Page 73 of Her Baseborn Bridegroom

He swore, low and dirty.

No, that couldn’t be right, thought Linnet, narrowing her eyes. When he did it to her he took her all the way to rapture.

“Just—oh fuck, put me in your mouth,” he gritted out.

In her mouth? Linnet’s expression cleared. Hmm, that did make sense if it was mimicking the act. She opened her mouth around the tip and engulfed as much as she could. He was moaning now and shifting his hips.

“Just . . . breathe through your nose,” he told her raspily as his hips settled into softly undulating against her. Suddenly, he hissed through his teeth. “Stop, stop now,” he gasped out. “If you don’t—”

Linnet sucked in a breath to ask if that was really what he wanted, forgetting that her mouth was full of him and that she couldn’t speak anyway, and suddenly he was roaring and her mouth was even fuller as he swelled against the roof of her mouth and pulsed against her tongue and her mouth was flooded. She gave an astonished exclamation, swallowed and found her mouth filling up again.

Mason groaned, releasing his grip on her head and rubbing his thumb down her throat gently until she swallowed again and he groaned even louder. “Linnet . . . ”

Yes, this was right, she thought. He was spending his seed. She remembered how previously he had licked and suckled her through the aftershocks of her own bliss and settled more comfortably between his legs to do the same. Encircling his shaft with one hand, she gently squeezed his ballocks with her other. With a muffled curse, his hands lifted away from her completely to brace against the headboard as he continued to rock his hips into her as she took everything he had.

Linnet stayed where she was until he lay still and limp. It was as she was tucking the sheets in about his waist that she heard his gentle snore and realized he had dropped off to sleep again. Hiding a smile, she slipped from the bed and quickly washed in the cold water in the basin. Half a cup of red wine was on the chest of drawers so she had a few sips of that and slipped back into her nightgown. She thought briefly about joining him back in the bed but what if he woke again? It would probably be easier for his hangover on the morrow if he slept soundly now until morning. She slipped out from the room into the Vawdrey’s sitting area by the fire and waited for Oswald to emerge from his room to take her back to Lady Doverdale’s quarters.

XXVII

Mason woke suddenly in the early hours, disoriented and looking for Linnet. Then he remembered he was at Caer-Lyonnes and awaiting an audience with the King. He leant up on his elbow, reaching for water to drink. His mouth felt dry. He remembered drinking heavily but not going to bed. And then . . . apparently he’d had an extremely erotic dream about his wife. An extremely vivid dream. His cock still felt pretty happy about it. He looked down at his bedsheets with misgiving, but instead of a tangled mess they were neat and tidy. Then he noticed something else. A sliver of red material. He pulled the end and held aloft a length of thin red ribbon. He knew that ribbon. Linnet used it to keep his signet ring on her finger. He flung back the covers and ran his hand over the sheets until he found it. His ring. The cracked black stone with the Vawdrey panther carved on it. He stared at it. She had been here! And she had lost her wedding ring. He slipped it onto his finger distractedly before rising from the bed. And it hadn’t been a dream after all. Pulling on a robe he walked through to the sitting room where Oswald was pouring over some documents.

Mason cleared his throat.

“Feeling better?” his brother asked, glancing up and turning a page.

“Linnet was here,” said Mason flatly, ignoring the question.

Oswald gave a small smile. “Was she?”

Mason frowned at him. “You know she was, you smug bastard.” He flung himself down into a chair. “What are you looking at?”

“Linnet’s version of the Sir Maurency tales.” He looked up again. “Did you read them to the end?”

“I read as much as I could stomach.”

“Which means no,” said his brother drily. “I think you should take a look at the last five pages.”

“Why?”

“Maurency seems to be undergoing a remarkable and somewhat undesirable transformation.”

“What?”

“He’s changed hair color, put on some muscle and now seems to be cracking skulls rather than saying his prayers.”

Mason rose and rounded the table.

“In short, it looks like Linnet’s ideal hero might be turning into you.”

Mason’s eyebrows shot up as he studied the illustration. “That’s not Maurency,” he objected.

“On the contrary, look at his shield and insignia.”

Mason pursed his lips. “Very well, that is Maurency,” he conceded, taking the page with him back over to the fire to study it. “He looks improved, but I still don’t like him.”

“He’s you, you fool,” responded Oswald scathingly. “Congratulations. You’ve turned the most chivalrous knight of yore into the Despoiler of Demoyne. Maybe Linnet could write up your tales.” When Mason didn’t respond, Oswald looked across at him. “Good grief, are you blushing?”

“Of course not,” Mason scoffed. He just felt a little warm, that was all.