by TJ Bennett
Günter watched in bemusement. Why were they so angry at one another? He shrugged. They would have to work it out between them.
He turned and strode to the door through which the monk had exited. Where the devil had the man gone?
As if summoned by his thoughts, the monk appeared in a circle of torchlight at the opposite end of a long passageway. He gestured to Günter as though he had awaited them the whole time and not the other way around.
Günter spoke over his shoulder. “It appears our lodgings are ready. Alonsa, bring the candles.”
She obeyed, and the others rose and followed him down the passageway.
The old monk hovered in front of a narrow doorway. He gestured inside and spoke to them in Spanish once more.
“These are for guests, though they usually come during the day,” he noted with a pointed look at Günter. He nodded to the other side of the passageway. “Do not venture beyond that door. It leads to the cloistered part of the abbey, where none but the members of the Rule may go.”
Günter nodded his agreement, and turned to examine the cell. Small, bare, but clean, it sported a high window and a tiny table with a basin of water and two sets of washing and drying cloths in one corner. An effigy of Christ in the throes of agony on the cross hung on one of the whitewashed walls. Instead of a straw pallet, a narrow bed—a relative luxury in such a place—had been pushed up against another wall. Fresh linens already hugged it. A rope fastened at an angle to two walls, with a blanket over it, hid the chamber pot in the corner.
Günter recognized a variety of medicinals in small wooden cups on the table, as well as cut-up strips of bandages. This room must be intended for Inés or Fritz. Alonsa placed one of the candles on the table.
The monk turned and wordlessly swept his hand to a door across the narrow passageway. It was another cell similar to the first, but without the medicinals. Alonsa entered it and placed the second candle on the table inside. When the monk made no other move, she looked around.
“Where are the other rooms?” Her voice held a note of confusion.
The monk’s brows drew together.
“Other rooms? There be none. Guests here are few.”
Alonsa gestured to the narrow bed.
“But it is so small. Two people will not fit comfortably.”
The monk snorted and looked Günter up and down.
“Aye, he’s a giant, but yer small enough. I’ve a feeling he’ll make room for ye, eh?” He winked with earthy good humor.
Günter nearly burst out laughing at both the wily old monk’s insinuation and the stunned expression on Alonsa’s face when she realized he expected them to share the bed, not her and Inés.
“Oh, but we are not—”
Günter stepped between them.
“These rooms are fine, thank you, Brother. My wife and I—” he emphasized the word for Alonsa’s benefit, “greatly appreciate not having to spend the night out of doors again. It has already proven hazardous enough for one eve. I am sure my friend and his wife”—at this he glanced meaningfully at Fritz and Inés—”feel the same way.”
They both nodded and made agreeing noises, similar tight smiles on their faces.
Günter turned and sent Alonsa a warning look. Realization must have dawned, because she swallowed whatever she had been about to say and snapped her mouth shut. He put an arm around her tiny waist and drew her to his side, enjoying the fact that for once she couldn’t openly deny him. To do so would get them all thrown out of the abbey because of the unmarried status of the women.
“Thank the kind man, my dear.” He knew his eyes glinted with the humor he couldn’t express.
When she only glared at him, he lowered the hand behind her back to her luscious rump and squeezed.
She squeaked, then disguised it with a cough. Another warning squeeze and she managed a semblance of a smile for the monk.
“Thank you,” she said through clenched teeth.
Pity. Günter was beginning to enjoy himself.
The old monk raised one eyebrow, but finally nodded as if satisfied he had done all he could for them.
“Name’s Father Andrew, in case ye be interested.”
Günter, realizing in his haste he had never introduced himself, started to do just that.
“I am—”
Father Andrew held up a hand.
“Always found it better not to ask such questions in the middle of the night.” His eyes sparked with wry humor. “If ye take my meaning.”
He pointed above one of the cell doors at a long strip of rope hanging from a hole in the ceiling.
“If ye need aught else, pull the cord. It will ring a bell in another part of the abbey. Someone will come to ye. The abbey does not break its fast until after vespers, but we’ll leave something for ye on the table in there at dawn,” he said, gesturing back to the dining area.
Günter took it as an invitation to leave at the earliest opportunity.
The old monk then reached into his robes and took out a large iron ring from which several keys dangled. He looked at Günter.
“Ye understand. We cannot have anyone wandering about at night making mischief. We unlock the doors at first light.”
He stood there for a moment, eyeing both couples. Inés seemed to realize first he expected them to go inside so he could lock them in. She curtseyed clumsily, pushed Fritz inside one of the cells, and then shut the door in their faces with a murmured goodnight. The last thing Günter saw of Fritz, he was staring at Inés as though she’d grown two heads.
Günter looked at the monk. “The animals need food and water.”
Father Andrew nodded. “They will be cared for proper.”
Not believing his good fortune, Günter quickly pulled Alonsa with him while he backed inside the other cell.
“Well, then. Good night, Father Andrew,” he said before Alonsa had a chance to contemplate whether the danger with him inside was worse than what she might face on the outside. He shut the door on the monk’s formal bow and listened as the keys turned the ancient locks on both doors.
Now he knew why they called them cells.
The old man’s distinctive shuffling tread faded into the quiet night as he trundled back down the passageway.
Günter took a deep breath of satisfaction. He propped his great sword and his Katzbalger carefully against the wall beside the bed and then turned to face his “wife.”
Alonsa stared back, madder than a wet hen, her face flushed, her brown eyes spitting with fire. “If you think for one moment I will allow any liberties—”
He interrupted her. “Alonsa?”
“What?” she snapped.
“Shut up.”
He had just enough time to enjoy the stunned expression on her face before he pulled her into his arms and tumbled her down onto the narrow bed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ALONSA WAS NOT SURE HOW IT HAPPENED. ONE MOMENT, she stood on her own two feet, and in the next, she lay beneath Günter’s huge, hard body on the narrow bed. He buried his face in her neck and his hands made quick work of the laces on her bodice. The burning heat she associated with him enveloped her, tempting her to burrow her always-chilled body into his, but she resisted. When she tried to push him away, he simply lifted her wrists above her head and held them together with one large hand.
She gasped when his lips found the plump upper swell of her breasts and he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses over them.
“Günter!”
“Alonsa,” he drawled. In the blink of an eye, he had opened her bodice. In a gesture of impatience, he pushed aside her chemise and fastened his greedy mouth to one suddenly taut peak. He rolled his hips against hers, and she arched up involuntarily in response. The secret place between her thighs grew damp.
“Wait!” she cried while he brought her to readiness with dizzying speed.
“Nay,” he whispered against her skin. His tongue darted out, tasting her as though she were a succulent treat; he sucked the pea
k into his mouth.
“Now,” he murmured around the hard bud.
She shivered at the sensation. How could he do that? How could he make her desire him with just a kiss, a touch, a word? It seemed as if she was attuned to him, already sensitive to his every whim and fancy.
He released her wrists and spread his fingers across her breasts, caressing and kneading, plumping and molding her with his palms. He suckled, rocked his hips, teased her into mindlessness, and she forgot all about denying him anything. Her arms were still high above her head on the pillow; she could not move, drugged into a languid stupor by his mouth and hands.
When she felt the cool air on her thighs, she did not even protest. He pushed up her skirts and then growled in frustration. They had caught beneath her and bunched below her hips.
“Lift up,” he commanded.
Like one of his soldiers on the battlefield, she obeyed without thought. He sat up and swept the clothes over her head until finally she lay naked and exposed to him in the flickering candlelight. His fingers trailed over her nipples, his thumbs sweeping gentle arcs over the taut peaks. A wolf’s smile crossed his face, and she heard a rumble of approval deep in his throat while his gaze wandered over her.
Despite her arousal, she felt her cheeks grow warm with discomfort. Perhaps it was the hungry smile giving her pause; perhaps it was the embarrassment at being naked in front of a man not her husband, but suddenly she felt bashful and insecure. She tried to protect herself from his sight with her hands.
He shook his head and his wolf’s smile disappeared. “Nay.” He straddled her, imprisoning her hands on either side of her head, his strong thighs entrapping her. “Do not hide from me. Ever. I want to see every part of you. I will see every part of you. And you will see me.”
He leaned down and kissed her, his mouth ravenous. Alonsa clenched her hands at the sensation of his hard mouth gliding over hers, of his sleek tongue sliding in and out. She felt like a puzzle piece fitting into the space for which it had always been intended.
Her mind whirled. He went too fast, and yet not fast enough. She ached for him, feared for him, yearned for him. She moaned into his mouth.
He pulled back, his eyes glittering like emeralds.
“Yes, I know. I feel it too,” he murmured. He stretched his length out over her, slipping between her legs as he did.
She felt him, thick and hard, against her center. He rocked his hips and she cried out.
Still dressed. Why was he still dressed?
She did not realize she had spoken aloud until he raised his head and smiled.
“Just give me a moment.” He rolled off her, and more rapidly then she could have imagined, came back naked to the bed.
He was too fast. She had not had the chance to look her fill. What she had seen, however, made her mouth grow parched.
He was hard and taut, his legs long, his male haunches firm and compact. In silent testimony to his lust, his sex jutted out from the curls at the apex of his thighs. His torso rippled with strength; the sight of the crisp hair on the chiseled muscles of his chest made her hands itch to caress it; the sinews in his shoulders flexed and contracted when he moved.
His green eyes blazed at her, the fire in their depths unmistakable. When a lock of his bronze hair fell forward across his wide brow, he shook it back with an impatient toss of his head. An image came to her of a proud stallion preparing to service his mate.
He was, quite simply, magnificent.
He lay down beside her. Not beside her, really, since hardly enough room existed for either of them to lie flat. Instead, he arranged himself half-on, half-off her, one hand propped beneath his head while with the other he pulled her dark hair forward over one shoulder and teased her with it. His hand traveled up and down as he explored her trembling body, first brushing the locks of hair across her breasts, next stroking her belly with it, and then, after releasing it, caressing her thighs.
She clasped her legs together against the mad rush of desire he incited within her. He chuckled and easily pushed his knee between hers, the hairs on his legs rubbing against her skin, sensitizing her to his every motion. Having exposed her, he slid his hand down until he touched her dark curls, then pressed one finger slowly inside.
She jerked and tried to rise.
“We must not,” she breathed, making one last attempt to stop the madness she knew had to end before she gave him her body and her heart.
“We must…” he murmured, and pushed her gently back down. His hot gaze flowed over her, exciting her almost as much as his touch. She turned her head away from its unbearable intimacy, and he lowered his mouth to her ear.
“We most definitely must,” he rumbled. He leaned over her, watching her response, then trailed moist, hot kisses over the tender skin of her neck, coming back to flick his tongue into her ear. She gasped at the dual invasion of his tongue and finger and writhed against his hand, moaning helplessly. He moved in small thrusts inside of her, widening her passage and coaxing slickness from within. He bit down lightly on her earlobe and she cried out, her body pulsing around him in response.
“Too much …” she gasped, trying to hide from this passion, to withdraw from her terrible need of him. He shook his head.
“Not enough. Not nearly enough,” he murmured, and slid a second finger inside her. Her hips arched, and still inside, he pressed down with the heel of his palm, grinding it in infinitesimal circles against her mound. Her hips lifted off the bed, pursuing the delight. She clutched at the blanket, then clutched at him, begging him to finish her.
His eyes glittered with intensity but he took his time with her, though she could tell by the faint tremor in his body and the way he clenched and unclenched his jaw every moment cost him an agony of unfulfilled desire. Finally, just when she felt on the brink of pure ecstasy, he pulled his hand away.
“Oh, no!” she cried, bereft at its absence.
“Oh, yes,” he said, and moving atop her, slid his sex inside her body and his tongue into her mouth.
Any more thoughts of denial fled when she climaxed. He thrust hard against the current of her release, riding it out, pushing into her with enough force to shake the moorings of the little bed they lay upon. It groaned and creaked with every powerful thrust. Vaguely, she wondered if it would survive the night or whether they would have much explaining to do to Father Andrew in the morning, and then she stopped thinking entirely when she crested on the brink of another wave. She gripped his buttocks with both hands, pulled him hard inside her, and bit his shoulder to stop from screaming as she climaxed beneath him once more.
He bucked and plunged, shuddered, grunted her name while he shattered in her arms. The harsh rasping sounds he made seemed to come from his very soul, and she had never heard anything more erotic. It brought her once more to the edge, but she trembled there and did not go over again, though he thrust inside her one final time, his muscles locked with tension.
She kissed his neck, his chest, stroked his body, held him until he collapsed against her in a heap of sweaty, sinewy muscle. His breath rushed past her ear in heavy, drawn out gusts.
She kept stroking him, murmuring meaningless words to him in her native tongue, flights of fancy to bring him back to her. She shifted beneath him, yearning for him, clenching her inner muscles against the semi-rigid length he still held inside of her. She did not mean to demand more of him, but she could not prevent the movement of her hips against his.
Finally, she felt him growing hard within her again. He levered himself up and stared down at her.
“Dear God,” he groaned as he looked at her in amazement. “You’re going to kill me; I can see it now.”
He shifted and slid partway out, his movements slow and measured, then drove in again. She moaned. Though the frantic edge was off their desire, it was no less powerful than before.
“They will find me cold, stiff, and smiling in this very bed in the morning—” he grunted as he thrust again “—and they will know you
were my end.”
“Hush,” she murmured, and brought his head down.
Their lips met and he kissed her as though he wished to consume her, the fierce intimacy nearly overwhelming her. He grasped her knees and pressed them up, keeping her in place while he ground slowly into her. Spread wide beneath him, she could do nothing but helplessly accept his passion and his strength while he took all she had and more. He pushed deep inside, touching her womb, making her arch and shake and quiver anew, bringing her to the knife’s edge of release and holding her there, then withdrawing and starting again. His pace quickened with each thrust, and she soon found herself crying out uncontrollably with every plunge.
His control slipped, and his movements became wilder. She glimpsed the feral male in him, the beast spawned by her desire, but she was not afraid. She called to his beast with the scent of her passion, coaxed him into being for the sake of her need. With a groan, he withdrew, turned her over, and bending her, thrust into her from behind. She anchored herself to the wall with her palms while he grasped her hips and pounded into her, all semblance of gentleness deserting him.
She relished his wildness, welcomed his beast with a fierce cry of her own.
She had not been wrong about his stamina. He set an incredible pace, an impossible rhythm that made the bed quake and its wooden legs dance upon the stone floor. Her release, when it came, was even more powerful than before. If he had not covered her cries of passion with his hand while he rushed to join her, she knew Fritz and Inés would have heard them from across the passageway, and possibly all of the monks in the abbey as well.
Not that she cared. It was merely the truth. That and the fact she loved him. Neither thing could be denied.
She could not bear to think what it might mean for him.
Tomorrow, she promised the Fates as she turned and kissed him again, her lips lingering on his. I will end it tomorrow. May the Lord permit us at least this one night.
“Did you hear something?” Fritz raised his head from the cold stone floor where he had spread out one of the blankets for his bed. Light from the full moon streamed through the high window, casting pale shadows across his lean face.
