Page 120 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
So very, very good.
She gave herself up to it and to him. Her body convulsed around his tongue, then it opened to his cock. His thrusts were slow this time. Gentle penetration, slower withdrawal. But before long, she was gasping his name as he rammed into her.
Then he collapsed by her side, and she gathered him close. Desperate to keep him with her, she brought up the story again.
“You were quite heroic,” she said to the whorl of hair around his nipple.
“Slow is often better,” he quipped. “But I’ve never thought it heroic.”
She pinched him. “That’s not what I meant.”
“You’d rather I go faster?” He was teasing her, so she teased him right back, stroking his cock. He was already thickening again.
“I’m talking about the story I heard. About you.”
“What was it?” His body had stilled, so she knew he was wary of the conversation.
“Someone was attacking a woman, and you saved her life. You killed the man who…well, I’ve heard different things. Rapist, thief, murderer—the villain is quite horrible.”
“That tale has been making the rounds—”
“They say you killed Jeremy. The bastard son of Lord Sturman.”
He froze. Then he took a slow, controlled breath. “Oh?”
He didn’t fool her. She knew he was not easy about the one-time friend he’d apparently killed.
“The tale said Jeremy died the next night.”
He shook his head. “He’s got a bad fever. Infection.”
“He still lives?”
“Yes. As of this afternoon.”
“How do you know?”
“My mum tells me. She’s friends with Lord Sturman’s new mistress.”
“Oh.” She lifted her head, wishing the candle was lit so she could study his face as he stared at the ceiling. “You didn’t kill him.”
“Not yet.”
She touched his face then, ruthlessly bringing it round so he looked directly at her. “There wasn’t anything else you could do.”
He tightened his hold. “Did you know he loved to play jacks? He was really good at it. Bollocks at marbles and darts, but quick hands for the jacks.”
“Really?” She caressed the contours of his chest, but kept her gaze on his. “Tell me more.”
“He had a laugh like a braying donkey. I used to tease him about it. He said I snorted like a pig.”
“You do sometimes.”
“I know. Then we would fight. Throwing bad punches, grappling like monkeys. It was the best time, even if he broke my toy soldiers.”
“You had toy soldiers?”
He nodded. “Every boy has soldiers. Once mine were done for, we played with his.” Suddenly, he was above her, spreading her knees ruthlessly with his own.
