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“Does it hurt?” He pulls back. His fingers open the folds of my sex.
“It’s fine,” I breathe out.
“It’s red and swollen.” He pulls back more. No, he’s going to leave. Panic starts to rise in me. I press my lips together firmly so that I don’t beg him to stay. All the while he keeps on inspecting me. “I’ll make it better,” he says before his mouth descends onto me.
Bjornsson’s tongue goes for my clit. He still has me spread open with his fingers. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. I’m not sure how much more I can take. My hips start to buck. How can I be about to come again? Bjornsson keeps his attention focused on my clit. When he gives it a small bite, that’s the last straw. I’m done for.
I cry out his name as the orgasm lights up my body. What is this man doing to me? My legs shake, black spots dancing in my eyes. Who knew an orgasm could be so good? I’m ruined. I’ve never been able to do that, and it’s my body.
“Stop!.” Bjornsson’s growled words pull me back to the moment. My orgasm is fading, but my whole body is still sensitive. My eyes fly open, and I start to sit up. Bjornsson is standing in front of me. If there is someone close, I can’t see them from this angle, and Bjornsson is blocking my line of sight.
He turns around a second later. Whoever it was didn’t say a word, but if I had to guess, I would say it was Lars. I scramble to put my clothes on and suddenly feel extremely vulnerable.
“Angel.” Bjornsson says my name softly. I glance over to him after I get my top back on. “No one saw you.” He’s treating me like a spooked animal that’s about to run. And that’s exactly what I’m trying to do.
“I know.” I finish dressing. “I should go.”
“You’re not leaving.” Now it’s me that’s getting growled at.
“I just want to go to my room. I’m tired.” Not really. What I am is freaking out. So many emotions are flooding me. It’s all so intense. I don’t know why fear is at the top of the list.
Bjornsson audibly swallows but steps aside to let me by. I can’t meet his eyes, but I do get one last look at the blood on his collar before I quickly make my departure out of the garden and then past Lars. I keep my head down. I’m sure I’m cherry red.
It’s not until my bedroom that I take a full breath. What is wrong with me? I wanted that. Hell, I need more, but when the desire was swept away by reality, fear took its place.
Not that Bjornsson would physically hurt me, but I know he can never be mine. Our time together would eventually end. And that could end me too.
CHAPTER13
BJORNSSON
“The Bishop is here,”Lars says after Angel disappears from our view. It irks me that he saw her at all in this state, but I can’t kill Lars for doing his job. He falls in step beside me as I walk toward the main house.
“Did I miss a notice?” I’d been distracted by Angel, but I didn’t think I had been that lost.
“No.”
At the entry of the arched walkway that runs along all four sides of the courtyard, an attendant comes forward with a basin of warm water. A soft white towel is draped over his arm. Another reason why I can’t kill Lars for looking at Angel. He’s too efficient. I dip my hands in the water and rinse off Angel’s scent. After I wipe my hands, the attendant turns to leave. I stop him and lift the bowl out of his hands and fling the water into the nearby bushes. The attendant’s eyes widen, but he’s too well-trained to question me.
Lars steps forward and takes the towel from the attendant. “I’ll burn this.”
He understands. She belongs to me, in every way, and nothing that touches her skin should be allowed to exist beyond my reach.
“There’s blood on your collar. Should I dispose of that too?” He reaches out a hand. I stop him before he can make contact.
“No. I’ll take care of it.”
“The Bishop may be concerned if he sees it.”
I arch an eyebrow. “The Bishop is spending a lot of time in my territory, telling me what to do. I don’t think I like that. Do you, Lars?”
His jaw tightens. “I don’t, but the Church is powerful.”
“Even Rome fell.” I remove the stained collar and tuck it carefully in my pocket. “Let’s go see what the Bishop has to say.”
The old man scowls when I arrive in the receiving room. In his hand is a nearly empty Baccarat crystal glass. Only a fingerful of whiskey remains.
“You’ve kept me waiting too long, Bjornsson, and why are your vestments out of order?”
