Sandra Hill (18 page)

“You torture me, m’lady, and I am not a man accus
tomed to being tortured,” he whispered against her ear, then blew softly into the whorls.

She barely fathomed his words, so wonderful did his breath feel in her ear. She girded herself against his temptation and said, “Don’t go tomorrow. Stay here with me…for a while.”

“I have to go sometime. Tomorrow is as good a time as ever. How long would you want me to stay?” The whole time he spoke, he was nibbling little kisses from her ear to her chin and back again.

Delicious
was the only way to describe the sensation of his cool lips on her hot skin. “Tykir and Eirik will go to the Witan for me. I trust them to do that. If the Witan denies my petition, I expect my father will demand my immediate deliverance into his hands. Tykir and Eirik could then petition for the return of my mother’s lands to me before I am turned over to my father’s custody. I’m certain that the Witan would not act on the petition at that session…probably they’d wait another month. That would give me till February, only one month from my twenty-fifth birthday. Can’t you wait till then?”

“Two months? That’s all?” he asked sarcastically, raising his head. He had gone back to kissing and blowing in her ear. He gave his attention to her surcoat now, parting it with his left hand and using his right hand to begin unlacing the neckline of her gunna.

She should stop him. She would, in a moment, once she’d said all she had to say. “Nay, that is not all,” she said with a gasp as the backs of his fingers grazed the bare skin of her upper chest. “I would want you to form a
bird
of soldiers for me…a hundred should suffice, for a start. Mercenaries would be the best choice, I think.
While we are waiting for the Witan’s decision, we could establish ourselves at Evergreen.”

He had stopped peeling back the neckline of her gunna and was gaping at her. “Why would I do all that? Especially, why would I set aside my own goal—avenging my brother’s death—to participate in such a foolhardy plan?”

“I would make it worth your while.”

“Oh, really? How?” He made a pointed sweep of her body with his cool eyes.

Surely he didn’t think she was offering
that
. “I would make you castellan of Evergreen. Once I regain my funds, I will pay you handsomely.”

“I would think so!” he said. Then, after a moment of pondering, “It matters that much to you?”

“It matters desperately to me. I would do anything to outwit my father and regain what is rightfully mine.”

“
Anything?
” He arched his brows at her.

“Do not tease me, Toste. I am not worth that much.”

“I beg to differ. I have wealth aplenty. I am jaded enough to find appeal in bedding a nun. You would wear your nun outfit, wouldn’t you?” He grinned down at her.

He couldn’t be serious. It was another jest on his part. Surely it was. But she had to ask. “You will do all that I ask in return for just one coupling?”

“Nay, nay, nay!” he said with a laugh. “I did not say that. It would have to be more than one
coupling
.” He appeared to find much humor in that word. “I would expect you to share my bed furs for the entire time I work for you, or till I grow bored. All without the legal bonds of matrimony, of course.”

Of course? Ooooh, the insufferable, overblown lout. I should slap his face and walk away. Right now. This instant. But wait, Esme—mayhap it would be worth the sacrifice if you
could regain Evergreen. And be honest with yourself, it might not be such a great sacrifice. You could close your eyes and plan your next day’s work schedules whilst it is happening
. “So, is it a deal, then?”

“
What?
” The shock on Toste’s face that she would acquiesce so easily was priceless. “Nay, it is not a deal. Not yet. I mean, holy bloody hell, dost know what you are offering?”

“I do, and it would be worth the sacrifice if the end result means my return to Evergreen.”

“Sacrifice? You consider making love with me a sacrifice?”

The consternation on his face was equally priceless. Really, men and their overemphasis on their bedsport reputations! As if women cared about such things!

But ’twas best to be diplomatic when her future was at stake. “Mayhap sacrifice was too strong a word. But you must agree, men get much more out of the event than women do.”

“Oh, I do not know about that. Some men have the expertise to give as good as they get in the
event
.”

She almost rolled her eyes but caught herself just in time.

“In fact, I would be a fool to agree to anything without getting a taste aforehand.”

“A taste? Speak plainly, Viking. Dost expect me to give up my virginity on the mere hope that you will make a deal with me?”

“Nay, not your virginity. Just a foretaste of the main…uh, meal.” She could swear his lips twitched with suppressed mirth.

“Just a foretaste,” she agreed.

And he did grin then, as if he’d won some battle.
Men!

“Hmmm. First off, methinks I would have to see your breasts.”

“Bare?” she squeaked out.

“Bare.”

What a lot of fuss men made over breasts! She’d experienced it firsthand with her father and brothers, who’d practically drooled whenever a big-bosomed maid would pass by. She’d had no doubt, even at that young age, that the maid would soon be spreading her thighs for one of them. Or all of them.

Toste still lay atop her, braced on his extended arms, and he did not seem inclined to move. So she shimmied off her surcoat and ruched the top of her gunna down to her waist, all in a half-reclining position. Then she lay back down and closed her eyes. After a long silence during which nothing happened, she cracked her eyelids open…and wished she hadn’t.

Toste was staring down at her breasts like a beggar at a feast. Now, Esme was not buxom like the females her father and brothers admired, but her breasts were full and high and apparently pleasing to the eye, if Toste’s reaction was any indication.

Braced on one arm, he pushed one breast, then the other, up from underneath. Then he touched both nipples in turn with a forefinger, just the tips, then the sides, then the pink areola, then back to the tips again.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” she exclaimed. Who knew a slight touch there could cause such exquisite pleasure?

“Praying now, are you, Sister Esme?” Toste chuckled.

“I’d better be. This is surely confession material.”

He laughed outright. “Because you bared your breasts for me?”

“Nay. Because your touch pleased me so much. I did
not know…suffice it to say, I did not know.”

“Ah, Esme, it gives me pleasure to give you pleasure.”

“Does it?” she asked.

He rolled his hips off of her and lay on his side, his left elbow in the hay with a hand supporting his face. His eyes still feasted hungrily on her bosom where the traitorous nipples stood out like pink pebbles. Leaning down, he took one nipple between his lips, then licked it and the surrounding area, then suckled deep and hard. She fisted her hands and arched her back, fighting the overwhelming bolts of ecstasy that shot from her breasts through her body, down to her fingertips and toes, and especially to her private woman-place. She embarrassed herself in the end by letting out little whoof-whoof-whoofs of exhaled breath.

Toste’s response to that was a tight-lipped smile and equal ministration to her other breast. By the time he finished, her face felt hot as Hades, and she was aching in some very private parts.

“Did you like that, Esme?” he asked in a husky voice.

“Double confessions. Perchance triple,” she answered. “Are you done?”

“Not nearly.” He leaned down again, but this time toward her face. Kisses, that was what he had in mind now? Well, he’d kissed her once before, and, though pleasant, the pressing of lips upon lips had been nothing to alarm her.

He soon disabused her of that notion.

At first, he barely touched her mouth…just brushed his lips back and forth across hers, as if testing for a proper fit. When he found the arrangement that suited him, he grew more aggressive. His teeth nipped, his lips coaxed, then demanded something from her. When she
realized that he wanted her to part for him, he slipped his tongue inside and began what had to be a simulation of the sex act itself. In and out, his tongue stroked her, so slowly she wanted to scream for him to hasten his pace, but what she did was whimper…which seemed to be the proper prod for him, because he moved faster now. She wanted to participate more fully in this awful/wonderful exercise, but she didn’t know how. So she put her hands on his shoulders in encouragement and opened her mouth more fully to his assault.

He groaned then—a pure masculine sound of sexual torture—which gave her an absurd feeling of gratification. For a certainty, she would be getting a big penance for these sins. And it must be a sin to feel so good.

Finally, when he drew his head back to stare at her, he panted. She probably did, too, though she tried her best to hide his effect on her. His lips were wet and kiss-swollen, his eyes misted with passion.

So this is how lust feels
.

“Yea, ’tis.”

“Oh, good Lord! Did I speak aloud?”

“You did,” he said, chucking her under the chin.

“Now are we done?” she asked, putting a hand up to his hand which held her cheek with tenderness. It was difficult not to feel tender toward a person who made her feel so good. In fact, her body still tingled…all over.

“Nay, we are not.”

“But…but you promised…just a foretaste.”

“Taste being the key word.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Remember the first time we met, and I was on a sickbed at the abbey, I asked what your name was, and you said Esme, but I thought you said…” He let his words
trail off deliberately so she would get his meaning.

She finished for him, hesitantly, “Eat me…that is what you said. I still don’t understand.”

“You will, Esme. You will.”

With that, he flipped the hem of her gown up to her waist, exposing her nakedness, and in one fluid move spread her legs and knelt between her thighs.

“Toste! Nay! Oh, this is scandalous, even for you. Eek, what are you doing?” He pushed her feet up so that her heels touched her buttocks, then shoved her knees wide apart. She was fully exposed to his scrutiny
there
, and scrutinize he did. “This is not what I agreed to. A foretaste, that was all. This is definitely not a foretaste.” She spewed forth some words then that would definitely earn her a fortnight on her knees in penance.

Toste just chuckled.

She tried to sit up and push him away, but he held her down firmly with one hand pressed against her belly. The other hand was already examining her woman-fleece.

Then he touched her.

And she was wet.

Could anything in the world be more humiliating than this?

Could anything in the world be more bliss-inspiring?

She had not known she had such a spot there, but Toste had known. That was clear by the way he played that particular piece of flesh. Just when she was becoming accustomed to that play-torture, he inserted a finger inside her. Just one. But her eyes went wide and met his in question.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked.

She shook her head slowly from side to side. In truth, she could not speak. Her inner muscles spoke for her,
though, by clenching and unclenching around his finger, which was moving in and out of her. Then he stopped. The brute stopped.

Esme could swear that every fine hair on her body was as stiff as a bristle. Her breasts ached for more of his suckling. And her nether parts had become one long continuous throb. If she were not in this condition, she never would have allowed what he did next. Leastways, that was what she told herself.

Still on his knees, he reached under her and lifted her by the buttocks so that her hips were raised off the ground. Then he showed her—
God’s bones and Mary’s breath, he showed her
—just what he’d meant by foretaste and what he’d meant when he’d misspoken her name. With his tongue and his teeth and his lips, he teased her woman folds till they were engorged and she was one keening wail, for what she did not know. Every part of her body, but especially her breasts and woman-place, reached and reached and reached for something beyond reach.

Then it came. Crashing over her, under her, through her. Such sheer, glorious pleasure as her body had never known. She must have swooned for several seconds—and Esme never swooned—because when she regained her senses, she lay spread-eagled and exposed before the still fully clothed Toste. The only thing that saved her from total and utter shame was the fact that he was clearly aroused and fighting his own lustsome urges.

“You were beautiful, Esme,” he said huskily.

“Thank you.” What else could she say at a time like this? “Now are you done?”

He laughed. “Yea, I am. For now.”

“So, you will stay and help me regain Evergreen.”

“Nay, Esme, I will not. I must needs leave on the morrow, but I will do all in my power to help you when I return.”

She jerked into a sitting position and tugged at her gown so that her breasts and lower region were at least partially covered. “You never intended to stay, did you?”

“Now, Esme, you are being unreasonable.” He sat up and watched helplessly as she adjusted herself more fully. Once, he reached out a hand to pick some straw from her hair and she slapped him away.

“Unreasonable?” she shrieked. “I’ll tell you what is unreasonable. You thinking that I would allow you to do all those…things to me without the possibility of your staying. You tricked me.”

“You enjoyed those
things
,” he said accusingly.

“Yea, I did,” she admitted, standing clumsily and brushing off her gown as best she could. “But it will never happen again. Never.”

“Yea, it will. When I return, we will finish what we started here tonight,” he argued. Then: “Where are you going?”

“Off to find Eadyth and Alinor and tell them to start their parade of prospective bridegrooms,” Esme said without turning. She would not want him to see the tears brimming in her eyes.