Fourteen
She went to Jack Pike’s room and woke him up. She was not coy. She did not know how to flirt, to hint, to hide what she wanted.
She asked him him to bed her. To undertake her training. So she could bed the duke and make him marry her.
And, yes, there would be the advantage that she would be bedded byhim. A beautiful man. A man she wanted. A man she was hungry for in a way she had not known existed before she met him.
She did not hide her desire from him. That was not her way.
He was naked in the bed. And just to look at him and be this near to him. Oh, oh, oh. The ache he gave her. And then he touched her back, her leg, her breast, her other place. The place where she sought her own release the rare times she was alone in the keep. And he showed her his cock and put her hand on it. It aroused her to touch it. So hot and with velvet skin. But she was too angry and too rough, and he stopped her.
He kissed her. He kissed her again. And she was angry at him because she wanted more kissing. But after she told him that, he kissed her more. And she was naked and he was lying on top of her and kissing her and she felt his hardness against her. He was harder than he had been before, and she thought she might have done that with her words and the kissing.
This was how a man and a woman fit together. No, no, not quite, but almost. Almost how they fit together. And her ache was unbearable.
“I love kissing you, Helen.” A whisper in her ear. It wasn’t love. She didn’t expect love. Because how could he love her? That would have been foolishness. But he loved kissing her. And she didn’t care if it was a lie or the truth because she loved hearing him say he loved kissing her. It was almost as good as kissing him. Because it was no lie that she loved kissing him. And to put her hands on his back and touch his muscles there as they kissed. To feel that hard pulsing thing between her legs as she pushed up against him, dying for the friction he might give her.
And then he was playing with her breasts with his tongue and his lips and his teeth. And she loved her small breasts for the first time because of the pleasure her breasts were giving her when he used his mouth on them. No woman with larger breasts could have ever felt more excitement than she was feeling at this moment.
Unhhh. She was groaning now and she didn’t care if the whole castle heard her. Here, in Jack Pike’s bed. But she knew no one could hear her. His bedchamber was . . . unhhh . . . far from the . . . other rooms. And castle . . . stone walls.
But she needed more. She needed more. She felt her cleft might fall off from the ache he was giving her as he made her nipples into shards of granite with his fierce, quick licks and nips. She writhed, she burned. It was the most wonderful agony in the world.
She took her hands from his upper back and put them on his head, in his hair.
“Oh, Jack. Please do that, but lower down.”
He stopped suddenly. She raised her head. He looked angry.
What had she said that was wrong? Was what she had told him to do shameful? What could possibly be shameful to Jack Pike? But it must be. Otherwise, why would he be angry? But she had thought . . . she had seen . . . and she had thought that was something men did to women?
“You told me you were untouched, Helen.”
There was a feral look about him now. A danger filled the room that had not been there before.
“Aye.”
“How do you know about what men do with their mouthslower down? You didn’t learn that from watching sheep.”
“The blacksmith—”
“The blacksmith licked you between your legs?” He was pushing himself off her, away, and every moment the contact between their two bodies was lessening. Every part of his body had been against hers just seconds ago and now he was going away and she was going to die from need. Here. In Jack Pike’s bed.
Her mind grasped at words through the haze of desire so she could make him understand.
“I saw the blacksmith up the side of the mountain with his head in his wife’s lap, under her skirts. She was making little noises. I guessed what he was doing.”
He relaxed back onto her. Thank God. Thank God. She held his broad shoulders so he couldn’t go away again. Not while she was still in this state.
“I don’t know what the blacksmith was doing under his wife’s skirts, but I will promise you one thing, Helen.”
Promise me that ye will keep touching me.
“Aye?”
“The noises you will make with my head in your lap will not be little ones.”
He grinned at her. That devilish, seducing grin which made her so wet. And all she could think about was how it was going to feel when he did put his head in her lap.
