Wicked Whispers Read online

  She’d been searching for him before realizing he existed, finding him at last, and now worried about how long they’d be together or if anyone had a right to the happiness they knew. Dread swept through her with such force, she clutched his upper arms.

  He pulled his mouth free. His hair hung over his forehead, his forelock hidden within the other locks. “You have no need to fear this. There will be some discomfort, but it will pass quickly.”

  Moved by his concern, she ran her thumb over his bristly chin. “I fear nothing from you. Fill me, please. Keep me from loneliness and sorrow.”

  “Always. What good am I if I cannot do something so simple?”

  She loved his boasts and teasing. “Then why do you wait?” She feigned confusion. “You are aware of what to do with a woman, no?”

  He arched one eyebrow at her impertinent question. “We shall see.”

  “Seeing is not what I seek. I want you within me.”

  “As you wish.” He lifted his shaft and ran the crown down her cleft. Warmth settled in her cheeks, throat, and chest, born of excitement, not shame. She pitied women who found this act indecent or loathsome. If they had loved the men they were with, those women would have forbidden nothing, wanting what she did now. A thick, hard shaft inside her, filling her emptiness, making her whole.

  Returning her smile, he eased the tip of his member into her opening, the pressure unusual and arousing.

  With his shoulders bunched and face reddened, he panted as one would after running a league or more. “Are you ready for me?”

  For a lifetime. “I love you.”

  Yearning, tenderness, lust radiated from him. He entered her in one hard thrust, breaking through her virginal barrier.

  A sharp sting cut through her.

  He sank down, propping himself on his elbows. “Are you all right?”

  She was better than that, the discomfort unimportant, the width and length of his shaft stretching her sheath, demanding she accommodate his size. How could she ever do anything less? “Although you filled me near to bursting, I believe I will live.”

  He laughed. “I still have a bit to go.”

  “Proceed, please.”

  “Are you certain?”

  She lifted her hips, eager to have all of him inside her.

  Taking over, he plunged deeper until their bodies touched, his throat bobbing with his swallow.

  She snatched a breath and tightened her inner muscles around him, squeezing his shaft as her hand would. Perhaps better, given his sharp intake of air.

  “No—stop.” He groaned. “I need a moment.”

  Of course he did. Isabella had told her what to expect when a woman lay with a man. Again, her words had proven true. “Forgive me.”

  “No need.” He cleared his throat. “Shall we continue?” He stroked her nub.

  She moaned brazenly. He pumped. The easy slide of his shaft within her sheath fed her passion. Her channel was glutted, achy with unrelieved desire.

  Rather than seek his own relief, he measured his thrusts and strokes, working her with skill and love. She yielded, a curious combination of arousal and surrender filling her, leaving her fully vulnerable to him.

  He quickened his pace. The bedframe groaned with his powerful thrusts, his sac tapping her buttocks each time their bodies came together. The faint smack of skin against skin the most glorious sound she’d ever heard.

  He brushed her nub quicker, harder, forcing her toward the peak.

  No. She needed to hold onto these enchanting moments as long as she could, sensing he also battled release. Perspiration dampened his chest and throat, his complexion darkened, features grew strained. He seemed caught between rapture and agony with her the cause.

  She’d never been as proud or had dreamed a man could want her this much. He loved her even after all she’d put him through, and what they had yet to face. She prayed they’d find more good than bad in their future, wanting nothing more than to bring him happiness.

  To that end, she squeezed her inner muscles around his shaft. He trembled then growled, growing more intent in his determination to delight her.

  The wonder of his thrusts was soon more than she could resist, his strokes on her nub as needed as air, food, water. She tensed at the carnal storm swirling within her, the pleasure so extraordinary it had nowhere to go and needed to break free. She fought the end helplessly, crying her release, unmindful of who might hear. Her only concern was the glory of his heat, scent, strength, so many emotions and feelings pummeling her she was too weak to move, her channel pulsing around his shaft.

  His member was still hard, thicker than she recalled, straining against the walls of her sheath. He hadn’t peaked as she had. With a tight smile, he thrust again.

  * * * *

  She was his at last, which made him want her still more, his shaft inside of her for hours, days, months at a time. He never wanted to separate himself from her. Her channel was deliciously hot, smooth and damp, giving his member a home, a safe harbor he could always count on.

  She loved him.

  He wanted to roar with joy but could barely draw a full breath. Sweat ran into his eyes, the sting not nearly as bad as the dull ache in his sac and shaft, his sex begging for relief.

  He ignored his desires, his mind and soul needing the act to continue indefinitely until he’d had enough of her.

  He never would.

  His fierce kisses had bruised her lips, leaving them puffy and red. A deep flush colored her face and throat. She seemed unable to keep her lids open for long, though she didn’t sleep. She stroked his arms lightly, speaking with touch rather than words.

  Nothing she could say would make this moment more singular, a slice of paradise he would fight to keep. No one would ever take her from him.

  Battling his overwhelming need, he thrust faster and stroked her nub once more.

  A wail burst from her. “No. You must stop.”

  He panted. “Before I have my due?”

  “No. Yes. I mean—are you trying to kill me?”

  He grinned at her using his earlier words, and then he struggled for more air. “If I am, what a pleasant way to die, no?”

  “No.” She pushed his hand away.

  He touched her nub again. “You must take the bad with the good.”

  She stopped turning her head from side to side. “How right you are.” She tightened her sheath around his shaft, her movements timed so she was at her narrowest as he nearly pulled out of her before he thrust back inside.

  His head fell forward. The friction between them was more than even he could bear. He ground his teeth so hard they hurt. “Stop. No more of what you do.”

  “As you wish.” She reached down and cupped his sac.

  He gasped and shoved her hand from him. Again, she tightened her channel around his member.

  He gave up, unable to tame her. “Do what you must.”

  “I am.” She worked her muscles around his shaft and ran her fingertips over his sac.

  Every part of him shrieked for relief. He fought the release he had to have and rubbed her nub once more.

  She cried wantonly.

  He pumped for all he was worth.

  She tumbled over the edge and moaned with abandon, forgetting to torment him in return.

  He was past control. The snugness of her sheath, inner warmth, and loving touch had already done him in. On a wild cry, he pushed into her a final time. His arms and legs tensed, then trembled with the force of his delight.

  The room whirled.

  Too dizzy and weak to catch up, he sagged down and held onto to her as she did with him. Their chests bumped on each ragged breath.

  She kissed his cheek and ear. “Will you live?”

  He laughed faintly. “Will you?”

  “For a second, I thought I had died. Everything went white, black, and white again.”

  He rested his forehead on her shoulder, savori
ng her fragrance. She smelled of sweet flowers, him, sex, love. “Sounds as though you were blinking, no?”

  She slapped his arm.

  “Have it your way. You were doing something other than blinking?”

  “Be serious.” She kissed the part she’d smacked. “I was trying to praise you for performing so well.”

  As though he could ever do anything less. With what little strength he had left, he pushed to his elbows and looked at her. “Did Isabella say these moments would be otherwise?”

  Had she boasted about Fernando’s endurance? Surely, his brother’s stamina wasn’t as great as his own.

  “No.” She brushed his hair off his forehead. “I intend to tell her how wonderful you are whenever you take me. I plan to make her quite jealous.”

  Laughter bubbled in his throat, followed by tenderness so deep, his eyes stung. “You are a wonder.”

  “I am a woman now. Gracias.”

  Grinning, he rolled them over until she was on top with his shaft still inside her channel. She molded to him without pause, her weight a wonderful burden, their forms fitting perfectly.

  She ran her fingertip around his nipple. “Will you sleep now?”

  He wanted nothing more than to take her again. Sensing she wanted to talk, he shook his head and stifled a yawn. “Would you like to discuss our plans?”

  “In part, though something else too.”

  “Which first?”

  “Our plans. Will we wed tomorrow? That is, today?”

  “As soon as I send word to Pedro, Tomás, and Dominico. None is too far from here. By this evening, you and I will be husband and wife. Can you withstand the wait?”

  She stopped licking his nipple to bite the flat disk instead.

  He yelped. “Now you draw blood?”

  “I barely touched you. Will you be able to endure the time before you can wed me?”

  “You know I cannot.” He squeezed her buttocks. “Any other questions concerning my desire for you?”

  “No. I trust I have your heart. Who do you think started the rumors about me? Do you think it was the sacerdote who wed Fernando and Isabella?”

  “Why would he have anything against you?”

  “He was at the convent when I was healing Fernando. I made certain he never saw anything I did, but he seemed surprised, maybe suspicious, when Fernando survived.”

  Enrique frowned. “Why would he have wanted my brother to die?”

  “He anointed him in preparation for death. Fernando’s return to good health disproved what the sacerdote had expected. He was already angry with Isabella for lying about the betrothal and tricking everyone. After thinking on the matter, he might have come to believe I had done the work of the Devil in saving Fernando.”

  “You said the sacerdote had no idea what you did.”

  “Does it matter? During my time with Fernando, he grew better.”

  He considered her suspicions and shook his head. “The priest hardly thinks of anything except his next meal. He had no problem railing at Isabella. If he thought you had done anything wrong, he would have told you. Starting rumors takes cunning and cowardice. Luscinda is probably behind this.”

  Sancha pushed off him.

  He caught her wrist before she could move too far away. “If I thought mentioning her would make you leave me, I would have kept my tongue.”

  “This is no time to make light of matters. Why would she hate me so much to start rumors about—oh no, she wants you.”

  “She wants what my position and wealth can give her. You, and my contempt, stand in the way.” He shrugged. “My feelings are the least of her worries.”

  “Do you think she knew I was the one with you that morning?”

  “For certain? No. However, she did see how I looked at you at the gathering. Any fool would know I wanted you.” He pushed up. “I am so sorry. This is my fault. I should never have spoken to her as sharply as I did. If I had only—”

  “Shhh.” She placed her fingers on his lips. “How were you to know what she might do? We have no proof she was the one.”

  He recalled Luscinda’s fury and wouldn’t have put murder past her to get what she wanted. “If she was, our union will prove her rumors wrong about you hating marriage, men, and anyone but the Devil.” He left the bed.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need to compose my missives to Tomás and Dominico for my servants to deliver.” Although tired, he pulled on his braies and hose, determined to set things straight so he and Sancha could begin their union in joy not fear. “The sooner my friend and brothers arrive, the faster we can put this behind us.” With his shirt, belt, and shoes in hand, he kissed her deeply. “Sleep. I promise to give you no rest once we wed.”

  She smiled. “I would hope not.”

  * * * *

  Enrique made fast work of his letters, his words cryptic enough not to feed old rumors or start new ones should the missives fall into the wrong hands. He’d simply told the truth about his love for Sancha and their desire to wed immediately, without fanfare. Given the raid at the village, who knew what danger guests would face if they came to his castle for a celebration? The Moors might slaughter them all.

  Satisfied with what he’d written, he sent two servants to deliver the items. After telling his cook to prepare for three more guests during the main meal, he caught up with Hortensia.

  “I have news.”

  She nodded patiently but still seemed alarmed.

  She’d yet to forget the constant trouble he’d given her as a boy. Hopefully, she’d find this newest disclosure more pleasant. “Tonight, I wed.”

  Her expression brightened. “About time—if I may say so.”

  He laughed. “You already have.”

  “Señorita Doña Sancha is lovely. You are wedding her, no?”

  “Who else?”

  Hortensia hugged him. “I am so happy for you.”

  “Take care to keep the other servants out of her study room.”

  “I always will.”

  He hugged her with gratitude and left to check on Sancha.

  She’d brought Rosa to bed with her. The galgo explored the tangled linens, pillows, and counterpane. Sancha lay on her side asleep, hands to her heart as though in prayer, pleading that no one would harm them with the rumors.

  Torn between sorrow and anger, he finally sighed. If he’d had proof Luscinda was the one who’d gossiped, he would have seen her pay in a moment. Without evidence, he’d only make matters worse by confronting her. Who knew what she’d do then?

  After gathering fresh clothes, he closed the chamber door and chose another room to prepare for his wedding.

  * * * *

  Dominico arrived first, shortly after sunset. He was more rawboned than Enrique recalled, nothing but arms and legs, his lanky body swallowed by the drab robe of his order.

  “Look at you.” Enrique’s sweeping gesture took in all of the man. “Has the Church stopped feeding its priests?”

  “I stopped eating. Their food is terrible.” He smiled. “I hope to get better fare tonight.”

  “My cook will stuff you until you burst. She loves to take in strays.”

  “Is she comely too? If so, I may fall in love with her.”

  Laughing, Enrique embraced his friend, both trying to outdo each other on how hard they squeezed.

  “Enough.” Dominico pulled away. “Tell me about this woman you want to wed. Is she very beautiful?”

  “Should a man in your position be asking such a crude thing?”

  “Surely not, if the poor girl is plain. Knowing you, my guess is she makes every other woman ugly in comparison.”

  And then some. “Come to my study.” Enrique glanced around the entrance hall, making certain the servants weren’t nearby. “We can talk there.”

  “How serious you become.” Dominico frowned. “Is something the matter?”

  “Not at all.” He forced
a smile. “There are chairs and wine in my study. None out here.”

  Once inside the room, he closed the door and turned to his friend. “I need your promise never to repeat what I tell you.”

  “You want to make a confession?”

  “I want information. Sit. Please.” He gestured to a leather chair, its wood engraved with his coat of arms. “I shall have your wine in a moment.”

  He filled a goblet, gave it to Dominico, then sat across from him. “Have you heard what the Inquisition is doing in this area? Who they might be targeting?”

  Dominico finished his sip and lowered his goblet. “I only hear what others do. My work is different than the tribunal’s.”

  “Have you heard rumors about the inquisitors focusing on a young noblewoman? The daughter of a grandee and duke.”

  Dominico lifted his eyebrows, a light brown shade, the same as his hair. “No. Have you?”

  “Would I be asking you if I had? Have you heard the nobles discussing this?”

  “This what? The girl? Why are you being so secretive? Who is she?”

  Enrique hesitated a moment then relented. He had no other choice. “The woman I speak of is the one I plan to wed tonight. Sancha Lopéz de Lara.” He huddled near, telling Dominico about the encounter with Luscinda, her jealousy and threat, the subsequent rumors.

  Finished, he gripped the arms of his chair. “Will the Church take this talk seriously?”

  “How can they? Granted, the Church is suspicious of unmarried women who refuse to wed and bear children as nature intended. Tonight Sancha will be yours. Nine months from now, she will surely bear your son.”

  He expelled the breath he’d been holding and sagged into his chair. “Gracias.”

  “For what? Telling you what you already know?” Dominico regarded him closely. “Is there something about Sancha you have yet to reveal?”

  Chapter 10

  Cautious of questions from a priest, Sancha waited until the last possible moment to meet Dominico.

  The second she entered Enrique’s study, unannounced, both men pushed to their feet. She closed the door, clearly not planning to leave. Not the best behavior for a soon-to-be wife, but she hardly cared about custom. She feared for her and Enrique’s future.