The Golden Key Chronicles_A Time Travel Romance

by AJ Nuest

  His focus dropped to her mouth. “And yet you wholly disregard the first pledge of our marriage vows.”

  Wait, what? She frowned. “Yeah, you’re gonna have to refresh me. What pledge are you talking about?”

  “We are alone, my love.” His hand left her cheek and, with one scoop of his arm, he had her plastered against him. “I seem to recall a promise pertaining to your state of undress.”

  Oh, good grief. She chuckled, forearms resting on his shoulders and combing her fingers through his hair. Typical male. Mind always in the gutter.

  But her biggest takeaway was the huge relief at knowing she’d gotten him out of his funk. The last thing she wanted was him doubting how much he meant to her or second-guessing whether or not she was fully invested in them working as a team.

  “Hmmm… I think you’re right.” Pushing out of his arms, she sauntered to the window and yanked on the cord to the drapes. The material flew together, ends swaying and shuttering the view. “But we may need to tweak the details a little. After all, we’re in my world now. Maybe I’m not the one who should be naked, but you.”

  Rounding his side, she snuck her hands inside the tight stretch of his boxer briefs and eased the elastic past his hips. He fisted his t-shirt between his shoulder blades and jerked the collar over his head, kicked the underwear off his legs and threw the balled-up material to the floor.

  Dear God. She blinked. It never ceased to shock the crap out of her how the guy was chiseled out of a solid chunk of granite, each tier of his chest sculpted of honeyed flesh and lean sinewy muscle.

  The line of hair below his belly button forged a dark trail past his stomach, leading down to the thick base protruding from a nest of dense curls. A spasm ricocheted, curling her toes into the carpet and dousing her in a wave of heat.

  She wanted to cup him, stroke him until he was rigid and hard and so she could experience every twitch and flex in her hand.

  Smoothing her fingertips up the side, she curled her fingers around the silky skin and squeezed. A series of well-defined ridges rippled down each side of his ribcage. A low growl formed in his chest. “You have me at a disadvantage, my heart.”

  How horrible for him. She ran the tight band of her thumb and index finger down to the bulbous tip. His tongue swept his upper lip and her knees gave in anticipation of that same moist warmth coating her skin.

  Caedmon’s palms landed on her hips. Her t-shirt pulled tight across her breasts as he wound his hands under the hem. The sweet friction made her nipples peak and she hummed.

  His fingers skimmed her lower back. He jammed them under the waistband of her boxers to palm her bottom and massage her from behind. Stiff and hot, he rocked against her stomach. Devoured the slope between her neck and shoulder, and she tilted her head as his parted lips brushed her throat.

  A slight nip to her earlobe, and she wavered unsteadily. His hair slid sleek and soft through her fingers as his breath warmed her cheek.

  God, she couldn’t wait for that thrilling moment when the fresh taste of him would finally land on her tongue. The curve of his bottom lip swept in and, as if reading her mind, he captured her lips with his.

  Their tongues circled and danced. She became lost in the potency of his kiss. The way he nibbled the corners of her mouth, flicking his tongue as he swirled and explored.

  A shove of her ass, and he ground against her. The head of his cock prodded and his hips jerked.

  Her core tightened. She swiveled and rubbed her thighs together to ease the throbbing in her clit.

  Soft cotton danced along her arms as he worked the shirt over her head. She shivered in the cool air as the garment landed on the floor. Dipping his head, Caedmon ran his rough cheek along the underside of her breast. The rasp of his beard was the perfect contrast to his lips as he sucked her nipple into his mouth.

  She forked her fingers in his hair, clutching his head as his tongue laved her skin. He groaned and the husky sound vibrated her chest.

  Down her ribs, over her hip and along the outside of her thigh, he dotted row after row of tiny kisses. Kneeling in front of her, he tugged the boxers down her legs, grasped her ankle and lifted.

  A repeat of his motions to the other side, and he tossed the underwear over his shoulder. His focus stayed on his hands as he slowly ran them up her calves, past the thin skin behind her knees to her thighs.

  His fingers tightened and, with a sharp tug, he widened her stance.

  The floor pitched and she seized his shoulders. Oh, God. If he was planning to follow through with where this was headed, her legs were never going to hold out.

  “Do you know what it is to make love to a goddess?” Voice coated in gravel. Throat raw. He leaned in and darted his tongue along her slit.

  A glide of his index finger and she gasped, fingers digging into the corded muscle on either side of his neck. Shit, she was already so wet. If his tongue took that same path, she would shatter.

  “No.” Her chest tightened. Each breath more labored than the next.

  “’Tis both ecstasy and agony. Pleasure and pain.” He parted her with his thumbs and she tossed her head back. Her knees jittered and her heel repeatedly hit the floor.

  The tip of his tongue jabbed and teased, rubbing back and forth. She squeezed her lids shut as pleasure jolted through her body. Warm tendrils sparked up her legs, her inner thighs to her core.

  “The scent of you alone is enough to propel me beyond reason.” The flat lick of his tongue, and her hips instinctively bucked at the sweet invasion. Fisting his hair, she tugged on the strands. “Your sweetness makes all other flavors bland.”

  A second lick, a languid swirl and he pursed his lips. A tight stream of air hit her pulsing clit and tremors built in the arches of her feet. She sharply inhaled as his finger circled her rim and slid in.

  His low chuckle was pure evil. His fingertips swept the crease of her ass. “You are an addiction, my love. I thirst for you in ways that shall never be quenched.”

  Past the fluttering fringe of her lashes, something feral glinted in his eyes. He lowered his head and she braced as he came forward to feast.

  Starting her off slow, he gradually built to the perfect rhythm. Thumb and lips working in tandem, he coaxed her harder. Faster. She clenched and swiveled her hips.

  He latched on to her clit and tingles flooded her thighs. A steady drone beat in her ears and her knees gave.

  The rapid tap of his tongue, the swirl of his finger, and she was pitched headfirst into the abyss. Her spine bowed as spasms tore through her body. Light exploded behind her eyelids as he lapped and supped.

  A moment later, she lowered her head and blinked to bring the room back into focus. Caedmon stood, a satisfied smirk in place. “If that moment does not stay firmly ensconced in your memory, I have nary an inkling what will.”

  She grinned. Then laughed. But she wasn’t done with him yet. Greedy as it seemed, she still wanted him inside her. To ride him until his heart beat in sync with hers and their bodies were languid with lust.

  Collecting his hands, she stepped backward toward the mattress. A quick spin, and she shoved his shoulders. He bounced to the blankets and she wagged her brows as he collapsed across the bed.

  His shaft lay thick and veined along his stomach. Her breathing thinned. One plunge and he’d hit that high sweet spot inside her. Every hard ridge would stroke and fill her to the brim.

  It was just like she’d always wanted. What she’d imagined from almost the first second they’d met. She crawled up the length of his body, the ends of her hair skimming his knees, thighs…that delicious vee of muscle on either side of his hips. He tensed and a hiss leaked from his gritted teeth.

  Pushing off the bed, she straddled his waist on her knees, the key heavy and cool against her skin.

  She cupped the full weight of her breasts and tweaked her nipples. A guttural moan broke from Caedmon’s throat. He clenched her knees and urged them wider, gripped her hips and eased her down until their bod
ies met.

  The head of his cock jutted from between her thighs and she wrapped it in her hand, stroking and pressing the fleshy ridge just where she needed it most.

  A groan parted his lips and Caedmon dragged her forward until she was perfectly seated. He stopped, poised on the brink, lifted his hands and raked his fingers through to the ends of her hair.

  Holding her gaze, he raised his hips and joined them in one smooth thrust.

  Fireworks detonated down her spine as she arched against him. Full, so full. He didn’t leave one part of her untouched. She placed her trembling hands on his stomach, eased back and brought them together a second time.

  Cool air rushed her throat as she clamped down around him. Caedmon’s eyelids slammed shut, and he moaned. A slow gyration of her hips and the sound morphed into a growl. Sitting up, he seized her ribs and flipped her to the bed.

  His thumb tapped a steady rhythm as he sank into her again and again. Angling his hips and reading her signals if she needed him to hold still so she could writhe and pitch against him.

  Without warning, her orgasm struck and she bowed underneath him, clinging to his shoulders as he drove into her. Two deep thrusts and he shuddered and pulsed, flooding her with everything inside him.

  He fell on top of her and the rapid thump of his pulse echoed in her chest. His breathing slowed. Cinching her in his arms, he kissed her lips, her eyelids, the tender skin beneath her ear.

  “I love you, Rowena. Do not ever forget.”

  Her heart wrenched. She wrapped him in her arms and legs and raked her fingers down his back.

  Come hell or high water, she was never going to put him through that nightmare again. “I love you too, Caedmon.” Nothing in either world compared to the happiness she found with her gypsy prince. “Now and forever. My heart is yours.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Running his tongue over his teeth, Caedmon grimaced and smacked his lips. A foul metallic tang coated the inside of his mouth. One that bespoke the years he’d spent languishing under the cruel devices of Gaelleod’s evil priests.

  Fires stoked by the rushing breath of the bellows had forged iron into manacles, pinchers and spikes. The thick plumes of steam as red-hot metal was submerged into water carried the same acidic bite which contaminated the air of Rowena’s realm.

  Perchance this grotesque similarity was the reason behind his fitful dreams. He slid his hand across the cool sheets and blinked to bring her vacant side of the sleeping pallet into focus. Or mayhap the needling worry over what lie ahead held the cause.

  Jamming his hand beneath her pillow, he tugged it into the crook of his neck. The sweetness of her kiss would have most assuredly dissolved the bitter memories from his tongue, and he cursed his deep slumber for not curtailing her departure from his side.

  Creamy thighs straddling his hips, full breasts rhythmically swaying. The blankets tented near his groin and he slipped his hand under the covers to stroke his morning erection.

  Goddesses wept, the woman tested his restraint like no other. The mere thought of her made him want to plunge inside her warm depths until she’d chased his phantoms into the past where they belonged.

  A parting tug to lessen the persistent throbbing in his cock and he tossed the blankets off his legs. A pile of folded garments occupied the seat of a small nearby chair, the small sheet of parchment perched on top creased in the center and penned with a cursive “C.”

  Lifting the note, Caedmon held it in a ray of sunlight streaming through the parted drapery.

  Your Royal Highness,

  I took the liberty of stealing these from Oliver’s closet so you wouldn’t have to spend the day in loungewear. I’m a bit worried the jeans are cut too small in the crotch but, unfortunately, Ollie’s leathers are still at the dry cleaners. Timing is everything, isn’t it?

  Hugs and kisses,

  Jon

  Frowning, Caedmon re-read the note. And while a good portion of its meaning was lost to him, the most disconcerting part rang loud and clear.

  A roll of his eyes, and he crumpled the parchment in his fist. Sweet tits, the man didn’t just hedge the proper boundaries he sashayed straight through them as if they didn’t exist.

  Tossing the note aside, Caedmon reached for the first item in the pile and shook out the folds. The thin white shirt appeared much the same as the one he’d worn the previous evening. The breeches underneath were constructed of a durable dark-blue canvas, with metal buttons and frayed slashed pockets on either side of the hips.

  He stood to dress, the shirt sleeves banding his biceps, the sides snug against his ribs. The breeches dropped past his ankles, and yet he couldn’t deny Jon’s approximation of the fit rang true.

  Though Oliver was on par with Caedmon’s height, his carriage was much more slight. No matter how long Caedmon wrestled with the buttons, the top two refused to be secured.

  He finally ceased fighting the damnable contraptions and left them undone, crossed the room to the closed door and strode into the hall.

  Light music came from his right, subtly masked by the mingled voices of a cheery conversation, and he rounded the corner to follow the noise toward the kitchen. Apparently, the celebration was well underway, and Oliver had retained the talents of several musicians to celebrate Rowena’s return.

  Unfortunately, their abilities were sorely lacking, and the persistent thump accompanied by the squalling lyrics merely echoed the penetrating ache climbing up the back of Caedmon’s head.

  He pushed through the swinging door and winced as sunlight winked off the metallic surfaces. An unwelcomed shudder clenched his gut at the same moment sweat beaded along his nape.

  How often had that same bright glare emanated from a heated blade right before the pain had commenced? For all his restless slumber, he possessed neither the fortitude nor strength of will to recall.

  Enough food to satisfy the entire rank of the royal guard cluttered the kitchen table. Many of the dishes were unfamiliar, yet the teetering stack of toasted bread, the fried eggs and crisp rashers of salted pork were customary. A pinpoint of eerie green light emanated from a slender bar affixed to the underside of the cabinetry, and it was from this device the music poured.

  Caedmon scowled and shook his head. This realm was a complete contradiction. At once both miraculous and yet rife with the stench of gluttony and decay.

  A tinny clang ricocheted throughout the room and he flinched, muscles tensing. So like the jangle of a heavy chain, at first he did not realize Jon had merely let a silver spoon slip from his careless grasp to the floor.

  “Good morning, Sire.” The young man ran his admiring gaze down Caedmon’s chest to the open buttons at his waist. “My God. Does he always look so sexy first thing in the morning?”

  Rowena turned away from slicing various fruits on the counter. A tip of her head and she joined Jon’s enthusiastic perusal, though her smile disappeared the moment she locked onto Caedmon’s face.

  “Yep, but not just in the morning.” She lifted a steaming cup from the counter, a spark of anxiety flitting through her gaze. “Sex appeal pretty much simmers off him twenty-four seven.”

  And yet, she’d set her concerns aside.

  The tension in Caedmon’s shoulders eased a degree. That she would instinctively keep her inner thoughts private was of vast relief, and earned her a small nod of thanks in return.

  “It’s a wonder you ever get out of bed.” Jon retrieved his lost utensil from under a chair and tossed it into the sink. The reverberating clank smarted down to the marrow of Caedmon’s bones.

  “Hey.” Oliver aimed an accusing finger across the table, his backside resting against the counter opposite Jon. Though his gray jacket was crisply appointed, his pants creased and falling at a perfect slant over his polished black shoes, the slender strip of silver fabric cinched at his neck reminded Caedmon of a noose. “No wondering about being in bed with anyone but me.”

  Setting her cup aside, his love kept her steps me
asured and even. The baggy pantaloons hanging off her shoulders appeared constructed of the same material as his breeches, though the myriad pockets along the front seemed more appropriate for a blacksmith than a sorceress.

  Wrapping her arms about his neck, she urged him to her lips for a kiss. “Are you all right?”

  He did, however, appreciate the deep slashes on either side that afforded his hands easy access to her lower back. Releasing a grateful sigh, he buried his unshaven cheeks in the gentle slope of her neck.

  The simple act of having her in his arms calmed him. Brought him a portion of peace.

  “I had fun last night.” Her breath brushed his ear, lips nibbling his throat. “Maybe once these two leave on their errands, I can return the favor.”

  His blood heated at the concept of her, on her knees before him, administering the same pleasures he’d delighted in gifting her the previous evening. Shoving his hands lower, he cupped and kneaded her bottom. His cock twitched and her soft chuckle ruffled his hair.

  The recoil of a slotted device broke their stolen moment and she leaned back to bounce on her toes. “Oh, good, the Pop Tarts are ready.” She applied a slight shake to his shoulders. “Wait until you taste these.”

  Spinning away from him, she returned to the counter and plucked two thin pastries from a metal box. “Oh, and peanut butter. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried crunchy peanut butter on buttered toast.” Retrieving a jar filled with a tan substance, she carried her treasures to the table, nudged a chair aside with her foot and crammed the items onto the over-loaded top. “How many trans fats can a person eat in one day before their heart explodes?”

  Oliver grunted. “Depends on how many you worked off the night before.” He darted a peek at Caedmon. “Something tells me you’re fine.”

  Cocking a brow, Caedmon tugged a chair from the table to join her. Though what he truly desired was a draught of wine. Or perchance a stout swig of Fandorn’s dragon’s breath brew. Whichever would most quickly temper the unending strain on his nerves he could not seem to contain.

  “I’m off to check on the shop.” Oliver rounded the table and dumped the remains of his cup into the sink, sparing a glance at Jon. “I’ll meet you at Bloomingdale’s in an hour?” He jabbed a button on the music box and the relentless hammering blessedly ceased.