The Innocent

need for their position. By coming to him rather than his coming to her, his large body did not crush her delicate one. She gasped again. The manhood was moving back and forth within her. The friction was exciting, and her head spun with excitement as she realized she was actually enjoying his amorous attentions. Suddenly he stopped. His mouth came down hard on hers. Then he drove himself deep into her, shattering her maidenhead as he went. Her cry was lost in his own mouth, but tears pearled her cheeks as the pain of her violation overwhelmed her.

Lifting his mouth from hers, he murmured, 'Forgive me, petite. There was no other way, for your maidenhead was very tightly entrenched.' He kissed the tears upon her cheeks as he began a rhythmic movement within her that set her senses quickly reeling. Faster and faster, and deeper and deeper he pumped his loins against hers.

The pain was gone. It was as if it had never existed. Pleasure, sweet, hot pleasure was beginning to flood her entire being. She struggled to open herself more to him. Little cries were emitted from her throat. 'Ranulf! Ranulf! Ohhh, holy Mother, I never knew! It is wonderful! It is wonderful! Ohhhhhh! Ohhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhh!' Her body tensed, shuddered, exploded in a burst of delicious feelings. 'Nooooo! I want more! Ohhhhhhhh!' Then she swooned, sliding away into a warm darkness.

He groaned as his love juices erupted to flood her secret garden. He pulsed with pleasure, until finally and reluctantly he withdrew from her and rested on his side.

How many women had he had in a lifetime? Enough to realize that what he had with this girl, this woman, was truly miraculous and special. How he loved her! And she, his sweet Eleanore, could not know. This was her first experience with passion. What if that passion died quickly? Then they would be like so many other married couples, living together with naught but children and hopefully respect in common. He realized he could not bear it if she rejected him. Better she never know he had lost his heart to her. He didn't want her telling him she loved him from pity or duty. If one day she admitted those feelings for him, then, and only then, would he admit his love for her.

Ranulf rose over the still unconscious girl and gathered her into his arms again. He saw the blood upon their sheets, staining her slim thighs. He smoothed her hair and held her tightly, kissing her brow. She stirred faintly, then opened her eyes. 'Are you all right, petite?' he asked her.

She nodded, touching his face in a tender gesture. Was this feeling she felt love? Or was it merely lust? How could she tell? How could she know? She couldn't ask Ranulf. He would surely be embarrassed by her girlishness and naivete. Besides, he certainly did not love her, and any declaration upon her part would only discomfit him. They seemed compatible, and they liked each other. If she gushed of love, he would only be put off. Better she say nothing at all. He was older, sophisticated. Battle-hardened knights such as Ranulf de Glandeville did not feel emotions like love. Best she remain silent, and keep his respect and friendship.

'You were very brave,' he told her admiringly.

'You were very kind,' she answered him. 'When can we do it again, my lord? I must admit, I enjoyed making love with you.'

He smiled, surprised, yet delighted. 'Ahh, petite, I will need time to recover from your passion, but perhaps before the dawn we may join our bodies again if it would please you.'

'Would it please you also?' she demanded.

'Aye, lady. You are a delicious and most satisfying armful. The king has done me a greater kindness than he can ever know,' Ranulf said honestly.

'Let us not tell him,' Elf said mischievously. Then she let her eyes wander to his groin. 'Ah, it is as Mistress Martha said,' she noted. 'In verity her words have proved truth all around.'

'Who is Mistress Martha?'

'The clothier’s wife in Worcester. While we altered the garments the bishop purchased for me, she explained the intricacies of lovemaking and the male body to me. I should not have known otherwise.'

Ranulf laughed. 'I am relieved you were well instructed, petite.'

'Well, the abbess made no attempt to enlighten me, and I could not be certain of my friends and their prattling gossip.'

He laughed again. She was so delightfully practical. He kissed her lips lightly. 'Let us get some rest now, petite,' he said, and he drew the coverlet over them.

When Elf awoke again the fire was low, but there was the faint light of the day just before the dawn beyond the cracks in the shutters. Looking down upon her husband, she was overwhelmed by a sudden and great desire to pleasure and to be pleasured. This was surely lust. She drew the coverlet back, silently examining him. Her hand smoothed lightly over his flat belly. Then boldly she bent down, and began to lick him. He moaned low, stirring. Elf lifted her head as a tiny movement caught her eye. It was his manhood, and it had stirred ever so slightly. Reaching out with brazen fingers, she touched the thick peg of flesh, brushing over it, and then as it began to truly awaken and elongate, she trailed her little fingers up and own its great length.

'Shameless wench,' Ranulf murmured, not even opening his eyes. Reaching out, he lifted her up over his belly, then slowly lowered her until her sheath had fully encased his manhood.

'Ohhhhhh, yes!' Elf breathed. 'Oh, yes, my Ranulf!' She clasped him between her thighs strongly.

'Ride me, petite,' he instructed her, his voice tight.

Blushing at her own shamelessness, she moved on him, slowly at first, then faster and faster. He pulled her forward so that her small breasts were crushed against his chest. His mouth found hers, and he kissed her hungrily as they loved with fury until the pleasure was so great that it consumed them both as she collapsed atop him, sighing lustily. 'Ahhhhh, Ranulf! That was wonderful!'

His heart felt as if it would burst with his delight. He laughed aloud. 'Nay, Eleanore, you are wonderful! I adore you, petite! There is no other woman like you-and you are indeed every bit a woman now-my sweet wife.' His arms wrapped about her.

She was damp with exertions, and so was he. There was something marvelous about lying atop him. She could feel his very strength pulsing beneath her. And he had said he adored her. She had pleased him. He had pleased her. Now that she knew what marital relations were all about, she understood the sacrifice she would have made had she taken her final vows. But without Ranulf, she would have known nothing. She would have gone through life innocent of the miraculous and astonishing passions a man and his wife could share. She began to cry.

Immediately he was concerned. He rolled her over into his arms, crooning at her. 'Petite, do not weep. What is it? Have I harmed you in any way? Tell me, Eleanore, for you are breaking my heart!'

'I… I… I am so happy!” she sobbed. 'Then, why are you crying?'

'Because I am happy! It is all right, Ranulf.' She snuggled against him, and patted his cheek.

He was totally confused, but she did not seem in any pain. Was this, then, what men meant when they said that they did not understand women? Kissing the top of her head softly, he thought it must.

Chapter 9