Passion Over Time Page 16

  She faced the bed.

  Heavy curtains hung between all bed posts save the one against the wall where the picture hung, and the curtain facing the fire was open so that firelight would illuminate the writhing bodies on the mattress.

  She took two steps and leaned forward, palms flat on the mattress, purposely allowing her breasts to sway slightly. The duchess’ gaze would be riveted to the full globes. Riana forced back revulsion and slowly crawled to the head of the bed. She settled on her back, legs spread on the white sheets. With one hand, she cupped a breast, while flattening the other hand on her belly. Riana jammed shut her eyes. If her eyes strayed to the picture and met the duchess’s gaze she would vomit.

  Siusan. Remember her and their dear Glen, who risked his life to save them both. They were the reason she was here. She inched her hand downwards on her stomach. They must reach safety before the duchess’ attention waned. Which meant this time, Riana couldn’t distance her mind as she usually did when men rutted between her legs. This time, she had to enjoy being watched. Her fingers brushed the curls of her mound. Tears threatened. An unexpected vision rose of the dark-haired, dark-eyed young man who had gently taken her maidenhead. Pain slashed through her at memory of her husband, but she allowed her mind to sink into that kinder time, the day after Stuart had asked for her hand in marriage and they had met in the glen south of Fyvie Castle.

  They were to be married. She hugged him close, aware of the erection that pressed eagerly against her belly. His body tensed against his self-imposed restraint. Riana laughed. She wanted him, intended to have him long before the wedding, still six months away.

  Guilt stabbed through the memory with startling intensity. Stuart hadn’t been able to resist, just as the men the duchess sent never resisted. But Riana had loved Stuart…he had loved her. They were supposed to want one another. And they had.

  Her body exploded when he touched her. Riana’s nipples puckered. A thumb brushed one marbled peak. She dragged in a breath. Desire streaked through her as his callused hand slipped into her heated folds. Riana moaned and arched into his warm palm. Gentle massages to her sex tightened her core with heart-stopping anticipation. She pulsed against the rhythm. Pressure built. His gentle touch drove her mad. He didn’t want to hurt her. But she wanted his fingers stretching her, his cock stroking the most intimate part of her, yet untouched by a man. She wanted hard thrusts that would push her over an edge she’d only dreamt of.

  Voices intruded on the intimate moment. Riana thrashed against the need for release. The murmur grew louder. She reached for Stuart, but her fingers closed around thin air. Her eyes shot open. The canopy over the bed in Arundel snapped into focus and grief slashed like a knife. She choked back a sob. Stuart was gone. The sound of voices in the hallway made her jerk her head in the direction of the door.

  Sir Dunbar.

  Riana yanked her finger from within her drenched channel and scrambled beneath the sheets. The door creaked open as the sheet settled around her. The soft click of the door being shut was followed by the clink of metal that told her the knight was removing his sword, then chain mail.

  Heart racing, Riana willed her trembling body to still. She lay against the snow white pillow, dark hair fanned out around her face, sheet tucked around her full breasts, arms at her sides. She must appear the siren when he finally lifted the curtain and found her in his bed. No man had ever turned from her. Fear rushed to the surface. What if tonight was different? It couldn’t be. All she needed was these last few hours.

  After Riana gave the knight the wine, she would flee Arundel. The duchess would stay to watch until certain the poison had drained his life before finally retiring for the evening. By morning, the keep would be abuzz as she played the part of the shocked patroness when the sheriff accused her ward of murdering Sir Dunbar.

  When the sheriff finally knocked on Riana’s door she would be miles away, riding in the opposite direction to the one Siusan and Glen traveled. Even if they captured Riana, she would return to face charges of murder only to find the victim alive and well, with no ill after effects of the cantarella she’d used in place of the arsenic the duchess had given her.

  Air wafted across Riana’s arms. Gooseflesh raced up her arms. The knight must have lifted the curtain on the left side of the bed. A moment of silence passed before the bed shifted as he lowered himself onto the mattress beside her. He tugged the covers upwards and she tried to quiet the rampant beat of her heart when the cool linen settled back into place. Warmth radiated from him and her stomach clenched in anticipation of the weight of his large body pressing down on her. Instead, a feather-light caress wound circles down her left arm.

  She shivered. He shifted and warm breath bathed her ear, then teeth gently bit down on her ear lobe. Moist lips trailed from cheek to mouth. He shifted and something brushed across her breasts. She jumped before realizing he had braced an arm on the other side of her. He paused and lifted his mouth from hers. When she didn't move, he seemed satisfied and again covered her mouth with his. His tongue flicked against her lips and she opened for him.

  He swept his tongue inside and Riana was surprised at the sweet taste of his breath. Too many of the men the duchess sent to her tasted of the foul world from which they came. But this man tasted of brandy and cinnamon. He must have partaken of Cook’s famous cinnamon buns. His tongue thrust in quick bursts and she wondered what that tongue would feel like on the sensitive nub between her legs. Riana jerked from the thought. How could she feel desire for a man such as Sir Dunbar…and only minutes after picturing Stuart’s face?

  The knight broke the kiss and his mouth began a slow, moist slide down her jaw, neck, to the swell of her breast. When he closed his mouth around a nipple through the thin linen of the sheet, pleasure streaked through her. She gasped.

  He lifted up. “I would prefer to see your beautiful eyes.”

  A masculine voice, deep, rich—and not Sir Dunbar’s—caused her eyes to snap open.

  She gaped at the face before her. Instead of the brown eyes she had expected, emerald green eyes stared down at her.

  Sir Bryant Cullen.

  Her heart leapt into a furious rhythm. What was he doing here? Had the duchess changed her mind? Was it Sir Bryant she now wished murdered? No, that didn’t make sense. Yet he was here. Her mind whirled with questions. What was she supposed to do with the man? She’d seen him in the great hall, his massive body dwarfing even Sir Dunbar’s. He stood over two meters tall, and outweighed the older knight by at least three stone. Her pulse skittered at the memory of when he turned in her direction and their eyes met. She was accustomed to lust, but Sir Bryant’s expression had been one of curiosity—male curiosity, to be sure, but not the lewd lust she usually saw. That same look glinted in his eyes now.

  His brows rose. “First you keep your eyes firmly shut, then you stare. Which is it to be, Lady?”

  She startled at the word 'Lady' spoken as if he truly meant the respect, as if she wasn't laying in his bed naked, a stranger to him.

  A corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “So it is to be a stare, then?” His deep voice, rich with amusement, befuddled her.

  She opened her mouth to reply, but her voice failed her.

  “Surely you can speak?” he said.

  She nodded, then realized the absurdity of the response and stilled.

  He propped himself up on an elbow. “Forgive me, Lady, but to what do I owe the honor of this…visit?”

  Her mind froze. How should she answer? Fear rammed through her. What would the duchess do now that her plans had gone awry? Had she left her seat behind the painting? When Sir Bryant had entered, Riana had closed her eyes and so been unaware he was the wrong man. The duchess might already be back in the great hall, looking for the older knight.

  Calm yourself, she mentally ordered. Anger or no anger, Her Grace would not so readily give up her anticipated night of debauchery, particularly if she had company with her behind the picture.

  “
Not that I’m a man to complain.” Sir Bryant brushed her cheek with a finger. “What man would not be pleased to find you in his bed?”

  Something in his tone snagged her attention. Of course, he knew who—what—she was. Every man who entered Arundel knew.

  “There is no need for you to sacrifice yourself to me,” he said.

  Riana blinked. Was he refusing her? Mayhap he despised whores. Ridiculous. What man didn’t take a whore when the need arose? But a tavern wench was different than a Lady who allowed her body to be a tool. He shifted and she realized he was rising. Panic bubbled over. She seized his arm. He paused and looked at her. She shook her head.

  His gaze sharpened. “Do not—”

  She tugged the sheet from her breasts. He dropped his gaze, and her nipples puckered. He shifted his eyes back to her face and she stilled. There was no mistaking the desire that darkened his eyes, but why the anger that was just as obvious? Her heart beat faster. Whatever his mood, she must make him want her. Her plans were in a shambles. How long did Glen and Siusan have? Not all night as she’d planned, but at least the time she kept the knight in her bed. Riana cupped the back of his neck and drew him to her mouth. He stopped a hair’s breadth from her lips, eyes locked with hers. His eyes narrowed.

  Did he not like women? No. The way he had sucked her breast told her he had no need for another man’s cock in his arse. What had changed? She lifted her face and brushed her lips against his. His full mouth covered hers without hesitation. Relief flooded her, and she arched so that her nipples tickled his muscled chest. The tips hardened and Riana undulated them in a circle against his smooth flesh.

  She slid a hand beneath the sheet and relief intensified when her fingers made contact with his engorged cock. He jerked back, eyes blazing, and she couldn’t halt the recoil that pressed her into the mattress. What was wrong? No man whose cock grew to such a length didn’t want the woman lying beneath him.

  “I have displeased you?” she whispered.

  “I have never taken a woman who didn’t come to me of her own free will,” he replied.

  Riana stared. No man turned away a naked woman in his bed. No man gave a damn whether the woman was there willingly or not. But a little voice inside asked, Wouldn’t Stuart have cared?

  Chapter Three

  Bryant stared down at the woman in his bed. So the duchess was up to her old tricks.

  Every knight in the king’s service knew that the Duchess of Arundel began her bargaining with her whore. But what reason could she have for sending the wench to his bed? The small keep that Sir Andrew Murray had given him to the north was respectable, but certainly not enough to have captured the duchess’ notice. Bryant’s participation in the recent victory at Culblean had garnered him enough attention that Sir Dunbar had suggested Bryant accompany him to Arundel.

  If the duchess was as canny as believed, she might recognize Bryant’s intention—and ability—to acquire more land, and was trying to secure his allegiance. She made no efforts to veil her tactics, and few men were stupid enough be swayed by a night between the legs of the vixen lying beside him—despite the fact that her beauty lived up to its reputation. But neither did a man turn away from such an enticing opening move. Bryant was no exception—until he had learned that the woman the duchess was using was Lady Riana Ellis, the daughter of John Ellis, Baron of Burkes.

  The Baron had perished at Dupplin Moore six years past, and Riana’s husband followed three years later, leaving her, her sister, and their mother with Castle Fyvie, and the four hundred hectares of unprotected land that butted up against the Duke of Arundel’s land. At the behest of the duke, the baroness remarried, and the two daughters had been given to him as wards, though all knew it was his lust for their land—and their bodies—that had granted the boon, and not a desire to see the two sisters well married.

  Bryant had had his share of whores, but never one who was owned, and certainly not one who should be sitting before her own hearth, awaiting the return of her husband. When he’d seen her earlier, he’d decided he would seek her out, taste of her sweet body, but only if she was willing.

  Her fingers tightened on his arm. Dark eyes pleaded with him.

  “All is well, Lady,” he whispered. “You need not fear that I will complain. You are free to go.”

  She tugged the sheet from their bodies, and he thought she was going to leave. Instead, she spread her thighs, and he couldn’t halt the downward slide of his eyes along delectable curves that led to dark curls, stark against creamy flesh. He glimpsed moist folds and his cock jerked. His mouth went dry. He had imagined tasting of her sweet juices, but to have her so close now, ready, willing—he jarred from the thought. She was not willing. She was only here at the command of her mistress.

  She reached between them and he remained frozen when she wrapped her fingers around his cock. She squeezed. He gritted his teeth against the intense pleasure. Her slim, white fingers gripping his girth sent the blood pounding through his veins. He wanted her from the moment he’d laid eyes on her in the great hall, even knowing what she was. Dark hair that hung nearly to her waist, dark eyes, and breasts so full they begged for a man’s touch…his mouth. He took in a ragged breath, desperate for control. His cock hardened more. Lust swamped him.

  She tightened her hand on his neck and pulled his head downwards. Bryant felt himself stepping over the edge, then he plummeted when her full breasts crushed beneath his chest. She threw a leg over his hip and arched against his rod. Soft curls tickled his flesh.

  “Lady,” he rasped as her soft mouth melted beneath his.

  He thrust his tongue against her lips. As before, she opened without hesitation. He swept inside. Her hand fell away from his cock, but she pressed her mound against the hard length. He groaned and thrust against her. She rocked, and his shaft slid through her curls. If he pulled back, he could thrust inside her in one easy move. She was surely wet and ready.

  He pulled back, breathing hard. “I will not force you.”

  “I am yours to do with as you please.”

  “You offer yourself only because—”

  She pulled him close, his ear against her lips again. “I beg you, do not leave until the sun rises.”

  She emphasized the plea by rubbing her sex against him. He groaned at feel of her slick folds gliding down his thigh, but forced himself to pull away. She flattened a palm on her belly and his gaze followed the downward skim of her fingers until they brushed her curls then dipped into the glistening folds. Slowly, she opened her cunt lips, baring herself to him. She shifted and his breath caught when she cupped a full breast and brought the hardened nipple to her mouth. He watched, unable to move, as she suckled the tip.

  The breast slipped from her mouth and he jarred from the trance. She cupped the back of his neck and brought his mouth down to the stiff, rosy peak. He greedily sucked it into his mouth, hungry for the taste of her, all of her. He was a fool to have thought he could walk away from this woman. She grasped his rod and rubbed the mushroom tip against her nub. Blood pounded in his ears. How long could he take this sweet torture before he gave in and possessed her?

  He let the nipple slip from his mouth and blazed a trail along the flat surface of her stomach to the dark curls below. Her scent filled his nostrils. He shifted between her legs and breathed deep of her juices. Slowly, he dipped his tongue into her heat. The tang of her cream burst across his tongue. Bryant pulled her legs over his shoulders and lapped at her sex. She pulsed against his tongue. Yes. He would make her come so hard, she wouldn’t soon forget this night. He thrust his tongue inside her channel, tasting deep of her.

  She moaned. When he sucked her into his mouth, she writhed. He sucked harder, flicking his tongue against the sensitive nub, then sucked again, until she bowed off the bed with pleasure. He kept his mouth locked against her cunt as juices gushed from her channel and pleasure shook her legs. He sucked harder still through a second, more powerful spasm that locked her legs around his head until her
thighs trembled and finally went limp.

  Bryant straightened, heart racing, and stared down at her. She stared back, eyes glazed with pleasure. Had other men made her come as hard as he had? Had she responded to them as she had to him? Anger flared. She was a skilled lover. Had she played him for a fool? No. No woman could feign that sort of satisfaction. Bryant lowered himself onto her. His rod nestled against her warm belly He had to have her. He lifted up and braced himself on his hands as he fitted the tip of his cock into her opening.

  Riana splayed her hands on his chest, fingers digging into his flesh. Satisfaction shot though him. Touching him pleased her. He eased inside. Her tight walls closed around him, until he was sheathed to the hilt. Bryant lowered himself onto her. The feel of her soft breasts flattened beneath him was an aphrodisiac far beyond any he’d ever experienced.

  He pulled out, the tip of his rod playing at her entrance before finally easing back inside in a slow, agonizing thrust that nearly drove him out of his mind. He pulled out again and she arched into the thrust this time, forcing him deeper. Bryant groaned. He would spend himself in moments. In, then out again. Pressure built. Her hands slid around his back and down to his arse. She squeezed his cheeks as he entered her again. She groaned and pleasure ricocheted through him.

  “By God,” he rasped. “You are a witch.”

  She abruptly shoved him back. He rolled off her, dazed. His heart pounded. She slid from the bed. Surely she wasn’t leaving. No yet, not before he’d fully possessed her.

  She dropped to her knees and leveled her dark eyes on him. “A witch must have her talisman.”

  His heart galloped. Her head bobbed out of sight for an instant before she stood, a small wooden box in hand. His cock throbbed, the need to feel her walls around it nearly driving him mad. But his curiosity was piqued and he forced patience as she set the box on the foot of the bed, opened the lid, and produced a life-sized, lacquered wood version of a man’s cock.