15

15

Konrad threw down his knife and pushed back his chair. Supper had been an oppressive affair. He moodily surveyed the three other occupants of the room. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something was decidedly ‘off’ this evening. He had never been one to be affected by the atmosphere of a room, but even he could tell a frosty air hung over the supper table.

He cleared his throat, and no one looked up, not even Freda. Now he came to think of it, his cousin had not made any of her usual empty small talk at dinner. Strange to say, her silence had not been the relief he had once thought it would be. “Is no one going to congratulate me on my victory?” he asked sardonically, throwing caution to the wind. His sister gave an incredulous huff, but his eyes were not on her, but his wife.

Aimee dragged her eyes from her plate and lifted her goblet. “Congratulations on your victory,” she said flatly. He narrowed his eyes at her, but to his disappointment, she could not be goaded into any further speech. Neither Trude nor Freda echoed the toast, though his cousin did lift her cup and take a small sip of her wine.

“Will you go to the victory feast tonight at the palace?” Aimee asked in a cold, clipped voice he had not heard from her before.

He looked down speakingly at his empty plate. “I have already eaten my fill. Besides,” he added. “I am not much of one for feasts or celebrations.” Though why he was explaining himself to her now, he had not the smallest notion.

“A pity,” Aimee replied with a decided edge to her voice. “Perhaps you could have celebrated your win further with Lady de Crecy.”

Either Freda or Magnatrude uttered an exclamation that turned into a hasty cough, but Konrad did not have eyes for anyone apart from his wife just then. He cleared his throat. “And just why would I do that?”

“I am sure I could not say. Past form, perhaps?”

Konrad drummed his fingers on the table as he surveyed his wife. She had changed out of his colors before dinner and now wore a gown of palest yellow. It became her well, he thought, for the hue did not wash her out as it did pale women.

“The queen has invited me to attend the palace tonight as her guest,” Aimee continued, thumping her goblet back down on the table so hard that two drops of wine sloshed out and stained the tablecloth red.

“We are not attending,” Konrad replied, finally adding up all the signs: the overbright eyes, the red cheeks, the slight tremble in the hand that held her drink. His wife was in a high temper, he realized incredulously. A temper with him.

“It is a pity you find yourself unable to attend,” Aimee replied and, yes, there was a decided bite to her tone. “But I could not possibly disappoint her majesty.”

Konrad snorted. “You both can and will disappoint the southern queen. I am the only one you need to worry about pleasing, wife, and me alone.”

Aimee’s expression tightened. “I do not care about that anymore, my lord!” she flung at him, abandoning all pretense of coolness. “For I no longer love you!”

You could have heard a pin drop. Then all hell broke loose. Konrad had dragged his chair back, and Magnatrude jumped up from her own seat. “No, Konrad!” she wailed, as Freda burst into shocked tears. Konrad ignored them, hauling Aimee out of her chair and slinging her over his shoulder.

“What are you doing, my lord?” Aimee enquired in tones of outrage as he flung open the door and started up the stairs. “I have not finished my supper!”

He gave a short mirthless laugh, though why he should feel invigorated by her defiance he had no notion. He did though; his blood was positively coursing through his veins and pounding in his ears. He hadn’t known he could feel like this anywhere other than the battlefield, he marveled as he sprinted up the steps to her bedchamber. “Well, if you have any appetite left you when I’m finished with you, you can return to the table and eat your fill. How’s that for a bargain?”

On the threshold of her bedchamber, he paused a moment in surprise, for on her bed lay his banner cut into ribbons. Nay, he realized incredulously, it was not his banner but her dress. The one she had worn that day in his honor. She had slashed the damned thing to pieces! He slammed the door shut behind them and shot the bolt across before setting her on her feet.

Aimee glared back at him, her chest heaving as her flashing eyes dared him to demand an explanation for the dishonor to his colors. “Take off your dress,” he heard himself rumble. “Unless you want that one in pieces too,” he added dryly, reaching for his belt.

“I will not,” Aimee flung at him, her chin in the air. “I can simply raise my skirts for what you intend. I told you, I mean to attend the palace this night.”

He stared at her a moment, then shrugged. “Your choice, but you won’t be fit to be seen after I’ve finished with you,” he growled, and Aimee’s eyes widened when she saw him cast the belt onto a nearby chair, shortly followed by his tunic.

“What are you – ?” she broke off. “Oh.” Her cheeks flamed. “I thought you meant to beat me!”

He shot a heated look at her. “Did you?” he asked without much interest. “If you don’t take it off, I’ll rip it off you,” he said stalking toward her now. “Last warning, Aimee.”

“Wait!” she blurted as he seized her about the waist and flung her onto the bed, right on top of his mutilated colors. She bounced, but before she’d managed to struggle upright, he was on top of her and dragging her skirts up to her waist.

“Let’s try it your way,” he said affably. “And afterward, if you can stand, I’ll even let you stagger to the palace.” He dragged her undergarments down. “With my seed trickling down your thighs,” he said, running a fingertip down one inner leg by way of illustration. Aimee gasped at his shocking words. “Ticklish, wife?” he asked, cocking his head to one side. She stared up at him, open-mouthed.

“Speechless?” he asked. “An admirable quality in a wife.” He had no idea why he was still talking. If he didn’t know any better, he would almost think he was teasing her.

I no longer love you. That was what she had said.

The answer he should have made had been an obvious one. I neither desired nor asked for your love. He knew the exact tone he should have employed too. A scornful one. A curl of his lip, a cold look in his eye, and any budding affection she harbored for him would have promptly withered and perished in the bud. It was a miracle such tender shoots had put forth in the first place.

Then he should have exited the room, the city, and her life for at least a twelvemonth. Let her see just how insignificant a place in his life she occupied. Aimee had enough pride to have met him thereafter with only the coolest formality. But he simply couldn’t do it. Not for the life of him could he have dealt the death blow to her silly, girlish fancies. Somewhere, a small part of him wondered why the hells not, but he pushed that to one side for now. He would worry about that later.

For now, he had more pleasurable things uppermost on his mind. Perhaps you could have celebrated your win further with Lady de Crecy, she had sniped at him with her color high. She had been jealous. Over him. He did not know why, but that realization made his chest burn. Out of nowhere, the thought occurred to him that he should have given her the damned tourney crown.

He let her feel his full weight bearing down on her, just for a minute. “I will never raise a hand to you, Aimee,” he said in a serious tone, and her eyes flew to meet his. “But every time you flout me, I will drag you upstairs and thoroughly demonstrate my ascendency. Do you understand?”

She considered this a moment breathlessly. “What if it’s not at home?” she asked in a strangled voice.

He suppressed a crazy impulse to laugh at her retort. “I would not recommend defying me outside our home,” he replied, catching her two wrists in one hand and pinning them above her head as he slid a muscular thigh between her own. Our home? What was he even talking about?

“But if I did?” The fact she was even persisting in this made him feel ridiculously heated.

His hot gaze ensnared her own as he slowly and deliberately lowered his head so their faces were very close together. “Well then, I guess I’d have to improvise,” he said huskily and felt her soft thighs squeeze around his own. She was holding her breath again, and her eyes were huge. Seeing the direction of her gaze, he realized it was a kiss she was wanting.

Strange to say, the thought was no longer a displeasing one to him. “If I kiss you, you have to keep breathing this time,” he said. “Through your nose.” Aimee sucked in a breath, and realizing he was about to get a piece of her mind, he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers. For a minute, he thought she was resisting, then he remembered this was how she had kissed him last time. Her lips closed and fiercely mashed against his own. He barely remembered how to kiss himself, but closing his eyes, he dredged the distant memory to the surface and let his own turn soft and coaxing against hers.

It was a strange sensation to be exchanging sweet kisses like this, lying on top of a shredded dress. He felt more inflamed with lust than he could remember ever feeling, even back in the dim days before his grievous injuries. Somehow, though, the throb in his chest made him feel conscious of every hitched breath between them as he nibbled on her bottom lip and tipped her jaw to angle her mouth to his satisfaction. It overruled even the insistent throb of his cock which did not know what the hells he was playing at.

He had hurt her. His mind reeled at the realization. He had hurt her when he had given that ridiculous garland to another woman. The tourney queen was an empty convention, nothing more. He had barely given the matter a second thought. She had not been in the stands when he had glanced that way. De Crecy’s wife had, and he had wanted to score off de Crecy. That was how he always did it, so it stuck in his competitor’s craw. He never meant it as a compliment, but always as a blow.

He hadn’t meant the blow to fall on Aimee though. He wanted to make it better. The thought almost staggered him. The fact that he even wielded any power to hurt her feelings was frankly ludicrous. He dragged the tip of his tongue over the seam of her lips and groaned when she did not take the hint. He lifted his lips away. “Let me in,” he murmured.

“What?” Aimee’s eyelids fluttered open. She had shut her eyes too. His gaze roamed over her dazed expression, the dark hair spilling out of its tidy arrangement. This wasn’t going to cut it, he decided suddenly, her still being half-dressed in this yellow gown. He wanted her naked against the remains of the particolored gown, caught up in the ribbons of the slashed fabric. He caught his breath at the picture it conjured up in his mind’s eye.

“I want you naked,” he said roughly, voicing his thoughts aloud.

“Oh,” she said, struggling to oblige. He helped her up and started immediately loosening the laces at her back and sleeves. As soon as there was room enough, he maneuvered the gown up and over her head, dropping it over the edge of the bed.

When she lay back down, he immediately crowded back around her, seeking her mouth with his, showing her what he wanted. The moan she gave around his tongue reassured him she was fully on board. Thank the gods.

He sank one hand into the hair at the nape of her head, tipping her head back for his consuming kiss. The other reached for her hand and pushed it over her head. Once there, he reached for the blue and yellow ribbons of one shredded sleeve and wrapped them about her wrist, entangling her there.

When she showed no sign of alarm, he reached for her other hand and did the same, securing it over her head. Aimee watched him with a faint pucker between her brows as he reached behind her and drew scraps of yellow and blue silk across her bared breasts.

“Wha – ?” she started, but he cut her off.

“I don’t know,” he admitted gruffly. “I just want to see it.”

Aimee’s eyes were very round as he drew long slivers of what was left of the skirts around her body and trailed them across her stomach and between her legs. With a bolt of shock and something else, he realized that he would like to secure her legs too. To bind her pretty ankles up in blue and yellow and tie them to the bedposts. Fuck, where had that come from? He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

Abstinence did strange things to a man, or so it seemed. He’d never entertained such thoughts before. He gave his head a slight shake.

“What about you?” she asked boldly.

He shrugged, looking down. The only thing he hadn’t shed were his braies and chausses. He shoved down his braies and kicked them on to the floor but didn’t see that his leg coverings were either here or there. They certainly weren’t an impediment. “I’m naked enough.”

“Neither of us is entirely naked,” she pointed out, biting her lip. She sounded breathless, and he noticed the nipples pointing through the scraps of silk were hard. He couldn’t resist running a hand over her full breasts, giving them a savoring squeeze. She gave a whimper, followed by a full body shiver.

“Open your legs, Aimee,” he said thickly. Gods. She didn’t even hesitate. He reached between her legs and grabbed a handful of the tattered silk, draping the strands first over one thigh and then the other. Aimee lifted her head to watch him, but she left her hands where they were above her head.

He had no idea why it was having the effect on him that it did, but seeing her tangled up in his colors was making him feel almost frantic. She had chosen him, a voice whispered in his head. She had chosen him, and he had given the crown to another. He tugged at one blue and yellow ribbon, and it slipped right up between her legs, lodging in her sweet cleft.

They both caught their breath, and Aimee’s eyes flew wide. “My lord ... ?” she quavered uncertainly.

“I want you to get it nice and wet for me, Aimee,” he replied, his voice pure gravel. “Can you do that?” She made a strangled noise in her throat. “Well, can you?” he persisted.

When she nodded, crimson cheeked, he tugged it again and Aimee gasped. “Good,” he replied, dragging the length of the fabric slowly through her nether lips. Then he pulled it back the other way, carefully repeating the lightly sawing motion, before tugging the length of sopping ribbon back through her pussy lips. He stared at it a moment, at the telltale spotting, before raising it to his face, breathing in her musky, womanly scent.

Gods, she smelt incredible. His mouth watered, and feeling her eyes on him, he kissed the ribbon of fabric, slowly and deliberately. Aimee hadn’t closed her legs, and he shifted over her, seeking relief for his throbbing cock as he pressed into her soft belly. He gave a harsh groan as his hard hips settled against the cradle of hers.

Gods, that felt good, but he realized with surprise that he wanted her mouth again. Which was inconvenient as their height disparity would mean him shifting down and breaking the contact he craved. Or he could just bend his neck and get her to lift hers. Clamping a hand to the back of her neck, he angled her head up and lowered his lips to hers.

Aimee’s kiss was so enthusiastic it nearly blew the top off his head. She didn’t kiss any different, he thought, now she didn’t love him anymore. It was a shock to realize he had been scared she might. He was the one forgetting to breathe now as their tongues stroked and tangled together. He kind of missed her arms wrapped tight about his neck, though. He slid his other hand up to find hers still wrapped up in the tattered dress.

When her fingers returned the press of his own, the throb in his chest became an exquisite pain. He groaned against her mouth. The shredded silk dress and Aimee’s hard nipples brushed against his chest. He wanted to be inside her. Deep inside. He took his hand from her neck and slid it over the dark hair of her mound, caressing her there, before his fingers slid inside her, finding her delightfully wet and slippery.

“Ohhh!” Aimee gave a broken moan as he slid a finger right up inside her. Konrad swallowed it and caught her bottom lip between his teeth as he lifted his mouth from hers. He simultaneously didn’t want to stop kissing her yet wanted to hear any words she might let fall. It had been stimulating as hell last time.

Still, he remembered as he added another finger, last time had been with his mouth between her legs, not his cock. Also, a voice whispered in his head, last time she had thought she was in love with him. Should he bring her off with his fingers first? After all, it was only the third time he had bedded her and …

“My lord!” Aimee whined and twisted underneath him. “Please!”

“Please what?” he asked gruffly, though she probably wanted playful words, teasing. He didn’t really do teasing, despite his strange behavior of late. “Do you need my fingers here or my mouth? Tell me.”

“You,” she said tightly. “Inside me.”

Which could mean any of the three, he reflected, even as he shifted over her, shoving her legs apart, aligning the head of his cock at her wet slit. He was going to take it in the most literal sense and pretend she had begged for his cock. The muffled sob she gave when he started to push into her made him check, though it caused him actual physical pain at this point to halt his progress.

“Don’t stop!” she protested, canting up her hips to encourage him. Oh fuck.

He all but roared as he surged into her tight heat, not stopping until he was deeply seated. Then he paused, his chest heaving, staring down at her. Usually, she would pass her hands around his back at this point, he realized, running them over his muscles, maybe telling him how nice they felt. And he godsdamned missed it.

He glanced up at her captured wrists and started trying to unravel them. He didn’t have a knife handy. Damn it. Aimee made a muffled sound and moved beneath him, as though desperately seeking the friction she needed. Abandoning his attempt to untangle the silken strands, he grabbed a firm hold of her hips instead and thrust into her. “This what you wanted?” he rasped.

“Ohhh, oh, yes, yes!” Aimee sobbed. “Yes, keep doing that! Please.”

“I intend to,” he assured her, jolting her against him with increasing firmness. “Wrap your legs around me.” He grabbed her round thighs and hauled them up around his hips. “Feels good?” he asked sharply.

“Y-yes,” she replied, but there was something.

“What is it? Tell me.”

“I wish I could touch you, that’s all.” Her tone was strangely wistful as she glanced up at her hands.

He glanced up again. “I want that too,” he admitted tersely. “But not enough to pull out and fetch a knife. You can touch me afterward.”

“Oh. Really?” She looked so happy at this small concession that he almost lost his rhythm. He loosed one hip and reached down to pull the silk tight across her generous breasts, then leaned down to capture one nipple between his lips and suck it into his mouth. Aimee jerked and let out a suppressed moan.

The noises bursting from her lips told him he was on the right track. He gave the other breast the same treatment before lifting his head. “You going to reach it for me, Aimee?” Possibly that term meant nothing to her, for she did not answer, only gave another gasp. “Your peak?” he persisted, lowering his voice to a growl.

“I can tell you’re climbing now, wife, and once you reach the top, I want you to fling yourself right off, you hear me?” She gave a whimper. “And I want to hear it, you understand? I want you to let me know you’ve gone over the edge.”

Truth was, he was drawing pretty close to the summit himself. He shut his eyes fast against the enticing picture she made beneath him. The bounce of her full breasts may have disappeared from view, but he could still feel the jiggle of her soft flesh jostling back against him. The slide of the shredded silk, the tight, wet clasp of her wrapped around him, getting tighter and tighter still. He drew a sharp breath. It was too good. At this rate, he was going to power right past her.

He reached down between them, parting her petals and seeking out that fleshy pearl hiding between them. Aimee gave a muffled shriek. “There?” he demanded. “Like that?”

She arched right up into him and exploded. He just about held things together until she finally stopped writhing and lay panting beneath him. He would just wait a minute, he vowed, tensing his jaw, remaining where he was, planted deep. Then he would drive back into her in a steady pursuit of his own pleasure.

“Ohhh, Lord Kentigern,” she moaned breathily against his ear, and just like that, he tipped right over the edge with a lusty curse word.