His lips were warm, unexpectedly soft, caressing hers until they parted and then sank on her mouth. The butterflies in her stomach seemed to catch fire. Flame licked down between her thighs, and yet apart from the light pressure of his gloved hands on her shoulder and chin, he only touched her mouth.
She liked to be kissed. Gladness flooded her. She relaxed, letting her lips part under his, and his mouth sank deeper, opening hers further. She gave a tiny gasp as his tongue dipped between her teeth, as if he were tasting her. The flames below began to burn.
Her savior explored her mouth with gentle, aching care. His tongue flickered around hers as if inviting it to dance, and daringly, she let it, sliding it along his in a caress that aroused even greater pleasure.
Gwyneth was lost in her first kiss.
When he released her mouth, she couldn’t suppress her mewl of disappointment. She remembered her eyes were still closed after all, and snapped them open. Twin points of light gleamed at her as he drew back. His face was all darkness and shadows because he still wore the cowl. It didn’t seem important. What mattered now was that he no longer kissed her, and she wanted him to quite desperately.
Reaching up, she slid her hand inside the hood and touched the skin of his face, warm and a little rough from the stubble on his jaw. His breath seemed to hitch and then still. She wanted to speak, to ask for another kiss, but couldn’t find the words. Instead, mutely, she lifted her face inside the cowl, seeing only tempting shadows and hooded eyes, until she found his lips with hers and sighed with pleasure.
For an instant, his were perfectly still. As though she’d stunned him. And then it all changed. One arm swept her hard against his body, and she gasped into his mouth as it bore down on hers. Everything about him was hard now, his purposeful, demanding lips, his chest against her crushed, pebbled nipples, his muscular thighs against her hips, his cock straining against her abdomen.
Excitement soared. Especially when his hand swept down her back over the swell of her buttocks, pulling her even closer to his cock. She could feel its outline growing against her and wanted more. His questing hand slid up her body, over her hip and waist and the side of her breast. Pangs of delight twisted through her. Moaning, she moved against him to allow him access, and his palm closed over her breast.
Sweetness suffused her body. Without meaning to, she pushed into his hand and felt his gloved thumb caress back and forth over her hard, pleading nipple.
And as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. His hands on her shoulders held her away from him. Her swollen lips felt cold. Her whole body trembled with reaction, although it was some comfort to hear the swiftness of his breath. And yet she still couldn’t see his face.
He said, “You paid more than my price.”
“I wasn’t paying.” She didn’t know what she was saying. Half-ashamed at her wantonness, she still wanted more.
“I have a feeling we’ll meet again.”
“How will I know you if I can’t see your face?”
“It won’t matter. I know you.” His hand lifted off her shoulder. One gloved finger touched her lips and slid away. “By your kiss.”
He stepped back several paces. A clap of thunder sounded, and the familiar belch of smoke she remembered from his arrival filled the room. When it cleared, he had vanished.
Chapter Three
The door opened before the smoke had completely cleared, and Gwyneth whirled to face the guard and the steward, Wallace. Both men entered the room, identical expressions of shock blooming on their faces as they beheld the tangled masses of golden thread that spilled in shimmering profusion near the spinning wheel.
“I didn’t have time to roll skeins, and you didn’t provide me with spools,” Gwyneth coolly apologized. She couldn’t help the smug satisfaction that nestled warmly in her heart at the sight of their wide eyes and gaping mouths.
“Request His Majesty’s presence here,” Wallace ordered the guard. “Hurry!”
Gwyneth pressed her fingers to her lower back and stretched the kinks from it. Now that her mysterious visitor was gone and her life saved, she realized the toll last night’s work had taken on her. Her fingers and palms were raw, and her back ached terribly from carrying bundles and stooping over the spinning wheel.
“How…How did you do this?” the man stammered as he went to one of the piles and fingered a fine gold filament.
She stifled a yawn. “I don’t know. It’s a talent that comes from beyond me.”
Would the king dismiss her now that she’d performed the task? When she saw her father again, she would berate him for his dangerous bragging, which had almost gotten them both killed. For too long, she’d kept silent, an obedient and well-mannered daughter. Now it was time to speak her mind to him, about this, about all of his bragging and how it made her feel like a pretty object.
“Your father spoke the truth. I can’t believe it,” the steward continued to marvel as he lifted a hank of gold and weighed it in his hand. “The king will be well-pleased with you and with me for bringing you to him.”
His voice seemed to come from far away. Gwyneth’s head felt fuzzy, she was so exhausted from her sleepless night and from the mind-numbing terror of believing her life was near its end. She wanted nothing more than to curl up on the floor and sleep…after a visit to the privy, for her bladder was near bursting from hours in captivity.
“Will I be allowed to go home now?” she asked Wallace.
“That will be for His Majesty to decide, but I shouldn’t imagine he’ll let a prize like you slip through his fingers.”
Instantly, her drowsiness vanished and her nerves jangled. Surely the king wouldn’t expect her to repeat her performance. What if he did? Would the dark stranger help her again or would she be left alone to face the penalty she’d escaped the first time?
Minutes ticked past as they waited for the king. Gwyneth’s gaze roamed over the piles of gold which glinted faintly in the lantern’s glow. The enormity of the astonishing, miraculous thing she’d done crashed over her. Who was the hooded man? An angel as she’d called him, or a demon as he claimed? A being which possessed such powerful magic was certainly more than human. Her lips tingled as she remembered his kiss and the greedy, wanton way she’d begged for more. Perhaps that had been magic, too. A spell he’d cast over her to make her want him.
Her musings and the awkward silence between her and the steward ended as booted footsteps echoed down the hallway. Moments later, King Midas himself appeared in the doorway. His handsome face twisted in an equally comic look of surprise, his brows shooting up and his mouth dropping open. He didn’t say a word as he entered the room and walked slowly around, gazing at the piles of gold.
Gwyneth waited, throbbing fingers clenched lightly at her sides, and at last he turned to her. He clapped, applauding her in an exaggerated manner. “Brava, Buttercup. You’re truly a marvel, as beauteous as the day is long and a magician to boot.”
He extended a hand to her, and Gwyneth reluctantly offered hers. The king bent and kissed the back of her fingers, then clasped them between his. His palms were cool and dry and somehow reminded her of snake skin. She wanted to pull away.
“You have earned a rest and pampering fit for a princess. I shall meet you later in the day for dinner and we will talk further. For now, please go with Wallace, who will show you to a bed chamber and provide for all your needs.” At last he released her hand. She dropped it back to her side.
“I appreciate your gracious offer, Your Highness, but my father needs me at home. Will you now allow me to return to him?”
“We can discuss all that over dinner.” He evaded her question and waved for Wallace to accompany Gwyneth from her gold-filled prison.
He took her to a bed chamber where she was met by a fleet of maidservants. She was undressed, bathed, clothed in a night shift and put to bed like a helpless child. Gwyneth would have protested if she wasn’t so exhausted, but it felt rather comforting to surrender her body into the care of others. She’d never known such luxury as the ornate, velvet-draped bed where she was to sleep. She sank deep into the goose-down mattress, and the ladies-in-waiting left her alone at last. Before the door closed behind them, she noted a guard standing in the corridor outside. She was still a prisoner, a wren in a gilded cage.
As tired as she was, sleep eluded her for a while. She replayed the past day and night: her father’s boasts, her terror at the task set before her and, of course, every second spent with the mysterious man in black. How had he appeared in the room? What was the extent of his power? Could he come to her here if she summoned him?
The last idea filled her with a thrill of excitement as she imagined him looming at the side of her lavish bed, studying her body in the thin nightdress. Touching her. Sliding a hand up her leg beneath the gown. Gwyneth caught her breath. Her inner thighs burned as if they were truly being stroked, and the junction of her thighs was afire. She clamped her legs together in an attempt to soothe the ache, but an assault of images filled her mind and stoked the fire.
She pictured the dark-garbed man climbing onto the bed with her, climbing on top of her and doing all sorts of arousing things with his gloved hands, although she wasn’t quite certain what exactly those things might be. She didn’t imagine his face or body uncovered. Part of the thrill of her fantasy was in his mysterious, dangerous nature. He had helped her, yes, but she felt quite certain that he was not “good”, not in the traditional way the term was defined.
Mostly her fantasy centered on kissing…and kissing…and kissing. The pressure of his mouth on hers, the sinuous slide of his tongue, his powerful hands cradling the base of her head and her back, all of these elements she’d actually experienced and could imagine. He’d also slid his hand up her front to cup her breast. Gwyneth imitated his action and felt the turgid nipple and soft fullness of her breast. Right there, just like that, he’d touched her.
She gathered the fabric of the shift and reached beneath to curve her hand over her mons, the weight of her palm settling warmly. She teased a finger between her folds and felt the wetness there coating it. Slicking her finger through the juices, she brought it higher and tickled the tiny nub where her pleasure lay coiled. What would it feel like to have a cool, gloved hand touch her there?
Gwyneth moaned and lifted her hips, thrusting against her palm as she plucked at her nipple through the nightgown. Her own circling touch on her clitoris and the fantasy of a demon lover abruptly sent a bolt of ecstasy shooting through her. Sparks showered like a bonfire when a piece of damp wood was added.
She groaned and her body arched off the bed, her mind soaring. But when she came down from the peak of bliss, discontent filled her almost immediately. She wanted more, so much more than self-pleasuring. Tired of being a maid, Gwyneth was ready to know everything about becoming a woman, and she wanted to learn it from the right man. That would
not
be a magical being or a nighttime fantasy, but a real, flesh and blood husband she could build a life with.
With her sexual tension eased, the tension that came from not knowing what the king had in mind for her moved to the forefront of her thoughts. She guessed her value to him had increased from the moment he beheld the piles of spun gold, but what impossible task would he demand of her next? Her situation was still very precarious.
Anxious thoughts turned into anxious dreams as Gwyneth finally slept.
She awakened with a start to a hand shaking her shoulder. The ladies were back for another round of dressing and primping. They combed and coiled her hair, draped her in emeralds, shod her in satin slippers and stood her in front of a long looking glass to behold her new glory. She looked like royalty, but she didn’t look like herself.
Nor did she feel like herself as she was ushered down several corridors and flights of stairs to the dining room where the king awaited her. Gwyneth floated apart from her body, watching this stranger make an appropriate deep curtsy to His Majesty before taking her seat at the table.
“You are exquisite, my darling. One might say ‘queenly’ in your grace and bearing,” King Midas complimented her.
Gwyneth inclined her head in acknowledgement. “Thank you, sire. You are too kind.” Now would he be kind enough to let her go?
“I hope you rested well and that the ladies assigned to you were satisfactory.”
“Yes, sire.” She picked up her spoon, and it slipped in the silken glove encasing her fingers. One of the ladies-in-waiting had insisted she wear the gloves to cover her rough hands. Carefully, she scooped a spoonful of soup and swallowed it.
She glanced at the king, and he gazed at her with an expression that reminded her of the cats sitting on the porch watching the nesting wrens. Suddenly, her throat was tight and she doubted she could swallow another bite of the meal, despite the fact that she was starving.
“Gwyneth.” It was the first time he’d referred to her by name. “You are a very beautiful and talented woman, despite the fact you are not of noble birth. I will admit I’m intrigued by the fact you can spin straw into gold, but I’m also entranced by your appearance and your manners.”
“Thank you, sire.” She wasn’t certain what response he was looking for, but that seemed a safe one.
“I believe I will make you my wife.”
Her throat constricted and her stomach lurched. This was her father’s dream come true. It should have been hers as well. Any woman in the land would be thrilled to hear those words coming from the lips of a monarch. So why did she feel sick?
Ignoring her lack of response, Midas went on. “But before I make such a momentous decision as choosing you for the mother of my heirs, I must be absolutely certain you are truly worthy of that honor.” He leaned forward, fixing her with his gaze. “Therefore, I have commanded another room full of straw be prepared for you. I would like another demonstration of your inestimable powers.”
“Oh, Your Majesty,” she whispered and could say no more. Hopefully he’d think she was struck dumb by the honor of being offered his hand in marriage.
He smiled, his white teeth gleaming in the candlelight. “And this time I’ve provided many spindles to keep the gold thread from tangling.”