“Nay, English,” she whispered. “Stay. I dunna want to sleep alone tonight. Will ye stay and hold me?”
He shut his eyes tightly, fighting off his desire to whip her into his arms and pound into her until he found his release and then some.
“Nay,” he replied. “Do not ask me again.”
Undaunted, she moved in front of him, blocking the door. She knew she was being wanton and reckless, but she felt no embarrassment. She pressed up against him, knowing he wanted her as badly as she wanted him; she could see it in his eyes.
“Then dunna deny me and I wunna have to ask again,” she replied softly.
He looked her in the eye. “If I stay then I can guarantee that you would not go to the earl a virgin bride,” he tried to sound stern. “Get out of my way.”
“I dunna want to give my virginity to the earl; I want to give it to ye,” she said, then put her head against his hard chest. “Say that ye want me, English.”
He snapped. Grasping her by the arms, he moved over to the high-backed chair and sat heavily, drawing her onto his lap like a child. He was desperately trying not to notice the silkiness of her skin, her round firm breasts just inches below his watering mouth. God, he was fighting a demon.
“Listen to me well,” he growled. “If I take you now and you do not go to the marriage bed a virgin, then all eyes will turn to me. But the blame I share will be nothing compared to the disgrace you will bring on yourself or to your family.”
Tears welled in her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks, melting his heart. Her tears cut through him faster than anything else could.
“If it ’tis blood on the sheets the earl wants, then I can arrange it,” she said softly. “ ’Tis the least of the worries. But if ye dunna want me, then I can do nothing but apologize for trying to seduce ye.”
He looked confused, softening his harshness. “What do you mean you can arrange it?”
She sniffled. “ ’Tis an old trick,” she said. “When a lass is taken into a marriage and she has been compromised, she wears a ring with a sharp edge on it. In the throes of passion, she slips her hands together, nicks her finger, and squeezes the blood on the sheets before the man even notices what she has done.”
He looked at her with amazement, surprised that someone of her naiveté would know of something such as that. He almost laughed.
“It is not that easy,” he said seriously.
“Aye, it ’tis,” she insisted. She was quiet a moment. “English, I dunna want this to be a one-night event. When I said ye had my heart, I meant for always. I dunna love the earl. I love ye. But if yer loyalty to the man is so strong that ye wouldna commit adultery with his wife, then I understand. It doesna make me happy, but ye are an honorable man and I respect that greatly. Just…try not to hate me overmuch for being so weak.”
He was relenting, inch by inch, as much as he tried to fight it. “God, I could never hate you.”
“But ye dunna love me more than yer earl,” she countered softly, with a touch of bitterness.
He sighed, torn. “I know it is difficult for you to understand, love,” he said. “The earl has been the only father I have ever known. He has been kind to me and I would not betray him.”
“How would ye be betraying him if no one knew about it but us?” she lifted her head. “Do ye think I relish being labeled an adulteress? Of course I dunna, but I am willing to risk it because I love ye.”
He stroked her cheek. “Then you are braver than I in that respect.”
She stood up and retrieved the robe, tying it on tightly. Her stiff back was to him, afraid to look at him now for the pain that was welling inside her. There was nothing more to say.
“Then I will bid ye a good night, English,” she said, then turned to him, studying his face. “Will ye at least still be my friend?”
“Until I die,” he said huskily.
He felt as if his entire life energy has been drained from his body, leaving him a shell of a man. His mind was a void. He rose slowly and went to the door.
Jordan could hear him moving. She was trying desperately to stop the wracking sobs that were clutching at her, at least until he left the room. She did not want him to see her anguish.
“English?” she called him one last time.
“Aye, my lady?” he replied dully.
“Then this is the end of it, now,” she told him, her throat tight. “No more touching, or kissing, or soft looks or sweetly spoken words. ’Twould not be right if there is to be no more between us. I would not be a whore.” She felt a certain hypocrisy at that statement.
William straightened and she could see the torment in his eyes, but he nodded after a moment. She acknowledged his nod and squared her shoulders.
“Tell me one thing, Sir William de Wolfe,” she said slowly. “Do ye indeed love me or was it simple lust?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I love you. I always will.”
The door opened and he was gone.
The sobs came then and she collapsed on the floor in a heap of white silk. She was hurting so badly she knew she would never recover. She could only see, feel, and think of William, and she knew that her life without him would be an empty, lonely existence. To never feel his touch again, to never hear the tone of his voice when he was speaking sweetly to her was nearly too much to bear. She hurt… Sweet Jesu,’ she hurt.
Jordan could not have described her torment in words. It was if something had taken her heart and squeezed it so hard that nothing was left but a limp, lifeless shell. But she knew only she was to blame. She had dared to take a chance and it had been thrown back in her face, destroyed. Her pain was her own doing, her own cross to bear.
But she hurt for William, too, her brave knight. He was righteous and chivalrous and she had no right at all to endanger his standards. He was beyond her reach and had been all along. True enough, he had kissed her and said honeyed words for her ears, but she had let him. She could have stopped him, but she didn’t. Everything was her mistake.
As she sobbed rivers, the door abruptly flew open, slamming back on the hinges so hard that it bounced off the wall and closed by itself in a shudder of racket. Jordan heard the bolt go through but didn’t look up; she didn’t care who it was and was prepared to scream at them to go away when strong arms were lifting her off the floor.
Leather and soap. She smelled leather and soap.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
He had come back.
There were no words between them. William’s mouth was on hers, kissing her so hard that he was bruising her. His tongue plunged into her mouth and she responded to him with equal abandon, gasping and crying so that he would never stop. Her hands were thickly entwined in his inky hair, holding him against her mouth as if she were afraid he would change his mind and try to leave. What had been pain only moments before was now wild, unadulterated bliss.
They were on the bed and her robe was open and his clothes were coming off in sections. His hands were on her, everywhere, stroking, caressing, teasing her as she twisted and writhed against him. She cried softly in disappointment when his mouth left her own, only to cry out a second later in ecstasy as his hot, wet mouth latched onto a peaked nipple.
She arched into him, her actions telling him silently how much she was enjoying his attention. He responded by snaking his big arm underneath the small of her back to hold her up to his eager mouth.
She was crying and whimpering softly, calling him ‘English’ as his mouth did wonderful, decadent, indecent things to her. She was answering him with complete surrender, her senses overwhelmed. Never did she imagine a touch could be the most important thing in her life.
He came back up to her mouth, licking and suckling her until she was gasping for air. The warm tingle she had felt earlier was now a raging fire deep in her torso; spreading to her loins. His urgent hand drifted to her dark blond mound of curls, stroking the thick lips and already feeling the slippery moisture. When he slipped a finger inside her, she raised her legs and pushed into his o
pen palm.
William had lost control the moment he had walked back through the door. He was unstoppable now, trying to retain at least enough sense to remember to be careful with her, but when she arched into his hand he damn near snapped. God, she was so wet and hot and her muscles were already throbbing around his finger. He could feel the thin shield of her virginity opposing him.
He wanted to go slowly, but he had already lost the fight against his raging desire. He pushed her legs apart and settled in between them, stroking her with feverish but gentle delight. He started to kiss her tender core, his tongue flicking about the pink skin, but she let out a muffled shriek and he was dangerously close to spilling himself.
He could wait no longer; he had to have her or die.
Their eyes met as he raised himself over her, her wide ones and his smoky ones. They were sweating, breathing heavily, and he almost forgot what he wanted to say as he stared at her flushed face and kiss-swollen lips.
She saw his hesitation. “We can still stop, English,” she whispered. “No harm has been done yet.”
He shushed her. “I am betraying myself if I do not admit my feelings for you. I must be true to my heart.” He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “My shame is so great you could not possibly understand, but you are not the cause of it. ’Tis for the fact that I know what I am doing is clandestine and wrong in the eyes of our king and of our moral law, but I am unable to stop myself. My feelings for you are too great. I have fought them off for so long that I can do it no longer. Forgive me my weakness.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. She felt like an evil, shameless hussy who had forced a man of such high principal into something he was already regretting.
“Forgive me for thinking only of myself,” she whispered, trying to move out from under him. “This is my fault. I shouldna have forced ye into this. Yer a good man, William, and I willna see ye miserable because of me. Ye’re trying to do the right thing and I stand in yer way.”
He stopped her movements. “I would be miserable without you. To have you and your love, although it will be a secret known only to us, makes my whole life on this earth worth something.”
She was openly sobbing now. “But we are sinning against God and yer liege,” she whispered. “And I am guilty because I do not care that we are, I only know that I love ye, English. How can love be wrong?”
He kissed her tears away, gently lapping up the moisture from her temples. “It is not wrong in my heart. I know God will find us guiltless. Yet it is not God I am worried of; your danger would be great should the earl find us out.”
“What would he do?”
He traced along the tracks of her drying tears with his fingers. “ ’Tis hard to say,” he replied vaguely.
“Would he order me killed?” she asked timidly.
“Never.”
She fell quiet a moment, allowing her hands to caress his broad shoulders and linger along his back; she had wanted to touch him in this manner for as long as she could remember.
“But what if what if he hears rumors and confronts ye?” she questioned.
“I will not lie to the man, Jordan,” he said huskily. “But neither will I volunteer that I love his wife. His question would have to be direct and to the point to obtain that information.”
“Sweet William,” she smiled sadly. “Ye are so noble.”
“I know,” he kissed her softly. “But you, madam, could topple God himself.”
There were no more words to be spoken, only the anticipation of the physical demonstration of their feelings. He pushed into her slowly, acutely aware of how small she was, seating himself a centimeter at a time and giving her time to adjust to the sensual intrusion. He could feel her rapid breathing underneath him.
He knew she was scared; they were both scared in more ways than one, but they also agreed that the risks were worth everything. Nothing would ever keep them apart, king, country, liege. Ever since the day they had met on the moor, he knew they were destined to be together. There was no doubt in his mind.
Her virginal shield resisted him and he pulled back slightly. Jordan relaxed as he stopped his onslaught, thinking it was over and she smiled weakly at him. He returned her smile as her body loosened and was deeply sorry he was about to deceive her, he kissed her hard and drove home, breaking through the tissue and burying himself his entire hard length.
She gasped in surprise at the initial sting of pain and he stopped immediately.
“Is that all?” she grunted, tasting blood and realizing she had bit her own lip.
He saw the tiny points of blood and licked them hungrily. “Nay, love,” he murmured. “We have just yet begun. I promise, you will not be disappointed.”
She trusted him, feeling the raw sting as he began to move gently within her. Her legs wrapped themselves around his hard thighs, the discomfort soon giving way to an awakening pleasure.
His measured strokes were driving her to the brink of madness and back again. She had no way of knowing how unusually large his organ was, only knowing that it filled something in her she never knew needed to be filled. There was fullness and there was pressure, but it was a joyful soreness and it only seemed to add to the erotic pleasures that were rippling through her body.
She watched him move through half-closed eyes, relishing the way the sweat glistened on his dark skin in the candlelight and loving the feel of his body next to hers every time they came together. Her hips were instinctively moving with him, meeting him firmly, and melding to him as if they were two pieces of a puzzle that had finally come together. But her eyes closed as her new passion overtook her and she became oblivious to all but the building pressure in her loins and the friction he was creating.
His climax came as a low groan in his throat and she felt his organ shudder and spasm deep inside her. When he collapsed forward and enveloped her in his arms, she felt wonderful and at peace but disappointed that it had ended so suddenly. She was still very much in her passion and it only increased when his hand found her breast and began to massage it slowly.
“Ye are driving me mad, English,” she whispered. “I need ye still. Why have ye stopped?”
He lifted his head and smiled seductively at her. “I know what ye need,” he imitated her burr exactly.
Before she could ask him what he meant, he moved down on the bed and put her legs over his shoulders. She was about to ask him what in the world he was doing when his mouth suddenly descended on the mound of curls between her legs and she stiffened like a corpse.
William would finish now what he had started before his lust got the better of him. Her pants of pleasure were furious and loud and it took virtually no time at all before she was spiraling with pleasure, her muscles contracting with sweet torment. He heard her cry, pleased that she had experienced the pinnacle of pleasure such as he had. It was like a powerful drug; once sampled, it would be craved. And they would crave it together.
“What sort of devilment is that ye done to me?” she demanded weakly as he loomed over her once again.
He grinned wolfishly. “Exquisite, is it not?”
She wrapped her arms around his neck as they rolled to their sides, loving the feel and smell of him against her. He stroked her hair, her back, and his thoughts still warm and languid. It was the most intimate, magnificent expression either one of them had ever beheld.
William knew that whatever happened from now on, she was his and he would never let her go. He could not even fathom that she would be married to de Longley soon, probably within the month. He could not think of that now and spoil the mood. He shifted her in his arms, pulling her closer as if she truly belonged to him in every sense of the word. As if she were not another man’s betrothed.
“Let’s run away,” she said, muffled, into his shoulder.
He pulled back a little to look at her. “Run away?”
She looked up at him, half-teasing. “Aye. We could flee to Ireland or Scotland. They need good knights such as ye and we could li
ve together, forever.”
He looked thoughtful. “If we were to flee, it would be to Flanders or Normandy. They appreciate a fine knight and we could live as royalty.”
She propped herself up on her elbow with a smile. “A wonderful dream, is it not?”
He suddenly looked serious and she studied the ripple of his usually emotionless features.
“ ’Tis not such a dream, mayhap,” he murmured faintly.
Her eyes narrowed. “What do ye mean, English? I wasna serious.”
He looked serious a split second longer before smiling weakly at her. “Nor was I, love. England is my home. My fealty is sworn to Lord de Longley.”
She sat up when he did, watching him as he dressed again. He moved so beautifully, so gracefully, that she was entranced by every movement.
“So ye know the story of Tristan and Isolde?” she asked softly.
He gave her a sharp look. “Are you going to compare us to them?”
“Nay,” she smiled. “ ’Tis an ironic parallel, though.”
He fastened the belt at his waist. “Only in that I love you and you love me.” Finished, he looked at her where she sat in the bed, hugging the covers around her knees. It struck him that he would not go through his life without her by his side. How a woman, any woman, could make him forget his lifelong loyalties was beyond his grasp. But he knew he would wither away and die without her.
“Are you strong enough to face this?” he asked, his voice gone soft. “You have me now and will never be rid of me.”
She grinned, “I dunna want to be rid of ye, English. And, aye, I am strong enough. I vow it.”
He went back over to her and kissed her tenderly. “I know you are. Now, go to sleep and I shall see you on the morrow.”
He moved for the adjoining antechamber, his boots heavy on the floor. Watching his exquisite backside, she was reminded that the last time she had seen it, he had been escorting Analiese. That thought made her flare with jealousy.
“English.” she called him.
He paused. “Aye, love, what is it? And do not ask me to bed you again, for I cannot although I would dearly love to.”
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 65
