The Maid's Lover. Amanda McCabe
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blood! Her best shoes, brocaded and with pointed toes and delicate heels, were not meant for fits of pique! But she had worn them for him, worn her fine dress and pearl earrings in hopes his eyes would kindle with that fire of desire and he would think her beautiful. Would think she looked like a worthy future countess, a worthy wife.
Suddenly hard muscled arms came around her waist, holding her fast. For a moment, she stiffened, instantly preparing to scream and kick, to run! But then she smelled him, the scent of leather and clean linen, of some citrus-sharpness, and she laughed. His arms tightened, and he dragged her back against his chest.
He kissed the side of her neck, his lips hot, sliding enticingly over her skin. “Cursing again, love? So unladylike…”
Anne slapped at the hand against her waist, making him draw her even closer against him. She felt his tall, lean body tight along hers, the heat of him. The swell of his erection against her backside.
“I wouldn’t have to curse if you were not so late,” she said. She ran her fingertips over his hand, tracing a caress over the bare skin of his knuckles, the light calluses along the ridge of his palm, the elegant length of his fingers. The heavy old gold of his signet ring, which signified his family’s high rank.
“I am not late…you are early,” he said. He licked at the soft spot at the curve of her neck and shoulder, blowing on it lightly until she shivered. That hot, damp heaviness deep inside washed over her, making her knees weak. “So eager to see me, then?”
He scraped his teeth gently along her collarbone, pressing an openmouthed kiss on her shoulder where her silk sleeve began. His hand flattened on her waist as it slid over her belly, lower, lower, gathering up the folds of her skirt as he went. Anne ached to feel his touch there, to lose herself to the delights they always found together, but she closed her fist over his wandering hand to hold him still.
“Not so fast, my eager lord,” she whispered. “You did keep me waiting, so you must pay a forfeit.”
He laughed, the sound deep and rough against her skin. “I am at my lady’s command, as always.”
If only that was so. But Anne Percy, aristocratic but poor, could never really command Viscount Langley, wealthy heir to an earldom and darling of Queen Elizabeth’s glittering Court. Only here, when they were alone, could her body have what it craved from his. Her emotions—she could not entirely reveal those. Not yet.
Especially if those rumors she heard of his imminent betrothal were true.
Anne slipped out of his embrace, spinning around to face him. His green eyes glowed in the shadows, narrowed slightly as he watched her with a half smile on his sensual lips. How she loved that smile, which could turn from amused to mocking to bemused in a moment! She loved his eyes, like exotic emeralds, the sharp angles of his face, the russet-brown hair that fell in thick waves to his shoulders. Most of all she loved the way she felt when she was with him, the way he made her feel. As if she was the only woman in all the world, wrapped up in a delight that was only theirs and entirely special.
She trailed her fingers slowly up the front of his doublet, reveling in the feel of his hard chest under the wool and leather. He was lean and muscled from days of riding and fencing and tennis, so strong and beautiful. Nothing like the fat old men her uncle wanted her to marry; men with gout and poor bathing habits. Robert was strong and young…
“Oh,” she sighed, as she unfastened the doublet and peeled it back to reveal golden, smooth skin, damp with the day’s sun, gleaming. He was like some ancient pagan god, too beautiful to be real. She rubbed the back of her hand over that skin, reveling in the feel of hot satin over steel, the pounding of his heart.
His stomach muscles tightened as her touch slid lower, near the band of his leather breeches. “Anne…”
“Hush,” she said hoarsely. “You have to pay your forfeit, remember?”
“And what might that forfeit be, my lady?”
“You have to be still, and not touch me until I say so.”
Those jewel-green eyes darkened. Lord Langley was not accustomed to being commanded; she knew that. He was the one who gave the commands, and was always obeyed. But he dropped his hands to his sides, his fingers curled into fists, and said nothing. She knew that would not last long, but she would enjoy it while she could.
She pushed the doublet back from his shoulders and he shrugged it off, letting it fall to the ground. Then she drew the shirt up over his head, watching as it fluttered down to join the doublet. He stood before her, naked to the waist. His breeches rode low on his hips, and a tiny gold medallion on a thin chain nestled in the light brown curls arrowing over his torso.
Anne eased closer to him, tracing a soft caress over his tense shoulders, down his arms, skimming over his ribs. Until she met Robert, until they came together, she had never imagined a man could look like this. Now, every night when she closed her eyes, she saw him exactly so. It was like heady French wine, making her feel so blurry and hot and forgetful.
That was so dangerous. A woman in her perilous position could not afford to forget, ever. But when she was with Robert, he was all she knew or cared about at all.
She closed her eyes, leaning close to him. She inhaled deeply; he smelled like sunshine, she thought dizzily, of all the heat and goodness she longed to absorb into herself. She wanted to curl herself inside of him and never be apart from him again.
She pressed her lips to his bare chest, just above that beat of his heart, and tasted the damp salt of his skin. The tip of her tongue slid over him, and she bit lightly at his flat, brown nipple. He groaned but did not touch her, even when she wrapped her arms around him.
Her palms crushed against his spine, pulling him closer to her as she explored his bare skin with her mouth. She slid her hands down, delighting in the feel of him, so strong and hot and alive, until she curved her touch over his backside. He was tight and hard through the leather, and she drew him closer into the curve of her body.
And that was the limit of her command. “Anne!” he moaned, and he seized her by the waist. He carried her down to the soft, leaf-covered ground, his body tight over hers.
Her legs parted, her skirts falling back as she wrapped her calves around his hips. The soft leather rubbed against her thighs above her stockings, making her gasp at the prickling, delicious sensations. His lips came down on hers, hard and hot and wet as he arched his hips against hers. His tongue slid into her mouth, and she met him with a delighted sigh. That hot, blurry haze closed around her. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she tried to pull him even closer.
“Anne, Anne.” His lips slid from hers, open and hungry as he kissed her jaw, the side of her neck, her shoulder. He drew her silk bodice lower, freeing her breast to his avid gaze. Her nipple was already erect, dark pink and aching. “You are so beautiful,” he muttered, licking at the soft underside of her breast.
She tangled her fingers in his hair, pressing him against her. Finally he gave her what she longed for, taking that nipple deep into his mouth and suckling at it until she moaned. His hand covered her other breast, rolling and plucking as she tumbled over that precipice of pleasure-pain and was lost. There was only him now, only the two of them together.
She reached between them to unlace the front of his breeches. In her eager haste, the thongs tangled, but at last she managed to pull them free. His penis sprang out into her hand, hot and hard, the veins throbbing. He wanted her, then, as much as she wanted him. That was surely a kind of power.
She tightened her clasp around him, running her caress slowly down the full length of him and then up again, balancing his balls on her palm as he moaned. In their secret meetings, she had learned what pleasured him, just as he learned her every secret, sensitive spot. It was wondrous, but still she wondered what it would be like to have a soft bed and a whole, uninterrupted night to explore each other. To learn more and ever more.
Or maybe that would be too much pleasure, and she would die of it. At least she would die with a smile on her face.