Manna from Heaven
Chapter 11
...on its own...
"I would like to tie you up."
Genevieve's jaw dropped and the fact he shocked her, amused Guy to no end. "Excuse me?"
One side of Guy's mouth lifted in a smirk. "Your wrists. I would tie them up for you."
For a brief moment, a fire flickered in her eyes. Interest? "You want to tie me up? Aren't you getting a bit ahead of yourself?" It was spoken softly, with a hint of coyness.
Ah, most definitely more than a sparkle of interest. Guy lifted his forearms, showing the ties at them. "Your ties at the wrist. They are dragging the floor and might encumber your sleep." He nodded to keep her from seeing his obvious grin of satisfaction. "I would hate that." He reached out with one hand, palm up. "Please."
With just a hint of hesitation, she placed her right wrist in cup of his hand, watching as he laced the ties up at and above her wrist, similar to his, before exchanging it for her left. "How do you do this on your own?"
Guy was thoroughly engrossed in the act. "If I do it on my own, it is wet and a messy knot. I use my teeth. Most of the time however, Joffrey or Thornton aids me with it." He looked up and winked at her. "Unless you would like to do it?" She jerked her arm away just as he tightened down the last knot, surprise clearly written on her face. "Ah, m'lady. If you do not trust me to adjust and tie your clothing properly, how will you trust me for something as simple as a backrub?"
It was a stand off and both knew it was such. Finally, Genevieve relented. "Well, seeing how you managed to lace me up earlier, without accosting me, I suppose I can trust you in this as well." She bent over, rolling up the extremely long leggings to above her ankles, again, giving him an enjoyable view of her feminine attributes, not that he was complaining, nor would he tell her.
Once she was rolled up, she made her way to the bed. "Back rub, eh?" She looked at him askance over her shoulder. "Promise you won't try anything?"
Guy closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get his bearings with this woman. Not to mention, she looked fetchingly ridiculous in his clothes. "I tell you true that while I enjoy making love to a woman, I do not enjoy the mess made while loving one during her menstrual cycle." He scowled, something she giggled at. "That is something I never wish to experience again." His scowl deepened, deep in thought. "Nor have I taken an unwilling one to my bed."
Genevieve drew up. "Where did that come from? I would never think you would force yourself on a woman." She cocked her head. "I don't see many women being unwilling when it comes to your bed, Guy."
"You would be surprised."
Genevieve climbed up on the bed and turned around to face him. "Guy, I would think that you have women throwing themselves at you." Yep! The Tylenol and the Willow Bark and other miscellaneous, unknown herbs have kicked in and not only relaxed you, but relaxed your tongue as well! At this rate, you'll be in his bed screaming 'Take me, Big Boy!' the minute your period is over!
Despite the silliness going on in Genevieve's head, Guy's smile was joyless, utterly without humor. "Serving girls who wish for favors, mostly." Before she could respond, he waved her off. "They do not interest me. I have become more... demanding in recent years."
Genevieve's response when it came, was so soft, he had to struggle to hear. "You are more demanding of your partner in bed or you are more demanding of the requirements of the partner you desire?"
Guy bit his tongue to keep from snapping at her. In the faint glow of the fireplace, she didn't see the tic in his jaw. Rather than lash out, he crossed the room to where she left the cloth she had pressed to her back earlier. Dipping it in the water and wringing it out, he laid it over the fireplace screen to heat it. "Would you like a back rub or not?"
She started to tell him no, but at this moment, the conversation was interesting at least and titillating at best. Perhaps this would set her over the edge and she would sleep in some sort of peace this night. "Yes."
He nodded once before, pointing over his shoulder and stepping from the room. "I have something that might help." Genevieve slid off the bed and quickly spread up the two extra quilts folded at the end of the bed before folding them back at the bottom. She heard him rustling around in his room, a lid banging before he returned, holding a crudely made small glass urn and another wine bottle.
"What's that?"
"Scented oil and wine for you, if you wish. This," he lifted the wine, "is not as potent." He nodded towards the bed. "Climb up. On your stomach."
She did as he asked and lay down. "Scented oil, Sir Guy? If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to seduce me." She completely missed his snarky grin. The man had made no bones of his desire for her, but only under the right circumstances and atmosphere. If anything, this would make the woman less argumentative and defensive about it. It was all about the timing. Conquest, indeed. Not hardly! The supporting ropes underneath the bed groaned miserably when the knight joined her, straddling her upper thighs. Grabbing her pillow, she cushioned her head, her hands tucked under. "Between whatever was in the drink Eleanor brought up earlier and the Tylenol I took with it," she gasped slightly as he raised the back of her shirt, "I rather doubt I should have any more of any kind of wine."
Calloused fingers whispered along her spine, in pretense of rolling her shirt and tucking it high. "God forbid I should attempt to seduce an overly-relaxed woman. Where is the delight in that?" Guy dead-panned. He quickly changed the subject. "What is Tylenol?" His fingers traced down her spine, before his thumbs began to work, pressing firmly into her flesh. "Where does your back pain you the most?"
"Lower. In the small." She inhaled sharply when he pressed where she was aching the most.
"There?"
"Yes. Ow." She attempted to stretch, only to find she couldn't with him sitting on her thighs. "Damn, that hurts."
Cool oil was dribbled along her lower spine, the scent of sandalwood rising gently in the air, before he gently went to work on the muscle. "Your language-"
"Yes, I know," she sighed. "My bad. I'm sorry."
Suddenly, he leaned completely over, covering her, and whispered in her ear "Are you just bad? Or are you naughty?"
The question made her giggle. "Go back to what you were doing. It feels good."
Reluctantly, he did as she asked, resettling on his legs, which were folded beneath him. Genevieve buried her face in her pillow, suddenly aware that the man was aroused. Considering what she was feeling, she had the distinct feeling that the reason women were not throwing themselves at him was quite obviously apparent.
He was huge.
Yes, he was tall, well-formed, and enough bulk to shake the rafters when he walked, but he...
He was huge!
The thought made her tingle.
"You did not answer my question. What is Tylenol?"
Grateful to be redirected in her thoughts, she responded, "It's an analgesic."
The lovely fingers came to a halt. "An anal what?"
She laughed again. Oh yes, very relaxed! "An analgesic. A pain-killer. Between the Tylenol, the wine, the whatever was in the wine, and your wonderful fingers, I should be jello." She snickered at the thought. "In fact, I am probably jello now."
"And jello would be?"
"No bones," she whispered. "No bones at all. Jiggles when you eat it. Pliable, limp as a wet dishrag."
Jiggles when you eat... Guy had a hard time shaking that visual off.
For a time, there was nothing, save the movement of strong fingers manipulating muscles of a tense, tight back, the man doing everything in his power to keep his mind off the sweetness between his legs.
She is drooping, barely lucid. Turn her over. She would not put up a-
"Guy?"
Control. Must maintain control.
"Hmmm?"
"Can I be nosy?"
The knight didn't stop his ministrations, instead concentrating on the movement of his fingers and the subtle gyration of her skin. "You may ask. It does not mean I will answer."
"Fair enough." She sounded rather tired, completely unwound. "When you said you have become more demanding in your bed partners, what exactly did you mean?"
He was silent for so long, Genevieve thought he decided not to answer. She fell back into that blissful state of almost unawareness.
"I no longer desire or enjoy temporary dalliances."
"Ah. So no more one night stands for Sir Guy." She waited for him to continue, elaborate, but when he did not, she inhaled. "How old are you, Guy?"
"Six and thirty." His thumbs pressed deeply, shoving the air from her lungs. "I have been told it is discourteous and boorish to ask a woman her age, yet a woman may ask a man his. I consider this unfair."
"I'm thirty-five," she responded with a snicker. "So if you wish a permanent bed partner, why don't you just get married?"
The fingers stopped.
If she could have banged her head against a brick wall for her seemingly uncaring and cold comment, she would have. "I'm sorry. That was callous and unthinking of me."
The fingers resumed. "It is an honest question. You are correct; I should get married. I have land, title, wealth which I expect to increase and I am very much in need of an heir." The fingers splayed out, reaching to her sides, sensitive to if she was ticklish. "For many years, I have been focused on regaining what was mine, something that would entice a woman of standing. Now that I have it..." his voice trailed off.
"Forgive me, but my history is vague. If you are titled, have wealth, surely you can arrange a political match?"
He snorted. "A political arrangement," he snorted derisively. "I suppose it is safe to assume, that is not done in your time."
She was quiet for a moment. "In my culture, no. It's not done. There are women who would be considered gold-diggers."
"A wot?"
Genevieve was slipping closer and closer into a dreamy state. "A gold-digger. A woman who simply marries for money. It's considered cold and callous. Most prefer to marry for love."
"Here, political matches are considered good business, necessary. It strengthens ties and alliances between families and property." He was quiet as he seemingly focused on his task. "Love is not a requirement." His thumbs continued to press, but even to Genevieve's dulled senses, the man sounded deeply distressed at the thought of not loving his future bride. Before she could question him further, he rumbled on. "Chances are, when things settle down, I will do that; arrange a marriage." For some odd reason, the statement made Genevieve green with jealousy. "However, as it stands, I am a Black Knight and most landed fathers will not consider a match with me until John is king."
"Why is that?" Her voice was getting softer and softer. By this time, Guy had mentally wandered off into his own corner of the world, a dark and bleak place.
"John is simply Richard's regent. England's so-called king has only stepped foot on England's soil once before he ran off to fight Rome's war with the Turks, taking as much of England's coffers with him as he could pack when he left. We are revenue to him and nothing more." He snorted. "He does not even speak our language. We are nothing to him, but money."
Again there was a long, drawn-out silence.
"You didn't answer my question. What does being a Black Knight mean and why do you have to wait until John is king?"
Truthfully, Genevieve didn't want to hear the answer, but she was starting to simply love the sound of his voice.
"As a Black Knight, I have openly thrown my lot and support in with Prince John. His father Henry made it clear he wished for John to be King of England, however their mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, made sure her favorite - Richard,Cœur de Lion , became king. If Richard survives this war, he could return home and have all of our heads. He could pardon John; he could pardon the knights and lords who have sided with John. He could decide he wishes to reward those who supported him in the Holy Lands, take the Black Knights and Brotherhood's holdings to reward them with, dispossess and behead us all." For not the first time, he had a strange premonition, of him kneeling in front of a chunk of wood, his sister sitting in the sheriff's chair in Nottingham, demanding his execution.
But that cannot be right. Isabella hated him, but not enough to kill him. Besides, who in their right mind would make a woman sheriff?
"Needless to say," he rushed on, attempting to erase the thought, "no father would align himself through marriage with such as me until such is decided, regardless of how annoying the chit is."
"So, why have you made such a bold and open statement?"
He thought for a moment. "Because, in order to achieve one's goals, one must be bold." Those wonderful fingers pressed upwards; Genevieve could have sworn she heard her back pop. "I am ambitious. By openly supporting John, I stand to gain much more power and prestige than I would by sitting by and allowing Richard to bleed this country you own your own business, as you claim, I would think you would be a very bold woman and would understand."
Genevieve turned on her side, Guy's hands now splayed about her waistline, the long digits stroking the soft curve of her abdomen. "If Richard returns, what will you do? Beg for a pardon? Mercy?"
He had been waiting for that question. It was one he had not pondered on; instead he had made that decision soon after he aligned himself with the prince and Vaisey's Black Brotherhood. "I will beg for nothing. If Richard returns to the shores of England, I will gather as much gold and silver as I can carry and leave this cursed island."
Besides, after two failed attempts on Richard's life, Guy's life was forfeit, if the king returned to England and he knew it. He could have gotten away with the first attempt, but no doubt the man overheard Guy's argument with Marian, as well as his obvious intent to kill England's monarch and would not pardon the knight for any reason. Nothing and no one could or would save him from Richard's ax man. Nor would Hood allow it. The man would kill him himself!
And strangely enough, after months of truly desiring to die, battling demons in his sleep and now on occasion, waking hours, Guy at this moment wanted to live! He would never forgive himself for taking Marian's life, but by God-
"And go where?"
Physically, she was becoming a distraction. He was beyond hard, aching, and he suspected she realized it. He flipped her back on her stomach and returned to work on her spine. He poured more oil and began to knead it into her skin. "France."
"Ah. Your mother was from there. You have family who would help you."
His hands stopped. "My mother had family, yes, but they are no family to me." Genevieve could hear the gritty, underlying anger in his voice, an overly-sensitive razor-sharp edge, for a long, never healed hurt. Something happened, something bad, and she didn't have the nerve to dig deeper. What a wretched childhood this man must have had. Suddenly, Guy's private, little glen became much more precious to her. "I do have...friends." His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "Friends I pray have not forgotten me. I could start again."
Without Vaisey and his schemes. I could begin honestly, like my father did. I could do it honestly.
But I thought I was doing it honestly.
He swallowed once, hard enough for Genevieve to have heard, had she been lucid. "I would purchase a home, in the south of France, perhaps Province or more likely, in Languedoc; buy some property." His mouth twitched upwards in semblance of a smile. "Grow grapes. Make wine. Never lift a sword again; only wine bottles."
Genevieve was so relaxed, she almost felt as if she had drank several bottles of Guy's intoxicating, imaginary wine. "No more training guards, only watching beautiful young women with their skirts hiked up, stomping on grapes."
"You know," Guy's voice was almost jovial, "I had never thought or considered that." He slid off her legs and stretched out next to her, his head propped up on his hand. "Perhaps I will not marry at all; simply swive my wine-girls." With his free hand, he reached over and tucked her hair behind her ear, a long oil-slick finger caressing her cheek.
"I thought you were tired of temporary dalliances."
"True, but if they are rotated, much like a Sultan's harem..."
"GUY!" Her head rose from the pillow.
Guy continued as if she had not said a word. "Then again, it would be like having many wives. I think one would be enough." He shrugged. "Truly, I have no idea how the Arabs manage more than one." He appeared to think deeply. "The thought exhausts me." He now looked at her, his pupils so dilated, they appeared to be black. "What think you?"
Genevieve shook her head before dropping it with a thud back on the pillow. "I think you have a glorious sense of humor that you don't let out very often, which is a shame."
Now Guy did smile, a beautiful thing, although she missed it, before patting her on the butt and rising from the bed. "Moist heat, aye?"
"Mmm mmmmm." The response was greatly muffled by the pillow.
The cloth he left on the screen was quite warm and he picked it up by his fingertips. "This is very hot. Are you sure?"
"Mmmst mmmmph mmmmt."
"Come again?" He had returned to the bed.
Genevieve lifted up just enough. "Just do it."
Guy shrugged. "If you insist." Folding it length-wise, he laid the searing, wet cloth across the small of her back.
She didn't budge. "Oh God," she moaned. "That feels so good."
"I must admit, that I now understand why you were laughing so much earlier."
"Hmmm?"
"My clothing looks ridiculous on you." Guy leaned over to retuck her shirt back up when something caught his eye.
Not again...
Taking a taper from the fireplace, he sat down on the bed, unmindful of Genevieve's semi-pain-killer-induced haze. He inspected her left side, horrified at what he was seeing. "Genevieve?"
"Mmmm mmmm?"
"I believe you told me Robin Hood did not harm you."
"No. He didn't. Hedidn'ttouchme."
Grasping the tie-waist of her - his - pants, he yanked them down, exposing the generous curve of her hip.
"HEY!" She shot up.
Guy shoved the candle in her face. "Hold this."
"NO! What are you doing?" Guy was pulling harder, attempting to bare her entire hip. She grabbed the waistband and attempted to pull it up.
Guy was paying no attention that he was disrobing her; much less that he was baring her to the air. What he was seeing was disturbing.
Bruises. Black, blue, and yellow bruises.
Turning the waistband loose, he went to her pant leg and pulled it up.
More bruises.
He started to grasp the bottoms, yank them from her to get a better view, but she was now smacking his hands.
"Woman! Look at your side!" This seemed to stop her for the time being.
"Oh my God." Now she was twisting, turning, attempting to look herself. She pulled up on the shirt, inspecting her side. "They look awful!" She then rebared the hip she had fought to keep covered. "How did that happen?"
Guy rose from the bed to put the now blown-out candle on the fireplace mantel. "I hoped you could tell me. You said Robin did not touch you." He snapped his fingers. "Allan A-Dale-"
"If you mean the man who took my necklace, I was on the ground already - sitting," she clarified when she saw Guy's furious, black look. "We rolled, but not enough to do this!"
Guy returned to the bed, leaning up against a post and crossing his feet at the ankle up on the bed. "Was there anyone else?"
"Well," Genevieve was trying to remember, "there was this woman who attacked me-"
"Wot! Kate attacked you?" He sat up, infuriated.
"Is that her name?" Genevieve asked sullenly. "Now, there's a bar bitch if I've ever met one! I'm certain Robin sent her into the thicket to grab me, but I wasn't going without a fight."
Guy had his finger in the air. "Wait. You and Kate in a thicket. What exactly happened for you and Michael to become captured?" With his bath and dinner, Guy had not had a chance to interrogate his armsman and in fact had decided to do it on the way to Nottingham in the morning, while he decided how he was going to punish the guard. He liked Michael; the man was an above decent shot with a bow and he was congenial, followed orders without complaint.
"We were racing." Genevieve was now in the process of sitting up, trying to keep the compress on her back. She backed up into the headboard of the bed. "Somehow, Michael became unhorsed and when I realized it, I heard him tell me to run. Then there was a loud 'thump'."
"Why did you not run?" If Michael told her to run and she did not, she would be in much trouble as well.
"Run where?" Her voice was incredulous. "I had no idea where I was, where I was going. The man set to guard and watch over me was behind me, sidelined by who knows who. I can just imagine me showing up in a strange village, where I knew no one, dressed in my jeans and a tunic. The people of Locksley might be used to my wild clothing, but I imagine if I tore into a new town dressed that way, they would have accused me of being a witch."
"Considering the road you were on, you would have ridden straight into Nottingham. The sheriff," he sneered, "would have had a field day and by the time I was notified and came to retrieve you, either he or my sister would have pressed you up the wall." The sneer turned in to a smirk. "Truthfully, at first I feared for you if you fell in their clutches. Now, I fear for them. Continue."
She told him about dismounting, circling back through the thicket, with both horses. She noticed his smile of approval when she told him of Kate trying to subdue her and not expecting the fight Genevieve put up.
"You gave her a black eye? You are sure?"
"Yes."
"Good girl." Guy decided at that point, Genevieve had earned a reward. Question was - what KIND of reward?
"Either way, we must have been making some serious racket; I swear that woman fights like a girl! Next thing I knew, a giant black man in a friar's robe has me in one hand and that woman in the other and literally hauls us into the open!" She repositioned her back, clearly uncomfortable.
"That would be Friar Tuck. He has traveled supposedly through many lands. He is considered very learned. " He draped his arms over his pulled-up knees. "Do not tell a soul, but Vaisey is terrified of him. Thinks he is a sorcerer. I think, he is simply erudite of knowledge not thought of here in Western Europe."
A jolt of memory flashed in Genevieve's tired and drugged mind, a snippet of a lecture from a history class fifteen years before. The professor, probably older than Methuselah, was droning on and on about how 'behind' Western Europe was in comparison to the Turks, the Byzantines and even China. To the best of her recollection, the professor seemed to believe that the reason for such was the lack of education for the vast majority of the population. To the best of her recollection, he considered Asia and Africa more enlightened.
"Regardless," Genevieve continued, "I suppose in the ruckus, Kate did this. Strange," she murmured, "I don't recall her giving me this bad of a beating. I think I would have won had the good friar not interrupted us."
Guy wanted to believe her. He wanted a rational explanation to the bruising, however...
"You don't think that is how I got these, do you?"
Guy had to shake his head. "No. Truth is, they are similar to what was on your arm the night before last. If they are related, the bruising should be gone in the morning. I would like to know what causes them." In the low light, he looked up, his visage dark. "It is worrisome."
The two sat in companionable silence for a short time, each ruminating on their own thoughts. It was a comfortable stillness, amiable...
"Thank you for the backrub." Her voice rose from the darkness. "Someone taught you well."
Guy reached forward, taking her by the ankle and pulled her down the bed. "My sister and I were alone in the world for some time. Her back would ache as well and we discovered me rubbing it helped."
Not to mention the fine tutelage of several... ladies... Lady Aedyth...
"You and she were close once."
"Once." He now had her in perfect position. Lifting up, he straddled her again. "We only had each other." Gently, he settled over her lap. Long fingers splayed over her cheeks, cupping her face into the immense size of his hands. She was focused on his mouth.
"I always wanted brothers and sisters. It... didn't happen."
"Why not?"
"I..." she was watching as his mouth moved closer and closer. "my... grandmother raised me."
"Why?" It was a whisper, his breath, and the gentle scent of the wine he drank earlier in the evening, floated in the air between them. "Did something happen to your parents?"
She gave him the safest answer. "Yes."
"I am sorry."
It was the last coherent thought she had for a while, for at that moment, he closed the gap and descended on her much as he had before.
Again, there was the fleeting vision of butterflies as he explored her, her mouth. For a short time, he kept his tongue to himself, choosing to taste her, explore the tip of her cupid's bow, her upper lip. It wasn't until she groaned in frustration that he opened up, tipped her back and covered her fully on the bed.
Their mouths never lost contact, as he stretched her across the mattress. Once more, she was fully aware of his physical size and prowess. Her legs parted on their own volition, cradling him within the heated juncture.
For some time, they lay, cocooned in each other, tasting, exploring. Genevieve was frantic, her hands dancing, cupping the curve…
"Genevieve." Guy's voice was breathless and he pulled back.
"Noooo." She pulled him back to her.
Angry, at himself, for allowing this to happen, allowing it to get this far, he pulled her hands from his neck and pinned them to the bed. "Genevieve. We cannot start what we cannot finish-"
"But you've started it."
"Aye, I have. And I am sorry. But I do not wish a mess and when I take you, I want to taste all of you, not specific pieces." He dipped, his mouth encircling her ear. "And yes, my lady, I will have you and I would have you come to my bed willingly." For a moment, darkness in his soul descended, the memory of Marian pushing him away how many times…
I am not a debaser of women.
"Do I seem unwilling?"
He pushed himself up and off the bed, cruelly hoping she was as uncomfortable as he was.
"Here. Take the cloth." Genevieve pulled the wet make-shift heating pad from her back and handed it to him. "It's cold and icky now." She was obviously frustrated and peevish.
As he took the cloth, he realized that in addition, she was sluggish and her eyes were heavy. Most likely, a good thing he was able to exercise self-control. No doubt, she would be as limp as the cloth he took from her and slung to the table next to the washbasin. He restoked the fire before leaving, watching as she wrapped herself under the covers.
She was asleep by the time he closed the door.
~~~…~~~
Guy leaned against the fireplace, the fire low, with an almost empty bottle of wine on the mantle. Despite his downing of the majority of the drink, he still remained hard and insistent, so he stood, clothed in nothing but his tunic, slowly massaging a painfully hardened member and hoping that rather than dribble drunkenly down his hand and leg, making a wretched mess, he could shoot a decent wad into the flames.
I played these games as a teenager! Where is my pride? I am too old for this!
Realizing he would never finish unless he let his mind wander towards carnal pursuits, he leaned forward, resting his forehead on his arm, which was propped on the mantle, continuing to stroke, and stared into the crackling fire.
He had been a mess when he arrived in London. He fully expected John to kill him, as did Vaisey. In fact, that's why Vaisey sent him. Let John do his dirty work. Vaisey liked to keep his hands clean and let someone else do the killing. After all, was that not how Guy obtained his Master of Arms position? Once one is no longer useful to him, Vaisey moved his underlings up, killing them off with their own underlings. Guy knew this well. He himself had killed three men above him in order to promote himself. And Vaisey was fairly honest when he stated Gisborne was useless in his current state.
He was. Even Guy admitted that.
And it was why he watched his back. He often wondered which one of his own men were watching, lying in wait to do him in, to take his own spot…
But John...John was smart, much smarter than Vaisey or any of the Black Brotherhood realized. And cunning to boot. He sat on his 'throne' elevated, so as to appear taller than he was and stared at Guy with those dark eyes of his.
"Sent you to me, to make his excuses for his failings, did he?" Guy didn't answer. "The coward."
And rather than throw him in the dungeon, John sat him at the High Table next to Lady Aedyth, a mature woman in her late forties with the ability to make sparkling small talk that kept the Black Knight occupied and not looking like a bumpkin while at the same time, filling him in on court intrigues and gossip.
Guy did not like court intrigues. He was learning to appreciate his own estate in the country, but at times, one must do what one had to do and he was rather fond of his head being attached to his neck.
So, he paid attention…
…to the fact that John was an adept manipulator…
…that John was also an able tactician and well versed in politics…
…that John would be an English king, unlike Richard…
…that John was aware that there were those who would attempt to use him as a puppet…
…and he had plans; ugly, unforgiving plans for them…
…to the fact that Lady Aedyth leaned very close when she whispered in his ear…
…and her dress was cut very, very low.
Many times since that first night, he scolded himself for giving in to base desires, for using Aedyth for his own fleshly pursuits, for relieving his earthly hunger on her, for using her in attempt to forget Marian.
He also chided himself for allowing Aedyth to use him in equal fashion, for allowing her to manipulate him, use his body, for her own wanton requirements. One thing he had never done before her, regardless of his need, was to lay with a married woman. As crass and as lusty as he was, he had strong opinions about promises made before God, and to break them was to court damnation. Rather than pursue Guy, or any other man, she should concentrate on being…
A good wife…
Guy tightened his grip, stroking longer…firmer.
But she was persistent; knew how to get what she wanted and Guy learned more under her tutelage than Vaisey ever would teach him.
The last night they were together, Aedyth taught him a lesson he would never forget…one that he would actually in a strange way, come to cherish…
~~~…~~~
Aedyth liked to play games. Naughty, naughty games.
"You don't like this, do you darling?"
Guy shook his head. He was sweating; the heat from the fireplace was almost intolerable. "No."
Aedyth had him tied spread eagle on the bed. He was wearing nothing but his shirt, while she was in a thin, hand-embroidered chemise; so thin, her dark nipples showed through. She had oiled her hand and was stroking him into oblivion.
"No, you wouldn't. You're too domineering, like to be in charge and right now, all the control is wrested from you. I imagine your mind is working trying to figure out how to get out you of this little predicament." He jerked, close to release. "No no no. You are not allowed to finish. Not yet." She lifted her hand, abandoning his prick and moving upwards to taunt his nipples. "Someday soon, you will feel the need to marry, take a bride, whether you wish it or not. You need heirs, my love and plenty of them." She continued to taunt, now tracing back down to his navel and finding the thin trail of hair from his abdomen to his groin. Teasing him, tickling him about his thighs. "I have heard the rumors; you love a dead woman. That is all well and good, but she cannot give you what you need, save heartache and unrequited fantasy. You have reached the bottom, my sweet. Push off hard and rise to the top, over these wretched mortals who would be your betters."
Again, she grasped him, pulling firmly. "When you look for a bride, find one not so young and biddable. Hopefully," she was not looking at him, but away, staring into the fire, and Guy thought he saw a tear, "you will fall in love with her or at the very least care for her. Value her, my pet and treat her like a princess, even if she is not one. She should not be a total imbecile. Find an intelligent, independent woman, who will beg for your attention when the bedroom door is closed. Dote on her, make her pleasure your own, so she will become yours and yours alone and will never wish to leave your side. Believe me," Aedyth continued in a whisper, "if you find a compassionate woman, your pleasure will be just as important to her, if not more so, if you strive that she reaches her peak every time."
He started to snap at her. He was not and had never been an inconsiderate lover! Instead…"Is that…" he caught his breath, resisting the urge to spill too soon, "why you have strayed? Your husband does not give you pleasure?"
He received a smart smack on his thigh. "You know the rules, my darling. Do not ask of me. I have not and will not ever ask of you." Her fingers now delved beneath his sack, slick fingers sliding to places-
"No!" He clenched, tried to move away from her. "Some things, you are to leave be."
Aedyth made a moue. "And if I do not?"
Guy glared at her with all the fury he had. "You have to untie me, sometime."
She shrugged. "I do not have to. I can leave you here for the chambermaids to find."
"And I will surely find you and you will not like it. I will not care the consequences of wringing your neck."
For a moment, Aedyth honestly looked terrified. She knew his threat was not an empty one. Rumor had it he had killed the woman he loved in a jealous rage. Smiling, she returned to stroking him. "It is not so much fun to play with anyway. I just wanted to see you squirm." It was quiet for some minutes, while she ministered to him, bringing him back to peak.
"Remember this - this is how your bride will feel, how your submissive will think. How do I please you if I cannot touch you? Will you cease when you do something that makes her uncomfortable or passes her limits? You, too, should learn control because her pleasure is your responsibility. While you will teach her to respond at your command, by the sound of your voice, to come to completion at your behest, so must you exert self-control over yourself. Even if you are spent, her joy is still your responsibility and even a loving and loyal submissive will become disenchanted if she is left wanting time and time and time again. Their eye will wander."
"Much like yours has wandered."
Her strokes became faster, firmer, almost painful. "You are too belligerent for your own good." Before much longer, Guy's hips began to jerk involuntarily. His growl of release was audible through the apartment and into the hall, had anyone been there, the heat of his seed spraying over her hand and onto his abdomen.
Before he finished, the woman inhaled him, suckled up his essence like a starving urchin, and then continuing up his stomach, cleaning him, much like a cat over spilt milk. When there was nothing left, she untied him and lifted herself from the bed.
"Get dressed, my sweet, and leave. Do not come back."
"I am being dismissed? So easily?" Not even dressed and she was treating him away like a dog begging for table scraps. "Because I will not allow you to play with what you have me plunder?"
Aedyth was leaving the bedroom and floating into the sitting area. Something about the set of her shoulders however, was not right. She stopped in the doorway, her back to him. "My husband returns from the Holy Land and I need to be home to greet him. My maids will pack my things tomorrow and we will depart London at dawn the next day, so Ino longer have the time todally with you. John expects his weapon to arrive within the week and you will be returning with it to Nottingham, with a great task to complete. He has great faith in you. So do I and I expect you will do well."
With that, she glided into the sitting area.
Guy sat up, rubbing his wrists and began to reach for his trousers, when something she said earlier came back. Rising from the bed, he walked nude into the sitting area, Aedyth now working on a piece of embroidery. Kneeling in front of her, he removed the material from her hands. "And what kind of lover would I be if I left you wanting?"
In the firelight, he could see tears… tears?... in her eyes. She leaned over and caressed his jaw. "Guy. Please understand me. I love my husband. I truly do. And he loves me. 'Tis a rare thing anymore, for two people of our standing to fall in love and marry and stay in love. He has given me beautiful children and treats me well. However," with this her face fell, "before he went to the Holy Lands, he befell an accident and has been unable to perform his husbandly duties. He did not go to the Holy Land to fight with Richard. He went to find a cure. I did not think he would find one."
"Did he?" Guy spread her legs, gently lifting one each, over his shoulders.
"I do not know. It would not matter."
One long finger cut a path through her lower lips. She was wet, wanting. "What kind of man would leave his lover wanting? I will not depart with you in this state of want."
"It doesn't matter, darling. I can finish myself."
He sniffed disdainfully. "And what did you just teach me in your bed?" He pulled her forward, blowing on her clit. "Besides, I can finish you better." And grasping her thighs firmly with his hands, he buried his mouth around her, tipping her backwards and sucking until…
~~~…~~~
In Guy's mind, the woman he was pleasuring changed. Where Aedyth was tall, his fantasy lover shrank, barely coming to his chest if they stood. Curves became more pronounced, breasts firmer, thighs fleshier. Long blonde hair turned into a bobbed dark…
~~~…~~~
"Oh… Ggggggggguuuuod!"
He jerked… once… twice… spurting an admirable distance into the fire, not that he noticed. He was too busy now fantasizing about a beautiful brunette, squirming beneath him...
Clawing at his back…
He cried out once.
"Genevieve."
~~~…~~~
Better bring your friend along
~~~…~~~
A/N – thank you for putting up with the crazy posting. Sadly while my computer was finally returned last week, it was not returned in working order and I've had to send it BACK. Last I checked, it was taking the scenic route to California and by the time the ordeal is over, it will have seen more places than I have. At this point, I don't expect to have it back for 2 to 3 weeks.
