Page 21 of Her Dark Seduction
Closing my eyes with shame, I shifted my thighs further apart, pulling him close until I felt him once again, hot and hard against my body.
“Now tell me what you want,” he demanded.
“I want you.”
I gave a strangled sob, and he kissed me again before he drove into me, claiming his complete ownership. But this time, instead of lying passively I met him stroke for stoke, opening my thighs hungrily to receive him. I wrapped my legs around his body and locked my ankles together to draw him in further. I dug my hands into his shoulders, feeling the iron hard lines of muscle ripple back and forth with his exertion. That burning hot flame ignited in me again, this time deeper, stronger, building with each thrust until I thought I might die from it. I clung to him, crying out with need.
He began to sound as if he were in pain—groaning, louder and louder until he lifted his head and let out a primeval roar. My whole world disintegrated around me, as if my body had been smashed into a thousand shards. I screamed and gripped onto him while my body rippled and melted. I was lost as my senses were torn apart.
Sawford always left quickly after taking me, but this time he stayed on top of me, holding me as fiercely as I held him, his head buried in my shoulder, his breathing ragged. I uncrossed my ankles and let my legs fall though I kept my arms round him, wanting to take comfort from his strength. He lifted his head, and looked at me, and I met his gaze, my vision blurred by tears.
For several heartbeats, we simply looked at each other while we strained for breath. His eyes widened. They showed arousal and something else. Recognition, perhaps? Discomfort and doubt, as if he questioned himself? Finally, they showed anger. He blinked and they glazed over into that emotionless expression I knew and hated.
At length he moved away to sit on the bed with his back to me, casually dressing as if nothing had happened between us.
“I knew you would beg me to take you.” His voice was flat, toneless.
“Get out,” I said, equally coldly, ignoring the pain of the burn on my hand as I curled it into a fist.
“As my lady wishes.” He gave me a mock bow before leaving. Tears were already falling before he closed the door behind him.
****
From then on, I struggled to maintain my resolve. During the day I avoided Sawford, barely able to maintain the mask of indifference in his presence. But when he took me to my room at night I surrendered to him, unable to fight my body’s craving for his touch. Tender caresses and gentle nips at my skin brought me to the brink of satisfaction. There, he would wait until I offered him my body, pleading and pulling him to me before withdrawing in shame. The intensity of the pleasure rendered my body limp, save for the gentle aftershocks which rippled through me. My body called him to return inside me; my need for him surpassed my fear of discovery.
We spoke not at all during the day and very little at night. I hated what he made my body do, yet I yearned for the feeling that, when he lost himself at that final pinnacle of abandonment, a part of him cherished me, if only for the briefest moment.
The only fragment of hope came from my correspondence with Tarvin. His letters and notes became more frequent, and increasingly they convinced me that the gentle, heartfelt words I read were genuine. My emotions were so torn to shreds at Sawford’s hands. I could not contain them. I finally succumbed and wrote to Tarvin, telling him how desperately I needed a friend and how frightened I was. He responded, begging me, for my own safety and his, not to try to discover him. I promised I would not. I alternated between hiding my letters to him in the rose bush and the stone in the stable wall. Though I burned with curiosity, I kept my distance afterward and bid Harwyn, who had taken it upon herself to spy on Mortlock, to do the same.
I wrote of my loneliness and a little of my childhood. In turn, he wrote about his own life. His letters were full of stories of adventure. He had not been a favored son and left home seeking adventure only to be almost killed on the road by robbers. A knight had rescued him and employed him as a squire, teaching him the arts of warfare and of stealth, until he was able to give his services to his lord. I smiled at his stories, which reminded me of the tales my mother had read of King Arthur’s knights and their daring but chivalrous exploits. Tarvin’s outlandish tales took me to another world: a world of romance and honor, where men fought bravely and where they loved, cherished, and protected their women. I was grateful to him, not only for his friendship, but for giving me those few precious moments when I could read his words and forget about the harsh realities of the world I lived in—the world of pain, treachery, and loneliness.
It became clear that Tarvin was loyal to the king. Could I trust him enough to reveal my own loyalties, worthless as they were? At first, I dared not, but as our correspondence continued he wrote more openly of his sentiments, warning me of traitors in our midst. He had shown trust in me, trust I would not betray him to my husband.
Would he ever reveal himself and take me away from here? I ached to know his identity, to see him with my own eyes. I had an ally, someone who held me in high enough regard to place his faith in me. He cared enough to risk his own neck for the sole purpose of giving me comfort. Lord help me, was I falling in love? The very notion terrified me. Maman died not only because she loved a man other than her husband, but because she lay with him. She had given her body and her heart to another. Now, two years after watching my mother’s weakness, I was here: a woman married to a traitor to the king, with a cruel streak and a host of men at his beck and call, who willingly gave her body to one of those men, and her heart to another.
****
While replacing the stone in the stable wall to conceal a letter to Tarvin, I heard voices. The high pitched, coarse female tones grew closer. I shrank back against the wall, trying to think of an excuse for my being here. I almost laughed at the irony. Two gossiping maidservants shirking their duties should be more afraid of their mistress, yet I was the one crouched in fear of discovery.
One of them sounded upset, her voice broken with angry sobs. Her companion spoke harshly.
“Calm yourself Edith. He’s just a man and there are plenty of others willing to take your favors.”
“Just a man!” The second voice was punctuated by sobs. “I want not the others, Celia, and you know it!”
More sobbing. Edith was a pretty girl who worked in the kitchens and was popular with the men; she was harmless, but not very bright. Celia, however, was the woman who had taken me to the solar and tried to seduce Sawford in front of me. Edith was pleasant enough, but I could not bear Celia’s insolence. Where most of the servants dropped a deep curtsey or bow on seeing me, Celia stood that little bit higher, challenging me with her sharp eyes. The hatred in her expression, when I caught her watching me, was unmistakable.
“…Sawford…”
Lost in thought, my mind jerked back to their conversation on hearing Sawford’s name.
“You want him for yourself, Celia! You always have.”
“Aye, ’tis true, Edith. ’Tis also true that his tastes have widened to include that scrawny sack of bones. But he will always prefer a real woman.”
“Such as yourself?”
Celia’s voice was proud. “I know how to pleasure him; unlike you and certainly unlikeher.”
