Page 39 of The Captive Knight
Chapter Eleven
Aswooping sensation weighed in his loins as fast as her words registered. Her backside brushed against him as she turned bodily in his arms to face him with determination and intent in her dewy, half-lidded eyes.
God’s Blood.
His thoughts slowed. His will stretched as thin as the linen separating his flesh from hers.
He’d be a liar if he said he didn’t want this.
Hadn’t considered every possibility of it while sleeping outside her door with the hounds.
Hadn’t examined all possible consequences.
Hadn’t dreamed about it, every damn night.
She slid her hands under the cloth of his doublet to press her palms against his chest. His heart threatened to thunder out of his skin.
He caught one of those hands in his. “You don’t mean this.”
The moonlight, falling from behind her, lit the curve of her cheek as she smiled.
“When I said you would be my chatelaine,” he added, “I didn’t mean—”
“I know your offer is honest, Jehan.”
“Take the offer then. As it is.”
“I want more.”
Her body pressed against his, her hips surging closer to where he most ached, and it took a moment for him to realize that she hadn’t moved. It was he who’d released her hand so he could curl his arm tight around her.
“Fate will not mock me anymore, I swear it.” She feathered her fingers up the side of his neck. “I have waited too long upon the whims of my father. I will take matters in my own hands.”
A cloud passed across the moon, casting a shadow over them. “Aliénor,” he whispered, “I’ll be married to another.”
“Surely your English widow won’t want to visit a little castle in Gascony.” She arched her back under the touch of his fingers. “Surely she’ll keep to her grand English manor houses.”
His control, a fraying thread.
“Jehan,” she sighed, slipping a finger across his lips. “If you finally had a future within your grasp, wouldn’t you seize it with both hands?”
***
Aliénor surged up on her toes and drew his head lower so she could capture his mouth. He groaned in a way that made his whole body rumble. He tightened his grip around her until her toes lifted rose away from the floor. She felt weightless, buffeted, gripped by a shuddering pleasure. Surely this must be how her hawk felt, set free of the leash, spreading her wings wide and vaulting toward the sky.
He whispered her name. She caught it with the eager press of her mouth. When she turned aside a fraction to catch her breath, his lips slipped up her cheek toward her temple, leaving in their wake a tingling trail. She curled her spine in response to the muffled pressure of his roving hand, wishing all the while that no wool separated his fingers from her bare back.
With a rush of awareness she realized she could make it so.
She pressed her palms against his solid chest until he ceded to her wishes and a space opened between their bodies. She slipped her hands under the cloth of his doublet and spread the edges apart. Moonlight gleamed on his body, all lean planes and shallow, carved hollows, warm and smooth against her fingers.
Warm and smooth against her lips.
His pulse jumped against her mouth and pleasure surged through her. She spread her hands wide and rasped her thumb across his flat, dark nipple. His gasp made the muscles between her legs tighten.
She hardly knew what she was doing and yet the way he responded to her touch made her curious to learn more.
She made short work of the lacings of his doublet then pushed it off his shoulders. With a swing of an arm he tossed it to some far wall. Then he crossed his arms and seized his shirt in his hands, sweeping it over his head in one swift motion. He wrapped it into a loose ball and sent it off to join his doublet in the rushes.
