Once Upon a Kiss

chapter 29





Graeham sighed, frowning at the door as it closed. “I wish there were something I could do to ease him.”

“If you will pardon my candor, m’lord... it seems to me you have done so much already...”

Graeham said nothing for an instant, and then stated flatly, “You do not understand.”

“Again, m’lord... if you will but forgive my boldness... I believe I understand more than you think. You value your brother highly, it seems.”

Graeham heaved another sigh, nodding. “I do.”

“’Tis plain, m’lord. And I believe he knows. It seems to me he values you, as well. And pardon my saying so, m’lord, but lest you wish to give him your guilt, along with everything else you’ve bequeathed him... you must let it pass, at last... let him live as he must, and do for himself. He will discover the way. God has a way of providing.”

His brows drew together. “You see all that?”

She nodded, and Graeham considered her an instant. Alyss had been at his side from the first moment he’d opened his eyes, tending to his every need. She’d was the first thing he had seen upon waking, and the last before closing his eyes. Truth to tell, he liked having her at his side, and thought that perhaps he wasn’t in such a hurry to heal.

“You’re a wise bit of baggage,” he said at last.

She smiled with her eyes, and Graeham found himself once again entranced by the incredible depth of them, the way they sparkled so intelligently. “Aye, m’lord,” she said soberly. “Would you have me continue now?”

“If you like.” His voice sounded strange to his ears.

She smiled shyly, blushing as she approached the bed once more. “Then you must give me your back,” she charged him.

Graeham did so, and she sat again upon the bed beside him. He liked the way her dainty weight shifted the mattress, filled the space beside him. “By chance, where did you learn to do such things with your hands?” he asked her casually, lifting his nostrils and breathing deeply of her presence, of the oil she had heated and placed within a basin upon the floor by the bedside.

“My mother,” she told him, returning eagerly to her task. “She taught me much about pleasing a man.”

He listened to the sounds of her dousing her hands with the oil; it sounded much the way sendal cloth did when rubbed together. Anticipating the first touch of her fingers upon his flesh, he lay there, still as a stone.

“Really?” he asked with a sigh of pleasure. He twisted, turning to meet her doe-like gaze. “Your mother taught you this?”

“Aye, m’lord. My mother.”

“Who is your father?”

She was silent a moment. “My father was lord of Kester, vassal to William Beauchamp, and vassal, before him, to his father.” Her eyes, deep, dark, and rich, were as inviting as a shadowy glade. She’d removed his bandages earlier in order to bathe him, and now she was pleasuring him in ways he’d never conceived possible... in ways he’d never allowed himself to consider.

“Your mother taught you well,” he said huskily.

Alyss’ soft laughter filled the chamber. With lithe, delicate fingers, she began again to massage the warmed oil into the taut muscles of his back. “Thank you, m’lord,” she murmured.

‘There,” she said. “Now, turn again, m’lord.”

Graeham’s heart staggered to a halt. “You’re not through yet?” he asked, disheartened by the prospect. He turned as she bade him, and for an instant, as he lay upon the bed under her scrutiny... he felt himself stir once more and rejoiced in the sensation. It had been so long...

For an instant their gazes held, and she must have spied the disappointment in his face, for she asked, sounding as breathless as he felt, “Would you desire me to continue, m’lord?”

Graeham’s voice turned husky, his breath short, his mouth too parched for words. “I would like that very much,” he said. “Please...” He swallowed convulsively.

She nodded, her smile like that of a feline, and began again to stroke his chest, avoiding his injury, even as she dared to hold his gaze.

Graeham felt himself harden fully. “Should you...” He swallowed. “Should you bandage me again?” he asked, shifting upon the bed, unable to remain still with the blood simmering through him. She knew what she was doing, teasing him, and that knowledge, too, aroused him.

“Nay, m’lord,” she answered huskily. “The wound is sewn and there is no infection... It needs the air now to heal.” Her eyes were still upon his, and Graeham felt himself as breathless and weak as a babe under her scrutiny.

He raised himself, wanting to be nearer to her, wanting to smell her, to touch her, and then he grimaced, lying back again upon the bed, frustrated, unable to do any of those things.

“You’ve lost much blood,” she told him, seeming to read his thoughts. “’Tis why you feel so weak,” she explained. Her eyes slitted as she began again to work her lithe fingers down his chest... to his belly... and then lower...

Graeham flinched slightly, his hand going to hers, covering it with his own.

Her voice was throaty when she spoke again, and more than a little breathless, her cheeks flushed. “Shall I continue, m’lord?” she asked silkily.

For an instant Graeham could not respond, and then he nodded, his jaw clenching. He closed his eyes, feeling as though he would burst with the sensations that surged through him in that instant of surrender, filling his groin with a heat he’d not known in far too many years. His head fell back as she lowered the sheets from his naked body, revealing him fully to her eyes.

He heard her soft intake of breath and opened his eyes to spy the look of appreciation in her gaze. It filled him with exhilaration. She lifted her chin, and her features softened, and he thought her in that instant the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld in his life. She was an angel from God—his angel from God. His salvation. His own face went rigid with tension, and his jaw worked with emotion. “Alyss...” He shook his head. “You’ve no idea... Ah, God,” he said when her fingers found him and closed about him suddenly. Feeling utterly helpless, he fell back once more upon the bed.

“Shall I continue, my lord?”

Graeham scarcely trusted himself to speak. He nodded, casting his head back against the pillows as she stroked his burning flesh. His heart hammered against his ribs. He reached out suddenly, stilling her hand, stopping her, not wanting to spill himself for the first time like the virgin he was. He wanted it to last. Aye, and he wanted to pleasure her, too.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked with concern. “M’lord?”

“Nay,” he said with certainty, his voice hoarse as he met her gaze. “Not at all, Alyss. Come here,” he commanded her. “Stand beside me.” She did, and he reached out to take her hand, drawing her closer still. “I wish to see you,” he said eagerly.

She nodded, smiling elfishly as she reached down to lift up her hem, and Graeham feared he would unman himself, after all. He could scarcely bear it. When she was naked at last before him, he drew her toward him once more, and touched her hip lightly, urging her gently to seat herself atop him.

She seemed to comprehend everything he wanted without him ever having to say a word, and he lay back in supreme pleasure as she straddled him, lifting her hips above his pelvis, where he rose to meet her. With a gasp, he guided her down over his shaft, bucking with the almost painful pleasure it brought him.

Like some pagan creature, she began to move atop him, undulating, and Graeham felt himself in Heaven at long last. He heaved a sigh, laying his head back, allowing himself for the first time in his life to savor the pleasures of the flesh without a trace of guilt.

“Alyss,” he groaned. “Ah, God... sweet Alyss...” And then he could speak coherently no more, and the sounds that escaped both of their Lips were like an erotic melody to his ears, drawing him to the edge, spurring him on.

Feeling a new burst of energy, he rolled atop her, urging her beneath him, refusing to lie at her mercy any longer. He wanted to love her like a man should love a woman. He wanted to pleasure her, as well.

But he was lost with the first thrust, lost in fleshly pleasure. He lay down atop her, fusing their bodies together in a slow and erotic mating ritual. Their bodies, slick with the oil that coated his flesh, twisted obliviously upon the bed, pumping slowly, and then faster, rolling, undulating, until, with a hoarse shout of triumph, Graeham fulfilled himself at last.

Be damned if he cared that he raised the rooftops; he shouted for all of creation to hear him.

With a savage outcry, Alyss joined him, holding him fast against her lush breasts, crooning love words into his ear.

Graeham rolled again, taking her with him, mindful of his wound—though even were he to die this very night, he told himself, they would find him smiling in the morning light.

Christ, he thought deliriously... had he truly thought to commit himself to the church? Stephen, he feared, would simply have to pray after his own soul, for it seemed it was God’s design that he make up for lost time.

Beginning now...





Blaec lay within his bed, one arm thrown over his face, listening to the carnal sounds that came from below, and for an instant the noises startled him. Uncovering his face, he stared into the darkness, contemplating them, for while they were seductively familiar, they were foreign to his ears. No man sleeping within his hall would make such a clamor out of respect for him and for Graeham. Those sounds could come from no other than Graeham—and God’s teeth, while he’d never believed his brother completely celibate, he’d never heard such a ruckus in all his days.

Could it be? Could Graeham have remained abstinent all these years?

Nay... His brow furrowed. It was inconceivable. Nor could he fathom why he should wish to do so. While Blaec did not believe in licentiousness, neither did he believe in self-torture. Abstinence all these five and twenty years would have been more than any one man could bear. He shuddered at the notion.

Still... in all this time he recalled not once that he had witnessed his brother in the act—nor did he recall a time when Graeham had spoken of it. Yet his ears did not deceive him now. Those sounds were real, and they were Graeham’s, and God’s truth, he’d never heard them before now.

He was pleased for his brother—stunned, but pleased.

And God’s blood, perhaps it had taken Graeham twenty-five years to lose his virginity, but he was doing it with relish and abandon. He gave a silent nod of appreciation, and then with a tortured groan, turned upon his belly, painfully aroused, and thought of Dominique.

He needed her—God, did he need her.