Chapter Eight
Rory strode within the enclosure. He spun about only to lift a booted heel and kick the dilapidated door closed. He then gazed into Constantine’s wide eyes. Her lip trembled, yet Rory knew it was with excitement not concern. He moved to the small bed and set her atop it. Before she could mutter any noise his lips captured hers in a hungry dance. Her breath escaped in a small sigh when he finally released her mouth and tongue.
“Oh, please do not stop,” Constantine whimpered.
“You are a most willing victim,” Rory commented.
“I will but show you how willing if you unclothe yourself.”
“I would require your aid dearest. Battle gear is most difficult to remove alone,” Rory informed her.
“’Tis a good thing I prove to be a willing victim. I cannot imagine another’s response to, “I am going to initiate coupling but require your aid to unclothe me first,” Constantine complained.
Rory chuckled then dropped his gauntlets to the floor. His sword was laid near the bed. One by one his adornments hit the hard dirt as more of his tanned body showed. Constantine decided she liked undressing him. She had sorely missed the feel of his powerful body while away. She ran her hands over his solid muscular chest letting her fingers tug gently at his fur. Rory grabbed roughly at the back of her neck, his eyes hot with passion delved deeply into her own. She would almost have been fearful of their intensity if she did not love him so.
“I have told you little one, ’tis my turn,” Rory demanded.
Rory held her with firm hands, she found herself to be unclothed at a greater speed than ever before. He seemed as though possessed with the need of her. She heard the tear of a strip of fabric and shied back surprised when seeing his intent.
Rory captured her mouth with his own and seeing her hesitance, thought to entice her in his play. Never did he want his beloved’s fear. Only her passion would do.
Constantine rubbed at his chest and arms rejoicing in their power and warmth. His heavy weight upon her was the security blanket she had wept for at night while alone at Lord Christopher’s. She only let out a soft complaint when he gathered her wrists together. She wanted to touch him yet sensed his mood. She had been stolen from him. She was his as he was hers. His possession was great. She was his again and he would keep her. She would be bound to him forever. Constantine offered no resistance as her wrists were tied, as his had once been, to a post atop the bed. She trusted him, she wanted him.
Rory whispered gentle words into her ear as his large hands roamed and explored her body everywhere. He trailed sweet hot kisses down her raised arms to her breasts, drawing first one dusty rose colored bud into his mouth then suckling greedily. She moaned louder as he switched to her other bared breast. Fiery hot kisses trailed their way to her belly. He moved his tongue with exaggerated slowness down one slender white thigh and took one lovely shaped foot into his hands and sucked upon each toe, his eyes never breaking contact.
Constantine writhed beneath him. She realized even if not bound she would be his helpless victim. Her want of him was too overpowering. She craved the feel of him.
“Please, Rory,” she begged.
Her softly whimpered plea drove Rory into a frenzied heated state. He lowered himself atop her and plunged deeply. Constantine accepted him, her hips rising to meet his eager thrusts. She moved with him as best she could, yet Rory’s need was far too great for her to keep pace. She gave herself up to him, trusting he would take her to where she wanted to be. She was not disappointed. Rory’s released cry of victory bellowed out and seemed to vibrate upon the walls. He continued to lay atop her slight form not wanting to move away as yet. One large hand curled tangled in her long tresses and he brought a fistful to his nose to breath in her sweet scent. Her breathing remained ragged as she tried to calm from his near frantic pace. Never had he been thus wild, primitive.
“I am at your mercy,” Constantine whispered up to him.
Rory’s hand tightened in her hair possessively as her eyes were a liquid delight with deep passion. His eyes bore into hers with new hunger. His head dipped and Constantine’s now quiet breath quickened. His exploration of her mouth was leisurely as if searching for something he might have once missed. She moaned as his hands began a new quest of her trembling body.
“Do you beg my mercy?” he enquired his tone dipped with headiness.
“Aye, my lord. I beg you take me again,” Constantine whimpered as she near danced beneath him from want.
“Fret not little one. I will indeed be merciful.” Rory claimed her lips, then settled his large body over her.
* * * *
The village was in an uproar. A few homes had been set to flames and the peasants raced madly for buckets of water. One of the hay fields ablaze had been Devon’s first indication serious trouble was at hand. He had been swift to mount his horse, after giving Juliette a stern warning to stay put and raced to offer aid along with any and all remaining people. Shortly after Devon’s departure Juliette sought out a pony and spying a quiet mare she hurried to saddle her. Mary appeared at her side.
“Nay, my lady. ’Tis too dangerous,” Mary cried out, fearful of her intent.
“I must help. There could be women or children who require aid,” Juliette replied, her breath coming fast. Deftly she climbed aboard her mount, her hands twisting in the reins to urge the mount forward adding a squeeze to the mare’s sides with soft slippered feet, and was off before Mary could offer more resistance. Mary watched with mounting terror as Juliette raced toward the fiasco.
When Juliette arrived upon the scene she was horrified as the village seemed engulfed in flames. Devon, she saw, was in the midst of it all and worked as hard as his people to extinguish the fires. It was slow tedious work as their only water supply came from a small lake. Though not overly far it still seemed a great distance as the smoke billowed around them. People were hacking and choking yet continued to move as steadily as was able. Livestock raced about pell-mell . Suddenly a terrifying scream rent the air. Juliette could see a crazed woman being held back as she tried to race into a burning home. The roofs flames danced wildly as though tempting her, taunting, teasing. Juliette was convinced the poor woman had gone mad from fear.
“My baby, my son,” the woman screamed. She continued her assault upon the man who held her, arms outstretched as though reaching in desperation.
Horrified, Juliette realized the reason for the woman’s crazed actions. Her child was trapped inside the structure. A man shot out from the crowd and raced toward the hut, his intentions clear. Juliette screamed crazily. It was Devon. God have mercy, Devon was going to die! Juliette leaped from her mount and raced after him not even knowing what her intent was, only consumed with the thought she must stop him—aid him. A man grabbed her up from behind and Juliette swiftly sent her elbow into his belly. Devon disappeared. Juliette was dropped to the ground at the man’s surprise, she jumped to her feet. Another man captured her arm. Juliette grabbed a hold of his hand and bit down. She must get to Devon before he perished. The man released her on a loud howl. Another man tried to bar her way, his arms up stretched. One solid blow betwixt his thighs had him on the ground and out of her way. Juliette leaped over him. She could now feel the heat of the flames as they intensified. Oh God, where was Devon?
Nearing the inflamed hut Juliette was knocked soundly off her feet in a tackle. The man knew he would likely be punished if he harmed the slight lady, yet he had seen her go through three other men. By God, she really was a berserker! Though he could not in good conscience allow her to die. They hit the ground and rolled as one with Juliette landing beneath him.
“Forgive me, my lady, but...” he never finished his sentence. Two small feet caught him high and hard to his midriff. The man was sent sprawling backward in a tumbling heap.
Up again, Juliette gasped in greedy air, ready to again search for Devon. As she prepared to continue Devon exited the hut with a small bundle clutched to his chest. Soot covered, hair singed, he dropped to his knees and Juliette fled to him fearing the worst. Devon removed the bedding from around the babe.
Remembering his brother’s humorous tale of what had transpired between Constantine and himself upon their wedding’s eve Devon placed his mouth atop the babe’s mouth and nose and puffed. He did this once, twice. The whole while the mother cried tearfully now locked in her husband’s embrace.
Juliette sat beside Devon as she watched amazed as he gave the babe his own life’s breath. A small mewling sound could then be heard. It increased in tempo until triumphantly Devon held the crying babe up for all to see. His mother took her son to her breast. The look she bestowed upon Devon filled with adoration told all she would offer him anything she had so grateful was she. Though she had nothing left to give it mattered not. All who had witnessed the miracle of Devon returning life would be indebted to their lord’s brother forever. They gazed upon him filled with awe.
“Are you all right?” Juliette asked Devon with concern.
Surprised, Devon shot her a look that had her realizing he finally noticed she was there.
“Juliette, what do you here? ’Tis not safe,” he cried. His tremendous concern was apparent and Juliette was momentarily flustered.
“I came to help,” Juliette informed him.
“You will return to the castle at once. You there,” Devon shouted to a man indicating he wanted his aid. The man approached eagerly enough. “Accompany Lady Juliette back to the castle.”
The man looked at him horrified and backed away. “Please, my lord, not that,” he whimpered.
“Come now man, what ails you?” Devon said, quite surprised.
“She has downed four already,” the man said, his fear apparent.
Devon shot a surprised look around him. Sure enough four men looked injured yet not from burns. “Juliette, doest thou battle again?” Devon asked sternly, hands on hips.
Before she could respond a great thundering could be heard in the distance. Dust from the ground could be seen as powerful men approached on horseback. “’Tis his lordship.” Came a cry of relief.
Their army raced into the village and dismounted quickly taking in the seen. The knights raced for buckets and sodden blankets to aid the villagers. The many new strong hands were gratefully accepted and welcomed.
“Lord Devon, what has transpired?” the seasoned knight asked. He watched as all scurried about. With the help of many they quickly had the fire now under control.
“We battle a fire. I have yet to determine how it started. I seek your aid, Desmond. I wish to return Lady Juliette to the castle, will you take charge here?” Devon inquired.
“Of course, my lord,” the man replied with some surprise. He need only command. He took in Devon’s flustered appearance and blamed it on the fire.
“Where is my brother?” Devon asked.
The knight gave a sly smile. “Never fear, my lord. He and the Lady Constantine but tarry. They will arrive—eventually,”
Those who now milled about chuckled. The flames now having burnt down their stress lowered. Devon also chuckled, relieved. He looked to Juliette then with determination and a destination in mind, in one swift motion he had her thrown over one broad shoulder. A cheer went up as he raced with her to his mount. Once astride the powerful destrier with Juliette tucked safely in his embrace Devon spun his horse about and they made for the castle.
“I thought I had made it clear to you that you were to remain behind,” Devon said angrily. “I am also positive you were asked not to terrorize these good people.”
“They would not release me, they kept me away from...” Juliette began, then stopped with embarrassment. What had she thought to do? Save Devon? It was not as though she would have been able to throw him over her shoulder as easily.
“Kept you from whom?” Devon asked, eyes narrowed. Had she been seeking escape to Lord Christopher seeing he was kept occupied elsewhere? Angered, Devon grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at him. His furious gaze frightened Juliette and elicited a shaky reply.
“From you,” Juliette whispered. Devon’s angered look turned to a shocked expression.
“You sought to come to my aid whilst I ran into a burning home?” Devon asked incredulous.
“Yes, my lord,” Juliette said.
Still keeping his hold on her chin Devon gentled his touch. “You could have been injured, or killed. Why would you attempt such a foolish thing?”
“I am unsure,” Juliette whispered while her emotions raged in turmoil. ’Twas no lie. She had no idea why thoughts of his demise would render her daft. The thought of burning shot terror through her very soul, so why on earth...
Devon released her chin and they rode in silence. Juliette was confused. Why had she raced to save him? She found him to be annoying and a bully. Certainly he tried at every encounter to anger her. Yet he was handsome and strong. He feared not that she would swing at him. In fact he found it quite amusing and entertaining. Uncle Emit had warned her men liked not a forceful female. Though Devon discouraged the behavior he seemed to accept it, if grudgingly.
Devon’s own thoughts raced. He would never have imagined anyone besides his brother seeking to save him. Certainly not a tiny wisp of a lass. Why would she even bother? It was not as though she even liked him. She tried desperately to avoid him. On numerous occasions had tried to render him daft. She sought to bleed him with her teeth and his manhood cringed on its own when she became angry. Still, he admitted he enjoyed her company when she was not in a frenzy.
“Are you angry, Devon?” Juliette asked with a quiet voice.
“I am unsure,” he replied. Most certainly he should be. She deliberately disobeyed him. She injured four of his people. His mind returned to the one thought, she had thought to save him.
“What will you do when we return home?” Juliette asked.
“I need to return to the village. Repairs will need to be made, damages assessed. Winter is nipping on our backdoor. ’Tis not a good time to be without shelter,” Devon answered.
Juliette breathed a sigh of relief. She would not like to be locked in a tower or dungeon or even her room to await as if a naughty child for her sister to release her.
Devon heard her expelled breath and smiled devilishly.
“Yet when I return from the village you will be foremost on my agenda,” he told her sternly. Juliette cringed. Good, Devon thought. Let the little hellcat ponder on that for a while.
“Please, do not lock me away, my lord,” Juliette pleaded.
“Why should I not?” Devon enquired somewhat amused, though he had no intention of doing such a thing.
“I will not disobey you again,” Juliette promised.
Devon snorted at that. She had to be the most disobedient female he had ever encountered. Although he remembered vaguely his father had thought the same of Devon’s mother. Devon was startled as the memory passed through his mind. His dear mother was forever encountering his father’s wrath by her disobedience. His father would rail at her insisting she had been pathetically spoiled. His mother was quick to soothe his anger. She tamed him with a gentle touch, quiet words, long engaging looks. It was not long before they would seek their chamber to reconcile. Come to think of it his mother always won. Devon did not want to be controlled by a mere woman. That was most assuredly how his father had frivoled their inheritance away. Not I, he thought, I will endeavor to be stronger.
Juliette became quite concerned with the scowl that now crossed Devon’s face. She wondered if he was pondering a worse fate for her. He would not dare harm her physically. She knew Rory would not like that, he had expressed his distaste in harming women enough. Yet Devon’s features remained unreadable.
“Devon?” Juliette asked.
“You should thank your father for your betrothal to Lord Christopher. If you were my intended I should place your little backside over my knee,” Devon declared.
Juliette recoiled. Really, what had she done that had been so awful? She had only wanted to offer aid. She had only wanted to help him.
“Well fine. If I were your intended I’d put myself over my knee. If someone sets your breeches afire never fear I will most dutifully stay away,” Juliette snapped.
Seeing the outrage on Juliette’s face gave Devon a moment’s pause. He did not understand why he felt so angry. He tried to tell himself it was because he did not want to feel controlled. He admitted he felt terrified when he suddenly encountered Juliette beside him at the fire. He had thought her to be safe, tucked away back at the dwelling. Yet there she had been, as near to the flames as he. What if the babe had never breathed again? She would have been devastated to witness such a tragedy. What if the villagers had not sought to stop her? She could have been killed. Most certainly he would reward any of the men who aided in postponing her entrance to the flaming structure. The thought of her demise terrified Devon, though he knew not why. She was betrothed to another. Perhaps it was just because he was kind. That must be it. He could not stand the thought of the babe dying and now he could not stand the thought of Juliette dying. Relief that he had figured out his strange feelings had Devon smiling once more.
“If I find myself with my breeches suddenly alight I most assuredly would surmise ’twas you who did the deed,” Devon said and chuckled.
“Have no fear, my lord, I have no intentions of setting your drawers to flame. Although I have no doubt one good rub and a popping would douse the heat,” Juliette hissed.
Devon’s eyes widened in surprise. “What mean you ‘popping’?” He had heard Rory refer to that word more than once after his encounter with the two lasses.
“’Tis nothing,” Juliette replied now embarrassed.
“Just what kind of audience did you seek with my brother?” Devon asked, now dying of curiosity.
Juliette would not offer another word. Her mouth clamped shut and Devon had the feeling not even the king himself could garner a response. Interesting.
* * * *
Rory awoke to the feel of a soft small hand gliding down his taut backside. Light still filtered in the open window. It should have been cold, yet Constantine had covered them with the long ermine cloak given to her for her return ride from Lord Christopher. It had seemed Nicholas still felt ashamed for depriving her of warmth on their first trip. Constantine felt positive it had nothing to do with her sudden sadness as they prepared to leave his castle. She had but whimpered she might become chilled that was all.
“You are tired, dearest?” Constantine asked. She ran a soft smooth hand across his stubble jaw line.
“Aye, little one. I slept not whilst you were away. I feared for your wellbeing,” Rory admitted. He captured her tiny hand in his own and turning it he placed a soft kiss within her palm. He then ran his tongue in circles across her small wrist.
“He would not have dared injure me,” Constantine said, her fingers then curled round his own.
“Of this I am certain, no doubt. Else I would have stormed his castle. I felt your father would not betroth your dearest sister to anyone with cruel tendencies. Devon had insisted he had met the man. He assured me he was a likable sort, not one who would harm one so defenseless. Though I beg to differ, him having stolen my wife,” Rory replied.
Constantine chuckled at Rory’s ferocious glare. “Dearest, you in turn stole his very own betrothed.”
“There is a difference,” Rory said, adamant.
“Calm yourself, my love, you must indeed be right. I but tease you,” Constantine said to appease him, his agitation was apparent. Though she did not in fact see the difference.
Rory was aware she was skeptical. “Must I show you why ’tis different?” Rory inquired. His body shifted, his weight more pronounced upon her lithe frame.
Constantine was suddenly impaled with immobility by his fiery stare. Her breath quickened with unanticipated recourse. Rory moved his large body over her. He had released her wrists from the post earlier, now he captured both in a strong hand pinning them above her head gently yet firmly.
“Does thou think your sister Juliette and Lord Christopher do this?” Rory growled.
Rory gripped Constantine’s wrists tighter while his mouth fastened onto hers possessively. His other hand sought one high jutting breast and fondled her. His hand squeezed and kneaded her soft flesh while his thumb rubbed and teased a taut dusky rose colored nipple.
“Nay Rory, I am certain they do not,” Constantine whimpered when he released her lips and she could contain her breath.
“Perhaps they engage in this,” Rory ground out.
His large hand lowered to explore her exquisite firm body. Rory’s hand gripped her tiny waist then continued its teasing trail to her satin hips to traipse across her firm sleek slightly rounded belly. He then roved to her luxurious mound where he played coaxingly only for but a moment before his finger delved and sought entry within her warm silk folds stroking ever higher. Her slight body pressed against him wanting his heat, her very being needing much more. Craving only what he could give her as she panted in want.
“Do you yet insist ’tis the same, my sweet, or should I explain my reasoning further?” Rory demanded.
“Oh yes, my love, please explain further,” Constantine begged, her gasping voice tarried to the brink of near insanity at her want of him.
Rory’s kisses deepened. His hands, once gentle, now claimed her body as his. He released her wrists as his exploration deepened and became more demanding. He wanted to touch all of her, everywhere at once.
“Rory?” Constantine questioned.
“Aye?” he asked throatily.
“What if this is Lord Christopher’s intention? What if he loves my sister and seeks to possess her as you possess me?” Constantine asked, now thoughtful. Though she gloried in the feel of her beloved, she knew it was not the only reason she loved him so. There was so much more of her need and love of him than just simple passion and lust.
Rory paused momentarily. Then in his heart he knew Lord Christopher would seek out Juliette if he did indeed love her. He would gather his men...once purged, and he would demand Juliette’s immediate return. Rory felt certain the only reason he had not as yet was due to the fact he and his men were incapacitated. Once rejuvenated he and his men would most assuredly seek out Juliette. He knew not what to tell his gentle wife. He could not bear her sorrow.
Rory captured her mouth once more. If he could but kiss her he could discontinue the questioning. His tongue traced softly over her teeth, then continued its gentle dance as he strove to distract her.
Constantine had seen his hesitation at answering her question. She liked not his evasive strategy. He was avoiding answering her. ’Twas not good to annoy her. To Rory’s surprise he suddenly found his tongue captured by Constantine’s sharp teeth.
“Eeehh,” he yelped. Rory tried to pull back, but Constantine kept firm her hold. “Op at,” Rory exclaimed. “Yet ohg oh eeh”
“Un un” Constantine replied. Rory lifted his hand to break the contact. Constantine bit down harder.
“Onhanine, eehist,” Rory growled, tears in his eyes at her now vicious grip.
“Ou ell me uth” Constantine demanded.
“Uh?”
“Uth, Ory, uth,” Constantine again demanded, her bite even harder.
“Oh ay, oh ay,” Rory cried.
Constantine released her hold.
“Damnathion Conthantine, that hurths.” Rory hissed while holding his tongue.
“Then answer my question,” Constantine demanded of him.
“I am unsure,” Rory declared, lowering his hand.
“Will he seek out my sister?” Constantine howled out beneath him, angry.
Rory dropped his head down to her shoulder. Sadly, slowly he replied, “Aye. I am sorry, my dearest. If he loves her he will seek her out once he has recovered. His army is larger, if you but ask I will fight to keep her with you.”
Constantine knew Rory spoke the truth. One word from her and he would go to war. His love was so great. Her eyes clouded. She did not want Rory harmed, yet she could not bear her separation from Juliette.
“Please Rory, can you not fix this?” Constantine begged. She was certain it was within her husband’s power to right this terrible wrong done to her and her dear sister.
Rory knew not what to do. Juliette was betrothed. It was a legal and binding agreement. He wanted the sisters to be together, but he had not the wealth to interfere. If he had but all of Lord Campbell’s wealth behind him he most certainly would be able to offer resistance. Though Constantine was the eldest and he would take control of Lord Campbell’s lands on his demise, Lady Juliette had been bestowed with certain wealth of her own. Second daughter or not her father wished for her to be well protected with a substantial dowry. Though Rory hardly doubted Lord Christopher cared for it. Nay, Lord Christopher coveted the beautiful Lady Juliette solely because she was comely and gentle. He was not in need of her wealth.
“Listen to me, little one. I will endeavor to keep you and your dearest sister close. This I swear. I will ask Lord Christopher if you may see each other on a regular regime. We will strive to work something out so that you never feel too lost or alone without one another,” Rory promised.
“Lord Christopher may not agree,” Constantine said.
She herself might have caused the rift that now formed. Most certainly his people would run for cover if he but hinted they were to have a visit from her. She suddenly wondered how Juliette was faring. Had she attempted at retaliation as well? Most certainly she was quite frightened of Rory, Constantine felt positive about that. She had not seen her since the wedding and had not had a chance to explain her feelings of her new husband to her. Most assuredly she needed to explain about popping to her dear sister. Though Lord Christopher would most likely be gentle and considerate on their wedding’s eve, she did not want Juliette to feel the same fear she had.
Constantine lay quietly beneath Rory pondering on what sort of action could be taken if any at all. Noting her concerned expression Rory felt frustrated. Perhaps he could go to her father and explain the situation. He could express his concerns. Rory even wondered if he should seek an audience with Lord Christopher. He knew the man was angry with Constantine, yet he felt certain he could explain her actions. If not perhaps he should just run him through. Rory smiled grimly at that. Though indeed a tempting thought he was certain that repercussions would follow.
“He will not allow us to visit,” Constantine muttered.
Hearing the anguish in her voice Rory cuddled her closer to his chest. “Do not fret my beloved. If it is at all within my power you will see your sister as often as possible.”
“Truly?” Constantine asked him. A tear trailed down the corner of her eye. Rory lifted his thumb and stopped its decent.
“You have my word,” Rory vowed. Most definitely he would make certain of a reunion between the two. Even if it meant he must kidnap Juliette once or twice a year.
“I love you, Rory,” Constantine said on a soft sigh. She wrapped her arms around his neck and strained her lips to his.
Rory pulled back without thought. Constantine gazed up at him quizzically.
“Uh, Constantine? Are you going to bite me again?” he asked with certain embarrassment. Damnation, now another part of her mouth sent certain fear throughout him.
Constantine chuckled. “Perhaps you should teach me another lesson,” she taunted.
Rory dipped his head accepting the challenge. It was not long before Constantine was dancing beneath him in the throes of wild passion. She couldn’t believe she had once sought to escape his touch. His powerful hands roamed her body in a thorough exploration. His lips captured one high jutting breast. Constantine moaned.
“Are you enjoying your lesson?” Rory asked with passion.
“Oh my, yes,” Constantine whispered on a softly expelled breath.
“Would you like to learn more?” Rory asked. His mouth now sought her other breast.
“Yes, please.” She had her hands locked in his mane of hair.
Rory lowered to her belly as his tongue laved her belly button. She pulled on him wanting him over her. He could sense her need was too great for deeper play as of yet. He was in no hurry. There would be time for greater lessons. Rory moved back up enjoying the feel of her. Her sweet scent. The way she loosed her grip on his hair to tug at his arms eagerly. As if one so small could ever hope pull him.
Rory stopped suddenly poised over top of her. His organ pressing, straining to plunge within her warmth.
“Please, Rory, my love,” Constantine said, straining her hips to encourage him to enter.
“Just how did you and Juliette manage to get me to the bed in the hut?” Rory asked suddenly, he remembered vaguely he had been felled near the door.
Surprised, Constantine looked up at him. “Can it not wait?” she demanded exasperated. Drat the man. He was always seeking revenge against her actions at the most inopportune moments.
“No, I wish to hear it now,” Rory said and entered his tip into her.
Constantine groaned. “Please,” she begged once more.
“Uh, uh,” Rory said, his tone taunting.
“We rolled you,” Constantine cried out.
Rory’s eyes raised at that. Well that was rather undignified. Though it would explain why his clothing had been so dirty and rumpled. It was also very smart. They couldn’t have lifted him.
“How was I placed upon the bed?” Rory enquired and pushed deeper still.
Constantine groaned. “Have mercy, Rory, I beg you.”
“How?” he asked again, while one large hand fondled her breast.
“We lifted a leg together, then another. Then when Juliette fell beneath you...”
“Juliette fell beneath me?” he enquired surprised. Poor thing, it was no wonder she feared him. He weighed as much as a horse, Rory thought and chuckled.
“’Tis no laughing matter. You all but crushed her. I felt terrified and pulled you off,”
Constantine said with annoyance.
“You pulled me off?” Rory asked amazed. Her love of her sister was great to attain such a feat.
“Please, Rory,” Constantine said and struggled almost wildly beneath him. Not to get away but to get to him.
Rory plunged further. Her body closed around him. Rory rocked with exaggerated slowness within her. He removed himself and slid gently back inside.
“I do not like to be bitten,” Rory informed her.
“I do not like my questions avoided,” Constantine countered.
“You must never bite me again,” Rory said.
“I will not...if you do not avoid my questions,” Constantine rebuffed.
“We seem to have reached a stalemate,” Rory said thoughtfully.
“Perhaps we could discuss this at a later time,” Constantine suggested, her teeth gritted.
“You are indeed a smart little vixen,” Rory conceded.
Beginning to feel his own need increase Rory decided that perhaps it would be best to discuss this later. Constantine was thrusting herself up against him again being his most willing victim. Who was he to deny her the mercy she sought. He would be a most heartless brute. Rory gave in to his own pleasure. Damnation he had missed her.