by Tina Donahue
She slipped another inch of his member into her mouth, followed by more until she finally reached the end, her nose pressed against his hairy groin.
His mouth hung open, words beyond him, noises his only means to communicate. He growled and groaned like a wild creature. She eased back, allowing his shaft to slip out except for the head that she imprisoned between her lips. He never realized anyone’s mouth could be so hot and wet. She took his full length back inside, running her lips up and down him, creating the same heat and friction her channel would.
Perhaps better. Her tongue added a dimension to the erotic play her sheath never could.
He bellowed his delight. Before the sound had faded, he shouted again, his seed spurting before he could warn her to move away.
She remained, her mouth still around his sex as she swallowed.
Overwhelmed and humbled, he cradled the back of her head to let her know she’d honored him. He was still too weary to speak.
Once she’d finished, she let his shaft slip from her mouth and tongued his sac.
His hair stood on end. He cupped her head. “No. Enough. I cannot….”
She stopped tonguing him. “It is true.”
“What is?”
She rested her chin on his hipbone and circled his navel with her finger. “A man can endure most anything: the prick of a sword, hunger, thirst, intense heat, unbearable cold, but not a woman’s tongue on him after he spills his seed.”
Heat flooded his cheeks. This was too much. She’d actually put him to the blush. “Would that be another of Isabella’s tales?”
“Not a tale, the truth. With you, I proved what she said.”
“It would be wise for you to stop listening to your sister.”
“That would be rude.”
He lifted his head to look at her. She laughed quite gaily. “Would you prefer me to be less bold?”
Such a request would be like asking the sun not to shine, the wind to stop blowing, rain not to fall. That would be a tragedy of the greatest order. “Never change. Stay precisely as you are. Except I want you up here, near me, rather than so far away.”
She settled in his arms, her hand on his chest. He gathered her even closer and draped his calf over hers. She slid her other leg across his until her knee reached his groin, his shaft warmed by her heated flesh. “Comfortable?”
He stroked her hair. “I am. You?”
She nodded.
He finished his yawn. “We must do this again.”
Her breasts wiggled against his chest with her soft laughter. “Indeed.”
Happier than he’d ever been, he stroked her silky back, his movements dulled by spent pleasure. At last, he had to rest his hand on her hip, unable to do more.
She nestled closer. “Sleep.”
“Not long. Promise to wake me within a minute.”
“I fear the time you speak of has already passed.”
“Two then. No more. I want your pledge.”
She rubbed his chest in answer and snuggled closer, delighting him to the point he forgot what to say next and surrendered to fatigue.
* * * *
His quiet breathing was more comforting to Sancha than anything she’d ever heard. Within the protection of his caress, she knew contentment. How right Isabella had been on the wonder of sharing intimate moments with a lover.
As long as he was the right man, of course.
She couldn’t imagine giving herself to anyone other than Enrique. He seemed created for her, her for him, everything fitting, nothing at odds. The notion should have made her leap with joy and run headlong into a life with him.
Having witnessed other women’s lives tempered her joy. To the outside world, her mamá and papá had the perfect union. Sancha had never known a couple more devoted to each other. Her mamá had always been willing to give her life for her husband, with him feeling the same about her. He denied her nothing except decisions, a voice, a goal of her own.
Her mother had craved knowledge on potions and poultices, the same as Sancha, only she’d denied her needs in favor of her husband’s.
Her mamá hadn’t been unhappy, but she’d never been truly fulfilled. She knew of Sancha’s dreams and encouraged her, without her husband’s knowledge, of course. She’d listened with interest to everything Sancha had learned, her expression hungry for converse that didn’t involve children or her husband’s pursuits and victories.
Sancha hoped she’d given her mamá a part of life she’d missed.
For her to have come this far and to have risked so much only to surrender everything to Enrique would go against what she believed in. Worse, if she submitted fully to his needs and neglected her own, she might grow to resent him one day, even though none of her pain would be his fault.
He simply behaved as men did, raised to anticipate obedience from women. He demanded nothing now, because he couldn’t. If they wed and had children, he’d expect her to devote her life to them and him to the exclusion of everything else. A role everyone demanded women to fill, no matter how unfair and foolish.
Men waged wars, built cities, expanded their estates, advanced science, painted, sculpted, made the world a better or worse place and still sired children. No one said they couldn’t because of their other, more important duties of husband and father.
Would there ever be a time when women were equal to men?
Fearing not, she sighed deeply. At the same moment, Enrique loosened his hold on her and rolled to his back.
A more resolute woman would have seized the opportunity to return to the castle alone, no longer wanting pleasure, looking forward to studies and experiments.
Sancha wanted those things, but she craved Enrique too. She propped herself on one elbow, loving how peaceful and innocent he looked in sleep, like a little boy. The son he would surely want.
He wasn’t going to give up his notion of wedding her. She’d have to leave his side first, their moments together counted in weeks, not decades, the passage of this day reducing their time even more.
He’d wanted her to give him only a few minutes to sleep. She’d promised nothing, allowing him full rest.
A plump moon finally hung in the inky sky. Stars winked. The ducks had departed long ago, their honks replaced by insect chirps. A bird flapped its wings, adding to the night sounds, along with animal noises in the distance, and Enrique’s faint snores.
She turned to him, her heart catching at how wonderful he looked, the pleasure she found in lying at his side. The time had already passed for her to avoid love. She was falling more deeply with each second, the events of this evening serving to feed her desire and foolish hope that he could be different from other men, allowing her full latitude in everything she did. He knew she wasn’t a fool who would bring either of them harm or ruin. How splendid if he could also trust her opinions and decisions, or at least discuss them, before he demanded she do as he wanted.
Picturing such a paradise, she smiled.
He snored loudly and jerked at the sound, his expression confused as to what had awakened him.
One look at the sky revealed how long he’d slept. He pushed to a sitting position and frowned. “You promised to wake me.”
“I did no such thing.” She sat up as he had. “I stroked your chest and you accepted that as my answer.”
“Fool that I am.” The corners of his mouth turned down. “Look at what time it is. The day nearly over.”
As far as she was concerned, the night still stretched before them. She wasn’t going to speculate what might happen on the morrow. After pushing to her feet, she offered her hand. “Come.”
He regarded her nudity bathed in moonlight, his attention tarrying most on her nipples and mound. Her sheath was still so damp from their passion the moisture must have sparkled in the silvery rays. Enrique seemed incapable of looking anywhere else.
She finally wiggled her fingers at him as he had earlier with her.
> He didn’t accept the bait. “Where do you intend to lead me?”
She inclined her head to the left.
“The pond?”
She longed to go there before leaving this spot. When she was growing up, her father had never allowed her, Isabella, or their sisters to enjoy themselves in a stream or pond. Water was for bath times, always in their chambers, behind closed doors, with female servants attending them.
Her male cousins had frolicked in whatever water they found, always nude. Isabella had repeatedly dragged Sancha with her to spy on the spectacle, giggling madly as she watched.
She leaned down to Enrique. “Do you know how to swim?”
“Of course.”
“Will you teach me?” Isabella had learned on her own, away from their father’s prying gaze. No surprise. She’d always been outspoken, a warrior, when Sancha preferred to handle things quietly. Pretending to be demure had caused her far less trouble and notice.
Enrique pushed to his feet, his brow furrowed. “Why do you want to learn?”
He made her request sound as though she planned to swim to another continent, no doubt to escape the shackles of marriage. “Why did you?”
“I had no say in the matter. When I was four, my father brought me to a stream, tossed me in and shouted, ‘Swim or drown!’”
“Oh no. What an awful thing to do to a child.”
He shrugged. “I learned not to drown. Do you fear coming upon a body of water when you visit the peasants?”
“No. I thought swimming might be fun. Is it?”
“Indeed. Come, let me show you.” With her fingers entwined in his, he led her to the pond.
She held back suddenly, recalling what he’d said earlier. “If you plan to throw me in and expect me to survive, you may be surprised that I drown.”
“I am not my father.” He pulled her forward. “Take care, though, the water might be colder than you like.”
She welcomed anything to cool her fevered skin and desire. All Enrique had to do was hold her hand and she forgot her resolve.
The sweep of water against her calves and thighs was lovely. If she’d been a man and lived here the rest of her days, she’d come to this spot each night to dig her toes in the mud and sink into the water’s refreshing embrace. “What now?”
He cupped her face and kissed her.
Sancha slumped against him, powerless against his needs, with hers as pressing. Once he’d finished and eased his mouth from hers, she didn’t move away. “Was that my first lesson?”
He laughed. “No. My passion. Take a deep breath.” He demonstrated how. “Hold it then lie back in the water. Face up.”
Of course. Face down would be foolish. Still, she wrinkled her nose. “And go under?”
“Not with my hands beneath you until you feel confident. The air you took in helps to keep you from sinking, allowing you to float.”
She recalled when she and Isabella had spied on their cousins. If memory served her, the boys had floated on their backs.
“Allow no fear,” Enrique said. “Anyone who becomes alarmed and thrashes about sinks like a stone.”
“If I do, will you save me?”
He gave her a tender smile. “Always. Now do what I say.”
She lifted one eyebrow.
“Whenever you feel you can.”
She liked when he afforded her the same consideration he would a man. Preparing herself mentally, she pulled in as much air as she could, held it, scrunched her face, and fisted her fingers.
He pointed. “You still need to go into the water.”
She fell back into the pond, sank faster than a stone, and flailed her arms, trying to right herself.
He pulled her to her feet. “I said lie back in the water, not fall.”
She coughed and gasped. “I did precisely as you instructed.”
“Very well, but do so more slowly this time.”
She clawed wet hair from her face. After taking another deep breath, she inched toward the water, bending back as far as possible without falling in.
His shoulders trembled with quiet laughter. “A trifle faster, if you please.”
Tensed, Sancha did as well as she could.
As promised, he kept one hand beneath her buttocks, the other under her back. To her amazement, she didn’t sink, though her lungs ached.
“Sancha.”
She nodded.
“You can let out your breath and take another.”
She did, grinning as she stayed on the surface, floating effortlessly. “What happens when you remove your hands?”
“I fear telling you.”
His laughter said otherwise. “Release me. I want to find out.”
“Very well.” He pulled back his hands.
She folded at the waist, her buttocks dragging her to the bottom. She flailed again.
“Be still.” He slid his hands to where they had been and lifted her. “What did I say about thrashing?”
“To accept my fate and drown with dignity?”
He laughed loudly. “We shall keep at this until you perform to my standards.”
Such dedication could take the remainder of the night. A heady and delightful prospect.
He instructed her calmly while she did nothing but panic. At last, she grew so weary and annoyed she didn’t care what occurred. Her new outlook resulted in success. She floated on her own, gliding her arms and legs through the water while staring at the starry sky. “This is marvelous. You must teach me to swim.”
“During your next lesson.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow evening. Surely you must want to rest now.”
She’d never experienced such energy or power, having conquered her fear and succeeded at a skill he had. Once he taught her to swim, they could challenge each other. He’d win, of course, being larger and stronger, but she’d show him she was as good as any man.
Hopefully, he would then believe in her ability to run her own life, removing an obstacle to their relationship. Possibly giving them a chance for a future together.
“Are you famished?” she asked. “I am.”
Out of the water, she ran toward the blanket. He passed her easily and settled first, handing over the bread, cheese, and meat. She offered him half of everything and gobbled her share greedily. They ate, drank, and smiled until the food and wine made them sluggish.
She stifled a yawn. “I wish we could stay out here forever.”
Finishing the last of the olives, he took in her breasts and the reddish curls between her legs. “Dawn may make you change your mind.”
His servants certainly would. She smiled. “Tomorrow evening it is. Give me your oath not to forget.”
“To keep you from drowning?”
Laughing, she threw the last of her bread at him. The piece bounced off his chest and fell to the blanket.
He scowled playfully. “How dare you treat a noble lord in such a manner.”
“I shall behave whatever way I feel.”
“Is that so?”
“It most certainly—Enrique! Stop.”
He straddled her and tickled until she gagged, unable to laugh or breathe. At last, she lay limp beneath him.
He grinned broadly. “Remember this lesson well.”
How could she forget? This night was the most captivating she’d ever spent. Surely, the coming ones couldn’t be better.
They kissed until they needed a full breath, then enjoyed each other again. He suckled her breasts once more and buried his face between her legs. She licked his sac and shaft, bringing him to completion a second time, wanting him as happy as she was.
After he peaked, he refused to rest. “Time for bed. Both of us need sleep, especially you.” Once he’d tended to her laces and buttons, he pulled on his garments, gathered the basket, and threw the blanket over his shoulder.
Hand in hand, they strolled back to the castle, their hair sligh
tly damp from the pond, clothes wrinkled, neither of them caring how they looked. Her sighs and his were content, movements unhurried.
Upon reaching the rear entrance, he took the long way to her chamber, a delay to their eventual parting. They entered an unused area, seemingly reserved for storage.
Scuffling noises broke out.
Enrique looked over. So did she.
Two of his guards supported a third man between them, his clothes filthy and quite odd, nothing like what an ordinary Spaniard wore, not even peasants. Rather than hose, the garment covering his legs was as voluminous as a woman’s skirt or a robe, his shirt the same, belted with a sash. He sported a beard, his complexion swarthy, expression dazed. Blood stained his arm and torso.
Sancha pressed her hand to her throat.
“What goes on?” Enrique strode to the group.
The taller of his guards, a burly man who appeared no more than twenty, spoke first. “Forgive the intrusion, patrón. The men you sent to the other side of the estate found this savage hiding in your fields. He must have been with the Moors tonight and became separated from them. They raided the village to the west, taking what they willed, wounding some of the people.”
Chapter 7
“Wait here for my return,” Enrique said to his men. With his hand on Sancha’s arm, he led her past them.
She resisted and pressed her mouth to his ear. “We must go to the village.”
“What—why?”
“You heard what your guard said. The people there are injured. I can treat them. After I tend to your prisoner, we can leave.”
“No.” He tightened his grip. “The only place you go tonight is your room.”
“By force?”
He held back a sigh and loosened his hold.
She immediately pulled her arm free and rubbed the spot where he’d held her. “I am not going to my room.”
He warned himself not to say something he’d regret and spoke to his guards instead. “Take him away.”
The man couldn’t match their quick pace. They dragged him.
Alone with Sancha, Enrique turned to her. “How dare you question my authority in front of my men.”
