His Secret Wife

Your Name

With skilled fingers and wicked mouth, Ronin saw the woman before him come undone. Spiralling in the moment of her ecstasy. Her head tilted back, arms stretched above herself as she stretched out on the prickly made-shift bed of straw, as if it was the most luxurious bed in Veren. With the taste of her upon his tongue, he couldn’t wait any longer to lay claim to her. He pressed kisses against her skin, returning to loop his fingers through her own, holding her arm pinned above her head. Their breath mingled as they stared at one another. His skin was on fire, blood fizzing with sparks of lightning, so hard that he hurt. Aching with the need to bury himself within the heat of her body. To make her his own. But he gave pause, steadying his breath, giving the lady the chance to refuse. But with a roll of her hips she invited his entrance, begged with whispered words against his cheek.

Ronin guided himself into her entrance, moving slow as he felt her around him. Watching her face in the dim light, the expressions of desire that crossed it. Her focus on the place that they joined. He felt it too, her walls pressed tight around him. For a moment, a surge of panic threatened to undo his lust, was she innocent? Was he deflowering a virgin? He searched her gaze quickly and she smiled at him, confused by his expression as he paused again.

‘What is it?’ It was a whisper as she reached with her free hand, touching her fingertips to his cheek.

‘You’re not an innocent…are you?’ He breathed it. What if she was, could he stop now? Half buried within her?

Her breath caught, her body pressing harder against him, squeezing him deliciously as she shook her head.

‘Oh thank the Myst,’ he muttered and she laughed as he bent to kiss her again. But he waited, rocking back and forth until the resistance of her body faded, accepting the heat and strength of his member. He was better endowed than most men, and wanted his partner to enjoy their time. No matter what she had experienced before. She giggled against his mouth and any sense of awkwardness melted away. He growled against her mouth, playful as her free hand slid down over his back as he eased further and further till his blade was hilted.

Then he started to move, stroking back and forth against the hot, velveteen flesh of her womanhood. His low groans and her soft gasps of pleasure, mingled together in their kiss. One that he never wanted to stop. He rocked against the woman, intent to draw out their pleasure until it became too much. He knelt up, knees pressing against the hard stable floor. A horse shuffled nearby and he blocked out the sense of the world around them. He caught her beneath the knees, seeing her legs bent as he thrust deeper, pushing harder with every movement.

Her cries grew louder and she turned her face, pulling her discarded cloak to smother the sounds. But as he reached his peak, she shouted and clenched around him. Pulling him over the edge of the cliff of their passion. He was lost, falling as he stared down at the woman, her body crunched and spasming as he rocked back and forth, small bucks to prolong their pleasure as wave after wave of it washed over him. But he couldn’t see her, and abandoned his grip on her leg to pull the material away from her face. Her lips pressed against his palm instead as she closed her eyes.

Washed away in the afterglow, Ronin lay down beside the shadow he’d trailed in the darkness. He propped his head on his hand, watching her features as her breath started to settle. He reached for her, trailing his fingertips over the smooth skin of her abdomen, smoothing his own moan as his body responded to the touch. He wanted her again.

The Prince curled his hand around her hip, rolling her to face him. He pushed the short dark strands of hair behind her ear, searching her features. Would she slap him now? Would she change her mind? Would she report him to the nobility of Veren? She moved, shuffling closer and there was comfort in her embrace, in the closeness. He reached, pulling the large cloak up, over the pair of them, trapping the heat from the summer night beneath.

‘Who are you?’ He murmured and pressed a kiss to her brow.

She smiled, her head tucked against his chest. Her small fingers trailing over his arm where it had escaped the confines of their make-shift blanket.

‘Thea…’ she spoke and the name suited her. He let out a slow breath, turning the word over in his mind.

‘Thea…’ he repeated it, ‘I’m sorry for accosting you.’

‘I can’t seem to mind it,’ she laughed softly, chuckling against his skin. ‘Although I am not in the habit of bedding strangers in stables.’

‘It was madness…’ he admitted, ‘but I don’t regret it…’

‘Me either…’ she whispered.

He bent to kiss her again, and they were lost once more to the throes of passion. It consumed the pair of them, stripping sense and reason away. He took her again, from behind before she rode him into oblivion. For the distant part of the stables, they heard the party ending. The hostlers preparing horses for carriages and leading them away. But no one ventured far enough down their part of the stable block, to intrude upon the intimate scene. It was dangerous and daring, the thrill and risk of being caught, adding excitement to their illicit actions. Not a word passed between them.

Time moved too fast, and their exhaustion won over. Ronin remembered pulling on his breeches as Thea borrowed his shirt, curled up alongside him in the straw. The shirt curled around her bottom and he stroked his hand against the bountiful flesh. Revelling in the taut muscles he could feel in her legs, beneath the softness of her feminine curves. He would remember always, with the scent of fresh lilac upon her skin, strands of broken straw tangled in her dark hair. She’d fallen asleep, her head tucked against his chest as he wrapped his arm around her. He didn’t care about her station, or her origin. He wanted more of her. Wanted to ask a thousand questions, why had she been in the stables? Would she see him again?

He wanted to see her, he thought as he stroked the line of her back as she rested. Her face peaceful, lips parted as her dreams claimed her. He found himself jealous of the shadows that covered her body so easily, where he had been reduced to using only hands and mouth to explore her form. Would she come back with him to Milany? Ronin tried to quell his racing ambition, but he knew himself. He was a man who loved women, but relationships had been few and far between. Always, he felt as though his partners were more interested in his title, than himself. But Thea hadn’t known, had she?

He knew himself well enough to know that held someone special within his arms. Someone who had reached out in that moment she lay beneath him and wrapped a thread of connection around his heart. Could he marry her? Would she accept? He sucked in a breath and told himself to shut up. Instead, he closed his eyes and settled against her. He could not, would not ask a stranger to marry him. But when they woke the next morning, he would make sure that she saw him again. He wasn’t willing to let her simply vanish from his life. Part of him wanted to stay awake. To make sure that when she woke in the morning, he’d be waiting. But their exertions had drained him and despite his struggle to stay awake, his eyes and limbs were heavy.

He dreamt of her, slipping through the shadows of the stables, glancing back at him, beckoning him forward with a crooked finger. A smile teasing the curve of her lips. He would walk through fire to kiss those lips again and followed her, eager and excited. She sat down before him, cross legged on the straw with her skirts falling back around her knees.

‘Your Royal Highness…’ her voice was perfectly pitched as a noblewoman and dread flooded his form. Had she known who he was? Had he been set up? A ruse to catch a foreign Prince? After all the warnings about being caught in a compromising situation, he’d abandoned his senses. In his sleep, all the details fell into place. She hadn’t been wearing a servant's uniform. She’d been wearing a mask. She had attended the party at the Palace. Thea wasn’t a commoner, she was a noblewoman and he’d bedded her in the stable block for all to see and discover.

He sat bolt upright in the straw. The first rays of dawn had turned the light a pale grey. His heart was racing, chest tight. He ran his fist over his sternum, trying to chase away the sense of panic as his eyes adjusted and the last of his dreams fell away. What was real, what was imagined? His vision cleared, bought into focus as he twisted in the straw. He wore his breeches and his shirt had been folded up and neatly set beside his boots. He was alone.

He was on his feet, staring down at the straw as if it had offended him. Scrambling, he snatched up his shirt, feeling the brush of cotton against a hundred tiny cuts and burrs from his rough treatment of the straw the night before. Maybe the stable hadn’t been such a good place to make love. His skin itched, tickling as he fumbled with the buttons. His panic refused to subside, but instead of worrying that he’d be forced to marry the stranger it turned. What if he never saw her again? How would he find her?

Thea. He took a breath, scanning the straw for any sign of the woman,or any trace that he’d shared the night with another. There was nothing. But he had her name, and he was confident that she was a noblewoman.