Page 40 of Sutherland's Secret
She grabbed at the bedclothes, as eager as he. She was right: He wore nothing beneath the bedsheets but the skin he was born in. His erection lay heavy and swollen on his stomach. Eleanor hiked up her skirts while Brice took his penis in his hand and raised it for her to slide onto.
She closed her eyes and sighed as he filled her with his long, hard length. For a long moment she remained still, reveling in the sensation of him inside of her. Absently she wondered where this woman had come from; Eleanor had never, ever acted like this. Charles had always come to her at night, once a week, and they had made love in the dark, never fully removing their clothes. When the deed was done, he would leave her to clean up and go to sleep, and she would always wonder if there wasn’t more to it. There had to be. Charles seemed to get pleasure out of it, but she never received the same pleasure.
Now she knew there was definitely something more to it.
Brice reached between her legs and rubbed that hardened nub between her folds. She about came off the bed. The sensation was astonishing, a bit embarrassing, and altogether glorious. She cried out. He began moving inside her, groaning with each thrust as he continued to rub her.
The climax came swiftly and unexpectedly. Her eyes flew open and collided with the deep blue of his.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
She pressed her lips together, knowing if she didn’t, she would scream his name over and over, and she certainly didn’t want the entire castle knowing what they were doing. Small whimpers escaped as his fingers moved more swiftly and expertly against her and his hips pumped harder, slamming into her.
“Let it go, Ella.”
The wave crashed into her, making everything go numb except the feeling between her legs. She slid up and down his member, riding it and holding on for dear life.
Brice cried out and quickly plucked her off him so he could shoot his seed outside of her.
Eleanor rolled off him to land in a heap at his side. She gulped for air, her entire body tingling, her insides clenching down in the aftershock. Brice was just as boneless beside her, his chest heaving in an effort to draw in breath.
“What was that?” she asked between breaths.
“The best damn coupling I’ve ever experienced.”
She buried her face in the bed and smiled, inordinately pleased that she’d given him the best coupling of his life.
He stroked her back and sighed.
“I have to take care of your shoulder,” she said, her words muffled by the mattress.
“Ye could do what ye want with me and there’d nothing I could do about it. I dare say I won’t be able to move for a sennight.”
“I should probably stitch it up again.”
“Nay. Just wrap it up. It will heal on its own.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “And you’ve been shot enough times to know this?”
“Nay. No’ shot, but a few dagger wounds. One broadsword.”
Eleanor shook her head and pushed up off the bed, wondering if she would be able to move for a sennight herself. She rounded the bed and once again had Brice press the pad of linen to the wound. Once again she leaned over him to wrap it around him, but this time she shot him a look before she did.
“No’ to worry. I’ll no’ grab ye this time.” He grinned and waggled his eyebrows, but he didn’t move, and she managed to finally the get the bandage around him.
“I have to leave now.”
Alarm flashed in his eyes. “Leave where?”
“To the great hall. It’s time for the evening meal.”
He looked toward the window. “No’ for a while yet.”
She hadn’t told him that she served in the hall; frankly she had no interest in telling him. It was her business, and she was going to be late if she didn’t leave now. “Nevertheless, I’m going. I’ll have someone bring a tray up in a bit.”
He grasped her hand. “Ye bring the tray up.”
She shook her head. “I have things to do. Someone will bring it up.”
