The Deed

by Lynsay Sands

  Emma's eyes widened when his oddity was revealed. It seemed even bigger than it had been the last time she had seen it. She was suddenly extremely grateful for the foresight that had led her to dose herself.

  Realizing that he had suddenly gone still, she raised her eyes to his face. The hunger was still there, but now his face showed an expression resembling pain. Frowning, Emma licked her lips. "Husband?"

  Amaury groaned and closed his eyes at the sight of her little tongue darting swiftly across her lips. Hell, didn't she realize he was trying to contain himself? Did she not know the restraint needed to keep from pouncing on her? For that had been his full intention as he had torn at his clothes. Then, of course, he had managed to overcome his baser instincts long enough to remember that she was still new to this business of marital bliss. And that he had sworn to himself that the next time he forced himself on her, he would take the time to make it as pleasurable for her as he could. Or at least as painless as possible, for it was a fact ladies did not enjoy the act.

  "Husband?"

  Sighing, Amaury opened his eyes and forced a smile, then eased himself onto the bed beside her.

  Emma gave him a slightly tense smile in return, and rolled onto her back. It was what he had ordered her to do the night of their wedding. She fully expected that he would move over top of her again and commence the joining. Instead, he merely raised his eyebrows slightly, then allowed his gaze to run down over her body. When his eyes reached the apex of her legs, Emma suddenly remembered his other instruction of that night and opened her legs.

  Amaury's gaze shot immediately back to her face at the action, trying to escape the thoughts it brought immediately to his mind. Her face seemed the safest place for him to look while he regained his self-control . . . until he saw her tongue dart out again.

  Groaning, he dropped his face into the pillow.

  "Husband?"

  "I can do this," he muttered through gritted teeth into the pillow.

  "Do what, husband?"

  " 'Tis not your place to ask questions, wife. Just lie there quiet."

  "Aye, husband," Emma answered worriedly, her insecurities running riot. He hated her. Couldn't stand to look at her. Couldn't bear the thought of joining with her. Even now he was trying to convince himself he could manage the deed. Hell, she wished she were beautiful. Just for this night. It was shaming to be found so ugly that your husband couldn't bear the idea of getting you with child.

  Amaury pressed his face deeper into the pillow and held his breath, counting to ten repeatedly as he imagined the most unpleasant things he could think of in an to attempt to control his desires.

  The pock-faced old hag who made the ale.

  Bathing.

  His wife's tree tea. Nay. That was no good. It made him remember his wife, who at the moment was lying naked beside him.

  The painful headaches he'd suffered after his head injury. Nay. That was no good either. It simply brought to mind images of her bent over him, feeling his forehead for fever.

  Talking to his wife. Damn! Could she not stay out of his mind?

  Emma stared helplessly at her husband's back, suffering an agony of uncertainty. Then her temper began to rouse as she watched him burrow his face deeper and deeper into the pillow. Was he trying to smother himself? Was mating with her truly a fate worse than death? Good God, this was damned insulting!

  "Husband!" she snapped summarily. "I have not asked you to kill yourself, simply to close your eyes, pretend I am more attractive to you, and do that . . . thing . . . you did the other time. We need an heir, and it seems you failed last time to produce one."

  Amaury stilled at that, then turned his head to peer at his wife blankly. "What said you?"

  Emma sighed impatiently. "The joining, my lord."

  "Nay. What mean you when you say that I failed to produce an heir the last time?"

  Realizing his manly pride had been wounded, she sighed and tried to soothe him. " 'Tis sure I am, that 't wasn't your fault, my lord. Mayhap 'twas the pressure of the consummating that was at fault for our lack of success at getting me with child. Mayhap it weakened your fertility, but--"

  " 'Twas my kindness that prevented getting you with child!" Amaury snapped. When Emma merely blinked at him, he explained, "I did not spill my seed."

  Her confused expression did not clear much at that, and Amaury sighed impatiently. "A man must spill his seed, planting the babe in the woman's belly. But there was no time on our wedding night. We were interrupted and after the pain I caused you, I thought not to force myself on you further that night."

  "Seed?" Emma murmured, glancing down at her stomach.

  "Aye."

  She raised suspicious eyes to him again. "Where is this seed you are supposed to plant?" she asked skeptically.

  Amaury opened his mouth, closed it again, then flushed quite red, almost purple, in fact. For a moment Emma feared he might have a fit. Then he leapt off the bed and strode to the door, tugging it wide open. Framed naked in the doorway, he bellowed for his squire.

  Emma quickly covered herself with the bedclothes before the boy raced up from the Great Hall at the summons.

  "Fetch me some ale!" Amaury snapped when his squire slid to a halt at a safe distance from him. Nodding, Alden turned eagerly to flee, then froze and whirled when Amaury called out to him again. "Make it wine! Lots of it!"

  Closing the door on the boy's fleeing back, he turned to survey his wife. She was an alabaster statue amidst the ebony linen of the bed. Whirling back to the door, he opened it once more. 'Twas safer to stand in the door watching for Alden's return than to face his wife and risk more questions. Damned if he was going to explain the facts of life to her. Damned if he would.

  Emma stared at her husband's back in an agony of despair. Things had seemed so hopeful just moments ago when he had disrobed so quickly, but she was beginning to think his speed had had more to do with a determination to get the deed done quickly than with any eagerness on his part. Now it seemed he needed spirits to help him find the courage to perform the duty.

  Her thoughts were distracted by Amaury's grunt as Alden returned. It seemed the boy had accomplished his task at lightning speed. He must have run both ways.

  "What of my tankard?"

  "Y-yer tankard, my lord?" Alden stuttered under his Lord's frown.

  "Never mind," Amaury snapped impatiently, and slammed the door in his squire's face. Glancing at his wife, he muttered something under his breath, then tipped the bottle to his lips and emptied nearly half its contents in one long gulp.

  "Prey, do not overindulge, my lord!" Emma exclaimed, slipping off the bed and hurrying to his side in an attempt to snatch the bottle away. "I have heard overindulgence can affect a man's potency."

  "There is nothing wrong with my potency, wife!" Amaury snapped, pulling the bottle away from his lips and holding it out of her reach, then freezing.

  Emma had left the bedclothes on the bed when she fled it. She now stood before him in all her glory. Her body stretched catlike as she hopped before him, grabbing for the bottle he held above their heads. For a moment, his eyes simply would not turn from the sight of her bouncing breasts; then he cursed and forced himself to look away. Just when he was reminding himself that he was angry with the little wench and her assumption that it was some lack in him to blame for her not being with child, she lost her balance and stumbled against him. Perhaps it was only the wine he had just consumed, but her breasts seemed as hot as the embers of a fire as they grazed across his chest.

  Sucking in his breath, Amaury forgot the bottle in his hand, and unknowingly allowed it to lower to within her reach, but his little wife had quite suddenly lost interest in it as well. Instead, her gaze had now turned to her own chest, a look of astonishment on her face as she peered at her raised nipples and the way they poked out pertly toward him like buds reaching for the sun.

  Swallowing, Emma raised her hands uncertainly toward herself, then paused and glanced at her husband in
confusion. Her nipples were as hard as pebbles, their color a dark rose. 'Twas a situation that usually only occurred when she was cold or damp, or both, but the sensation that had raced through her just now as she had brushed against her husband's chest had not been coldness, but heat. A warm tingly sensation had flashed through her, seeming to shoot from each of her breasts to somewhere in her lower stomach.

  She was still puzzling over this condition, when her husband suddenly reached out to brush the thumb of his free hand across one of the affected buds. Emma would not have believed it possible for her nipples to distend any further, but they did. . . . And the shivery feeling returned as well, shuddering through her like a small bolt of lightning that seemed to leave a trail of molten heat. She couldn't repress the small moan of mingled pleasure and fear that slipped from her lips.

  Amaury was somewhat startled by that moan, for it had seemed to be one of pleasure. Yet wives were not supposed to enjoy the marriage act. Still, the sound itself started a smoldering in him that reached all the way down to his toes, and he decided quite suddenly that he wanted more of those sounds. Many more. Dropping the bottle carelessly to the floor, he caught his wife under her arms and lifted her before him until her breasts were level with his face. He then leaned forward and closed his lips around the nipple he had just touched.

  "Oh." Emma's eyes widened briefly, then squinted closed. Her husband was feasting off her like the veriest baby, seeming to be almost trying to make a meal of her as he suckled, nipped, and tugged at first one nipple, then the other. 'Twas the oddest thing Emma had ever heard of a body doing . . . and she liked it. What had been a tingly sensation that zipped through her like a firefly before, now became a swell of torrid flame that licked at her insides, scorching her throughout and curling her toes.

  Head dropping backward, she cried out and clutched at his shoulders for purchase as wave after wave of sensation surged through her. Emma hardly noticed when he walked to the raised bed and set her on it on her knees so that he no longer needed to hold her. Her mind was full of new demands and desires she did not understand. She gave up all attempt to unravel those thoughts, however, when his newly freed hands began traveling, for the senses they awoke would not be ignored.

  She shuddered as his warm palms rose to cup her breasts, holding them and teasing them by turn as he feasted from first one, then the other. She moaned when he drew one hand away to skim it across her trembling belly before sliding it around to her behind and pulling her forward to cuddle his member. A whole new fire began then, and Emma cried out in response. Her hands moved instinctively to tangle in his hair. Clutching his head closer to the breast he attended, she trembled as his other hand suddenly dropped, grazing across her hip before feathering down her outer leg. But she jerked in his arms slightly, a gasp of startled protest on her lips, when that hand started up her inner thigh.

  Catching the objection with his own lips, Amaury startled her again by sliding his tongue into her open mouth. For a moment, Emma wasn't sure what was occurring. She had never been kissed like this before. But then the fire that had been numbed by her surprise burst back to life with a vengeance, threatening to consume her as he lured her own tongue into an oddly intimate dance. She was suddenly filled with a hunger she had no idea how to sate. Clenching her fingers in his hair, she moaned wildly against his mouth, her tongue quickly becoming as demanding as his own as she pressed her body closer. Some part of her seemed determined to meld her body into his.

  She was pushing herself so close and pulling him so tight, it almost hurt where their bodies were pressed together, and still she felt hollow inside. An emptiness she did not understand and could not explain seemed to cry out from the very depths of her belly, aching in places she had not known could ache. It was almost a relief when his hand finished moving upward and cupped her womanhood . . . almost. Emma sobbed and ripped her mouth away, a wail of confusion, despair, joy, and pleading torn from her lips as he slid his fingers between the curls to touch her core, his own lips slipping to her neck to suckle and nip the sensitive flesh there as he caressed her.

  Emma whimpered as the fever built within her. Her body was trembling like the quiver of her bow from tension as she strained toward something she both feared and needed. She felt as if she was about to explode, as though she very well might die if she did not reach what she was clutching at. She dug her nails into her husband's back in frustration as her goal hovered stubbornly just outside reach of her terrified grasp, and Amaury nipped at her ear lightly in revenge, even as he increased the speed of his hand against her slick skin.

  Just when Emma felt sure she would shatter into pieces in his arms, the control Amaury had been clutching at so desperately snapped and he withdrew his hands to push her back. She felt the bed embracing her. Then her husband came down on top of her as he had on their wedding night, his mouth taking hers savagely once more as he plunged into her.

  Emma's eyes flew open in shock at this intrusion. She recognized it at once as the same that had occurred on her wedding night. Only this time there was no pain, just unbearable pleasure as he moved against her. His body enclosed in hers and wrapped around her, he drove her back to the pinnacle she had stood on before he had pushed her back on the bed. Then, with one last forceful plunge and a shout of success as he reached his own heights, Amaury shoved her off the world to float in the stars as she burst into a thousand sparks of light.

  Chapter 8

  EMMA opened her eyes slowly. Amaury had covered her while she slept. Partially. The bedclothes reached just past her waist, leaving her upper body bare and revealing the small marks left behind by his ardor. A flush covered her cheeks as she recalled just how she had gained those marks and she smiled wryly as she thought of the ale and potions she had taken to ease the pain of joining.

  "What do you smile at wife?"

  Glancing to the side quickly, Emma blushed anew as she saw her husband lying on his side watching her. She wondered briefly how long he had lain there staring at her as she slept, then shrugged as she admitted, "I was thinking I now understand why some women have so many children."

  A purely male smile curving his lips, Amaury chuckled deep in his chest, his hand moving to cup the breast nearest him. Emma's body responded at once, her nipple growing hard and alert before he covered it with his mouth, nipping at it teasingly, then suckling it by turn. He didn't bother to hide the chuckle of satisfaction that whispered across her skin when she shifted restlessly beneath his attention and arched into his caress.

  "You like my touch."

  Emma's ardor cooled slightly at the arrogance in his tone, her pride prickling. "Aye," she said calmly after a moment's thought, then added silkily, " 'Tis sorry I am that my first husband could not bring himself to the marriage bed. Think of all the pleasure I have missed."

  Amaury stilled at once, his head lifting to spear her with a look before she could hide the satisfaction in her face. Eyes slitting slightly, he watched her closely as he continued to palm her breast, then as quick as a hawk, his hand dipped down between her legs and he plunged a finger into her tight opening.

  Emma gasped and squeezed her legs closed, her hands moving to push his away, but he would not be denied. With cool deliberation, he pushed his finger in and out, his thumb rubbing the nubbin where all sensation seemed to be centered. Closing her eyes, she tried to fight the feelings swelling up inside her, but it was impossible. Giving in, she cried out and arched into his touch.

  "Think you Fulk would have made you feel like this?"

  "N-noooo. Oh, please," Emma begged, reaching to clutch at his arm, groaning and arching higher when his thumb began to massage her faster.

  Amaury watched his wife with satisfaction for a moment, taking in the fire in her eyes and passion's flush on her cheek as she made little gasping sounds and writhed beneath his touch, but then a thought raised some discontent in him.

  Ladies were not supposed to enjoy the bedding.

  Plunging his finger deeper, Amau
ry watched her buck against the action and began to frown. God's truth, she wasn't behaving like a lady at all, let alone a Duchess, he thought with disgruntlement. Her head was twisting frantically, her legs spread on the bed, knees drawn up slightly and heels digging deep as she pushed her hips upward seeking the release he offered.

  His frown turned to a scowl when she began moaning and whimpering. Then he stopped touching her altogether and lay back on the bed to scowl at the drapings above them.

  Emma stiffened, her eyes shooting open at his withdrawal. Her body was heavy and achy with need as she took in his grim expression. For a moment she did not know what to do, then her gaze dropped to his oddity. He was as stiff as a Maypole. Deciding he was teasing her for her taunt about her first husband, Emma caught him unawares by rolling on top of him. It made perfect sense to her. After all, if the horse would not come to the rider, the rider must go mount the horse, she thought with determination, pushing herself to sit astride his hips.

  Amaury no longer looked so grim. Instead, he quite suddenly looked dismayed. Emma took a moment to ponder that, then rubbed herself instinctively against his member.

  "What do you?" he asked, looking almost scandalized. His hands came up to clasp her waist to lift her away, but Emma rubbed against him again and he stilled, clasping her, but not moving her away as his expression tightened.

  Grunting her satisfaction, Emma moved against him again, her hands braced on his chest as she pleasured herself against the base of his staff. Amaury lay as still as death for a while, struggling to control his desires enough to order her off of him, but it seemed an impossible feat. He simply could not manage it. Instead of easing, his ardor was mounting by the moment. Still, he held out until he was so roused it hurt, then lifted and shifted his little wife so that she came down hard on his manhood before rolling her onto her back once more and taking over again.