by Lisa Torquay
“Right now I would say I deserve this.” He rumbled before slanting her mouth with his.
This was an assault on her senses. She must grab his bare, warm shoulders, for fear of falling, for she was already tumbling in the temptation of him. Her heart thrashed inside her ribs, and she became a torch of wantonness.
With his mouth, he opened hers and invaded her full, hot and relentless. No point in resisting, only to succumb in the end. Of their own volition, her arms banded his neck, her hands merged in his sleek damp hair and her length moulded to his, shameless, sinful. Their tongues duelled in unbridled carnality. He kissed her even wider, and she was defenceless against the sound aired on her throat, delectation and protest for more rolled in one.
He lifted her onto him to gain more access to her mouth and she let him. She did not know how her head ended up on a fluffy pillow and the delicious weight of him over her, their legs jumbled. Her hands roamed his shoulder, his arms, his chest, revelling in the bunches of muscles she found.
While his open lips grazed her neck, he pulled the chemise string, gaping the neckline. It bunched in her middle. He lifted his upper torso and his murky hazel gaze feasted on her bosom. Before a hand palmed one mound and his mouth took the other, sinking her further in a haze of pleasure. She moaned, pressing a hand on his head to keep him there, in the same time she arched into him.
Ripples of sensation coiled in her middle, so vivid, she curled her leg around his, bringing him closer than ever. The movement cradled his very patent erection on her softness. It was his turn to groan.
“Annabel.” He rasped, his head lowering to her navel. “You are too passionate for your own good.”
He got rid of her chemise and she lay there at his mercy. He wasted no time. Hair falling around his ears, hands holding her thighs, his mouth neared there where she ached acutely.
He certainly would not do–his tongue merged in her wetness–that, she sighed, plunging in a parallel world. The roughness of his bristled jaw, with the moist velvet of his hot tongue drove her to a mad lust. The torment he inflicted on her made her glutton for more. She moved her pelvis blindly seeking the place he had taken her to that day.
“Come for me, Annabel.” He murmured glued to her folds. “Cry my name.”
His tongue exerted more pressure, and she erupted in a blast of heat which shook her whole being. “Romulus.” She cried in a voice she did not recognise as he rode the rest of her spasms. She crumbled on the luxuriant mattress, completely sated.
Romulus stood from the bed to unbutton his breeches and undress them. His body bathed in the warm fire light while her eyes regaled his manly beauty. Muscles rippled, clothes swished, eyes meshed. His impressive manhood jutted from a cradle of dark hair, causing eagerness in her.
He came over her and kissed her a hundred degrees hotter than before and threw her anew in wanton greed. Positioning himself, she registered the tip of him at her entrance. Then he pushed all the delicious hardness in her, treating her to that first surge of delight. Next, came the discomfort, and she tensed a little bit.
In a swift movement, he propped himself on his elbows to direct his now greener beacons on her. “What is this, Annabel?” He grunted, his countenance tense and pulled back, as if he was in pain.
By then, her discomfort became mere memory and her centre sent ravenous demands. “It is what it is.” She had condition to say nothing else.
He continued searching her face with such an agonized expression in the same time she twisting her body as it sought smouldering fulfilment.
“Stop it, Annabel!” Ragged breath, tight voice. “I need to go slow here.”
But she did not obey as usual. If anything, she became more feverish.
“Romulus.” Now, she was the one commanding. His attention snapped to her. “Move!”
“Hell, woman!” He rasped with more urgency. “You will drive me insane!”
And then he moved. Hades broke loose with a promise of scorching paradise. In between moans she locked with him arms and legs, starving for everything he could give her. Head interred in her neck, one arm banding her waist, the other hand tangled in her hair, he thrust as if it was the end of times. Their bodies entangled with steaming harmony in the fleeting light of the hearth.
Her insides soared yet again, reaching for the conflagration of which he was always the perpetrator. He moved ever deeper, his breath sawing in her ear, his sweat breaking on his skin. Then he crashed in her and pushed her over the precipice. She screamed as he sped, intensifying her contractions. His hips met hers once more, while he emitted a grating guttural sound as he vibrated in her, giving all he had.
He fell on her and she held him, to help him through recovery. They remained entwined in each other for a long time, under the cosy coverlet.
Still dazed with the onslaught of pleasure he had found with her, Romulus forced himself to distance from her and lie by her side. Completely lost, he wondered how on Earth she was a virgin after four years of marriage. To find her untouched made the caveman in him rejoice that she gave herself to him alone.
His head turned to her, and he took in her delectably tousled state. “Explain.” He instructed without an ounce of constraint.
Her gaze rolled to him, bashfulness in the depths of her liquid gaze. “Charles could not-“ She inhaled soundly. “He did not-“ She passed her hand over her brow as if impatient with her difficulty.
“He was incapable of erections.” Romulus helped.
She nodded and sighed. “We tried many times, to no avail.”
“You could have sought for an annulment.” The thought of this passionate woman condemned to an empty marriage riled him. Though he would of complain, he thought, with guiltless smugness.
She shook her head, hopeless. “He would have none of that for the shame it would bring him.”
“Selfish bastard!” He muttered under his breath.
“Refused to see a doctor, too.” She volunteered.
Well, he would see to that she did not lack for sensual experience, since he suspected he would be coming back for more. Much more.
He left the bed for the chest of drawers, on which lay a basin and towels. After moistening one, he came to bed.
Uncovering her sinuous silhouette, he sat on the edge of the mattress. “We need to wash you.” The sheet exhibited some drops of blood. Delicately, he cleaned her, as his eyes openly admired her rounded breasts, flaring hips and well-shaped legs. Their eyes collided with a thousand undercurrents rushing between them.
The cloth back in its place, he lay down and snuggled her to him, covering them. “Sleep now.” His face merged in her scented riotous ringlets. “It has been a long day.”
She nodded, and relaxed into him as they fell into a fitful sleep.
* * *
The faint light of dawn sieved through the curtains when Romulus lifted his dark long lashes. Annabel lay over him, her hair spread everywhere, legs tangled to his, her head on the crook of his neck, she breathed peacefully. Bed sheets and coverlet wrinkled and messy, witnesses of their night together.
Turning his head, his lips grazed the silkiness of her shoulder, his hands roaming the indentation of her spine.
“Hm.” She moaned moving on him, rubbing his already needy erection.
“Annabel?” Hoarse from sleep and something else.
“Yes.” She murmured on his skin.
“Are you sore?” She lifted her head to look at his face.
“No.” Her hand exploring his chest. “Why?”
“I want you again.” Due to the… newness of the situation for her, he refrained from taking her a second time, though he wanted it badly.
“I thought you would never say it.”
If possible, he hardened even more with her enthusiastic response and her caresses. The woman was a powder keg, indeed.
“Come ride me, hellion.”
He brought her over him, bed sheets falling from them, her curvaceous body entirely for his appreci
ation.
Looking at him blankly, he understood her quizzical expression. He positioned her over his eager member and lowered her slowly. She adjusted her hips just the right angle to torture him. His hands went to her mounds, and she started moving.
“It is good.” She breathed. “But you are too far.”
He sat up, lacing her slim waist. His mouth encased one breast, fuelling her to pound him harder. “Better?”
“Incomparably.” The whole thing drove him mad with desire. One arm tightened around her, he pressed her down, while his other hand teased her button.
She kissed his mouth, she moved, eyes half closed, fast breathing, all woman and passion. She sank in him faster, pursuing her reward and damning him to agony. Upon her release, she squeezed him mindless, causing his downfall.
They fell on the mattress anew, breathless and content. Sleep overtook them once more.
* * *
“Where have all my things gone?” They had arrived back at the castle not an hour ago. Seeing her trunk had vanished, she looked for the Duke to ask. She had found him in the gallery, probably heading for the solar.
He turned, impacting her with his oh so masculine frame. It had been a long, long time before they had left their bed in the inn, as they had been busy with activities pertaining the… flesh. She blushed at the memory, but held his heated gaze. She had been so lax and satisfied that she broke her fast and sat in the carriage, caring very little where it drove.
“I had them transferred to my chamber.” He informed as if this was the commonest trifle.
A frown at his arrogance, she exclaimed. “This cannot possibly be.” Even though she was a widow, decency was still in use.
“I do not know about you, but I do not want to roam these hallways to and from your former chamber in the dead of night.” He stared down at her with those searing murky eyes, causing her insides to heat.
Intense colour tinted her apples. That meant that the nights would continue to be… molten. Goodness me! The mere thought had her melting.
“But this is improper!” Her cotton-stuffed brain could not produce another retort.
“This my castle. I decide what is improper.” His attention strolled over her, almost like a touch. “And I do favour improper.” He bowed, exhibiting that half-grin that angered her and tempted her at the same time. “If you will excuse me. I have pending matters to attend to at the moment.”
He left her standing there, gaping in his wake, remembering the feast of the senses he had dished her at the inn. And wondering if she would be able to resist him one day.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Annabel had not forgotten her mission. Worse, she did not forget she was consorting with the lowest kind of traitor, she mused later. She sat in the garden with a book, aware that whatever she did on a personal level, must not compromise her assignation.
Avoidance had been her way out. She avoided thinking the most delicious night of her life involved that man and what he represented. It was that or go mad. Certainly, this… thing between them would turn out to be temporary. Soon, she would travel back to London and this would become a memory for when she became older and wiser to dismiss it as youth foolishness. Right now, her body exploded in flames every time she replayed that night with him.
But she had to let this settle and focus on what she came here for anyway.
There must be a way for her to see this through, must it not? It was too late to send any message to London if what she eavesdropped at the meeting in that Burns’ house was about to happen. By the time it reached London-if it did not get intercepted by the Duke again–it would be too late.
What if there was a way to stop the whole operation somehow? Or thwart it, or delay it, in whichever way she might. That did not play a part in her assignment. Her orders were only to gather information. Which she did though she did not succeed in communicating it. She should drop by that Burns’ house and see what she could do.
* * *
Romulus stared down his solar window to spot Annabel sitting on a bench with a book. Serene, with a faraway look in her liquid brown eyes, she seemed completely at home there. And she might be if she would only give up her stunts. Alright, so she took it seriously and he must respect it. But he only thought of how much she put herself in danger. He did not like it. Not a bit.
Just the sight of her was enough for him to have this unbearable impulse to go there and throw her over his shoulder. To carry her to his chambers, to lock the both of them there forever. He could hardly wait for night to come. He knew very well that taking her things to his chamber had been a bold move, considering the way she always backlashed him, like an entire army of amazons. He did not bear the thought of not having her next to him, under him, over him. Whatever. So, he did it. Now, his blood boiled, counting the minutes to take her again. And again.
* * *
Annabel rode Iseult through the fields next morning, surprised that no one tried to impede her from riding. Apparently, the Duke lifted the prohibition on her leaving the walls.
In a practical riding habit, in the folds of which, she hid a sword and her usual daggers she trotted lazily so as not to rouse suspicion. She was good with a pistol, as well, but felt more comfortable with blades.
She tried not to think about the night past when she entered his chambers, still uncertain as to the propriety of it. Only to find him already propped on his pillows reading a bunch of papers. He raised his head to her, invitation in his eyes.
In tentative steps, she reached the bed, took off her lacy peignoir and hid under the covers. A short-lived modesty, because in a matter of seconds he was kissing her and she was kissing him back, as their bodies ignited a furnace not easily abated. It repeated throughout the night, each time more molten than the other.
Drowsily, she heard him say, early morning, that he had to go before he kissed her lips and left for his commitments. She had been completely incapable of getting up for a long time, enveloped in the delicious exhaustion of the aftermath of that night.
When her body finally acquiesced to move, a maid was in the ready. To help her bathe and dress before she ate a hearty breakfast, famished as she felt after that glorious interlude.
In the distance, she saw the tenant’s house, and she sped the mare to reach it. At the house, she knocked, but everything was still, too still. The place looked deserted.
Heart beating fast, she walked around the building and the barn, no one came to greet her. She thought to find Burns or whoever might be in the house. And give an excuse she had been lost and try to strike a conversation to probe for fragments of evidence.
Vexation took her when she found the door locked. Maybe this Burns lived alone and volunteered to travel. Since she had been outside the house the day of the meeting, she did not know who the Duke appointed to the task.
Round to the back door, she had more luck. Almost trembling with the danger of it, she entered the unlocked door, looking around for any clues. None found, blast it!
* * *
A hunch hit Romulus’ mind as he checked the present ledgers. Springing from his chair he looked down the window just to see a watery sun misting over greenery in full bloom as May approached.
He had been the paramount of reluctance this morning when he must leave Annabel cosily snuggling in his bedclothes to meet with his steward. All he wanted was to stay there with her and continue what they had been doing the night away. He could not neglect his duties though, so he forced himself to give his back to her and start his day.
In haste out of the solar, he went after the woman. This was the same hunch he had had that first day of her visit when he had caught her in his chambers.
She was nowhere to be seen. He instructed Miller to let her be, convinced that she desisted from doing whatever she came here to do. She fled the castle, did she not?
In the stables, he learned she had taken the mare and ridden in the direction of Burn’s cottage. Damn the hellion! Would she not give up this nons
ense?
As soon as Tristan was saddled, he mounted and galloped to the cottage.
The pounding of the hooves must have warned her, because, she was running to her mare and mounting by the time he approached the cottage. Mare and woman bolted through the fields and he sped after them. Even side-saddled, she surpassed any other rider. But he did not want to press too hard, for fear of an accident.
She rode to a steep slope covered in tall grass, a piece of land put to rest this year and would not be sowed. Riding down it, the vegetation hid the mare’s legs.
Suddenly, his speeding horse passed by her. She dismounted and watched him as he continued on for several yards before he could stanch the stallion and dismount.
“What the hell are you doing. Annabel?” He rasped to her when he climbed part of the distance.
“Nothing that concerns you.” She answered nonplussed.
“Then go back to the castle before I carry you belly down on Tristan!” How was it that the woman had him angry and aroused at the same time? The question begged an answer he could not give.
“I would like to see you try.” She defied, as she unsheathed a sword.
He scowled at her. “Do you think we are in some kind of Arthurian tale, woman?”
Posta Frontale posture, both hands holding the sword mid-air, facing her opponent, she cast a belligerent glance at him. “No. But you threated to manhandle me, so I am defending myself.”
She tucked part of her skirts in her sheath’s belt and he glimpsed her stockings. That did not help his arousal, even less his anger at her exposing what was supposed to be for his eyes only. Well, so they were alone in the prairie, but still…
He braced his legs, arms crossed over his chest. “Stop it, Annabel!” He commanded. “Mount that mare and head for the castle.”
A faint smile on her beautiful features. “You should know by now I am not very good at obeying, Your Grace.”
