Mary Wine - Improper Seduction

Curan pulled her close, so that she was pressed tightly against his chest. The position increased the amount of friction each thrust applied to her clitoris, drawing another cry from her lips. She shivered violently, taking control of raising herself up and pushing her body back down as well.

“That’s it, my sweet.”

The water was sloshing onto the floor, and she did not care. The wool of her dress was wet and scratchy against her skin, but his body was warm and smooth between her thighs. She clasped him tighter, rising and falling faster. His hands gripped her firmly, and she heard his breathing growing husky. His cock felt harder and larger with each downward plunge.

“Look at me, Bridget.”

His voice was raspy and low. She raised her eyes to stare into his, instantly hypnotized by the burning desire she witnessed there.

“You are mine.”

He surged up into her with his words, pushing harder while his hands tightened. His motions became frantic, but he clenched his jaw, holding back his own release while watching her face.

She couldn’t hold back the pleasure any longer; a harsh cry hit the ceiling as joy ripped through her. Curan continued to thrust in short, hard motions until she felt his seed erupting inside her. It was hot and touched off another little explosion of pleasure deep inside her belly. Her thighs clamped harder around his hips in an effort to keep his offering deep inside her. It was pure instinct, like the impulse to curl her hips toward him when he was thrusting into her. Little things that she had never known she craved until Curan touched her.

He clasped her tightly against him, his hands smoothing over her back while the water became placid once more. Bridget wasn’t interested in moving; she felt more content than ever with his scent filling her senses and his warm skin against her cheek.

In the next instant movement caught her attention, and her husband jerked as the two maids appeared and dropped a curtsy before departing.

“That should reach the chancellor’s ears before you finish stripping off your wet clothing.”

“Curan.”

She slapped at his chest but misjudged where the water level was and ended up hitting its surface. Water splashed up into his face, earning her a mocking grin.

“I admit that I enjoyed that part of making my case quite a bit.”

She gasped and tried to climb off him. Her wet dress made it nearly impossible to rise, the water-soaked fabric weighing quite a bit more than she was accustomed to. “You speak shamefully. It will serve you right if a bishop arrives to have you taken to the stocks for an hour of shame.”

He hooked her beneath her arms and lifted her out of the tub. Water rained down on the stone floor tiles, filling the chamber with the sound of rain when there was none.

“I speak the hard truth needed to end this dishonorable business.”

He reached for the toweling and began drying himself. “It is time I sought out your father. There are words we need to have with each other.”

“I agree.”

His hands froze, and he looked up to meet her eyes. Tenderness was shining in his eyes, by far the most beautiful sight she had ever beheld. He reached out and curled an arm around her waist. She wasn’t sure if he moved to her or if he pulled her against his body. Truly she did not care. All that mattered was the kiss he pressed against her lips. Soft and full of tender emotions, the caress was sweet, too sweet for words.

“You do not know how much I enjoy hearing such words from your lips, Bridget. I feel as though I have longed for them for two lifetimes.”

The approach of the chancellor was heard before a hand pounded on the door. Curan’s body tensed, and in a flash Bridget was behind him. The men escorting Wriothesley did not wait for permission to open the door. A quick pounding preceded both doors being yanked open so fast the iron hinges groaned.

“Unhand her at once, Lord Ryppon.”

Chancellor Wriothesley strode forward without hesitation. Another man strode close on his heels, who could be no other but Lord Oswald. The chancellor was richly dressed with a large coat sewn with a wide fur collar. His chain of office was tied carefully in place at each shoulder so that the medallion with St. George slaying the dragon hung directly over his heart. The man aimed a narrow-eyed look at Curan, raking over him and even stopping at his cock for a moment.

Curan didn’t flinch. He stood tall and straight, refusing to be intimidated.

“Good afternoon, my Lord Chancellor. You will have to pardon my lack of clothing. We are very newly arrived and newly wed. You must be Lord Oswald.”

“I shall not pardon it. The girl is not yours.”

It was Lord Oswald who fired the accusation at Curan, but the chancellor sent his hand cutting through the air to silence the man. He shut his mouth instantly, sickening her. What a dog. He was everything Curan was not. A sniveling coward who waited for scraps to be tossed to him by his master. The man sported a soft, round belly that further confirmed just how much he liked to pamper himself.

“Not mine? Bridget is very much mine, sir. We took the church’s blessing three years ago. Henry was there.”

Curan sounded mocking and arrogant. More than one of the guards’ lips twitched in response. The guards held their position, yet it was clear that they did not respect the men they were escorting. Curan reached behind him and patted Bridget’s bottom. She gasped at the boldness of the action.

“Had you arrived a few moments earlier, you would have witnessed exactly how much she is mine.” Curan stepped over to where his pants were and pulled them on, still without any outward sign that he was embarrassed to be seen nude. “But your informants had yet to leave, hadn’t they? I believe they remained until we finished, so I will trust that they told you that Bridget is, in fact, very much my wife.” Curan aimed a look at the two maids who were now lingering behind Lord Oswald.

Lord Oswald turned red. He pressed his lips together and sputtered. “You had no right to touch her.”

Curan shrugged into his shirt. “I could not disagree more, gentlemen. I had the blessing of the church and the seal from her father’s ring to confirm that I had every right to plant my seed in her belly.”

Bridget gasped again, the blunt comments shocking her. Curan turned and offered her only a softened look before he pointed to the bedchamber.

“Perhaps you should see if those maids know how to do anything save carry information.” He shrugged, clearly uncaring. “At least change your dress, wife. It is wet.”

Bridget lowered herself before quitting the room. She discovered that her legs were shaking by the time she made it to the bedchamber. There was a snap from her husband’s fingers, and she heard the maids following her. For all of Curan’s valor, the chancellor was a powerful man.

“Make way for the king!”

More footfalls echoed around the outer chamber. Bridget peeked out of the open door and felt her eyes go wide. Henry Tudor arrived wearing a coat that was far richer than the chancellor’s. He was a large man who limped a little. Everyone lowered themselves, and his escort placed a chair behind him when he stopped.

“My leg pains me these days.” He sounded gruff and frustrated by the toll age was extracting on his body, but sank down into the chair, stretching his leg out with a soft intake of breath to betray how painful it was.

“Hurry, miss, they will be calling for you shortly.”

The two maids pulled her away from the door, reaching for her wet dress with quick hands.

Calling for me …

That was exactly what she dreaded. Tension twisted through her, but she was not afraid. Suddenly, she felt determination rising up inside her so strongly she understood why her husband was willing to behave so lowly and fondle her bottom in front of others. The reason was, when dealing with men of low quality, you had to make your argument in a fashion they would understand. Chancellor Wriothesley was a man driven by his own greed for power. He would never hear any argument that pitted honor against gaining what he desired.