Trapped at the Altar

He smiled a little, but his eyes were grave, deep blue pools in the flickering darkness. “Are you ready, Ariadne?”

She nodded. “If that is what you wish.”

“For God’s sake, Ari,” he exclaimed softly. “Of course it is what I wish. I am not made of ice, dear girl. The last weeks have been almost unendurable.” He began to unbutton his shirt as he stood there, before saying painfully, “I realize, of course, that for you they have been a respite before something you dreaded.”

“Not exactly,” she said, hating to hear the hurt in his voice. “Not dreaded, Ivor.” She was about to say that as she and her body knew what to expect, there would be no conventional pain or discomfort, and she had no reason for dread, but she stopped herself in time.

“You cannot wish to make love to a man who is not the one you love,” he stated, unbuckling his belt. “I understand that, and I will be as considerate as I am able.”

He tossed his shirt, belt, and britches onto the chest at the foot of the bed. “I am going to light the candle. I do not care to make love in the dark. It is not something to be hidden and ashamed of.” Flint and tinder scraped, and the candle bloomed into light. He stepped closer to the bed.

Ari looked at him in his nakedness and was flooded with pure sexual desire. He was such a magnificent figure, his belly flat, his hips slim, his legs long and powerful, his chest broad and muscular. You didn’t have to love someone body and soul to desire him in this way, she thought. What she felt now, looking at this husband of hers, was quite simply an astonished wanting.

Ivor leaned over and took the edge of the coverlet from her hand, where she still held it under her chin. “Sauce for the goose,” he said with a half smile. “I have not looked upon you yet.” He drew down the coverlet, very slowly, revealing her body inch by inch. Ari lay still, her hands beside her hips, as her nakedness was revealed to his hungry gaze.

Ivor folded the covers neatly at the end of the bed and stood looking down at her. She was every bit as he’d imagined, her skin opalescent against the sheet, her breasts small and perfectly round against the narrow ribcage, her belly smooth and white, the hip bones prominent. He leaned over and put his hands on either side of her body, against her hips, feeling her slightness. Then he kissed the groove between her breasts, his tongue flicking lightly across the swell of flesh, touching the rosy nipples that lifted and hardened beneath the caress.

Ari stirred on the bed, her hips lifting a little in an involuntary movement as the cleft of her body moistened beneath the flicking tip of his tongue. Somehow she hadn’t expected these slow, expert caresses, this sense that time was of no importance, the feel of the air on her naked body, the touch of his hands and tongue, a slow unfurling of desire.

She moved her hands to his body, to press into the lean muscularity of his backside as he knelt above her. He smiled, running his own hands down her body as she lay beneath him, enclosing her ribcage between his palms for a moment before bringing his mouth to her navel, his tongue dipping into the soft indentation, then painting a slow path over her belly, pausing to flick her hip bones in turn, before gliding between her thighs. She stiffened in shocked surprise at this intimate invasion, something she’d never even imagined before, and then his tongue parting the folds of her sex in a warm liquid caress drew a soft involuntary moan of bewildered pleasure from her lips.

She ran her fingers through his hair and stroked the curve of his ears, as her hips moved beneath the moist strokes of his tongue. As the climax built, her fingers twisted in his hair, tugging at the roots, and her body leapt upwards to meet the swirling wash of delight.

As it left her, receding slowly, her body sinking back into the deep feather mattress, Ivor slipped his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her to meet his slow penetration of her warm, moist, and welcoming core. Ari took a breath, absorbing the sensation, reveling in its newness. She had never before felt this all-consuming possession, this sense of being filled to her essence, and her hands bit deep into his buttocks as he moved with ever-increasing speed above her, and her hips lifted and moved with him, matching thrust for thrust, and when it was over, when Ivor fell heavily upon her, his head on the pillow beside hers, his loins still joined with hers, his penis pulsing damply within her, she was aware of a glorious, satisfied exuberance coursing through her body as she lay spread-eagled, one hand resting on Ivor’s sweat-slick back, her other arm flung wide along the mattress. A low chuckle escaped her lips.

Slowly, Ivor heaved himself sideways, his penis slithering out of her, resting damply against her inner thigh. “What’s funny?” His voice was muffled against her shoulder.

“Nothing at all,” Ari said, stroking down his back.

“Ah.” He rolled sideways onto his back, one hand resting on her belly. “Well, I won’t press the matter. Is there anything you want?”

She laughed again. “Oh, no, Sir Ivor. Not at present. I can’t imagine what else you could give me for the moment.”

He turned his head on the pillow, his eyes hooded, languid with the aftermath of pleasure. “Good. I’m glad. Now, sleep. We have to be up before cock crow.” With an effort, he hauled himself up to reach for the coverlet, pulling it up over them. He leaned sideways and kissed the corner of her mouth. “So much for that.”

“So much for that,” Ariadne echoed, turning on her side as sleep claimed her.





THIRTEEN





Ariadne awoke the next morning with a hand on her shoulder. It was still dark, and she lay for a moment disoriented, feeling as if she had slept only a few minutes.

“Wake up, Ari. It will be dawn in half an hour, and we have to be out of the valley at sunup.”

She blinked into the flickering light of the candle Ivor held high above her. “I don’t want to get up.” Her body felt hammered into the deep feathers, filled with a wonderful lethargy that was quite unfamiliar.

“No, neither did I,” he responded briskly. “Nevertheless, Ariadne, you must get up. There is hot water on the dresser to refresh yourself, and Tilly is preparing breakfast. Be quick, now.”

He was dressed, she saw, right down to his sword belt and boots. He must have left her to sleep until the last possible moment. She kicked aside the covers, and when the cool air struck her body, the memories of the night came back in full force. She felt almost embarrassed to show her nakedness to the man who had done such wonderful things to and for her, but Ivor hadn’t waited. The moment she had shown a sign of getting out of bed, he had left the loft, his booted feet sounding on the stairs.

It rather seemed, as far as Ivor was concerned, that what happened in the night stayed in the night, Ari reflected wryly. With the day that lay ahead of them, that was probably for the best, her rational mind told her. But she couldn’t manage to banish that glorious feeling of exuberance on which she had fallen asleep. Only in the cold light of day, something niggled, detracting from the purity of the memory.

Surely she had had no right to feel like that with Ivor when she was so deeply in love with another man? But it had been so different. With Gabriel, there had only ever been a hasty scramble of clothes and a flash of heated passion, edged with the fear of discovery. Last night had been a long and leisurely climb to an ecstatic peak. And she had felt not one flicker of guilt. Was she so fickle? Were her feelings so shallow? So basically worthless that not one thought of Gabriel had disturbed that sensual dream? It was an uncomfortable thought, but there was no time to dwell upon it now.