A Lily on the Heath (Medieval Herb Garden #4)

A Lily on the Heath (Medieval Herb Garden #4) Page 33

“Judith,” he snapped, looking back out the window. “Do not try me. Get back in bed.”

Of course she ignored him, continuing to approach until she was close enough that the edge of her night rail brushed his legs. “’Tis true the king forced me to lay with him,” she said, resting her hand on his bare arm as she stood just behind him. His bicep was hard with muscle, and warm, and she slid her palm along it in a soft caress. “But you are my husband, and I would welcome you in my bed—right or no right.”

He’d stopped breathing and she felt the faintest quiver from beneath his skin. His muscles were taut and still. Encouraged and emboldened, she settled both hands on the tops of his shoulders—higher than her own eyes—and slid her palms along the broad, warm width, then lightly down over his shoulder blades. Tiny little bumps erupted in the wake of her touch, and she felt another deep tremble from inside him.

“If you are willing….”

“Aye,” she said, curving her arms around his waist, pressing herself into him from behind. His hard, flat belly leapt and shifted beneath her touch, and she splayed her hands wide over its muscular ridges, tickling the patch of hair that grew there. Her breasts pressed into his back, her cheek rested on his spine, just between the shoulder blades. His heart slammed beneath her ear.

Then Malcolm released a great gust of breath and gently but firmly removed her hands from his waist. With a smooth movement, he drew her around in front of him, and before she could speak or even think, he had her angled up into the edge of the window, eased against the wall, kissing her.

His large hands cupped her chin and curved around her neck as he settled in, covering her mouth with his. He was hot and hard, his lips mobile and tender, easing hers open to kiss her with deep, slick movements. He ate at the corner of her mouth, delved deep with a strong, thrusting tongue, smoothed the pads of his thumbs over her cheeks.

Judith lost sense of time and place, vaguely aware of a cool breeze over her bare shoulder and the harsh stone edge along her back as heat enveloped her, rushing through her like hot liquid. She had her hands up in his silky hair, bracketing his strong neck as she took what he gave her—their mouths sliding and nibbling and molding together. She could hardly find a breath, hardly cared to draw it in as he moved to nuzzle her throat and the side of her neck.

She sagged against the wall, her head lolling to the side as he drew the long, heavy swath of her hair away. A fresh breeze from the window caressed her warm, sensitive skin before he pressed his lips to her again, his mouth hot and sensual, sliding along the length of her neck. Judith was aware of her ragged breathing, of the soft, panting moans she made as she settled her hands on the solid planes of his chest. He was warm and smooth, hair- and scar-roughened, and yet sleek with muscle. Such muscle…so hard and firm and powerful.

Malcolm had settled the side of a hip against her belly, holding her firmly in place as he devoured her mouth, tasted her throat and nuzzled beneath her ears. But now, with a soft, deep groan, he shifted, sliding himself and his hose-covered erection fully against her. Judith shivered, a bolt of desire stabbing her deep in the belly when she felt the hard, immense bulge pressing against her abdomen. She was flushed, damp and hot everywhere, her body awake and alive.

She arched a little, pushing her hips against him, rolling her belly against his erection, shifting so one of his thighs fit between hers. He stilled, his hands tightening over her shoulders, then slid down to cover her breasts, crinkling the gossamer fabric against her hot skin. Her nipples were hard and ready, and he molded the material in a rough, textured caress over them. Then she felt something loosen, a soft, tearing sound…and her night rail slipped away, falling to the floor with the soft clink of metal and gemstone.

Once again Malcolm paused, his hands, rough with calluses and scars, settling on her arms as if to hold her in place. He looked down and dragged in a rough breath as he traced the tip of one nipple with a fingertip. Judith tilted her head and saw the silvery moonlight outlining her high, ivory breasts and the dark valley between them, then filtering onto the darker, hair-dusted skin of his bare torso. She trembled at his light touch, pleasure and anticipation wending its way south.

“Judith,” he whispered, his expression intent—almost reverent—as he gathered her naked breasts into two large, dark hands. “I would take you to bed.”

“I would go,” she said, then arced closer to him as he raked his thumbs gently over her straining nipples, sliding over the very tips of them in tiny, delicate swirls. She shivered, sighed, smiled as pleasure rolled through her, down to the full, swollen place she rode against his thigh. He bent to kiss one of her breasts, his tongue sliding over and around its sensitive, engorged nipple. Hot curls of desire undulated through her, throbbing and pounding and wanting some sort of release.

Then she was airborne, hoisted and gathered up into strong, warm arms. The bed appeared beneath her nearly at once, and she looked up as he stood over her. A dark figure, outlined by the moonlight from behind, shoulders wide and square, hair mussed from her own hands.

Judith realized belatedly that she was completely naked in front of him, and for a moment, modesty and nervousness rushed through her as she lay splayed on the blankets. Malcolm’s gaze was riveted on her as he shoved down his hose then eased onto the bed with sharp, impatient movements.

The bed shifted under his weight, tipping Judith into his long, solid body even as he pulled her close. Now she felt the insistent nudge of his cock, hard and warm against her thigh. His hands seemed to be everywhere, his fingers sliding between her legs, parting them gently…then finding her hot, damp center. Judith gasped in surprise at the sensations—bold, sharp, luscious—as he touched her in the intimate place, his fingers slipping and exploring urgently.

She quivered and shook, her eyes closed, her skin slick and hot as her breathing turned to desperate panting. “Mal,” she whispered once, in a low, desperate sigh. He made some guttural sound of response, then pulled his hand away and shifted into position over her. He settled between her legs, which had fallen open, ready—oh, very ready—for him. His hips were sleek and strong, his thighs like tree trunks…and his erection incredible.

“Oh,” she whispered, her eyes closing again as he pressed into her. She arched a little to help, then her eyes flew open wide when he slid all the way home. “Oh,” she said again…but this time it was more of a moan. A satisfied moan.

Malcolm muttered something she couldn’t hear through the roar of lust sweeping her as he moved, thrusting long and deep in an urgent rhythm. Judith was unaware of anything but the sensations building, flowing through her like a fiery liquid…centered at her core and rolling through her limbs.

It was like nothing she’d ever felt before. Nothing like the twinges of pleasure, the little pangs, the quiet insistence. This sensation was deep and lush and intense, and it grew, billowed…hot and liquid and seemed to charge through her body…then shatter.

He gave a sharp groan just as her body exploded. Judith cried out as pleasure and satiation undulated through her, her heart racing, her breath wild, tears trickling from her eyes.

Malcolm arched over her, shuddering his own release, propped on an arm so he wouldn’t crush her. She glanced up to see his eyes closed, his face taut with effort, then Judith collapsed into a puddle of skin and bones, still trembling and shaking, hot and breathless…satisfied. Never, was her only coherent thought. Never before.

It was as if she’d saved this ecstatic moment forever…as if she’d been waiting for it, teased and titillated, but never seized it, never knew how to grasp it, until now. She lay there for a moment, basking…waiting for her body to come back to itself. Then, as Mal rolled over and off, separating from her, she brushed away the tears with the palms of her hands and lay there, drawing in deep, shuddering breaths.

Never, she thought to herself again. Never before had she been so pleasured and sated. Never had she thought it could be so good.

Malcolm was moving—up and off the bed. Judith opened her eyes; but he was merely lifting the coverings to slide inside. Before she could gather up the strength to move, he picked her up and gently deposited her under the blankets.

Then, without another word, he climbed in on his side of the bed.

TWELVE

Malcolm lay next to his bride. His body still hummed, his breathing was just slipping back into normal. His muscles trembled and shuddered gently beneath his skin, little twitches of the orgasm continuing to lick through him.

He should have been snoring by now, easing into the paradise of slumber, empty of tension and stress, fulfilled after enjoying his new wife…but nay. Though his body still basked in the afterward, his thoughts were cold and heavy. He’d seen the tears. They poured from her eyes as she lay beneath him, her face contorted, her eyes closed.

Fool. You are no better than Henry to use her so.

He’d come out of his stupor of lust and desire, hardly remembering what had occurred. Had he hurt her? Been too rough? But earlier, Judith had seemed to be enjoying his touch—her head tipped back to give him access to her neck and throat; soft, panting breaths…her fingers, curling into his hair, around his shoulders, his arms…those proud, glorious breasts, bathed in moonlight…tantalizing with their jutting nipples, perfect in weight and shape.

Malcolm remembered all of those things—the sweet taste of her, at last, after a decade of awareness and desire…the softness of skin, the shiver of pleasure, the softness of her curves…the sensual way she’d pressed herself against him at the window.

What had happened? Had he misunderstood, misread her desire? Was she remembering her time with the king and equating the two men? Mal went cold at the thought.

There’d been no mistaking the tears—they were so profuse she’d had to wipe them away. She hadn’t looked at Malcolm after. Now she slept, curled up in a ball under the covers where he’d placed her. That river of fire-gold hair was spread out over her pillow and his, all but covering one tempting breast.