Notorious Pleasures (Maiden Lane #2)(60)

She looked up at him, so full of his flesh. Was this all there was?

He seemed to understand the question in her eyes. He lay against her, his upper half braced away from her on straight arms. He smiled again, this time rather grimly, and grunted, “Feel.”

Then he slid against her, his penis slowly pistoning out and into her. She gasped. He did it again, his eyes watching hers, and swiveled his hips, grinding down on her.

“Oh!” With her hips tilted up, his body was hitting that spot exactly, each pull of his cock adding somehow to the exquisite sensation.

“Feel, my heart,” he whispered, and she saw that his eyes were glistening. Before she could speak he dipped his head to tongue her nipple.

She arched helplessly underneath him. His strong body guided and pleasured hers, his hips moving relentlessly, grinding down on that one special spot. It began again, a glistening heat between her legs, growing and spreading outward until she quaked and clutched at his shoulders. There was something else here as well. It was a terrible sorrow, a welling joy, as if all the emotion she’d ever held in check or pushed away was suddenly rising to the surface. She couldn’t control her face, couldn’t control her body. She was coming apart, and she’d never be able to pin herself back together again.

Griffin was making love to her, and she knew in that moment that this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Here and only here would she ever be truly free. She held him close, terrified he would somehow stop and leave her behind.

But he didn’t. He gently bit down on her nipple and rocked against her faster and faster, sweat gleaming on his neck and on his chest, until she shattered under him. She opened her mouth in a silent scream, and he filled it with his tongue and lips, shuddering into her, continuing his ride, until he suddenly left her.

She felt the splash of warm liquid on her belly and opened her eyes. He was above her, his cock in his hand, his face relaxing from the sexual tension of before.

It was over. She was no longer a virgin.

CHARLIE WATCHED AS the dice fell from his fingers. A deuce and a trey. Five could be lucky or not; it just depended on the play.

“The attack failed, then.” He knew without looking up that Freddy shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Aye. Three men killed outright and another two injured and lyin’ in bed.”

Charlie grunted, scooping up the dice. He rolled them between his fingers, the familiar clink of the bones soothing to his ears. “And we’re still dealing with the duke’s damned informers.”

Freddy didn’t answer that, probably because there was no need.

“But you say Reading was seen with the duke’s sister?” Charlie asked thoughtfully.

“Twice in St. Giles,” Freddy replied.

Charlie nodded, feeling the skin on his cheeks pull as he smiled. “The duke, the duke. It always comes back to the duke, doesn’t it? The duke and Reading, our dear friend.”

Freddy licked his lips nervously.

A thump and a feverish murmur came from overhead.

Charlie glanced up as if he could see the woman lying above. “How is she today?”

Freddy shrugged. “The nurse says she took some broth this morn.”

Charlie looked down without comment and threw the dice. They tumbled to the edge of the table, a trey again and a cater—four. Lucky seven. “Perhaps it’s time we use the duke’s informers to our own end. Perhaps it’s time His Grace learns what Reading really does in St. Giles.”

Chapter Eleven

That night, Queen Ravenhair again called her suitors to her throne room and asked them what their answers were.

Prince Westmoon snapped his fingers. Instantly a groom led a prancing black stallion into the throne room. Westmoon bowed low. “This horse is the strongest thing in your kingdom, Your Majesty.”

Prince Eastsun waved a hand, and a huge warrior marched into the throne room, his chest armored in silver, his sword sheathed in a golden scabbard. “This man is the strongest thing in your kingdom, Your Majesty.”

Finally, Prince Northwind presented a snowy bullock with gilded horns. “This bullock is the strongest thing in your kingdom, Your Majesty.”

—from Queen Ravenhair

Griffin slumped to the bedsheets, his body slaked. He lay there on his back, an arm over his eyes, his mind entirely blank, and all his muscles in a state of total relaxation. He might as well have been poleaxed.

Which apparently could not be said of Hero.

When the bed shook, he realized that his lover might not be in a similar state of enervated shock.

Griffin cracked one eyelid and watched, bemused, as Lady Hero jumped from the bed and ducked below the side. She straightened a minute later, trying to struggle into the remains of her chemise.

He yawned. “I know you’re new to this, sweeting, but the usual thing is to lie about for a bit, perhaps do the thing over again, God and my cock willing. No need to go haring off.”

As soon as the words left his lips, his brain finally—belatedly—roused itself, and he knew, absolutely and fatally, that it was the exact wrong thing to say.

She gave up on the chemise and bent to pick up her stays. Her face was half averted, but he could see even in profile when her lips thinned. “I must go.”

He couldn’t think very well—something more than the ordinary had happened here—but he knew he didn’t want her to go. Griffin scrubbed his hand over his head, trying to find some measure of wakefulness. “Hero—”