Fated Desire

Nine - Jason: The Knight

Could he kiss her?

As they sheltered in the depths of the forest, within the mouth of a shallow cave, Jason De Straffe looked down at the Duchess. She shivered in his arms, and if it was possible, he would have returned to the tavern stables and killed the man who’d attacked her, all over again. His arms tightened around her.

Sastra Farview was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, the most beautiful woman he suspected most men saw. She had soft, pink lips that parted in invitation, wide blue eyes the colour of the summer sea, and just as changeable. She had an oval face with a pointed, stubborn chin, long lashes grazed her cheeks as she blinked, holding his gaze, waiting for his answer. As though she was afraid he would say no, again and refuse her. He should, because The Duchess was untouchable, and they shouldn’t be in this position. He shouldn’t have helped her run away from the King and the arranged marriage. He knew that with a sense of foreboding that hadn’t faded since she’d first suggested that instead of marrying a strange, she should marry him, Jason. A younger son from a small fief on the Western Shore of Milany.

The woman who shouldn’t even look at him, who was wrapped in his arms, asking to be kissed. Of course he could kiss her, he wasn’t a monk. But the memory of their previous kisses was burnt too fiercely in his mind. He could kiss her, he knew. He could taste the sweetness of her mouth and explore her with teeth and tongue. He could draw soft noises of pleasure from the elegant curve of her smile. He could make her eyes darken with desire…but once he started, what if he couldn’t stop. His gaze flicked over her face once more, as though he could commit the way she looked to memory. As though he still needed to, and his interactions with Sastra weren’t already branded in his memory.

It wasn’t a question of being able to kiss Sastra, but whether he should. And Jason knew that he should not.

‘Jason,’ she pouted, it was a habit she’d been trying to stop, but it was a very kissable pout that twisted the strings of his heart. ‘You asked how you might help me? Kiss me?’ Her lips curved into a small, teasing smile. It was embarrassing, how such a small gesture saw his manhood stir with arousal. She made a boy of the man he had become, so easily. ‘Kiss me,’ she continued before he could answer, ‘and I’ll forget all about the man in the Stable,’ she moistened her lips with a flick of her tongue and he fixated on that movement. ‘I forget everything when you kiss me,’ she admitted. A faint blush rose in her cheeks and he swallowed.

Would he be a monster to refuse her? Even if it was for the best? Jason shook his head, he was going to tear himself in two trying to fight this. He bowed to desire and bent to kiss the woman held securely in his arms. Sastra had echoed his own thoughts, that when they kissed, the rest of the world fell away. Was it selfish to feel an element of pride at the thought. Or maybe just relief, that he wasn’t the only one to feel this way. Enough, Jason told himself, he needed to stop over thinking this. Instead he enjoyed the way Sas lent closer to him, eager to be held with the strength of his arms. He teased her and enjoyed every moment of it, the kisses long and slow and longing and he was lost to them. His hands moved through the tangle of her long blonde hair, lost in the strands of molten gold. Even if he’d never been introduced to Sas, he’d have known who she was on sight, no less than a Princess of the realm, the only daughter in generations of Farviews.

She returned his actions, and his groan escaped him. Her hands threaded through his hair setting his scalp afire with sensation. He was lost as her lips parted beneath his own, her tongue testing his own. He devoured her, shifting to lay her down on the floor of the cave. Forgetting the night beyond the entrance and the horses that picked at oats that had fallen on the floor from one of the bags. How had he ended up lying over her? He shifted, rolling onto his side and pulling her lengthways against him, one hand balanced on her hip, the other still lost in the silken tresses of her hair. He ran his hands down her spine, rewarded as she pressed her body to his with a gasp.

‘Sastra,’ the kiss broke and he sought out her gaze, the fire crackling behind him. He could see it dancing in the reflection of her gorgeous eyes. ‘Sastra,’ his voice was hoarse with desire and he shifted back, knowing that with their legs tangled, he was stiff against his dark linen breaches. Hopefully, he thought, she hadn’t noticed, or being a maiden might not realise quite what she’d felt jutting against her middle.

‘Why did you stop?’ She licked her lips again, and before he could lose himself entirely, Jason rolled onto his back, one arm trapped beneath her body. He closed her eyes.

‘I have to stop,’ he warned, ‘I have to stop, or I’ll be taking your innocence.’

‘It’s mine to give,’ Sastra shuffled closer. She set a small hand on his middle, over the thin linen of the shirt that had been pulled from his breaches during their entanglement.

It was hard to argue against her autonomy. Jason rolled onto his back, pulling the woman astride him. She squeaked and peered down at him, hair falling like a curtain down her left side. He lifted a hand, tucking the long strands behind her ear so that he could see her more clearly in the light of the flickering campfire.

‘Don’t you want me?’ She asked, quiet as she stared down at him. He held back his smirk, confident that the Duchess was the virgin he had suspected. Any woman of experience, sat astride him would surely recognise the evidence of his want as it pressed against her leg.

‘I want you,’ he stroked her hair back again, fixated on watching the play of expression on her features. The vulnerability in the softness of her lips as she wet them once more, uncertain. ‘Sastra…don’t doubt that I want you,’ he smiled then and propped himself with his free hand. He curled a free hand around the base of her neck and bought her back to kiss him. No longer tame, heat set sparks between them, as though the air caught fire. Her chest heaved against his shirt and he groaned, teasing the soft pillow of her lower lip between his teeth before pulling back once more. Somehow, both hands had been lost in her tresses, he could stroke her hair forever. It was so unbelievably soft but strong, silky. As though it had been spun from molten gold. His favourite fairy story as a child, had been about a princess with hair spun from gold. He smiled as he studied her features, nudging her cheek with his nose.

‘I want you…and I’m not saying no,’ he kissed her cheek as she seemed to slump against him, weighted with his continued rejection. ‘I’m saying not here,’ he nudged her again, easing his fingers against the back of her head and encouraging her to look at him, to meet his gaze. Her eyes were dark with desire and he couldn’t help but kiss her again, sweeter this time, determined not to get caught up in the moment, though it was hard with his erection standing at full attention, demanding he set aside his ridiculous thoughts of honour. ‘You deserve more than the dirty floor of a cave,’ he met her gaze as the kiss broke once more. Her eyes were searching, brow furrowed.

‘I don’t care about…finery and gold or-’

He stopped her protest with another kiss, cupping her face gently between his hands, ‘you deserve for it to be good,’ his nose tip lingered against her. Her eyes widened suddenly and she lent back. As much as he knew he’d regret losing the warmth of her body against his own, it was probably for the best, as having her sit so innocently over his rigid c**k was quickly turning to torture. He had not manoeuvred them into the best position for maintaining any sense of decorum. He eased out from beneath her and onto his knees. Safer, he lent forward, gratified as her head bowed to meet him.

‘Pleasureable,’ he purred wickedly against her neck, delighted at the soft gasp that escaped her rosy lips. She shivered and batted him away, pushing gently at his shoulders with a huff.

‘You’re toying with me,’ Sastra protested and stood. She walked away, standing at the mouth of the cave, her gaze fixed on the distant stars that shone in the moonless sky.

‘Never,’ Jason would have to wait before he could stand, he focused on the rough rocky outcrop over their heads instead of the way her body pressed against her clothes. ‘I’m quite serious. You know that it might be…uncomfortable for a woman the first time?’

She bit her lip then and watching the floor, did the most un-Duchess like thing he had ever seen her do. She shrugged and resumed her watch of the stars.

Jason found himself staring across at Sastra, watching the uneven rise and fall of her breath against the neckline of her dress.

‘Sassy?’ His amorous intent was fading fast, given her reaction. Careful of the delicate and rather personal situation he was in, Jason stood and adjusted himself. He closed his eyes, counted to ten and tried to rid himself of the haunting desire to put aside chivalry or any romantic ideas, and simply take what had been offered, what his body burnt to do. He wasn’t an animal, he told himself sternly. He didn’t need to rut like a bollock in the field or a stray stallion. Princess, Duchess or not, the woman he loved deserved better treatment. Anyone did. He reached out then, gently laying his hand on her shoulder and dropping it away just as quickly as she flinched.

‘Sastra…you do know how it works between me and women…don’t you?’ He frowned.

‘My mother died at my birth,’ she replied, flat.

He could see the set of her jaw against the starlight. The perfect angles of her face in silhouette. Jason collected up one of their blankets, and with care wrapped it around her shoulders instead, offering comfort that didn’t require his touch.

‘No…hand maid, or…cook? Or governess?’ He scowled at the darkness as her silence answered. Who was supposed to tell young noblewomen about the way of the world? Usually a role that fell to mothers, or sister’s he supposed. Sastra however, had no female relations. He let out the air trapped in his lungs and looked skyward. He couldn’t imagine either King William or his younger brother settling down to tell a young duchess how intimacy worked.

‘I won’t get pregnant,’ Sastra set her shoulders back then, running her fingers over a small gold band on her right middle finger. ‘I know that much…’

‘The ring prevents it?’ Jason peered at the small piece of jewellery. It wasn’t an uncommon piece of magic, but it was expensive. Just the type of jewellery beyond the reach of most women. He let out another breath, theirs was a world of privilege.

‘It does,’ Sastra glanced at him then, pulling the blanket close across her chest. ‘Jason…’ she shifted her weight before shaking her head once more. ‘I’ve rather doused our passion,’ Sastra murmured.

He laughed then, and careful of her response, wrapped an arm around her shoulders. When she didn’t flinch again, he felt himself relax. The coiled tension in his muscles easing as she pressed lightly against him.

‘We’ve our whole lives for passion,’ he promised and pressed a kiss to her temple. He felt her smile against his cheek. Myst, he loved that she was tall enough, she fit so sweetly against him.

‘Does it always hurt?’ Sastra peered at him, shy once more. She was mercurial, the woman he’d freed from destiny. He was never sure what expression or mood she would indulge next. There was something shy, almost childlike in the way she watched him in the near darkness.

‘No,’ he frowned, ‘not always…and there are things we can do, things we will do to ensure it can be memorable for you, in all the right ways.’

‘I trust you,’ Sastra tucked her head against his chest, ‘you that…don’t you?’

‘I…’ He considered his words and wrapped his second arm around her, ‘only a fool would run away with a man she didn’t trust. And I don’t think that you’re a fool, Sastra. I think you are remarkable.’

‘Even if…even if I don’t know how things work between a man and a woman?’ She breathed, ‘that I didn’t know it might hurt?’

‘It’s not that complicated,’ he smiled against her hair, ‘it’s very like a stallion mounting a mare, or a dog a b***h,’ he felt the tension in her shoulders and grinned at the silent protest against animal comparisons. ‘It’s primal, Sassy…natural. It should be good…it should make you feel good.’

‘Kissing you feels good…’ she murmured.

‘I’d crawl through fire to kiss you again,’ he admitted.

‘You don’t have to,’ she smiled, and for that he was grateful. ‘I’m just here.’

‘Then I’ll kiss you goodnight…’ he turned her slowly in his arms, as though they were dancing at one of the elaborate balls she’d so often been Queen over. He curled one arm around her waist and pulled her close, only to bend and place a soft kiss to the upturned rose of her mouth.

‘Good night, Sastra.’

‘Will you lie down with me?’ Her eyes remained closed as he broke the kiss.

‘I’ll keep watching a bit first,’ he dotted kisses to her eyelids, feeling her breath upon his throat.

‘And then?’ She smiled, even with her eyes closed.

‘Then I will lie down beside you, wrap myself in the blankets and hold you close to sleep.’

‘I like it when you do that…’

He patted her rump then and stepped back, lifting his hands from her person before he could be too tempted to join her in sleep. ‘Rest,’ he urged, ‘tomorrow we’re a day closer to safety.’