"There's no need to apologize, Your Highness. We servants learn to take these things in stride."
Uh-oh. She wished he would go back to calling her Princess, anything but that insufferable Your Highness.
"Look, Rodin, you know I don't apologize easily. Won't you be gracious and accept it?" She looked at his stiff profile beseechingly.
He saw her expression and chuckled. "All right."
Relief flooded over her. She hadn't been aware of how much she treasured Rodin's friendship until that moment.
"Thanks." Her head bent, but the flower was blurred. "It's just the pressure of the past few days, I guess, and then Michael's sent off on a quest, and I miss him, and everything was just too much--Ow!"
She had pricked her finger on a thorn, and a blurred red dot was blossoming. She dropped the rose and dashed her tears away with the other hand.
Rodin was beside her in a flash, petals flying everywhere as he waded through them. "Let me see that." He grasped her hand, tipping her fingers toward himself. He wiped the blood away gently and probed for a thorn. With relief in his voice, he said, "You just broke the skin. You're lucky a splinter didn't embed itself in your--"
Giselda knew why he suddenly stopped. He had looked up and seen how his nearness was affecting her, how she couldn't stop the rush of desire rippling through her at his touch. She had always been so transparent.
In that instant, rank fell away. She was just a woman, and he a man.
His green eyes holding hers, he lifted her hand and sucked on the wounded finger. She gasped as molten heat ran through her veins. He sucked alternately on each digit of her hand, feeding the fire burning in her and inciting a strange yearning to have those lips on her lips, on her breasts. His mouth was hot, pulling deeply as he sucked. The raw look of lust on his face and the sight of him sucking on her fingers built her excitement and increased her desire.
Holding her fingers away from his mouth, he sat on the bench and bent toward her. The desire in his eyes slammed into her, making it hard for her to breathe. One hand cupped her cheek as he murmured, "Perhaps this is what you miss," and then his lips covered hers, dry and firm and intent. The kiss wasn't gentle, but wild and passionate, turbulent and freeing. His tongue stroked across her lips, strong and vibrant and seeking.
At first she was overwhelmed, but then she responded, just as wildly and passionately. Her arms went around his neck, and her mouth opened and invited his tongue to taste her honeyed depths, meeting him boldly and stroking back eagerly.
"So passionate," he murmured when they came up for air. "Just as I dreamed."
Before she could even think, his lips had swooped down to reclaim hers for another heated kiss. With his hand supporting her back, she reclined slowly on the bench, pulling him down with her. Their exploration of each other's mouths continued, savoring, lingering, memorizing.
She made a slight sound of protest when he lifted his head to say, "And maybe you missed this."
His heated mouth captured a painfully tight nipple, sucking strongly, pulling her breast into his mouth. She moaned, not knowing when he had unbuttoned her bodice, knowing only that he mustn't stop. He nuzzled against her bare skin, his hair falling softly and grazing the sensitive skin of her breast. His fingers rolled and rubbed the neglected nipple, twitching it until it was as tight and hard as its twin.
"I will make you forget him."
She moaned again, both excited by his words and caught in the turbulent sensations coursing through her. He transferred to the other breast, enveloping her nipple with his mouth. He teased the hard nub with stabbing motions of his tongue, causing her to cry out at the intensity, desire pooling between her thighs.
His fingers worked nimbly and dispensed with the buttons all the way down her dress in record time. It was a new fashion created by Madame Beauvoir, and Giselda had worn it that day in an effort to lift her spirits. She'd never imagined that it would pave an easy way for him to access her bare skin, for his lips to dance down her ribs, across her abdomen, teasing at her navel, before burying themselves in the black curls between her thighs, his hot breath toying with her pussy.
She felt ... she didn't know...
She whimpered.
Cool air feathered across her breasts, and she missed the touch of his lips on them. She brought her hands up and played with her nipples as he had a while ago, pinching hard, intensely aware of another fire kindling in her lower body. His hands lifted her buttocks, and she arched into his mouth, willing him to continue the tormenting pleasure. His tongue reached out and licked her. Her breath hitched. He stabbed against her moist recesses, lapping at her juices. Her whimpering cries echoed in her ears. She was aware of something building within her, a strange and tight tension, pressure...
His tongue curled around a hard nub, a place she soon discovered was the center of all her pleasure. He sucked repeatedly, strongly, holding her hips immobile as he continued his ministrations, and splinters of pleasure pierced through her. Her pussy spasmed, and she bucked and arched and writhed in frantic movements against his mouth. She screamed as the sensations overtook her. "Oh, gods!"
Finally, she lay still, complete lethargy invading her muscles. His face was still buried in her pussy, his tongue making soothing swipes among her folds, at her clitoris. She shuddered, a mini-orgasm rippling through her.
Now she knew. She couldn't begin to describe the things she had felt--it was that good--but she now knew what it was that drove men to seek their pleasure between a woman's thighs. Er, but why did he not ... ?
He kissed her thigh, pulling the soft flesh into his mouth and effectively distracting her from her thoughts. Her pussy throbbed. After laying her back down on the bench, he moved until he was sitting beside her upper body. He bent his head, and she tasted her own juices on his lips. Instead of being repulsed, she thrilled to the added dimension of intimacy between them.
"Say my name!" he demanded against her lips.
She moaned and cupped his cheek, loving the rough feel of his skin under her fingertips.
"I want you to know--" His tongue teased the shell of her ear. "--that it's not the gods who are responsible--" His tongue stabbed into her ear, sending streaks of pleasure through her. "--for this, but me. Rodin. Say it!"
)
