Page 218 of The Daughters of Avalon
“Say it again,” he demanded.
Seren winced. She had a terrible feeling that she’d pushed him to his limit and if she repeated her imputations, he might drag her off her mount and put her over his knee to spank her… and still, she dared—only softer this time, with a bit less anger. “You’re a foul-tempered man, a crude bore, and you eat as though you’ll never see another day—’tis all true, Wilhelm, but I don’t care.”
“Not that,” he said with a frown. “All the rest.”
“What rest?”
“Will you make me say it again myself, because if I do, it won’t mean so much, Seren.”
Suddenly, a smile tugged at Seren’s mouth, realizing what it was that he wished for her to repeat, and for all that he was glaring at her so ferociously, she recognized the flare of hope in his warm, dark eyes. She lifted her chin, repeating, “I said… I do not regret giving myself to you.”
“And have you? Because ’tis not your body I truly desire, delectable though it may be.”
Lifting her chin, Seren answered his question with a question of her own. “Do you think me a wanton? Because I am not,” she apprised him. “And if you dare imply ’tis so, I will box your ears.”
He grinned, then tugging her down from the horse, pulling her into his arms. “I must advise you; I am no man to be trifled with. Nor do I relinquish my belongings once they are given, few enough that I possess.”
He was holding her so jealously now that she could feel the length of his manhood stabbing her in the belly. The very feel of it stole her breath.
“I am no man’s chattel,” she apprised, though without heat. Because in truth, she feared she belonged to him as thoroughly as she could belong to any.
Shocking her, he reached down to lift up her dress in broad daylight, then slid a finger into her most private region and Seren startled over the warmth of it, shuddering with delight. Only this time, there was no tenderness in his touch, and he groaned deep back in the back of his throat when he found her damp. His eyes grew heavy-lidded and he walked her slowly backward to a nearby tree, gently putting her back against it, and looking her straight in the face.
Wilhelm had had enough.
He’d let her blister his ears all morning long, calling him this name and that name, never truly understanding why he’d abandoned their discourse this morning.
He was in a quandary, because he had nothing to give her—naught that belonged to him. He only wished to save her from a fate she couldn’t yet see. And still, she would prefer to accuse him of perfidies than to see what it was he was trying to do—spare her from a life with a man who could give naught but his heart.
Once again, with meaning, he reached down to lift up her gown—only let her think him crude; he didn’t care. Simply because he’d bedded her, he would not constrain her to a fate she didn’t want. If she denied him once they returned to Warkworth, he would fully support her and take their secret to the grave, but she should know once and for all that it was not some gentle lord she would tempt.
He desperately craved the taste of her on his lips, and the instant he found the bud of her woman’s flower, he felt her knees buckle and caught her.
Undaunted, Wilhelm thrust a finger between her woman’s lips, then lifted it to his mouth. His tongue lapped the taste of her from his fingers, and he groaned again, deep in his throat, savoring the delicious tang of his beautiful flower.
Watching him, Seren gasped aloud, her look akin to horror, and he narrowed his eyes, his lips curving wolfishly.
“This is what you court if you continue. I am not a courteous man, Seren. Nor am I gentle-born like Giles. I haven’t the manners of a pretty lord, nor can I bestow upon you gold, or gowns. I am a crude bore, as you say.” And only to drive home his point, he slid his finger back into his mouth and lapped it with relish, like a dog with a juicy bone, all the while never releasing her startled gaze. And when he was done, he asked, “Has any man ever tasted you this way? Ever?”
Wide eyed, Seren shook her head. She opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her once again, dropping his hand down and lifting her skirt again, so his fingers could seek her soft curls. There, he drove his fingers into her mons, tugging gently. “I do not share,” he said, with meaning, but there was no threat to his gesture. Rather he wanted her to remember everything he had done to her last night… all the liberties he’d taken, and he would do it all again, right now, in plain sight of God and anyone else who might wander by. Holding her firmly against the tree, he dropped to one knee, bowing beneath her gown, and then with relish, he lifted his tongue to press against her flower bud, as he’d longed to do from the instant he awoke with the taste of her upon his lips and her arse snuggled so intimately against his cock… and every second of every minute thereafter.
Seren whimpered with pleasure,her eyes glistening with unshed tears—not because she was sad, but because she longed to hold him this way forever.
Everything he was saying, everything he was doing… it was utterly shocking. Certainly, this was not the way a lord treated his lady, and yet, it was… so… so… very… delightful… and he was telling her true. He was not gentle born. She reveled in that fact, somehow knowing instinctively that no pretty lord would dare what he was doing.
“I do not share,” he said again, the heat of his breath on her mons, as his tongue dove again into her body, suckling from her as a bee would the nectar from a flower. And then, she couldn’t stop herself; she tangled her hands into his hair, and said, “You’re a lout, Wilhelm.”
In answer, he chuckled darkly against her curls, and slid his callused hands about her bottom, pressing her closer for the onslaught of his tongue, lapping and suckling in turn, and finally, he lifted himself, and dared to kiss her—right on the mouth!—sharing the most shocking taste on his lips…
It was outrageous, appalling, intemperate, delicious, disquieting, bewildering, brutish, crude…
“Say you are mine,” he demanded.
Seren trembled. She could not find her voice to speak, but she nodded anyway, and he growled with satisfaction, somehow managing to unlace his trews and dropping them to the ground as she delighted in the finger that danced so boldly inside her body. And then, once again, he was bare from the waist down—without any shame—his trews tangled about his ankles. And, with a guttural moan, he angled his hips down, and up, impaling her where she stood, and Seren gasped with delight, drunk with pleasure as he filled her with soft, silky heat. Her head fell backward against the tree, and she let him have his way, lifting her beneath the knees, and guiding her legs about his waist. He held her firmly against the tree, stroking her body from within, and this time, there was naught gentle about their loving. It was hungry and greedy, and when Wilhelm was done, he looked ather with a grin on his face, and said, “I hope you enjoy gruel; that’s all I’ve got to feed you.”
It wasn’t true, Seren knew.
He was, indeed, a lout, because he’d already provided far more for her than she’d ever had in all her life. But what he hadn’t done this time was satisfy her completely. Even their loving last night had left her with a glimpse of something… something maddening… something that promised… more. She tilted her hips again to tease him and said dreamily, “I am still hungry,” and to that, his grin widened, and, inconceivably, he hardened. Again.
