Seducing Anne (21 page)

He grunted, and his chest and stomach muscles corded and flexed. Was he going to expel his seed?

Oh God, this could mean conception.

Once more, as those thoughts were occurring, the white light of utter rapture took hold of her mind and she sucked in some air as her body unraveled and she writhed beneath him.

“Fucking gorgeous!” he whispered, then he pulled out, and her head tipped up. She watched as he unloaded his male seed all over her belly. “I will get you pregnant yet, but I do it with minimal sperm, to prove to that douche I can get you with child with less seed spilled inside you than he ever could, the incontinent prick.”

She wanted to ask about this strange accent she was hearing again, and the unfamiliar words accompanying it, but he was licking her puss, making her fall apart once more.

Was there blood? She had heard that women bled when the virgin tissues were torn.

Did he concern himself with that?

He gripped her hips, tipped her puss up and when she looked down, all she could see was the top half of his expressive eyes as they devoured her with silent words of insatiable lust and undying love.

He sucked and nipped, making greedy slurping sounds, and she fell once more, then was wrapped up in his arms a few moments later.

He warmed her skin with massaging fingers all over her body. His words of tender affection did not cease.

Her breathing calmed, her muscles were lax and all she knew was four words—
I love you, husband!

Chapter 10

Guy would not loosen his grip on her as he slept, but she had to get back to her chambers so she could wash his smell off her.

“Dear heart, I must go,” she whispered, trying to push his hands off her.

“No. Stay.” He gripped her tighter into his chest.

“It will be breakfast soon, and I need time to bathe and change.”

“You are not going to breakfast,” he said, then yawned.

“Why not?” She tried to turn her head to look at him, but he still had an iron grip around her middle.

He ran his whiskers across the back of her shoulder and snuggled closer into her.

His cock was at her backside, rubbing and growing thicker.

“You are ill. That is what I will tell the king. I found you passed out in the hallway, took you into my chambers to take care of you. You slept in my bed, and that is why you reek of me. You are not to wash my scent off you. I insist you smell like me all day.”

She could feel his lips spreading into a grin as he pressed a lazy kiss into her shoulder.

“To drive me mad with want of you?”

“It is a damned burden to love a woman as intelligent as you who sees all,” he teased and then pinched her ass.

“And it is a burden to want a man I cannot have.”

“You have me.” He rubbed his lips back and forth on that same spot on her shoulder.

“How long? Once I cross that corridor back into my chambers, I am Harry’s again, not yours.”

“I am working on releasing you. He will marry Jane Seymour instead of you. I sour his affections for you, and fasten his eyes on her.”

“But I . . . What of the people? What can she do to improve their lives?”

“She can do enough, and Henry is smart enough he can find other people to instruct him on how to make advancements on architecture, water supply, plumbing and sanitary conditions. You must live.” His hands were clasped at her stomach again, and it was apparent he would not let her go anytime soon.

A lump formed in her throat. She wanted to question him, but he was making this contented sighing sound behind her and nuzzling his nose back into her hair. It made her chest swell twice as big as it normally was.

“Will you at least tell me how you got my topaz ring back from Wyatt?”

“Mmm . . .” He hummed and kept cuddling.

“Please?”

“I prefer you use your imagination,” he answered, his voice muffled by her hair.

“I intend to share my imagination with you in other areas of concern, but this one I cannot fathom. Wyatt is a stubborn, brooding man.”

He growled. “He is an arrogant, brooding ass, and his poetry sucks hairy, saggy old-man scrotum.”

She laughed, though some of those words were outside her comprehension. The more time she spent with this man, the more she realized she might not ever understand him and his odd vocabulary that would leak through on occasion.

“I had to wrestle him for it. I have no idea why he thought he could win. He is a short bastard, and I probably have twice as much muscle mass as he does.”

She chuckled. “Oh dear God—tell me, was his pride wounded?”

“No, but his cock was. I slammed my elbow into it at one point. Perhaps it was on purpose. I cannot tell. I was too enraged thinking about him taking what was mine.”

She coughed and wheezed as she laughed harder. “It was mine, sir.”

He rocked her in his arms. “All that you are is mine, and that includes anything you wear on your lovely body. So sexy.”

Her chest was warm inside like golden honey and oozing through to her heavy limbs.

“Your language, Guy. I do not always understand it.”

He wrapped his top leg over hers, trapping her. “And you do not need to. All you concern yourself with is what?”

“You and your pleasure.”

“That is right, lavender. Keep smelling this good, and being this soft, and I will always be pleased to hold you to my chest this way. Mmm . . . So delicious and sweet, but you cannot go yet. My fingers are not yet nearly sticky enough with your dried-on come, and your taste has left my tongue.”

She sighed and relaxed into his hold. “Shall I tell you about my interests now, sir? Maybe it will be a good distraction from your looping thoughts on sexual congress.”

He chuckled. “You can try, lady, but I doubt you can break that loop.”

She took a nice deep breath, making her chest round. “I imagine a country where the common man has an English language Bible in their own home that they can read,” she said in French, hoping he would engage her in this poetic language.

“Farmers and peasants are to know God and find the light,” he replied back in French—like she’d hoped.

“Oui.” Dear God, hearing him speak French made her legs smash together to prevent the throbbing in her clitoris she feared might happen.

He spoke at length about how some day that would happen, even if it was not in her time.

His French was fluent and had a very interesting dialect to it. She was unfamiliar with it.

“Guy . . . Where do you come from?” she finally asked him.

“Far from here. So far you can never find it. There is a vast ocean of time that blocks the way.” He sighed and kissed her neck, then nibbled at her ear and sucked on it. “I would love to show you where I come from—take you away with me. Would you like that?”

“Oui,” she repeated with a soft moaning sound.

His tongue was in her ear, and the sound of his edgy breathing made her arch her back so her ass was thrust toward him.

“You would like it,” he confirmed. “Lying on my own mattress, having me feed you in bed, entertain you when you are bored and showing you a place where women are not repressed. You could be a clergy there yourself.”

“What?” she shrieked, trying to push herself up to sitting.

He kept her in place.

“I was teasing, my only love. Settle yourself.” He licked the back of her ear. “Though you would be freer than you have ever been. Would you like that, too?” he moved back into French again at the end when he asked this question.

“So much, my lord. Does this place truly exist?” She closed her eyes and tried to envision it, but all she saw was this magnificent man behind her, holding her and loving her with every breath he held in his body.

“It is more real than this court is to me.” He released his left hand from her middle, took her hand in his and entwined his fingers with hers. He moved their clasped hand up to her mouth.

She kissed it, and he sighed. “Love being here with you, though, so I will not be going back there if I can help it. Not unless you leave with me, and I am not certain how I could bring you there. The passage to get there has a steep price, and I may not be able to pay the required fee to get you there.”

“I have the means,” she began, but he stopped her lips from moving by covering her mouth with their joined hand.

“Shhhh . . . I can worry about all this later.”

She nodded.

He whispered something she did not understand about excruciating pain, white light and being shoved through a wall of unseen glass.

A moment later, he sang softly to her, never bothering to explain what those previous words had meant.

It was a song she did not recognize—something about soft kisses on her silky smooth skin.

For some reason, he had her stand up while he was singing, and he put her clothes back on her, then lay back down with her in the same position they had been in before.

He had a soothing voice, and it did not take long for her to fall asleep since she had been up most of the night with him.

* * *

Anne awoke in Guy’s arms a while later as he walked her toward her apartments.

“Keep silent . . . I am making our excuse plausible—remain asleep in my arms, love. This will not take long.” He banged his foot into her chamber door. “And after everyone leaves you alone, I want you to write me a letter. Tell me precisely how you feel.”

“About what?” she whispered.

“Anything and everything. Just detail your heart for me, and it will be all I need.” He smiled, and for some reason it felt like a soft, sweet, friendly kiss on her heart. “Oh, and I will find a way to be with you again tonight. Plan on it.”

She sucked in a slight rush of air when the door was opened. Oh God, she failed to pretend to be sleeping, but it probably did not matter since the heat left her face, and she was sure she probably looked wan as Harry stared at her face.

“She was ill. I found her collapsed in the corridor. I nursed her back to health for you, good sir,” Guy said with a steady voice.

“Is she . . . Will she . . . I do not wish to catch this!” Henry backed away, covering his mouth and nose with the inner crook of his right arm.

His eyes were filled with alarm, and he managed to skirt around Guy toward the door even though it was evident he had been waiting in her room all morning for her to appear at her chambers. None of his waiting seemed to matter now that he thought her ill.

Her cheeks went colder still. She was speaking falsely, and that was unforgivable.

“She is sweaty!” Harry pointed out.

“It is not the sweating sickness,” Guy replied, sounding amused.

What was he doing? Playing on Harry’s absolute dread of a sweeping plague? She had already caught the sweating sickness four years ago, and she had survived it.

Harry was paranoid about illness, and she watched as he edged toward the door, turning pale. He probably appeared more ill than she did with his now sallow complexion.

Guy said a few more things to Harry, but she barely listened when she realized that once more, the king chose himself and his health over her. Just like he did those four years ago when he rode away with Catherine of Aragon on his horse and told Anne to go back to her parents’ estate while the disease spread and took its toll on the country.

She was left on her own until he later sent his personal physician.

“She fell off my bed, too, when I was getting her some wine. She hit both collarbones, so they are red and inflamed about the tissues,” Guy explained.

She coughed to keep from laughing.

Harry’s eyes went so wide, his eyebrows almost bridged into his hairline. Then his face pinched in horror.

Her stomach twisted in knots when his selfishness hit her in the gut. Harry was ready to flee without sparing her another thought. Her small lie no longer seemed to matter.

“I will send Butts at once,” the king said and then rushed out the door.

Guy turned without a pause, took her to her bed and set her down on top. “There. You see? I take care of you.”

“Yes, you do.” She beamed at him as he backed his way out of the room.

“Rest, lavender—you’ll need it since I intend to keep you up most of the evening, just as I did last night.” He winked and then disappeared out the door.

Well, damn him—she would be unable to rest now with her thighs and womb tingling this way.

Anne got out of bed, took out a parchment and a writing implement, then penned him a note.

His words still rang in her head from before when he wrote to her.

She wanted to return the sentiments.

The scratching sounds on the paper grated on her, but only because time seemed to turn too slowly.

Servants checked on her a few times, and Doctor Butts did, too, but she sent him away forthwith.

No one was to disturb her.