Colette Gale - Bound by Honor
When she sat, her quim wide and wet over him, he drew in a long, deep breath and closed his eyes. But he did not move, though she saw the muscles in his arms twitch.
Then he opened his eyes, and they fastened on hers, avid and hot. His lips moved soundlessly. . . . Marian . . . I love you. The words were inaudible, as if they were too sacred to say aloud. But she read them on his mouth, and felt the truth of it in his breath and the way it radiated from him . . . now that the specter of John was gone.
She nudged herself forward, feeling the rough texture of his chest hair beneath her sensitive, swollen quim, and, placing her hands around the smooth expanse of his biceps, bent forward.
Her nipple just brushed his lips and he opened them to capture it, but she did not pause and allow him to. She tipped to one side, then the other, and back, and his tongue slipped out and flickered over one taut point . . . then the other . . . and even that brief sensation sent tingles down into her belly and beyond.
Then she settled with one breast over his mouth, her hair falling down to pool on either side of his torso. He lifted his head to close his lips around her. Marian sighed at the warm, slick sensation, the pressure, the tugging and pulling and the sliding of his tongue.
She closed her eyes and felt the familiar pooling of dampness at her quim, the sharp, tingling spiraling down from her belly to center there. Her fingers wrapped around his biceps, and she felt the smooth sensitive skin inside his arms and she bent to kiss him, tracing her tongue gently and delicately over the light-colored flesh. She took a lock of her hair and swept it lightly over his other arm, noticing how the skin leapt and trembled.
He tensed beneath her, his belly, his mouth, his arms . . . then relaxed, sucking harder on her sensitive nipple. Marian felt a twinge between her legs and a wave of delicate tremors from her little pearl . . . and she sighed as the pleasure flowed easily over her, surprising her with its intensity.
Will need have no concern that she would overset him too soon.
When she pulled away, her breast stretching a bit, he lifted his head to go with her, his muscular shoulders rising from the bed . . . but she reminded him with a sharp, “Nay, Will . . . surely you have more willpower than that.”
He gave a soft, tortured laugh and collapsed back onto the bed. “Not so much, when you are wriggling and writhing over me. Have pity, Marian.”
She smiled back, delighted to see his mouth curve in real humor, and bent to cover those full lips with hers again, briefly, sweetly. She pulled away when he began to shift beneath her, his breathing growing deeper and faster. Easing down his body, she found that his skin was now warmer and shiny with a faint sheen of damp . . . and musky from her own scent. She kissed a trail through the springy hair on his chest, and paused to flicker her tongue over his nipple for a moment.
But she really wanted to move lower, and though she took her time kissing and nibbling over his hard stomach, she kept moving. At the tender crease between thigh and torso, she slid her tongue down and around and finally arrived at her destination.
With a quick glance up at him, she settled between his splayed legs and cupped his erection with both hands, sliding them slowly up and down, using more of the glistening drops from its head to slick her way. Then she had an idea and, with a mischievous glance at him, slipped one of her hands into her own warm, wet folds and pulled slick fingers back out with a soft, wet sound.
Will watched avidly, heavily, as she wiped her own juices over his cock, his face raised, eyes fastened on her movements, breathing audible. She felt the surge in the hot flesh she held, felt the little rising and shooting sensations inside the warm shaft, and began to stroke . . . long and slow . . . easy . . . so easy.
She watched him, felt his body tremble and gather, focused on his face as her own body tightened, swelling and pulsing, while his face grew darker, more taut and arrested. He flushed, his nostrils flared, his lips parted, and she moved faster and faster, watching, building up and up. . . . Her heart beat harder, her breathing rose, her hand flew up and down, up and down. . . .
“Marian,” he breathed, his gaze flashing to hers, eyes bright with desire, holding her as if he were touching her with his large, tanned hands.
Her chest tight, she gave in to his unspoken plea, releasing him but moving just as quickly to lift herself over his hips. Hands positioned on his trembling belly, she spread her legs wide and lowered herself onto him . . . slowly. . . .
“Lord,” he hissed, “I cannot. . . .”
“Don’t . . . move,” she managed to say as the sweetness filled her. Nothing like the long, sleek slide of Will, filling her, up into her center. . . .
His chest glistened, his face shone, his eyes burned, yet he remained still, his hands caught behind his head, his pulse visible in the lean cords of his neck, his belly shuddering beneath her palms.
Marian settled on him, down, low, and paused to catch her own breath and steady herself. Naught that she’d experienced in the chambers with John had prepared her for this delicious warmth . . . the beauty, the connection, the sense of completion . . . of purity.
So clean and pure after the tawdriness of the Court of Pleasure.
He moved inside her, a little twitch, catching her by surprise, and she couldn’t help a soft gasp of laughter. “Did I give you leave to move?” she asked, hearing in her own ears how low and dusky her voice was.
“Nay,” was his rumbling reply. “But I trow the game is over.” With a flash of white teeth, a humorless, fierce smile, he surged up . . . and the next thing she knew, Marian was on her back, hair tangling in and around them, and Will was poised over her.
But he paused, holding himself up on two strong arms without touching her but for the hair-covered thigh settling gently between hers. “Marian . . .” He waited, searching her face with sharp, serious eyes.
She smiled up at him, understanding his hesitation. “And so you have lost to me twice on this day. At chess . . . and in bed.”
He returned the smile with one of his own . . . one she’d never seen before: warm, tender, loving. Real.
“I do not consider this”-he slipped inside her with a quick, sure movement-“losing.” They both groaned with deep pleasure.
Marian closed her eyes and lifted her hips, rising to meet him and the delicious long, sleek strokes, turning her head as he buried his face in her throat, gently kissing her as he moved so slowly . . . in . . . out . . . as long, slow, sweet pleasure rose lightly inside her . . . curling, unfurling, warm, and delicious. Skin to skin, warm and damp, rough with hair, smooth with muscle, soft and lush and hard, they tangled and sighed, stroked and kissed with reverence. Without hurry. With promises.
And then with a quiet groan of acquiescence, Will lifted his face from her skin and settled back on his haunches, guiding her along with him, his hands at her hips. He moved faster now, with greater urgency, and she planted her feet on the bed on either side of him, matching the rhythm, meeting his dark eyes, feeling her tight, sensitive breasts bounce and sway and her core deepen and lengthen and swell. . . .
She made it first, just tipped over the edge on a long, downward spiral, dizzy and undulating helplessly beneath him, around him, her eyes rolling back in her head. Her toes curled. Her heart stopped dead . . . then picked up again a moment later, pounding harder and faster.
He swore softly under his breath, more a prayer than an oath, and her eyes flew open in time to see what she needed to see: to meet his gaze and watch the flash of rapture over his upturned face, the long, sleek lines of his neck, the gentle parting of his lips.
Not the hard, triumphant expression she’d seen on John, or the shameful, desperate one from Robin . . . but an ecstatic joy, contained . . . but true. Beautiful in its vulnerability.
He said her name again, a caress of syllables that settled her pounding pulse into easy rhythm. Then, skin to skin, arms and legs tangled, they collapsed onto the bed, damp, warm, and well sated.
CHAPTER 17
W ill awakened abruptly. His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, thanks in part to the glowing coals of the fire, and his years of instant readiness in battle. Marian still slept curled against him, her soft, warm body comforting and welcome. He was covered more by her hair than the furs of the bed.
He saw the figure standing in the chamber and recognized it immediately.
“This will be the last time you invade my lady’s chamber,” he said, reaching for a candle. He would not conduct this conversation in the darkness.
“Nottingham.” Locksley didn’t sound surprised or even annoyed at discovering a man in his lover’s bed. “How convenient to find you here.”
The candle flared to life thanks to a sharp piece of flint and a tendril of cotton, and Will looked up at Locksley. The man seemed unconcerned by his presence, and barely cast a glance at Marian’s ivory skin, more exposed than Will would have liked.
“What do you want?” Will asked.
“I came with news, and to bid Marian farewell. And since you are here as well, that makes my task even simpler.”
Will sat straighter, and Marian shifted against him, waking at the sound of their low voices. “What news?” he pressed.
“Farewell?” she asked, pushing her hair out of her face.
Will glanced down at her, unable to keep himself from tensing, awaiting her reaction. But her first look was up at him with sleep-drugged eyes, and her fingers curled around his beneath the covers as she pulled herself upright. She tugged the furs to cover her breasts, and looked at Locksley . . . with naught but curiosity in her face. Will relaxed.
“I’m leaving Sherwood. Robin Hood will be no more.”
“Except for the man in the dungeon below,” Marian said drily, her hip and leg lined up with Will’s, rubbing with little, gentle caresses.
“He’s an outlaw at any rate, and will hang regardless of his name,” Will told her. “He was part of the group that attacked you.”
“But why are you leaving?” Marian asked, turning back to their visitor.
“My work is finished here. The queen will soon arrive and she will set all to rights.”
“The queen? How do you know this?” Marian asked, echoing Will’s thoughts.
Locksley flushed lightly. “Alys . . . er, Lady Alys,” he corrected himself. “She has received word that Eleanor makes haste to see her youngest son. She could arrive as soon as two days from now.”
Marian nodded. “Aye, the queen is a rapid traveler and waits for no one. Even the stoutest men-at-arms have difficulty keeping pace with her.”
“Or so the tales claim,” Will said. He looked at his former friend. “And so you leave before she arrives?”
He gave the cheeky smile that women always seemed to love, but that Will found exceedingly annoying. “Alys believes it would be helpful if I were never identified as Robin Hood, so ’tis best that we do so. We’re to wed,” he added, looking at Marian. “And she claims the queen will allow our union.”
“I would not argue that. Alys appears to know Eleanor even better than I,” Marian said, nodding.
Will looked at her in surprise, but chose not to follow that trail at the moment. “And you are leaving now? What other news?”
“ ’ Tis all. Just that we leave and I came to ask Marian if she wishes to go with us.” Locksley looked at him, and for the first time, the rivalry between them eased. “She would be safer,” he said, meeting his eyes with a sober gaze.
Will suppressed his first inclination-nay!-and tried to think on the suggestion clearly. Which was difficult in light of the sweet-smelling woman next to him, and the fresh memories of these last hours together.
It would be safer if she left. Locksley was right. If the queen did indeed arrive shortly, mayhap she would have word from Richard. And once things were set to right, Marian could return to him, and be protected.
“Nay,” Marian said. “I’ll not leave.” She tightened her fingers around his hand. “And aside of that, I must speak with the queen myself. What harm can the prince do in two or three days that he has not already done?” She looked at Will, her face haughty and firm. “I do not want to leave you.”
His insides warred, but in the end, he was undone by the determination that he could keep her from John for the few days remaining. The prince would not play his games when his mother was present, and if he must do so in order to guarantee her safety, Will would send Marian with the queen when she left.
“So be it,” Will said. “But we must take care to keep you from the prince’s sight until then.”
“Aye.” Marian smiled. “I shall claim illness or my flux.”
“Or I shall pay five women from the village to visit the prince as a gift for recovering from his illness,” Will added, feeling foolishly happy. “That will keep him busy enough for a night.” When was the last time he’d felt this way?
“Very well, then,” Locksley said. “Farewell, sweetling.” He came closer to the bed and, before Will could react, swept down and gathered Marian up for a last kiss boldly on the mouth, with a sidewise glance at Will.
He allowed it to pass. Locksley was leaving, and Marian was staying. With him.
“Alys and I will wed, and if you cannot attend that, at the least you must visit us in Clervillieres . . . far, far from the reach of John,” Locksley explained, stepping back.
“Indeed we shall,” Marian replied, but Will remained silent.
He was still the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, and he could not leave the county for any extended time. He would be attached to John through the king, and because of John’s own hold over Ludlow, Will could never expect to be free of the younger Angevin.
He must serve John until he died, or unless the king released him from his position as sheriff. But then what? What would he have to offer Marian?
Unlike Robin, who’d been Lord of Locksley until the prince claimed his lands, Will had naught but his honor-which had been severely tried as of late-and many years of service to Richard.
That amounted to little when it came to settling a bride-price.
A crust of discontent settled in his belly. He was not wealthy, nor did he own anything larger than a small manor house, seated in the county. She was Lady of Morlaix and far above him in station. He’d known this all along, and even from his days at Mead’s Vale he’d known she was a baron’s daughter . . . and he’d reminded himself of this when she arrived here at Ludlow. But then the battle of wills with the prince had arisen, and Will had taken the opportunity to have what he believed he’d never touch.
Bitterness soured his happiness, and he felt a wave of self-revulsion. Clearly he’d not spent enough time on his knees in the chapel.
“Will?” Marian was looking at him, and he gave himself a bit of a shake.
“You must go with him,” he said, easing away from her. Chill settled over his skin when they broke apart. “John will have recovered from his sickness, and he will be more determined than ever to entertain you. There is little I can do to stop him, save violence.”
