Page 68 of The Dragon Ring
I shook my head. “I’m– I was thinking about my boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?” He might well look puzzled. I don’t think “boyfriend” was a concept he could understand.
“I was going to be married,” I explained, lying judiciously. “Back where I come from. We were going to be married. And I miss him.”
He was silent. What was he thinking? Another tear rolled down my cheek. He leaned toward me, and before I could move, kissed my cheek where the tear was. It was a strangely gentle gesture after the hard kiss he’d given me outside the Imperial Palace. I was too surprised to recoil.
“Don’t be afraid.”
I gave him a damp smile and wiped my eyes and nose on my sleeve. “I’m not.” No such thing as hankies in the Dark Ages.
His solemn face softened into a smile. “That’s better.”
He was very close to me. I could almost hear his heart beating. Wait, maybe that was mine, hammering in overtime in my chest, the blood pounding in my ears.
He had enviably long dark eyelashes and flecks of gold in his brown eyes, the shadow of stubble on his chin, and unruly dark hair just like his son’s.
His smile vanished. “Will you undo your hair for me?” His voice was husky and low.
Should I? Would that herald the betrayal of Nathan? Half of me felt it would, but the other half was protesting that he wasn’t even born yet, nor would he be for another fifteen hundred years, so I couldn’t betray someone who didn’t exist. And Arthur was undeniably attractive, made more so by his recent triumph, which had cloaked him with the confident air of the victor.
And I was lonely. Surrounded by people, but so lonely. I longed for the closeness of human intimacy, for the feel of comforting arms around me, of a warm body next to mine. I missed Nathan. Not just for himself and his companionship, but for his protective arms embrace, for his warm body in my bed, his slight snore when he was drunk, his clothes spread about the bedroom floor, his smell, his touch. I craved the feel of someone touching me, and me touching them.
I pulled my long plait over my shoulder and undid the cord that bound it in place. He lifted a hand, and, taking the plait, pulled it through his fingers until every lock fell loose in a luxuriant veil.
I heard him catch his breath and felt my cheeks color.
He cupped my chin. “You’re very beautiful.” And he bent forward and kissed me gently on the lips.
I’d been kissed lots of times, of course. But this was different. His lips touched mine, barely brushing them, warm and dry, and light as thistledown. A quiver of desire ran through my treacherous body.
His mouth was close to my ear, his breath warm and intimate. “Don’t think of him, think of me.”
He kissed me again. I closed my eyes and opened my mouth under his, my body responding. His tongue flicked over my lips, exploring, finding my tongue. It was a long time before he released me.
I was breathless. Not because of the length of the kiss, but because of the way it had made me feel, stirring all the inner longings that I’d never thought I could have for anyone but Nathan. It no longer mattered to me that he wasn’t Nathan. My lonely soul cried out for Arthur.
I was pleased to see that he was breathless as well.
“Get up,” he said.
We got to our feet together, and he gently turned me around. His fingers were on the lacings of my dress. My heart thundered in my chest so loud he must have heard. Before he had them all undone, he leaned forwards, and moving my hair to one side, kissed the back of my neck. His lips felt hot and firm as his tongue traced a path across my skin. I shivered with excitement at his touch, and his suddenly clumsy fingers fumbled on my laces. Was he nervous too?
He tore them undone. The dress loosened and his hands slid over my skin and round to my breasts. I felt an ache of reciprocal longing. There was no getting away from it. I wanted him as much as he wanted me. Maybe for similar reasons. Maybe he, too, was lonely. I didn’t care. He was the connection I was looking for.
The dress fell to the tiled floor; my undershirt slipped off my shoulders and followed, leaving me naked in my walking boots. For a moment he looked down at them in surprise, then he dropped to his knees to unlace them. His head was below my waist. I put my fingers in his thick hair as he pressed his lips against my naked thigh. Covering my skin with kisses, he got slowly to his feet, working his way up to my breasts, exploring my body with his mouth.
It was my turn now, and I was impatient. I undid his belt and let it fall to the floor, then pulled his tunic over his head and discarded it. He took me in his arms and kissed me again as though this was something he’d wanted to do for a very long time. I kissed him back, sliding my hands under his loose undershirt to touch his skin, taut over his ribs, the muscles firm beneath it. His whole body quivered. I pulled him to me, pressing my body against his, feeling his arousal hard against my naked belly.
We had somehow found ourselves by the bed and now he pushed me down onto my back. Still standing, he pulled off his undershirt and dropped down on top of me. For a moment our eyes met, and then he bent and kissed me again, his tongue on mine. I opened my legs and felt him slide between them. He was still wearing his braccae. I could feel him pushing at me through the soft material. I wanted him. Badly.
I pushed his mouth away. “Take your trousers off.” I could only manage a gasp.
He stood up and there was the sound of him hurriedly pulling off his boots and braccae. Then he was back between my legs and his mouth was hard on mine and he was hard against me and then inside, pushing and questing and filling me up. I let out a groan of pleasure and dug my fingers into his back as he thrust into me again and again. My whole body had been crying out for this, for the closeness of becoming one flesh, for the intimacy of sex, for the relief that sex can give. Our bodies were slick with sweat, our breath coming in pants, as in unison we galloped toward the conclusion.
At last it was over. He rolled off me, spent and tired, and I lay on my back with his seed running down my inner thighs. I’d just been fucked by King Arthur. Not a nugget of information I would want to have shared with my father.
After a few minutes he turned onto his side and looked at me. “You’re no virgin bride, are you?”
