Kissing the Bride (Medieval 4)

He glanced over his shoulder, as if only just realizing they had an audience. “Go to your solar,” he said, as softly as before. “Go now. Make some excuse. I will follow.”

“Henry—”

“I need to be inside you.” He said it as if it were the most important thing in the world, and gazing into his eyes, Jenova knew that for him, it was. Her own body trembled with an equal need.

“Very well,” she whispered. Stepping away, she began a pantomime of looking for her brooch and then deciding, aloud, that she had left it in the solar. She hurried toward the stairs, not looking behind her, wondering if she were completely insane. This was not the sort of behavior of which she would ever have imagined herself capable. She gave a stifled giggle, and then gasped.

Oh dear God, Agetha would be in the solar….

Jenova went to turn, to go back down the stairs and tell him not to follow, when a strong hand closed on her arm and drew her into the narrow, shadowy landing.

Henry, his body all but touching hers, was gazing at her with his chest heaving, as if he was finding it impossible to get enough air. Jenova reached out to touch his face. “Agetha is in the solar,” she said. “We cannot go there.”

“What about here, then?” He pressed his body against hers, and she felt the hard ridge of his manhood through their clothing.

“Here?” Her eyes widened. Despite her shock at his words, she leaned her hips harder into him. Wanting him. “Henry, surely we cannot—”

“It is quiet, and we are alone. And it can be…exciting to make love so close to discovery.”

Exciting? Jenova did not know if that was the word. Her body tingled, urging her to agree, but caution was a part of her, too. She teetered on the knife edge, then Henry pulled her fully into his arms and began to kiss her.

It was not a gentle kiss. His mouth devoured hers, his tongue thrusting deep. He pinned her against the wall, his body hard and heavy, and desire crashed over her like a wave.

She knew she had no intention of struggling or pulling away. She didn’t want to. In her heart she might be afraid of their being caught, but Henry was right, there was a sort of excitement in that. She was, in truth, more afraid of being emotionally hurt. That did not make her want him any less. She didn’t know how much longer they might have together. A day, a week, a month? This desperate moment with Henry could well have to last her for the rest of her life.

Desire, longing and anguish drove her, a heady mixture, as her mouth clung to his and her hands tangled in his hair. His body was hers, every hard line of it, every curved muscle. Her eager hips lifted to fit the bulge of his erection into the apex between her thighs, and she felt the first tentative ripples of her release, simply from that contact.

But it wasn’t enough.

She needed more. She needed to become a part of him. She needed him inside her.

Henry’s palms slid around her and down, clasping her bottom, and raising her up. Settling her more comfortably against him. Jenova curled one leg about his hips, pressing still closer, every one of her senses crying out for more. Her breasts ached. He bent his head, and his breath was hot through her gown as he opened his mouth against her, sucking at her through the cloth. Jenova reached up to tug at the laces at her throat, pulling them open, dragging the neckline down over her shoulders.

Her breasts were full and swollen, the nipples aching for his touch. Henry groaned and began to lave her with his tongue, sucking on them, pulling them into his mouth. Jenova moaned and arched against him, forgetting where she was, who she was. Or perhaps she just didn’t care. Feelings like this were beyond her comprehension, too powerful to be denied. She had always believed herself a strong woman, but what she was feeling now was stronger.

“I want you,” Henry growled and looked deep into her eyes. “I need to be inside you. Now.”

She gave a laugh that was more like a sob and began to tug at the fastenings on his breeches. In a moment he was free, hot and hard in her hand. She stroked him, feeling him quiver, as helpless as her. He had rucked her skirts up, his hands gripping her thighs, closing again on her bottom, drawing her up, angling her just right. Jenova caught her breath, rubbing her body against his, delirious with the feel of him at the threshold of that most intimate part. The head of his erection brushed her swollen flesh, and his mouth was hot against her throat as her head fell back.

“Now,” she groaned. “Oh, Henry, now.”

He thrust into her, the full length of him, stroking her deep, deep inside.

Jenova gasped, a blossom of heat starting low in her belly, trembling in her thighs. She lifted her head, and Henry gazed into her eyes, his own still blazing.

She was beautiful. A siren. A goddess. He filled his vision with her, making it last. Her veil had come loose and with it her braid, and now her hair fell about them in waves. Her mouth, reddened from his kisses, curved upward, and her dark lashes drooped over the passionate gleam in her green eyes.

“Oh yes,” she breathed.

Henry withdrew and thrust again, deep, knowing it would never be deep enough. He wanted to devour her, merge himself into her. He wanted her to swell with his child, and then he wanted to do the whole thing over again. And again. For how ever long they lived. And still it would not be enough.

He drove deep once more, and his mouth closed on hers, drowning out her cry of completion, echoed by his own. Their bodies clung together, shuddering. From far away servants’ voices hummed, a dog barked, a soldier shouted training instructions. Life went on, and they were but a part of it. It was the same and yet it was different. Henry took several deep breaths, trying to understand what it meant.

Jenova managed a shaken laugh, releasing him, letting her skirts fall to cover herself. With fingers that trembled, she reached to lace up her gown. Henry gently pushed them aside, tying it for her, intent upon the knot. His throat was dry, his heart pounding. He felt as if he had died and gone to paradise.

He needed her. He had to save her from Baldessare. He had to protect her, even if she didn’t want him to, even if he wasn’t here at Gunlinghorn. He had to be in a position to do all these things, and there was really only one way to go about it.

He had to wed her.