Page 41 of Unwanted Vows

I laugh a little hysterically. I let go of the mattress and grab his ass. “That didn’t matter the first time we were together. Why should it matter now?”

“Madeline,” he groans softly. “I’m trying to do the right thing. We’ve already made one child. I wasn’t planning for this.”

“I don’t care,” I say fiercely. “I’ve not been with anyone since you. Have you been with anyone?”

“No,” he says, then again more softly, “no. Mostly I was too busy, too tired. And none of the available girls were you.”

“I’m here, this is now, and I want you!” I insist.

“Maddy,” he says, rolling over on his back and pulling me onto his flat, muscular stomach, “One surprise baby is about all I can take right now.”

“There’s some condoms in my medical bag,” I say. The entire focus of my being has narrowed down to my aching, hungry core. I can’t imagine waiting for one of us to go and fetch protection, but he seems adamant.

“Maddy,” he says running a finger along my lower lip, making my insides quiver, “I am always in the mood where you are concerned. Why don’t we find those condoms, and pick back up where we left off?”

“All right,” I growl irritably. Then I realize I’m naked, I don’t want to put my clothes back on, but I don’t want to run around in the hall in case my son should wake up. “My bag is in my room, and so is my robe,” I grumble.

“Not to worry,” Andrew says. He drapes his shirt around me. The shoulders fit well enough, and the hem falls to my knees. “You’re covered,” he says.

I give a put-upon sigh and pad down the hall to my room. It only takes a minute to locate the required item, and pad back to Andrew’s room.

I realize I don’t have to worry about losing the mood — not where Andrew is concerned. He is gorgeous, elegant and lean, like one of the Ildogis hunting leopards.

I slap the foil packets into his hand and say, “There! Satisfied?”

“Not yet,” he says, “But I will be. He pulls me into the room, lets the shirt drop, and says, “Now, let’s get this soldier into uniform, so he can fulfill my lady’s wishes.”

I open one of the packages, and start to unroll it over his tall, wide erection. I had forgotten how magnificently he was proportioned. I didn’t have much to compare him to the first time. For a moment, I’m not sure the condom is big enough.

He lies down on the bed again and I shed the shirt, letting it slip from my body. I climb onto the bed, stretch one leg over him, and kneel above his impressive cock. I feel him twitch toward me, and I grin at the power that I have over his body.

Paul’s voice called out, “Mom? Are you all right? I thought I heard something.”

Andrew starts laughing, his erection wilting. “Take the robe,” he says, “I have more. Our son has impeccable comedic timing.”

STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT

ANDREW

I love seeing her wrapped in my robe. The soft silk clings to her, suffused with the perfume of our mutual arousal. I hate seeing her go out the door, but that is our son calling.

Our son. I murmur the words under my breath. The wine of her is sweet upon my lips, but I let her go. On another night, another time, I might have called her back. But the child has been tumbled headlong into the world in which I grew up. Neither of them understand how it is likely to be.

So I let her go to comfort her child. In that moment, I am so infused with love for both of them, that I will deny them nothing. I will beg, swindle, lie, and place my body in harm’s way to keep them safe.

I know what I will have to do. I must step into the role I fled ten years ago. I am my mother’s oldest son, even if I am not my father’s eldest.

The room is an empty, hollow place without her. I go to the wardrobe and pull out a different robe. No fancy thing of silk, this one. Old Emily, my aunt, made it. I remember her, a skinny woman, sitting among the village women, learning to weave. She did good work, not just on the loom.

Old Emily had an odd idea of South Africa. Her imagination had been fed by H. Rider Haggard’s She, and Edgar Rice Burrough’s vivid descriptions of lost civilizations. When she didn’t find what she expected, she made her own legends, learning traditional skills, identifying plants, and sending samples back to the London botanical gardens.

She was the first to tell me the old Welsh tales, reading to me when my parents dumped me with her, sitting around the campfire at night, or on deathwatch in the medical tents. She also paraphrased Burroughs, Haggard, and Cameron, all early 20th century authors who wrote about their vision of what humans might find in other parts of our solar system.

The stories had fit well with the shifting shadows, and even with the sound of distant gunfire. For me, she was a font of wisdom and a source of companionship in a sea of unfamiliar faces, some friendly, some suspicious and angry.

The women of the village laughed at her to her face, but behind her back they made signs to ward off evil. Emily knew. But when I mentioned it to her, she just laughed and punched me in the shoulder. “If I paid attention to everyone who thought I was strange, I’d never get anything done,” she said. “The things really worth doing are rarely easy or meet with approval.”

She was here tonight, along with the other village elders, as well as Laird Tulok and Lady Barbara. I could call them or message them, but this was my decision. I ached with the ugliness of it, the things I might have to do before it was all said and done. I had so hoped for one night with Madeline before I had to disgust her in order to keep her safe.

---