The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok #3) - Alice Coldbreath Page 0,71
the time getting her worked up with his fingers. Maybe she’d lighten up eventually and even learn to crack a spontaneous smile once in a while.
She was not without a sense of humor, he reflected. He’d seen glimmers of it, flash out at him in the quiver of her lip, the way her eyes would sometimes lighten, and a sort of lilting quality to her voice. Still, he thought with dissatisfaction, he hadn’t actually seen her throw back her head and laugh. Not an honest to gods, outright laugh.
What would it take to hear that? he wondered, his fingers lightly tracing the swell and curve of her buttock. “Are you ticklish?” he asked, moments later, when her head lifted off his chest to regard him blearily.
“I’m sorry?” she asked in confusion. “What did you say?”
“I asked, if you Princess Una, are ticklish?” he repeated huskily.
She regarded him blankly, and for a moment he wondered if she was still asleep. “I don’t know,” she answered with surprise. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m curious,” he admitted. “Let’s find out.” He slid his hand up to where her waist dipped in and pinched her there, making her exhale and flinch against him in surprise. Then he was tracing her sides, lightly at first and then, when she squeaked, with increasing firmness.
“A-Armand!” she protested, trying to lift off him.
“Yes?” he answered, holding her in place.
“Oh!” She squawked and struggled against him. “Oh, don’t!”
“Why? Does it tickle?”
“It—yes, it does!” she answered breathlessly. “Please stop!”
By this point, he was so entranced by the way she was wriggling against his hard cock, that he didn’t even mind that he didn’t get the belly laugh he’d wanted. “I’ll stop if you let me tickle you somewhere else,” he said thickly and rolled her onto her back. And with something else, he thought, his eyes roving over her heaving bosom and flushed face. “Fuck, Una,” he groaned. “Do you still feel sick this morning?”
“No, no I’m quite well,” she assured him. Then she hesitated, just the smallest instant before letting her legs fall open for him. “That’s where you meant, isn’t it?” she asked, with just the smallest hint of uncertainty.
“Yes,” he agreed, feeling a surprising surge of something else, as well as lust wash over him. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought it might just be tenderness. “That’s exactly where I meant.”
*
Armand made his way downstairs sometime later feeling refreshed and invigorated. Their morning tryst had been most pleasurable, and while Una had not exactly been tearing his braies off, she had at least welcomed his advances and not started bleating about it being daylight or any other such nonsense, he assumed respectably married women bothered their heads about.
Of course, he hadn’t really cut loose. It was still early days and he hadn’t thought yet of a way to encourage her enthusiastic participation just yet, but he would. He just had to hit on the right method. Maybe next time he should give her his tongue? It would shock the holy hells out of her, but once that was out of the way, he had a feeling she would respond as sweetly to that as everything else he had cautiously introduced her to.
On reaching the great hall, his good mood was rapidly suspended. The tables were piled high with tarnished silver candlesticks and salvers and jugs and he knew not what. They must have stripped the house from top to bottom of all its plate. Rose and that new somewhat garrulous maid were huddled over the great mounds with polishing cloths, conversing conspiratorially.
“Morning, sir,” the dark one piped up loudly as soon as she saw him, and Rose broke off what she was saying with a start.
Armand had the sudden, uncomfortable suspicion they had been talking about him. He cleared his throat. “Your mistress requires a bath,” he said shortly. “Kindly have one taken up to her as soon as possible.”
“Yes sir, right away,” she answered cheerily and bounced up from her seat to run through to the kitchen.
At least this one didn’t stare at him blankly after every order. He turned to Rose. “What was her name again?”
“Janet,” she mumbled and returned to polishing a silver tankard with fervor.
Armand carried on to the kitchen and surprised Janet staring out of the window at Peter who was weeding the overgrown vegetable patch.
“I’ve just put the water on to boil,” she muttered guiltily, and unhooked the bathtub from where it hung against the wall.