“No.” She smiled, a smile of contentment, and something else, something more, something that choked him with pleasure.
“After your imprisonment, maybe ’tis not good—”
“’Tis fine.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly.
What was he going to do? He was only a man, and much weaker than he had thought himself to be. He groaned and fell back on the pillows, staring again at the ceiling.
“Do not torture yourself,” she whispered, raising up to do so. Her breasts flattened against his arm. Her face was near his.
“Do you read my mind?” he asked gruffly.
“I do not have to read it,” she answered. “Your thoughts are written on your face, and besides, I know you well enough.”
He shifted onto his side, his palm spreading on her taut back. It slipped to her hip. Her flesh curved perfectly into his hand. “I should never have given you to Guy,” he said roughly.
“It matters not. You are our liege lord. You may take what you want.”
“Guy most likely will feel differently.”
“No, he would deny you nothing.”
“You are so sure?”
“I am sure, but if it bothers you, he need not know.”
“What are you suggesting, wench?” His grip tightened. “I am not a liar. I do not cuckold my best man. Yet I am doing both!”
Her palm grazed his face. “We need each other, my lord,” she said simply.
Her touch was going to undo him. He groaned, fighting with himself, telling himself to get out of the bed and leave, now. Yet he knew, all along, that he would not. He could not. “You are a witch,” he rasped. “Because I am under your spell, of that there is no doubt.”
Her hand slid from his jaw to his neck, paused, then slipped to his shoulder. She began rubbing his thick chest muscle. Rolfe’s head went back, his eyes closed, he arched himself into her hand. He heard her whisper “You are so powerful, my lord, so big, so strong …”
He groaned, lifting her on top of him, nuzzling her breasts. A simple touch, a few words, and he was lost. He prodded her with his throbbing organ. “Can you ride me, Ceidre?”
“I don’t know.” She gasped, surprised, as he lazily rubbed his swollen tip against her derriere, tonguing a nipple at the same time.
“Ride me,” he commanded, holding her in place, then swiftly thrusting up into her. She cried out as he filled her, instinctively shifting to lessen the vast pressure. He held her immobile. “Don’t move, I will be gentle, you will get used to it in a moment. Relax.”
She trembled on top of him. “You might split me asunder.”
“No, no, I will not, trust me….”
He watched her relax, and as she moved, slightly, he saw her gasp with pleasure as she grew accustomed to him. “Ride me,” he said thickly.
She needed no urging. Head flung back, breasts thrust forward, she rode him hard.
“How long have you been with William?”
They lay entwined together in the middle of the bed, Ceidre’s face resting against his shoulder, his hand drifting in her hair. “A dozen years.”
She looked up. “But how is that possible? Are you an old man?”
He smiled slightly. “I am almost twenty-nine. I joined William when I was seventeen. Why?”
“I know nothing about you.”
He smiled genuinely now. “You know more than all other women.” His eyes glinted. He wrapped his hand in her hair and pulled her head back, turning her face up to his. “You know how to please me.”
