Seducing Anne (16 page)

A jerking sensation rippled through her puss.

“Oh,
ohhhhhh
!” She sucked in her lips to keep from screaming as his finger plunged all the way inside her.

“I could get rid of your maidenhead right now. No one would ever know. I could make it as painless as possible.” His finger slid in and out, making her tummy coil tighter and her heart pound with each rushing sensation.

“I . . . The king would know when he takes me as his bride,” she said, but she did nothing to stop him.

Oh, please . . . Take me!

A flush of heat plunged through her puss again, making it sopping wet.

He was circling at the tip of her, above her opening, engorging her clitoris further. These tiny choking sounds kept emanating out of her.

“That is it, sweetheart—you can let go. It is Guy here for you—holding you, touching you and loving the way you respond to his touch. I am your lord—your sir.”

“But what if I . . . What if I can never get myself back?” She was speaking nonsense, but somehow in her mind it all made sense. If she fell right now into his grip, would she ever be the Anne she knew again? She already felt dirty with how Harry touched her. It was hard to fight him off—not because she wanted what he was begging for, but because he was so much stronger than her and very insistent.

He was constantly tunneling his hands under her skirts.

The way Guy was doing it, though, was like an answer to her prayers. Her soul was alight, and she was almost floating as if on a cloud.

“I love fingering your pussy . . .” He kissed across the top of her chest. “So sweet, tight and wet—all for me. Such a beautiful cunt.”

“Are you . . . Did you see it?” She gasped.

Harry had not even done that.

“I have. I can’t stop myself. If you open your eyes, you will see me gazing upon your delicious pink puss right now. Someday soon, I shall taste it, and savor your flavor on my tongue—thick and creamy.”

She opened her eyes, and he licked his lips at her through his predatory smile.

“With a body that smells this sinfully good, it can only taste like my own personal Heaven.” He placed a kiss on her shoulder and shoved his body up, making his hand jerk in her puss.

She cried out at the way the quick movement felt inside her. Everything clenched down, and with a shuddering breath, she was unraveling.

“Oh Christ, I . . . Oh, Guy, I am . . . Help me!” Her body was convulsing, and she heard only blood rushing in her ears.

The next moment his tongue was in her mouth, and he was inhaling so loud it sounded like a mighty storm assaulting her windows.

He was grinding his manhood on her hip, and his fingers were still moving inside and outside her puss while he whispered dark, dangerous things to her.

Everything spun out of control when she felt something wet gush down her leg. “Saaaave me!”

She released a gust of air, and his body stopped overwhelming hers. He wrapped her up in his chest as he pelted kiss after kiss on her crown.

“So beautiful, my love. Better than anything I have ever experienced.” He shook with a silent laugh. Or was he crying?

She held him tight, unsure of what else to do since she was so disoriented.

“You said it was mesmerizing to watch me at Mass, praying? Well, this was by far better—more precious to watch your sexual awakening.” He loosened his grip, then he pushed his moist fingers into his mouth and made this obscenely loud moaning sound. His eyes slipped up into his head, and his neck rolled until she could no longer see his face. “Fuck! You taste incredible.”

The next thing she saw was him sliding down her body. He was delving under her skirts again, and this time, his mouth was on her dripping female flesh.

“Fucking Heaven and Earth—Anne. Must you taste so good?”

Her fingers gripped into the base of the altar behind her to keep her in place. She knew she should push his head away, make sure his mouth was doing something holy like praying, instead of this, but she could not bring herself to stop him.

That tightening—that fiery sensation was back inside her once more, building in pressure.

His fingers and mouth were both on her, stroking, inciting her to a lascivious place she could not wait to be again.

“Come down here. I need you spread out more,” he said, yanking her away from the altar. He parted her legs further.

The plush carpet made a swishing noise beneath her as he pulled her toward him even more.

His head dropped back down again when she was positioned where he wanted her.

He licked, sucked and was shoving the tip of his tongue inside her entrance.

Her back kept bowing off the floor, and she reached for something to grab onto, but there was nothing to keep her from floating away anymore, except him.

He had a firm grip on her hips, and each time she tried to levitate away, he pushed her back down.

The raw power and gentleness had her panting for more.

“My lady, you are being summoned,” Jane Seymour called out from behind the door several feet away.

Anne jolted to sitting upright.

“Cross your legs—it will help,” Guy said. He draped her skirts back over her legs, then he handed her the book of prayers she had at some point knocked off the altar.

He stood up on shaky legs, straightened his appearance, licked the glistening moisture off his lips, then wiped the remnants of saliva onto his sleeve.

A few strides across the room, and he opened the door, greeting Jane with a terse tone. “We are studying the Lord’s good word. What is it you require?”

“The king has asked for her.” Jane curtsied, and she gave a brief look of interest at Guy when he was looking at Anne.

A raking claw of jealousy dug into Anne’s heart and fisted it.

“Tell him I am instructing someone on the matters of prayer, but I shall be there shortly.” Anne nodded, then shooed her off.

Guy turned toward Jane and whispered something to her and then she was gone.

Another spiking lance hit Anne’s heart, and she winced. Was he to make eyes at this classic beauty as well? Jane was everything Anne was not. Fair-haired, flawless, pale complexion with no blemishes or moles—of a middling stature, not as tall and thin as Anne was.

Though Anne had a considerably larger bosom, if men appreciated such a thing.

She was unsure what Guy would find attractive.

Everyone she knew claimed Jane was what a Tudor rose should be.

She sat slumped over, pretending to study her book when Guy approached her.

“Now, that was fun—was it not?” He cocked his head to the right, smirking at her.

Her eyes traced up his lean, sculptured thighs she could make out through his breeches. He had strong calves, a broad chest and shapely shoulders. She could not help but admire his dark features—especially his eyes of such a dark blue, they almost looked like the night when the moon was muted behind clouds. They were striking paired with his olive skin.

He was like her in that he was not the red-haired, fair-skinned, light-blue eyed male that pranced around court. That was who Harry was, and Guy embodied something else entirely.

Once more her puss throbbed by merely appraising him and over being aware he was still erect beneath his breeches. Even that was more impressive on this man than it was on the king. Was there anything about Guy she did not prefer over His Excellency?

Even if Harry was a little taller than Guy, this man was more fit and had a more commanding, purely male presence.

Harry was developing a little belly, and his waistline was thickening.

Guy had narrow hips and a very fine backside. So fine she found herself fantasizing about squeezing his cheeks with both her hands.

These were the purely physical aspects. Harry’s temper had made her lose respect for him long ago, while Guy seemed to navigate his way through intense moments with ease.

He blinked as he stood before her, wearing an expectant look. His patient demeanor told her she was vacant from some unheard conversation on his end . . .

Had he not asked her something? She could not remember.

She glanced back at her book, hoping he would not take issue with her mute state due to her scattered thoughts.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Guy asked with a teasing tone.

“Did you want to discuss matters moral and religious, or were we here for something else entirely?” She closed the book on her lap, then did her best to give him an intimidating look. “Because I am not in the habit of deceiving my ladies-in-waiting, sir.”

He lowered himself down, squatted before her and searched her eyes. “You are edgy, my dear. Another orgasm might be in order. I apologize for getting the juices flowing again without giving you another grand release.”

“You owe me nothing, and I transgressed against God. It will not happen again. I shall confess and forsake my sins.” She removed the book from her lap and made her way up to standing.

His eyes twisted in pain as he arose before her, once more towering over her. “You would wound me by calling what we just did a sin?”

“Is it not?” She blinked and stepped back.

“It is anything but a sin. It was beautiful—the culmination of what a man and woman that trust and . . .” He shook his head, and his lips pressed together into a thin line for a moment. “It is natural we should be inclined to be together in that manner.”

She nodded and blew out a little puff of air, making her cheeks balloon out for a second. It was hard to think when he was so impassioned like this. “I agree that men have natural urges, and it is good for the humours to release seeds regularly, but it is different for a woman. I have no need to allow them to escape when I am not trying to conceive.”

He stepped into her with one giant stride. “Say that again when you can actually believe it.”

He cupped his hand between her legs.

“I . . . I cannot say . . .”

“Of course you cannot say it, because it was a false statement. Did you mean to wound me? Or were you trying to relieve yourself of guilt?” His voice went up in pitch.

She squared her shoulders but let his hand remain where it was. “Guilt,” she said like she was uncertain if it was a question or answer.

“Damn right it was guilt.”

His voice dropped back to normal and he no longer sounded like the rest of the men at court, with their lilt and pacing of speech. He sounded like a foreigner, only with an accent she did not recognize. There were a few other times she had heard him sound this way, and it puzzled her every time. Was he from somewhere else entirely? Her eyes narrowed, and her brow lined with concern. Who was this man?

He hugged her to his chest and breathed in her ear. “You listen to me, little one. There is nothing to feel guilty about, therefore no need for confession. This was strictly between us. If you confess, that is up to you, but I am relieving you of the burden. You worry only about pleasing me—remember?”

She nodded and then placed her cheek on his chest. Why was it so comforting being in his arms like this?

She clutched onto his shirt like she always did, silently praying he would not let go.

Never release me, Moore. I need you . . .

“Now, let us pray and study the word of the God. Then you can report back to Harry about how you instructed this heathen man before you to come unto Christ.” He chuckled.

Her eyes went wide and lit up. This could be the excuse she needed—that she was seeing to his eternal salvation. After all, was it not her mission to help save souls?

She cleared her throat, parted from him, picked up her book and they sat back down on the floor like savages. It felt right, though.

He
felt right.

As the sermon from the chapel wafted through the vented window, she began reading one of her most treasured passages to Guy.

Smooth as silk, he turned over her left arm closest to him so her forearm was exposed and the back of her hand rested on his thigh. His fingers drifted up and down, drawing lazy patterns on her skin and summoning goose bumps while she tried to share what was in her heart through the word of God.

She spoke of Christ’s love for mankind, and how it was constant and unconditional.

Her heart was expanding, and she could almost imagine what it might have been like for Jesus to suffer so violently that he bled from every pore—since that was what it almost felt like she was experiencing now. Heart rending beneath her ribs, forcing her very pores to ache for him—that was what she must endure.

She ached right down to her bones for this man—positively screamed inside to have him, but he was forbidden.

Her destiny was already chosen for her, and there was no way out.

“You speak so eloquently, little one. I am pacified and at such peace from your readings, that my soul yearns for more.” His eyes followed his fingers, sweeping up and down her inner arm.

Though the room was still and calm, her heart was galloping at a frantic pace, and she was wetter than ever beneath her skirts.