face. “It wasn't what I expected."
"Hmm.” He leaned down and kissed her, taking his time, savoring her taste and the feel of her in his arms. His mouth traced a path to her ear and he asked in a low whisper, “What did you expect?"
"I don't know. Not ... that."
She'd climaxed. He'd felt it, heard it, triumphed in it. The ripple of her inner muscles around his cock made him go straight over the edge with her. “Apparently you doubted my word it would be like nothing you've ever experienced.” He teased the delicate junction of neck and shoulder with his tongue. “Shall I show you again?"
"I don't think we should, I mean..."
"Let me convince you. After all, the damage is done, sweetheart."
He began to move, his erection returning in record speed, never having really faded even after that explosive orgasm. Slowly he slid backwards and thrust into her wet, tight heat, hearing every moan, every pant, every feminine sigh with pure male satisfaction, with acute sexual hunger, with the feeling his life had changed forever...
* * * *
Stark moonlight poured over the bed. Carlos sat up, gasping and disoriented, a light sweat on his skin. The French doors to the balcony outside his bedroom were open and the night breeze moved with a low sigh.
Jesus, he was hard as a rock, his erection making an embarrassing tent in the blankets, like he was some adolescent boy and not a grown man.
All because Juliet was in the same house, asleep only a few doors down, pale and gold in the filmy light, as untouchable as if she resided on the brilliant moon in the velvet night sky.
She hated him. Even though she'd told him as much the day he'd left four years before, he hadn't believed it. But truth be told, he was starting to think it was true.
Of course, what gave it away, you damned fool? The fact she told you flat out, the unread letters you poured your soul into, or is it because she's engaged to another man?
It was ironic to think this was his reward for four years of deprivation. Of battle after bloody battle, of seeing horror he'd never imagined existed, of sacrificing every waking moment to a cause he knew was worthy, was honorable, yet one she didn't understand at all.
Both his countries—Spain and England—had needed him.
The price was that now Juliet did not.
Bloody fucking hell.
He lay back down against the pillows, staring blankly at the ceiling. No matter what she'd said, he'd expected her to wait. What a selfish ass. What an arrogant idiot.
At least it had been a good dream. Not that he would go back to sleep anytime soon. With a sigh he got out of bed and pulled on his breeches, wandering out onto the long balcony to take in a lungful of night air. Still half-erect, his cock bulged against the material so he adjusted it with a grimace, and then leaned against the balustrade, looking out over the gardens in abstract contemplation.
It was a beautiful night with only a velvet breeze and the muted sound of insects in the trees.
England was a world away from Spain, so lush, green and fertile, though he also loved the rocky slopes and picturesque valleys of his homeland. He could almost smell the bivouac campfires, hear the sound of distant cannon fire, taste the half-boiled weak tea he was grateful to have at all.
The music also, the plaintive melodies of a people besieged but not conquered, ballads of war, of pain, of lost love...
Very softly, he began to sing,
" Fare thee well, sweet maiden
Off to war I go
I will think of thee in these cold nights
Sweet maiden, fare thee well. "
" So long I loved
So long you have known
Our dance as old time
You've taken the hand of another now
Sweet maiden, fare thee well. "
There was more, but he really couldn't remember the words and maybe that was just as well. He let the last refrain trail off and stared morosely at the shadowed depths of the spreading paths and neatly tended beds of blooming plants. After his mother's grand party maybe he should go back to
"Hmm.” He leaned down and kissed her, taking his time, savoring her taste and the feel of her in his arms. His mouth traced a path to her ear and he asked in a low whisper, “What did you expect?"
"I don't know. Not ... that."
She'd climaxed. He'd felt it, heard it, triumphed in it. The ripple of her inner muscles around his cock made him go straight over the edge with her. “Apparently you doubted my word it would be like nothing you've ever experienced.” He teased the delicate junction of neck and shoulder with his tongue. “Shall I show you again?"
"I don't think we should, I mean..."
"Let me convince you. After all, the damage is done, sweetheart."
He began to move, his erection returning in record speed, never having really faded even after that explosive orgasm. Slowly he slid backwards and thrust into her wet, tight heat, hearing every moan, every pant, every feminine sigh with pure male satisfaction, with acute sexual hunger, with the feeling his life had changed forever...
* * * *
Stark moonlight poured over the bed. Carlos sat up, gasping and disoriented, a light sweat on his skin. The French doors to the balcony outside his bedroom were open and the night breeze moved with a low sigh.
Jesus, he was hard as a rock, his erection making an embarrassing tent in the blankets, like he was some adolescent boy and not a grown man.
All because Juliet was in the same house, asleep only a few doors down, pale and gold in the filmy light, as untouchable as if she resided on the brilliant moon in the velvet night sky.
She hated him. Even though she'd told him as much the day he'd left four years before, he hadn't believed it. But truth be told, he was starting to think it was true.
Of course, what gave it away, you damned fool? The fact she told you flat out, the unread letters you poured your soul into, or is it because she's engaged to another man?
It was ironic to think this was his reward for four years of deprivation. Of battle after bloody battle, of seeing horror he'd never imagined existed, of sacrificing every waking moment to a cause he knew was worthy, was honorable, yet one she didn't understand at all.
Both his countries—Spain and England—had needed him.
The price was that now Juliet did not.
Bloody fucking hell.
He lay back down against the pillows, staring blankly at the ceiling. No matter what she'd said, he'd expected her to wait. What a selfish ass. What an arrogant idiot.
At least it had been a good dream. Not that he would go back to sleep anytime soon. With a sigh he got out of bed and pulled on his breeches, wandering out onto the long balcony to take in a lungful of night air. Still half-erect, his cock bulged against the material so he adjusted it with a grimace, and then leaned against the balustrade, looking out over the gardens in abstract contemplation.
It was a beautiful night with only a velvet breeze and the muted sound of insects in the trees.
England was a world away from Spain, so lush, green and fertile, though he also loved the rocky slopes and picturesque valleys of his homeland. He could almost smell the bivouac campfires, hear the sound of distant cannon fire, taste the half-boiled weak tea he was grateful to have at all.
The music also, the plaintive melodies of a people besieged but not conquered, ballads of war, of pain, of lost love...
Very softly, he began to sing,
" Fare thee well, sweet maiden
Off to war I go
I will think of thee in these cold nights
Sweet maiden, fare thee well. "
" So long I loved
So long you have known
Our dance as old time
You've taken the hand of another now
Sweet maiden, fare thee well. "
There was more, but he really couldn't remember the words and maybe that was just as well. He let the last refrain trail off and stared morosely at the shadowed depths of the spreading paths and neatly tended beds of blooming plants. After his mother's grand party maybe he should go back to
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