chemise fall over his head, he kissed her center, a soft peck, feeling her jump again.
“Rob…Rob…” she crooned as he grazed the juncture of her thighs with his fingertips, over the arch of each rounded hip, back down again over the hair that shielded her, and leaned in once more.
Wrapping his hands around the backs of each thigh, he pulled them apart so that she widened her stance. Without giving her pause, he nestled his nose and lips between the tender folds and delved in for a taste of the honey that would ease his joining with her. But one taste was not enough. He licked his lips, tasting anticipation, pleasure, and went for a second helping more generously suckled than the first as her fingertips gouged mercilessly into him.
He swallowed, moaning at her heady potion, and withdrew his head from beneath her shift. He had to join with her. He wasn’t going to last and most certainly wouldn’t use the full hour a self-respecting man should take. This would take him only minutes to complete the deed. If she was to enjoy anything from him this night apart from the extravagant accommodations, he needed to act now. Pushing to his feet, he pulled the chemise free with less grace than he had been using before, swinging it around his arm to collect it, and dropped it on top of her stockings and boots, his tunic and coat, her corset and gown,
and both their cloaks. He stepped back, his lips moist from her, and beheld what he had been imagining since he met her.
He paused, his chest rising and falling, his skin tingling, and saw all of her as she stared back at him with growing anticipation.
When he did nothing, her face dropped and she looked down. “I know I’m thin, Robert, but—”
“Perfect,” he whispered. “Beautiful.”
Reaching out, he lifted each breast in turn in his hands, squeezing the generous flesh, grazing his thumbs over each nipple, and leaned in, giving each one a liberal exploration with his lips. Her breath hitched again, her hands clasping his head to her breast. After finally releasing the second one with a tender kiss, he stood up straight. His eyes locked on hers as she released a strained moan at his bold inspection.
“So soft…your eyes, so deep, this body…Christ in heaven, woman, have you no idea? And this is mine?” He shook his head with disbelief, smiling. “How in the hell did I get so lucky?”
She blushed, and he lifted her chin, his thumb lingering there. “I want you looking at me. Remove my trousers, wife. I cannot wait any longer.”
She took a step to him, her blonde hair hanging about her like the fae folk, and began to pull down his remaining garments together so that they fell past his rear, still dragging his erect shaft with them until they slipped off the end and he bobbed clean past his navel to salute her. She froze, staring at him.
He sensed her pause. “Do I intimidate you?” he questioned, hoping his concern didn’t show.
She shook her head, still holding his trousers, and lowered down to his feet to help remove his boots. She looked up the ridged plane of his stomach to his face, her eyes shining with humor.
“Nay. You say you’re a lucky man, though I might add that I’m a most appreciative wife.”
His mouth split into a grin, allaying his concern. Once he was as naked as she was, she slid her hands up his legs, bracing them on either side of his shaft, and looked up once more with innocent eyes. Innocent indeed, as if he believed that. She knew what she was doing. His smile fell and he pulsed, his fists clenching and his fingers kneading his palms.
“Dammit, woman,” he ground out. “I’ll spill the moment you touch me. Our first…” She was drawing teasing circles around his inner thighs, brushing against his bollocks. He gave her no more time to tease and hauled her to her feet, pulling her to him, wrapping her in his embrace. “It has to be inside you,” he whispered in her ear.
Her arms tightened around him, her breasts pressed against his torso, and she nodded. Scooping her into a cradle, he laid her down on the fur, shoving their clothing aside, and shaking out the blanket. Whipping it over his back, he climbed on his hands and knees over her. He straddled her on all fours like a protector, like a wolf about to devour a feast, like a man who could think of no one else but her.
Gazing into her eyes, he waited for her to respond, and she complied with his silent request as if of one mind, opening her legs for him. She was exposed, vulnerable, and yet she seemed at complete ease with him, a sign of trust, he realized, and it made his ego swell to know of the things he wanted from her, trust was the most important. He moved his knees inside the gap she had created, lowered himself, and then spoke barely over a whisper, his eyes firm.
“Receive me woman, as I would like to be received.”
She nodded, their eyes still locked, and she folded her knees up as he took his manhood in hand and guided himself to her opening. He pushed as he nestled between her folds, groaning with sheer pleasure. She may have lain with other men before, but it had been a while, if his effort to seek entry was any indication, despite her readiness. He withdrew, easing out, and eased back in to the point of resistance once more, and urging himself farther, repeating the task again and again as he stretched her to accommodate him.
Looking down, he saw her eyes pinched closed, one arm clenching his neck.
“You’re supposed to be looking at me,” he said between pushes.
“I can’t help it, Rob—”
“Look at me,” he commanded. Her eyes opened. He smiled. “Good girl.”
She shook her head, then wrapped both arms tightly round his neck as she pulled him down in a silent plea to lower himself to her.
“Please. Rob. Do what you will, but I have to feel you against me. I have to…”
“You test my control,” he scolded, his eyes now pinching shut, too. “Mari, I’m trying to be careful. I don’t want to frighten you by being too rough.”
She grabbed the sides of his face, caressing her thumbs over the cut of his cheekbones. “Kiss me. If I were frightened, I wouldn’t be here. Please kiss me, I have to feel all of you—”
He snapped. He fell upon her with fervor, delving into her mouth with his tongue and plunging hard inside her, feeling her sheathe him to the hilt. She released a cry but remained open as he withdrew and drove again and again. They moaned in unison, her legs and arms instinctively cinching around him to brace herself. Their kissing became wild, his chest pressed to hers, his elbows resting beside her, his hands wrapped over her head, clenching her hair, feeling her breasts pressed to him, her hips rocking with his, cries falling from her lips that he swallowed with his own groans.
Her hands released him and raked down to his rear, clenching and releasing with each entrance and exit. “Woman…” He searched for words as his mind focused on the sensations racing through his loins, through his shaft, tightening his bollocks, skittering across his skin at her wanton gropes. “God, yes, woman. I’m dying…”
He listened to her breathing, her moans at each hard entry. His control was gone, shattered, vanished. He was ravaging her. He knew he should slow, but dammit, she kept encouraging him, clenching his rear, gripping his shoulders, scoring his back.
“I don’t want to hold back,” he begged, unable to find his self-control. Clenching his neck, she released a moan beside his ear as his pace increased, harder, faster, her hands holding on for dear life as if clinging to a runaway.
“Then don’t,” she whimpered. “Please, Rob…”
Please what? Please push her over the edge? Send her crashing into a sea of fervent euphoria? Please finish her? Finish himself? He was well on his way. No return. No annulment possible. He had tasted heaven, tasted summer and feasting, and indulging, and flowers, and velvet, and all things fine in life wrapped up into one single night with a woman who not only could handle him but was craving his very body, his very being.
He shoved upright, his knees splaying beneath her, and grabbed hold of her legs under her knees and around her thighs. He drove as hard and fast as he could, his skin slapping hers, her breasts bouncing with each force absorbed by her body.
“God, Mari,” he begged, his eyes clenched tightly. “I’m going to spill…I’m going to spill…come with me, love…”
She threw her hands above her head, her hair tangling around her in the most beautiful disarray he had ever seen, and gripped the edge of the fur, pulling on it, her cries no longer broken apart but in a drawn out moan.
And she shattered.
He felt the rush of warmth glide down his shaft with each thrust and let out a primal growl of release, satisfaction, and completion. Dropping his head back, his seed burst forth, shooting in spurts as he buried himself, each thrust still smacking her skin, until every drop was wrung from him and he collapsed upon her, sweating.
…
Mariel clung to him, her legs wrapped around his rear and her arms now holding his torso, hands resting on his back. She buried her face against his smooth chest, could feel his thin trail of hair rising up from below his waist, tickle her navel. She could feel his heartbeat in her ear, the rapid pace of it matching her own as it thumped in her neck, in her wrists, roared in her ears. She nuzzled him. This man was hers, and she belonged to him. She had just done the maddest thing by eloping.
Her father’s angry face flashed through her mind, his rage at her shooting him now taunting her as she imagined him discovering her elopement, and she squeezed Robert harder as if the realness of his body against hers might truly protect her.
“What’s wrong?” Robert asked, lifting his head from where he had been nuzzling her neck. “I can tell your mind wanders away.”
“Do you think Crawford will find us here?” she whispered. “Like this?”
Robert shook his head, prying up her left arm and pulling her hand into his so he could inspect her ring. He twisted it around her finger in a contemplative motion, inspecting the stones. This ring was symbolic of his vow to always protect her, with his sword and even his life, if needed. He would do whatever needed to be done to protect her from Crawford. She knew he would.
“We’re at risk once we leave the deer paths and join the main roads. We shouldn’t tarry, but he won’t find this hut. There are no roads leading here anymore. It was abandoned in my father’s youth and all the paths have been overtaken by forest. Only a deer trail leads through here.” She relaxed an increment and studied the ring as he twisted it around and around.
“Was this also your mither’s?”
He nodded but didn’t speak. She thought on his admission so many nights ago. His father had never protected his mother. His father had killed her. But the ring and the pendant were symbolic as much as they were beautiful. His mother had never been strong enough to stand up to his father, but she would try to do his memories of her proud by wearing these adornments and giving them new life.