His Secret Wife

Tell me to stop

Compelled to act, the Prince lifted a hand to pull off the mask that obscured his face. It was quickly lost in the pile of straw they lay upon. He still knelt over her, staring down into her face and the features that were lit by the starlight. Although he wasn’t convinced that she wouldn’t try and wriggle away from him again, he no longer thought that she was a thief. Or perhaps that was because it didn’t want to believe that someone so beautiful could be a villain. She had full lips beneath a pointed nose that was dusted with summer freckles. But it was warm, dark eyes that held his attention, and the rich hair that was shorter than he was used to seeing a woman wear it. His fingers itched, eager to reach out and run through the silky tresses and see the curls fall through his grip.

But it was the way she looked at him, that stole his breath. As though all the air had been pulled from his lungs. There was something curious in her expression as she studied him in reply and he wondered what she saw? Did she see a Prince? Something that seemed to be stamped upon his forehead wherever he went?

‘What do you see?’ If he never asked, he reasoned with himself he would never know.

The stranger beneath him frowned a little, tilting her head to the side. As though perfectly comfortable to be laying in the stall, with him straddling her hips.

‘Blue eyes,’ she replied, her voice was accented in their common language. Tinged with the lilt of Veren and more heavily than he’d heard in any noble voice. He felt relief then, leaning forward over the woman. Even if the warning from Lord Runecliff was quickly fading from his thoughts. Pushed aside by his belief that he’d accosted a commoner.

‘Sadness,’ the woman added after a moment, ‘and anger in your features.’

Ronin tried to pull in another breath. Desperately trying not to be aware of the feel of her beneath his body. If he allowed himself to think too hard about it, his attraction to her was going to be painfully obvious to the pair of them.

Ronin wet dry lips, he couldn’t take his eyes off the woman. She had captivated him. He looked down, taking in her form beneath the dark cloak that she wore. Was that a green tunic she wore? A server from the ball?

Sadness? She saw sadness in his expression? He bent a little further and felt her intake of breath. The frantic beat of her heart against her chest. She smelt divine, or rosewater and fresh lilac and something dry and heady mixed in with her perfume. He inhaled the scent of her, sure that she should hate him. A stranger who had tackled her to the ground. But she’d made no attempt to leave or refuse him. He closed his eyes, letting their breath mingle as he steadied himself, his hands lost in the straw either side of her head.

‘I don’t know who you are,’ he admitted, ‘but I would like to kiss you…’ his words lingered in the air between them. He felt her soft exhale against his cheek and bowed his head once more. Her long lashes brushed his skin and every hair running over his arms lifted with desire turned anticipation. I’ll leave, he promised himself. If she refuses a kiss, if she doesn’t want this, I stand up, I offer to help her. I walk away and I don’t look back.

The silence stretched out, long enough for him to feel a touch of cool air against the back of his neck. Long enough for him to be certain of her refusal and start to move. Before she spoke and shattered his expectations.

‘It’s very strange…’ her voice was soft, uncertain. ‘It’s not often that I get tackled to the ground,’ she sounded amused. He drew back enough to study her face once more. Dare he dream and hope? Strange wasn’t a refusal. Amusement wasn’t refusal. Sitting over her was torture, he could feel the softness and the strength in her form and although it was insanity, he wanted to kiss the woman he’d accosted. Should he reply to her? Ronin, for once in his life, struggled for the right thing to say. Normally he didn’t have to think about it, he was a Prince. People just did what he told them. But even though he was mortified to have been so rough with the woman beneath him, she didn’t seem to mind.

‘Kiss me…’ she said slowly, watching him with the same burning curiosity that had arrested his attention the first time. How could he deny her? When it’s what his whole being had demanded, the moment he’d set eyes upon her? But how to kiss the most beautiful woman he’d ever met? Don’t mess this up, he told himself, stern.

He bent, his lips brushing over hers. Featherlight, testing, teasing the boundaries of the acceptance she had given him. She made no response and so he kissed her again. His lips rolling gently over the curve of her mouth. She tasted of honey mead, lightly spiced and sweet. He kissed her again as her lips parted beneath his own. A soft gasp caught within his own breath. He paused, anxious not to push too far, even as with every passing moment, he felt as though his body was catching fire. Heat was racing through his veins. His hands were clenched to fists, his muscles tight along his back. Taut with the will of his restraint not to simply take the wench and enjoy her. It wasn’t a way he’d ever been with a woman, and he wasn’t going to start now.

But the gasp wasn’t refusal either and instead she lifted her head from the straw and her lips pressed back against his own. Teasing, coaxing and pressing firmly. With a moan he succumbed, quickly tired of overthinking the strange situation. Sometimes things just happened, because they were supposed to.

They kissed, soft and slow. Teasing and mingled together. Lips and tongues tangled in quiet exploration. The sound of their rapid breath only broken by the rustle of their movements in the straw, of the shift of a horse in a nearby stall and the very distant chatter of the guards and footment playing cards. He was lost in the kiss, absorbed through all his senses. The touch, taste and smell of the woman. He closed his eyes to feel it all more keenly, her fingers stroking the back of his head as he shifted his own hands. Blind, his fingertips explored the soft skin of her face in gentle caresses before it wasn’t enough to simply kiss her any longer. He needed to touch her. To be closer still.

He slid his hand down over her throat to the fasten that held her cloak in place. In a swift movement the knot was undone and the fabric fell away. He blinked, looking down at the deep green corset that she wore. Some gold thread sparkling in the starlight. It didn’t look like a servants tunic, but maybe he just hadn’t seen any of the female servers at the party. But his thoughts were pushed aside as he took in the swell of her breasts, laying flat upon the straw, they were at risk of escaping the line of her corset. He glanced up at the woman, watching as she bit her bottom lip, a teasing gesture that spurred him on.

He bent, mischievous as he pressed a kiss to top of each breast, licking his tongue across the creamy expanse. Her skin jolted beneath his touch, like that of a newborn horse and he looked up once more, testing her reaction. But her lips were parted, eyes half-closed with desire.

‘Don’t stop,’ she encouraged and with permission he bent to kiss her again. This time unable to resist his desire and ease each plump orb from its confines. Moaning with contentment as he was able to close his lips over each n****e in turn, pulling them into his mouth so that he could tease and toy with the use of his teeth, scraping them every so gently over the pebbled buds. She arched beneath him, pressing against his caress as his hands slid around her waist. The fasten for her corset was a zigzag down her spine and as he taunted her mercilessly, finding out just which motion of his mouth drove her to distraction,he worked to pull free the knot and ease the threads from their hold. The corset parted against her spine and as she let out a soft cry, he grinned. Smirking as he drew back and pulled the cloth away from her body, discarding it in the coarse golden strands.

Topless, she stretched out beneath him, skin bathed in starlight and he looked her over with wonder.

‘More?’ He panted, praying to whatever gods or magical beings might be listening, that she wouldn’t stop him now.

Her response was a rapid, nod as she reached for him again. He obliged, his body pressed lengthways against her as he kissed her again, using his hands to tease the tortured points of her breasts, dragging the nails back and forth until her soft cry was lost against his lips.

‘You’re enjoying this as much as I am,’ he whispered against her mouth and smiled, hearing her giggle against his cheek.

‘It wouldn't be much fun, if we weren't enjoying this together,’ she replied and he turned to kiss her again. Capturing her lips once more as he made his determined exploration of her form. He bent, kissing down the centre of her body then, his hands smoothing over her hips and further down as he shuffled down her body. She was wearing a strange arrangement of layered skirts, in the shadows of the stall, it was hard to make out the colour, but the fabric felt like a mixture of fabric beneath his touch. His fingers curled over the hem of her skirts and they were quickly bunched and pushed up her legs and over her thighs. Her breath caught again as his tongue dipped into her navel.

‘Tell me stop,’ he moaned it against the curve of her belly. ‘A single word, and we stop this…’

‘It’s madness,’ she echoed his thoughts and pushed her hands through his hair again, luxuriating in the feel of the short blonde strands against her palm. ‘It’s madness, but I couldn’t tell you to stop, anymore than I can stop the sun from rising.’

He groaned then, body pulsing with need as he moved further down and pressed his lips to the inside of her thigh.