While A.J. retrieved his club, took Marion’s warm hand in his and made for the doors, Matheus hissed a long series of curses. After he wiped his nose and mouth, he looked at his bloodied hand and stared as if in disbelief then leveled his gaze at his rival.
At the door, with his grinning posse around him and Marion by the hand, A.J. turned for one last look at Sir Foreskin the First as he leaned against a table and massaged his chin.
“That was fun. Time well spent, I’d say. I’ll send you the bill.”
* * * * *
“What is a ‘bill’?” Marion asked as she helped Sir Ayjay claw out of the sweaty leather armor and crumbled undertunic. In his darkened bedchamber, the setting sun poked timid rays between the window coverings. Clouds were massing to the north. Hard labor to prepare for winter would begin soon. Speaking of which, a whiff of sweat, so unlike what she’d come to expect from him, wafted to her.
He must have noticed her reaction for he sniffed his armpit and cringed. “Whew, man. I’d kill for a shower. A bill,” he went on, sobering, “is the amount of coins I want in exchange for my work.” He rubbed his index and thumb fingers together as if he were rolling something between them, but when she looked, she saw nothing. His other hand seemed fine, despite his complaints about the amount of pain involved in drawing first blood from Matheus.
Marion watched as the peculiar man sat on the edge of the bed and raked his hair back. A nasty bruise was spreading on one of his sinewy arms and myriad more on his torso. The sight of his naked chest and shoulders created shameful need deep in her belly. How could a woman not desire such a man?
“Did you really…?” How could she ask him the question without insulting his honor? He’d fought for hers. “Do you really have any intentions toward me or did you just wish to thwart Lord Matheus? Shall you not wish to go back…home?”
He arched a dark eyebrow as he stared at her. “I guess you’re allowed to ask, even if it’s a kick in the—” He cleared his throat. “Look, I’m not in the habit of repeating myself. So I’ll say this once and I hope your note-taking skills are sharp.
“I kicked his ass for several good reasons—I mean, with a guy like him, who wouldn’t want to smack him around? But while I was redecorating Matheus’ home with my wicked drive, I had a little chat with your friend Thomas and he told me something that stuck in my mind. He said if I loved you, I’d go jump off a cliff. Or set myself on fire first. Or something close to that.”
“Good Lord, Sir Ayjay, he told you such thing?” She was horrified at her friend’s lack of finesse. When had Thomas become so dense?
“I think he was going for figurative. Anyway, I hope he was. The main thing is, I went there for one reason. You. Nothing else. Not my honor, which I don’t have, and certainly not in a sense of chivalry, which isn’t something I’ll ever have. I was going to get you out of Rat Ass if it cost me an arm and a leg. No pun intended. I like you a lot…” He stopped, seemed to consider something before rubbing his temple. “You know what? What the hell! I love you. I want to marry you and if you think I’m just saying that, then fine, I can’t change your mind, but I’m sure—”
Marion drowned the rest under a passionate kiss. She pulled back, watched his widening grin. “You talk too much, Sir Ayjay.”
“I’m a lawyer.”
She meant to put her arms around his neck but he seized both wrists and pulled them away from him. “I’m not putting my filthy hands on you. I’d be afraid to give you scurvy or something. How about we get a bath?”
“We? Together?”
He nodded, his eyes narrowed with lust.
“Now?”
“Oh yeah.”
Her heart thudded arrhythmically for a while before she willed self-control back to her feverish body. “How wickedly tempting.”
His eyebrows wiggling made her grin.
While Sir Ayjay removed his boots and wriggled his toes in the rug by the bed, muttering something about dust “bonnies” between them, Marion sent for a bath. She didn’t tell the lads how two people would be sharing it—she still couldn’t see how both of them would fit at once. Cook must have had boiling water ready beforehand because a moment later Hannah came back with the lads and set the bath in front of the blazing fire. She rearranged everything at least twice, occasionally throwing a sly look at Marion, who pretended not to have seen it as she went about organizing the affair. When the young woman had finished, a deep blush to her cheeks—the half-naked Sir Ayjay hadn’t even tried to cover himself, for the love of God—she bowed and left.
Once alone with him, Marion could no longer pretend to be busy. Her hands shook as she looked at the steaming bath by the hearth.
“We don’t have to do this, you know,” Sir Ayjay remarked as he stood and tried to rearrange his hose but made a big mess of it. He sighed and gave up.
“I want to.”
She did. She wanted to gaze at his exquisite body while he undressed and washed it. She wanted his hands on her and vice versa. She wanted him.
“Because I’m wearing Eau de Pig Number Five right now, you go first.” He sat on the foot of the bed. “But don’t worry, I’ll help.”
As if she had a fever, her skin grew tight and warm. She pushed a strand of hair from her temple and hooked it behind her ear.
“Starting with that gorgeous hair,” he said, hooking his index finger at her and parting his knees so she could stand in between. She did.
Attentive, he lifted her thick braid, weighed it in a loose fist before raking his fingers through the ends so the different coils would come undone under his skillful touch. She’d never heard of a man who could handle a woman’s hair so well.
“You are very adept at this.”
He nodded. “Before she lost it all, back when my mother was ill, I used to do her hair. Well, I’m sure she would’ve preferred a daughter to do it for her, but all she had was me. So I read magazines, learned what to do, you know, went on the Internet. Then I’d get all those fancy products—the most expensive I could find too—and put it on her hair. She loved it.”
“She was ill?”
He nodded. “She died of cancer.” He seemed to consider something. “Cancer is like a plague, but you can’t catch it from someone else. One day you’re fine then the next you have it and sometimes you die. Anyway, I had to be careful because her hair was getting so fragile.”
She could tell he must have loved her very much. Her heart swelled for him. “She was lucky to have you.”
He shrugged. “I gave her enough trouble, the least I could do was make sure she felt beautiful near the end.” His hand caressed the length of hair he’d just released from the braid and curled it around his finger. “Speaking of beautiful, Marion, I have to tell you, you’re the most delicious-looking woman I’ve ever seen. You would’ve caused a riot where—when—I’m from.”
Ah yes, his home in the future.
“You still think I’m from Normandy—which isn’t that inaccurate, come to think of it, my ancestors were from France. But you still don’t believe me…don’t I look strange enough for you?”
She nodded. “You are strange enough, I guess, but to come from a time that has not happened…”
“Hey. It was a rhetorical question. You didn’t have to agree with me.”
Sir Ayjay seemed to consider something, shook his head as a calm grin spread across his features. Marion had never seen that expression on him before, so relaxed. Serene. As though he’d found something he’d long lost.
“But you know what, I think I’ll go with that. I’ll be your Norman lord if that will make things easier on both of us. Your folks already call me that, anyway. It’s much better than “that foreign devil’, that’s for sure.”
“Oh you have heard…”
“Hugo, yeah. But that’s okay. I take good notes,” Sir Ayjay replied, pointing at his temple.
They shared a quiet grin as he continued unbraiding her hair. When he was running his fingers through the entire
length of it, her heartbeat accelerated.
“You’re going to have to show me how this works. I’m used to garter belts, bras—front and back clasps—and everything else in between, but that kind of closure, I’ve never seen.”
“It starts here.” Marion lifted her arm so Sir Ayjay could unlace her gown. His face set in absolute concentration, he leisurely unlaced her garment, tugged at the opening to loosen it on the side then looked up into her eyes, waiting.
“Then I must pull it up over my head.” She kicked off her shoes, lifted her arms and meant to squeeze out of her gown but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. He stood.
“As I told you before, nothing this good should come quickly.”
His gaze on hers, he bent, picked up the hem of her gown and gently lifted it up to her thighs, waist, before he indicated with his chin she should lifted her arms so he could slip the garment over her head. While the fabric hid her face, Marion took the opportunity to squeeze her eyes shut for a quick reprieve. She felt on the brink of madness. Tortured with immediate needs yet at the same time hungering for his slow kind of attention.
When he pulled the gown over her head and spread it on the bed, he turned back to her, his gaze sliding down her body, right down to her feet, before coming back up and stopping on her face. Through the thin chemise, her breasts pebbled. He seemed to have noticed for his hungry eyes lingered there for a while.
“I still can’t believe you’re all mine,” he said with a sort of half-feral, half-amazed expression.
“I am all yours, Sir Ayjay.”
He grimaced. “I didn’t mean it that way.” Tender, his fingers curled in and traced her bruised cheek. “I meant, I can’t believe a guy like me could be so lucky. I’m not exactly a model citizen, Marion. I deserve someone like me, shallow and cynical. Not you. Not…” He stopped, shook his head. “Not a smart and lovely woman like you. A blonde goddess.”
She felt herself blush. “I am hardly a goddess. Only a woman. And this woman wants you. Now.”
She meant to kiss him but he drew back. “Nuh-uh. After the bath.”
He took her hand and guided her to the bath, which steamed still. With deft and steady fingers, he untied the thin ribbon holding her chemise together at the collar and parted it over her shoulders. His breath caught in his throat then resumed audibly. Marion thought she would collapse when Sir Ayjay slowly, by small increments, denuded her shoulders, her upper arms, before slipping the thin linen garment down below her breasts, which he caressed with his gaze. Yet he did not touch her. He let the chemise pool around her ankles.
Marion had to bite her cheek to keep from squirming. To stand so completely naked—and aroused—in front of a man felt exhilarating and frankly quite unthinkable only a few days ago. It had been a long time. Swallowing hard, she lifted her chin and stared at him through her uneasiness. If his eyes were any indication, Sir Ayjay enjoyed what he was seeing very much. A quick check to his hose confirmed it as his considerable member strained the fabric along his thigh. She couldn’t wait to hold it again, kiss it, spear herself to it. The mere thought made her take a deep breath. In response to the sight of his excitement, honey gathered between her folds as fire spread through her body. A shiver shook her.
“Are you cold?”
She shook her head.
Holding her hand again, he helped her step into the large copper basin. Water almost too hot made her purse her lips, the fire’s warmth licked her shoulder and hip and under the man’s fiery gaze, Marion thought she would go up in flames. She meant to kneel but he shook his head. “I want to watch you.”
She reached for the ladle but he took it from her hand. “I’m going to do that.”
She only needed to eye the jar of soap. He shook his head. “That too.”
“Shall I do nothing then?”
“You get to stand and just be the vision you are.”
With the utmost care, he dipped the ladle in the bath and let a thin ribbon of water caress her from hip to knee where the rest disappeared under the surface. A sound similar to rain filled the room as water fell into the pace-wide bath. He repeated the process but started higher this time, up on her shoulder. The trickle of hot water followed her curves, hardened a nipple, caressed her hip before following the inside of her thigh and trickling back into the bathtub. Sir Ayjay worked in reverent silence, his hands careful, his eyes not missing a detail. She had never felt so desirable. When she was wet everywhere, even between her legs, Sir Ayjay retrieved the jar of soap.
After a suspicious sniff, his expression brightened considerably. “Hey, this is good stuff. Olive oil, right? With…” He sniffed again, closed his eyes.
“Lavender,” she whispered, her excitement choking her voice. She could barely breathe and kept looking down at herself to watch what reactions his attentions triggered in her.
He nodded. “Lavender, right. Not bad at all.”
Nodding to himself, he tipped the jar over his hand and let a tiny amount out. Rubbing his fingers around, he seemed to get a feel for the soap before spreading it around her shoulders in small, circular movements. After her shoulders came her back, her breasts, to which he paid particular attention as he stroked around and around, weighing one while he washed the other or merely cupping his large hand over it and keeping it there. Her belly received the same treatment, a small amount of soap then a tender rubbing, and when he was beginning to reach down even lower, between her legs, carnal needs of every kind surged. The basest urges clawed at her. She wanted him to take her, claim her, in the bed, against the wall and even on her knees as he’d done while they made love outdoors. Outdoors! How wickedly exciting!
He was calm and considerate as he washed her sex and rinsed it with liberal amounts of water. Marion thought the man showed impressive self-control to merely wash her when he was—so obviously—aroused himself. Locks of hair had fallen over his forehead and temple as he bent in front of her then knelt. Putting his palm against her calf, he proceeded in massaging her leg, up and down and around. The heat of his skin radiated to hers. When he looked up and offered a quiet, lopsided smile, Marion thought she would fall to pieces.
“I hope you’re enjoying yourself, because I can see myself doing this. A lot.”
After a quiver tightened her belly and backside, Marion nodded. “I enjoy it very much.”
When he abruptly leaned forward and licked her drenched cleft, she gasped.
“I couldn’t help it, but I’ll be good now.”
“Oh I hope not. I should enjoy you to be wicked.”
He looked up at her, the playfulness gone, replaced with raw masculinity. “How wicked?”
“Wicked.”
Feral and powerful, the hunger blazing in his eyes forced her to swallow hard. Excitement made her want to fist his hair and pull him to her sex. She so needed him there.
“You know what would be fun?” He ran a finger downward through her dark blonde patch. “To shave a bit of that golden fleece you’ve got going. Mm?” He looked up, wiggled his eyebrows.
“Shave down there?” Marion looked down at herself, tried to imagine the mound without its blonde tuft but couldn’t. “Is it something women do in your homeland?”
“You should see a Brazilian wax job,” he replied, laughing. “But yeah, it is something some women do. I’ve done it too.”
It sounded strange but not too outrageous. “Shave it then.”
Where had this wanton woman come from?
Sir Ayjay retrieved a towel and his razor, which he complained about, saying how he “sure missed his ‘Jeelette’”. Another new word.
With vigilance bordering on obsession, he stretched the skin along her mons and scraped a narrow strip of hair off. Marion watched fascinated as Sir Ayjay delicately denuded the skin on her mound until all that remained was a narrow, vaguely triangular stripe in the middle.
He rinsed her profusely, put the razor and towel on the floor and knelt back so he could admire his handiwork. “Deli
cious.”
Marion felt her cheeks grow warm. She looked down, fought against the giggles that would make a fool of her and ran an index finger along the smooth skin. Not bad, all in all. “I think I shall like it this way.”
“And maybe one day we’ll go to Brazil.” He laughed at his own jest.
He stood. “Now it’s my turn.” The grin he gave her this time had none of the lightheartedness it had previously but all of the passion. His lust practically burned her skin.
“Should I remove your clothes?” Marion asked, praying he would say yes.
He nodded as he spread his feet wider and hooked his hands on his narrow hips.
With fingers she was shocked to discover didn’t shake, she unlaced the first few rows on his hose, gradually loosening the wool until his member tented it nicely. She smiled down at it. So glorious. Kneeling, she pulled the hose down around his ankles and helped him step out of them. Sir Ayjay stood completely naked before her and Marion could think of nothing else quite as beautiful as his lean, muscular form and the way firelight danced over his healthy skin. Dark hair partitioned his belly in perfect halves then again in horizontal sections before becoming a thin strip caressing his navel and running lower at the base of his manhood. It hung thick, almost threatening. She licked her lips at the memory of the ease with which it slid inside her. Marion was reaching for it when Sir Ayjay grabbed her shoulder and angled her away.
“Not now. I’m sweaty and dirty and not fit to be touched by a woman.”
He stepped inside the large basin, water reaching barely above his calves.
“I wish you would have gone before I did, Sir Ayjay. The water would have been much nicer.”
“Ladies first. And anyway, I’m so dirty that when I’m done, the water is going to be a toxic spill.”
She laughed without really knowing why for she had no idea what a “tok-sik spell” was. Ladle in hand, she brought it up to his shoulder and let a thin film of water course down his magnificent body. He shivered, muscles playing loosely under the surface.
Timely Defense Page 17
