“Do what, my lord?” she asked.
“Spread yourself for me. Allow me entrance.”
“You had but to ask.”
He kneeled between her legs, again stroking her into a near frenzy. “I will not hurt you?” he asked.
“You will if you stop.”
He laid overtop her and kissed her. Then slowly, way too slowly, he entered her.
She took his face in her hands. “Arthur, it feels so good. Please, it does not hurt. Do not hesitate.”
His eyes squeezed shut, then he began to move inside her. Still slowly, but so steady, and Isabel realized in her fog of frenzy he was trying to prolong the exquisite agony.
But she was going to come again, and soon. She grabbed his hips, pushing against his body, needing to feel it all over again, although in a totally different way. “Please, Arthur. I need this.”
The floodgates opened. He pushed into her harder and faster. She felt his body tense beneath her fingers before he looked at her and said, “I am so in love with you, Isabel.” His orgasm hit the inside of her like an internal bomb. As she felt his semen hit the innermost parts of her, she, too, came.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
’TWAS almost dawn afore Arthur reluctantly left Isabel. He did so only after she had demanded he had need to go do “you, do this, and, you, do that,” kingly stuff.
He was still smiling as he entered the outer quarters of the royal chambers where he had laid his head for days now.
He stopped short when he saw Gwen, perched upon his furs.
“Late night, Arthur?”
“It appears that you are feeling much better, Gwen. I am very glad.”
“Where have you been?”
“Why in the world would it matter to you?”
“You are my husband. I am entitled to know where my husband has been.”
He stepped farther into the room, finding himself angry that she would ruin his exhilaration over the night he’d just had. He had so hoped to climb into bed and relive the memories over and over until slumber overtook him.
“I believe that you have lost the right to even inquire, Gwen. But since you ask, I fell asleep elsewhere.”
’Twas the truth. In between lovemaking, both he and Isabel had dozed, only to have one or the other awake to have the other kissing and fondling, until they would make love again.
“You were with another,” Gwen said.
“Gwen, your hypocrisy astounds me.”
“I am still your wife, Arthur. And still the queen.”
“By my grace only, if you need that reminder.”
She stood, and Arthur looked at her, trying to remember the last time he had wanted her. It was a sad fact that he could not. She was a beautiful woman to be sure, small of stature with a slight frame. She had a flirtatious smile that he one time found enchanting.
Yet right now she appeared pale, and her eyes so accusing, almost mean.
“It is your precious countess, is it not?”
“First of all, she is not mine, unfortunately, but precious works. And second, you lost all rights to ask questions of me many moons ago. Go back to your own bed, Gwen. This is mine, and I desperately want an hour of sleep afore I wake to start the day.”
She stepped forward. “Arthur, I am so sorry. I made a grave error. But now I am ready and willing for the two of us to renew what we had.”
“You will toss Lance aside so easily?”
“You, my husband, are my first priority.”
Arthur could not believe the disgust that had him almost heaving.
“Do you not understand,” he asked her, “how much Lance loves you? We found him at your trysting cabin, tearing and shredding those mushrooms that made you ill. He was torn apart. Has he been just a toy to you? Do you not care at all?”
She looked defeated. “Yea, Arthur, I care very much.”
“Then why this pretense? I have already promised you I will not expose your love for him. I still care enough for you to protect you.”
She shook her head. “I trusted, Arthur, that you would also stay true to me, no matter. I was always certain of your fidelity.”
Arthur nearly gaped at her. “Do you hear yourself? Do you even listen to yourself? I am protecting your infidelity, even allowing it for your happiness and Lance’s, and yet you accuse me of wrongdoing should I happen to . . . consider another?”
“You are my husband!” she said.
He honestly could not believe this conversation. He wished, so much, to puzzle through it with Isabel. She would have a wise answer. Or maybe, as he had come to learn, a smart-ass one. It did not matter. He just already ached for Isabel’s advice, her laughter and, heaven help him, her lovemaking. Even as she had already depleted whate’er he had in him, he felt it already filling again.
“Gwen, you are making little sense. Perhaps you would be better off in your own bed.”
“Come with me.”
The thought of that repulsed him. “You would lie with me not long after your time with Lance?”
“I ask only that you hold me, Arthur.”
“Perhaps, my wife, we have a failure of communication.” He stopped, wondering where he had heard that afore. He shook his head. “Should you need holding, I will have a man bring Lance to your bed. I have no desire to do so. However, I am very happy that you are looking and feeling better.”
“Your countess hurt me!” she said, as he was heading out the door.
That stopped him. “Once again, she is not my countess. How, pray tell, did she hurt you?”
“My chest and midsection hurt. I am told that she was pounding on me. I believe she should at least be punished for assaulting me.”
Arthur stared, wondering who the hell this woman was. “Thank the gods Isabel pounded on you, Gwen. She did that saving your life. Were it not for her ‘pounding’ as you call it, we would be holding services as we dropped you into the ground.”
“I am your wife,” she said as she stalked from the room.
“So you have said,” he retorted. “Over and over and over again. It means nothing any longer.”
ISABEL was having the most glorious dream. One where Arthur slipped into bed beside her and snuggled up against her.
Then she felt a hand cover her breast and she shot straight up.
“Get your hands off me and away from me before I neuter you, you—”
“’Tis me, Isabel,” she heard. “And trust that I would have to fight off that neutering thing.”
She shoved her hair out of her eyes. “Arthur?”
“Yes, Countess.”
The dim light from the smoldering embers in the fireplace gave her too little illumination. It sounded like Arthur, but to be certain, she asked, “What kind of kingly thing are you performing now?”
“Saying, ‘Hey, you, do this. Lie back down with me without any neutering.’ ”
She tried to shake off the fog. “Why are you being kingly at this hour, Arthur?”
“I needed to catch you in between your countessing.”
She laughed, then slipped back down into the bed. “Seriously, what are you doing back here?”
He scooped her body, his arm draped over her waist. “I had a desperate need to be with you.”
