Once Upon a Kiss (26 page)

Dominique
could not speak Though she was not certain she could bear it, she nodded, and
he proceeded to lift her
chainse
up and over her head, discarding it.

“I want
to see you,” he whispered. “All of you... here by the candlelight.”

Dominique
could not have spoken to refuse him, even if she’d wished to. But she didn’t.
Once she was bared to his eyes, he merely stared, without touching her, his
hands at his sides. And then he lifted one hand to her breast, touching it,
cradling it reverently. And then the other. Dominique swallowed, moaning,
unable to speak, unable to think when he touched her so tenderly.

Her
breath quickened.

One
hand left her breast, traveling down her side, her waist, her hip, as though
measuring her, and then he retraced his path upwards, exploring her sensuously,
and in that moment Dominique wanted to see him as well, give back to him what
he gave to her.

Her
heart pounding, she reached out to touch the hem of his tunic as he’d done with
her
chainse
.
Their eyes met, and he nodded, giving her leave. Her heart tumbled at her
brazenness, but she would not stop. Following his lead, she lifted his tunic,
up and over his head, letting it fall from her hands to the floor to he with
her own discarded gown.

Before
she could think to stop herself, before she could lose her nerve, she leaned
over and touched her lips to his smooth chest. He groaned, his hands going to
her waist to hold her, telling her without words that he approved. As never
before in her life, Dominique was filled with euphoria.

She
wanted to please him. Wanted to love him. Wanted him to love her. She wanted to
give him anything he desired, everything she owned... her mind, her body, her
heart.

Remembering
all that he’d done to her the night before, she sought and found his nipples,
lapping them, kissing him, each in turn. Her teeth closed about one peak, and
his head fell back, the cords in his neck revealing the tautness of his body.
Once again, Dominique felt triumph, even as his response to her touch brought
her own body pleasure. Somewhere deep within her, she reveled in the feel of
his body, and it roused her as she’d never thought possible.

Eagerly
she explored his chest with her hands and her mouth, rejoicing in the way that
his muscles leapt at her every touch.

“Dominique,”
he rasped. “I cannot bear it.” He reached out, seizing her hand, taking her
fingers where he willed them most—the ties of his breeches.

Her
heart leaping with the silent request, Dominique obeyed, unlacing them at once.
They fell discarded to his knees, revealing him to her eager eyes. Again her
heart tripped, but for the longest time, she could only stare.

He was
magnificent.

Once
again, he reached out, taking one of her hands from her side. Bringing it
between them, his eyes never leaving hers, he unfolded her fingers, one by one,
until she was left with an open fist. Bringing her fingers to his lips, he
kissed them one by one, suckling them, wetting them, and then without a word,
he lowered her hand to his shaft, guiding her fingers to close about it. She
inhaled sharply, the beat of her heart quickening, but she did not resist. She
held him, her own body convulsing privately with the feel of him against her
palm.

Nor was
he unaffected, for he closed his eyes, and his body jerked slightly, his hand
falling away.

“I’ve
yearned for this—” he swallowed visibly “—since the day you bathed
me,” he told her honestly, and then he gazed at her once more, his eyes
glittering as though with fever.

Dominique
could not find her voice to speak. Nor could she move. She continued to kneel
before him, without the first clue as to what he wished of her, her breast
heaving. He seemed to understand her dilemma, for he chuckled softly, richly,
and the sound was as arousing to her as the feel of his body within her hand.

Smiling,
the first true smile she’d ever spied upon his beautiful lips, he moved within
her fist, once, twice, and then again, and Dominique was undone. Her body
suffused with heat. “Please,” she cried out, panting softly.

He
withdrew, and reached out, sweeping her up into his arms. He lifted her,
carrying her swiftly to the bed. Though unlike the night before, he laid her
down gently, and then stood, staring down at her, saying nothing. And then he
lay down upon her, slowly, fitting his body against her own. Dominique welcomed
his weight, gripping the bed sheets, lifting her knees instinctively. Again he
chuckled, and the sound was ambrosia to her senses. He found her, impaled her
slowly, embedding himself, and then he stilled.

“Show
me what you want,” he commanded her softly, lifting himself and bracing his
weight upon his arms to give her room.

At
first Dominique could not quite comprehend what he asked of her, and then she
did. She began to move beneath him, moaning with the extraordinary sensations
that burst through her.

She
wanted this to last an eternity, wanted it to never end...

At
first the pace was slow, and then, though she tried to restrain herself, she quickened
it, gasping aloud when he joined her movements. Instinctively Dominique wrapped
her legs about his thighs, bringing him closer against her, wanting him deeper
still.

She
surged upward, impaling herself further, and then the pace was lost to them both
as their bodies took over the mating ritual.

Crying
out, whimpering, Dominique met his every thrust, drawing him deeper each time.
Until it seemed he touched her very core. In that instant her body shattered
into a thousand brilliant pieces.

And
still he did not stop.

He
loved her fiercely, seeking his own release, and Dominique’s heart leapt higher
and higher with each stroke. Until she thought she would die. He brought her to
yet another release, and then with a last rousing thrust, he cast his head
backward, crying out savagely.

He
collapsed atop her, burying his face against her neck, and Dominique held him,
stroking his back, running her fingers through the length of his hair.

With
all her might, she fought the desire to tell him that she loved him.

Waiting
for his summons, Graeham paced the hall outside of King Stephen’s apartments.
Though he’d arrived in London early yesterday, he’d waited until today to seek
counsel with the king. He was certain Stephen would never have denied him, but
he’d waited out of respect, not wanting to appear before his sovereign begrimed
from the journey. Well rested now, and tidied, he was prepared to make his
request, unconventional as it might be.

Well
aware that Stephen would think him mad, he was nevertheless determined. Too long
he’d contemplated this—since the day of his mother’s death, in truth. Had
she lived, he knew she would have approved.

The
door opened at last, and he was beckoned within. Sucking in a fortifying
breath, he followed the king’s chamberlain to the hall where the king waited.
In a chamber full with the bounty of his twenty-year reign, Stephen stood in
plain dress at the window with his back to Graeham, gazing out, his pale hair
revealing little of his gray.

“Sire,”
the chamberlain said.

Stephen
peered back over his shoulder, and remarked, “D’Lucy... I am surprised to see
you. In truth, I would have thought you preoccupied with your new bride.” He
nodded to his chamberlain. “Leave us now,” he said softly, and then waited
patiently for the chamberlain to comply.

Graeham
straightened his shoulders, resolved. “Aye, well, that is precisely the matter
I wished to discuss with you, my lord... my, er, bride.” He shifted uneasily
under the king’s watchful gaze.

“Really?”
Stephen lifted his chin, turning now to face Graeham, adding offhandedly, “Are
you aware, Graeham, that William Beauchamp is here at court, as well?”

Graeham
was unable to hide his surprise. His brows lifted. “Nay, I certainly was not,
my lord.”

“Aye,
well, he is. He awaits an audience with me, though as yet I’ve not had the
stomach to grant it. Imagine my surprise to find you here, as well,” he said as
he came to stand before Graeham.

In
deference, Graeham knelt before his sovereign, but Stephen waved him up. “We
are alone,” he said. “No need for such formalities. Tell me what brings you to
London, my friend.”

Graeham
swallowed, and faced Stephen squarely. Once reputed to be the most comely man
in England, at fifty-seven Stephen still wore his looks well. Yet his
lackluster eyes bore a sorrow that Graeham knew came from the loss of his queen
two years past. She had been his ally through the worst of his trials, and he
would never truly overcome her passing. That, and the simple fact that he had
no issue to whom he’d pass the crown, had led to his truce with Matilda.

“I’ve a
queer request,” Graeham yielded, “though one of which I feel quite strongly.”
When Stephen nodded, he continued. “I would have you confirm my father’s lands,
all of which I now hold, to my brother Blaec.”

Stephen
was taken aback, and his expression dearly revealed it. He made some staggered
sound, and agreed, “‘Tis indeed a most irregular request. In fact, I have never
come across such a petition in all my days.” He shook his head incredulously.
“Though I would welcome Blaec as lord of Drakewich, I must wonder, Graeham, why
you would seek such a thing. ’Tis mad, indeed.”

“Sire...
I realize how this must sound, but ’tis simple. Blaec is both my brother and
the rightful heir to my father’s demesne. He is firstborn, and as such,
deserves to hold what is his due. I’d not hold it any longer, for I feel I am
not suited to lead my men—not as he is.”

Stephen’s
expression turned grave. For the longest instant there was only silence between
them. “I knew your mother, Graeham,” he said. “I knew her well indeed, and I am
well aware of that unfortunate truth. And yet... I would remind you that your
father assigned you as his heir, not Blaec. That he is firstborn does not give
him absolute right to succession. I fail to understand why you should wish that
altered. I would loathe to think
’
twas
so, but you are not being coerced in this are you?”

“Nay,
m’lord. I am not. ‘Tis simply that I am not the warrior my brother is,” Graeham
said, standing firm. “In truth, as you know me well enough to know I am not a
coward in battle, I must admit to you that I’ve neither the stomach nor the
heart to lead any longer.”

Stephen’s
brows rose at his forthright answer. “I see. Though I must admit I find it
difficult to believe that Blaec would agree to such an ill-advised
proposition.” He cocked his head.

Graeham’s
face colored. “Aye, well,” he said, hedging, “the truth is that Blaec does not
know as yet.”

Stephen
blinked incredulously. “He does not know?” He shook his head. “Allow me to
repeat this lest I’ve misunderstood... You wish to bestow your lands upon your
brother, and he is unaware of that fact?”

Graeham
gave him a sheepish glance. “I believe that is the pith of it, sire.”

“God’s
teeth, son! Why, by the birth of Christ, would you wish to do such a thing? Did
I not know you better, I would think you unsound of mind! I feel certain in
saying that if Blaec knew of this, Graeham, he would not only refuse it but
think you as mad as I do.”

“Perhaps.”
Graeham expression remained sober. “Yet I must insist you consider my wishes.”

Stephen
made a sound something like choked laughter. “Brotherly devotion is a virtue,
d’Lucy, but the two of you take it too far, I fear.” He sighed wearily, heaving
in a breath. “Ah, well, I cannot say as I understand, but if ’tis your wish,
then so be it. It will be done.”

Graeham
knelt at once, seizing his sovereign’s hand, kissing it fervently. “Thank you,
sire! Thank you!”

Stephen
nodded, retrieving his hand and raking it over his chin in bewilderment. “One
thing, Graeham. Tell me one thing to make me comprehend this. Is your bride so
hideous that you would give up so much not to wed with her?”

Graeham’s
face reddened. “Nay, my lord. She is fair enough.”