King Baudwin of Breoch is a broken man. Crushed in the height of war, crowned in the face of treason and turmoil, he fights to save his kingdom. Hoping to stave off rebellion, he reluctantly agrees to marry the daughter of his main opposition. But t...
Baudwin awoke with a start when the weight of the mattress shifted. Staring into the dusk of the room, he realised that Rhiannon had come over and was sitting on the edge of his bed. Saying nothing, she lingered like a dark spectre in the night.
Raising up on his elbows, he frowned. "Is everything all right?"
"Yes. Don't talk." She put a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him back down onto the bed.
He opened his mouth to question her, but the words lodged in his throat when she shifted and moved over to straddle him. His companion-starved body reacted immediately, standing at attention of a beautiful woman sitting on his hips. Was he dreaming? Should he pinch himself? This definitely seemed more like the dream of a desperate man than something that could actually be happening.
"Rhiannon..." His voice sounded strangled. "What are you—" He groaned as she ground her hips, pushing hotly against him. She wasn't wearing anything underneath the white nightgown, and it was maddening to feel her so close, with only the fabric of his underwear separating them.
May the Gods have mercy. He was desperate to take what she was offering, but worried that they would both regret it. Why was she doing this?
"Rhiannon..." A moment later her lips pressed against his, and against better judgement he returned the kiss. His starved body wanting so much more. She felt so good on top of him, he wasn't sure how much longer he could resist, if at all. He wasn't sure he wanted to.
Pulling back slightly, her face hovered above him, their breaths mingling. "I said don't talk."
Never before had someone telling him to shut up been quite so arousing. Lifting his hands, he cradled her head as he brought their lips together again, capturing her mouth. It had been years since he'd allowed himself the pleasure of a woman. The war had crushed more than his leg, his ego having taken a beating as well. When the first few had shied away from his leg, he'd stopped trying. And the feel of Rhiannon's lips against his was like a spot of sun on a bleak autumn day. It filled him with a yearning that was so powerful it nearly frightened him.
When she moved on top of him again, he groaned, trying to tamp down the burning need. His body had other ideas as his hips bucked against her. He pulled her closer still, deepening the kiss, and taking her mouth with the same fierce passion he had conquered enemies in the past. Her golden red hair cascaded down the side of her head, like a veil shielding them from the world. Right then, there were only the two of them, their lips locked and their bodies close.
A logical, more honourable, part of him screamed that this was a bad idea. She didn't know who he was, and it was unfair of him to allow this to proceed any further. The less honourable part of him didn't want this to ever end. His hands fell to her thighs, caressing a path along them to finally settle on her hips. Holding her steady, he ground against her and was rewarded by a moan against his lips. It was quite possibly the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. He repeated the motion, and Rhiannon pulled away with another moan, leaning back.
The laces of her nightgown had come loose, leaving the front gaping over her chest. Pale moonlight shone through the window, painting her in a silver hue, like the moon goddess come down to steal his mortal soul. Right then, he wasn't sure he wouldn't have gladly given her anything she asked for. If this was a battle, he would have lost a long time ago.
Shifting on top of him, she pulled on his underwear. He should resist. He should stop this madness. But he couldn't. He was weak. When she pulled a little more insistently, he lifted his hips off the bed to assist her, and a moment later he felt the night air against his bare skin. Her hand soon replaced it as she stroked his length, and he closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then twenty. He would not last long like this. Her hand was doing deliciously indecent things to him, and it had been much too long.
Moving back to straddle him, she hovered over his hips for a moment as she guided him towards her. He forgot to breathe. When he entered her, he nearly expired on the spot, and had to bite his lower lip as a distraction. She felt amazing, all hot and wet. He slid his hands up towards her back to pull her down for a kiss, but she placed her hands on his wrists, stopping his movement and pushing them back down to her hips.
She was stunning, straddling him, her head tossed backward, golden red hair falling down her back. He groaned as she moved, loving the feeling of filling her to the core as she pushed down against him. His fingers dug into her hips, whether to stop her movement or help her, he wasn't sure. Years of abstinence did nothing for his stamina, and he feared that this would be over much too soon. Watching her riding him, her supple body moving over his, was not helping, so he closed his eyes and focused on meeting her thrusts with his own.
Low, breathless moans broke his resolve mere moments later, and he watched her face with wonder as she used a hand to help herself along. She was magnificent. When she shattered above him he wasn't far behind, spending himself inside her.
She sloped forward, resting against his chest as they caught their breaths, her hair tickling his nose. Wanting to embrace her, he moved his arms up to hug her, but she pushed them back down again. He frowned. Why wasn't he allowed to touch her back?
They stayed together for some time, Baudwin lost track as he nearly fell asleep. But he woke again as she slid off and got out of his bed. Almost immediately his arms felt empty, and he wanted her back against him. However, she didn't seem interested.
Rolling onto his side, he watched her climb into the other bed. She deserved to know who he was. This felt so wrong. He looked down on his hand lying limp on the mattress. He was such a bloody coward.
"Rhiannon?"
She stirred. "I said don't talk."
"I just—"
"Don't ruin this. I couldn't sleep and needed relief. That's it. After tomorrow we will never see each other again. Let's leave it there." She sounded so matter of fact. As if what they had just done had meant nothing.
"Right. Sorry. Good night." He realised he had fisted his hand in the sheets, and unclenched it, before flopping onto his back. It probably did mean nothing. And they were parting ways tomorrow, as she wasn't interested in marrying the king. Maybe he never had to tell her who he was. It was probably better that way. Then why didn't it feel right?
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