who seemed to populate this place. This one—Philippe, she expected—crowded the male who’d spoken into the paneled wall. Grace’s mouth fell open. The pair were pressing their bodies full length together, their arms locked fist to fist and stretched above their heads.
Neither appeared unhappy with this mutual bondage.
“If I am a fool,” Philippe rasped, his hips grinding the other’s as if he meant to dig through, “I am only a fool for you.”
His friend rumbled out a groan and kissed him, their mouths and muscles warring in a battle Grace blushed to see. They were fighting to get closer, grunting and heaving their weight into each other until they writhed. The man who was trapped against the wall tore one hand free, squeezing it between his hips and the other man’s. What he was gripping wasn’t hard to deduce.
“Yes, Matthaus,” Philippe gasped, his head flung back in a pained sort of ecstasy. “God in heaven, it has been too long.”
“It is always too long,” Matthaus returned. His hips thrust forward in a hard rhythm. “I could take you twelve times a day.”
In answer, Philippe clapped one hand around his rear, increasing the very enthusiastic pressure with which they strove together. Without warning, Matthaus made a choked, high sound, his face twisting strangely as his body went board-stiff.
Inexperience notwithstanding, Grace had a pretty good idea what had just happened.
Philippe did, too. He waited until Matthaus relaxed, then slid down him to his knees with a soft chuckle.
“You always go first,” he said, his hands untying something at the other’s waist. “It is fortunate I know how to help you rise again.”
Matthaus moaned as Philippe’s face disappeared into his parted clothing. “Yes. Lave me there with your tongue.”
Grace had been frozen, but now an upsurge of embarrassment reminded her what she was doing.
Get out of here , she thought to herself. You weren’t invited to this party.
She wasn’t sure how it happened, but the hall blinked out of sight around her. In an instant, she was transported to Christian’s room.
C hristian felt as rattled as a bunch of knucklebones a giant hand had thrown. Between his father and Grace and this odd encounter at the Crowing Cock, he scarcely knew which end of him was up.
He should not have been walking faster as he approached his chamber, should not have felt his heart beating harder as his prick swelled ungovernably. Most definitely he should not have experienced a bloom of warmth within his breast at finding Grace inside. Her company had no business assuaging him. Her company was not even real. Strange though the woman at the tavern was, she was a far more suitable match for a man like him.
At the least, the minstrel had been alive.
Grace twisted from the window as he came in. Her cheeks were as flushed as if he had caught her in a forbidden act. The deep pink stain was like a punch to his heating groin, an all too pleasant one. A thousand thoughts of what she might have been doing blazed through his mind.
“Christian,” she gasped.
He closed the door behind him. “Has something happened?” he asked carefully.
Her hands were clutched together beneath her bosom, which her gown did not shield any more effectively than before. He struggled not to stare at her rose pink nipples—or to notice that they were furled.
“I was walking,” she said somewhat breathlessly. “Around the house. I popped back here, and I don’t know how.”
“You popped back here.”
She nodded and blushed harder.
The laugh that rushed up in his throat surprised him. “You were spying, and you saw something personal.”
“I didn’t mean to spy. I was bored up here on my own.”
The plaint was half apology. He stepped to her, remembering only at the last moment not to try to stroke back her deep red hair. He did not know how he could have thought her a witch. She was clean and sweet, almost radiant in the candlelight.
Neither appeared unhappy with this mutual bondage.
“If I am a fool,” Philippe rasped, his hips grinding the other’s as if he meant to dig through, “I am only a fool for you.”
His friend rumbled out a groan and kissed him, their mouths and muscles warring in a battle Grace blushed to see. They were fighting to get closer, grunting and heaving their weight into each other until they writhed. The man who was trapped against the wall tore one hand free, squeezing it between his hips and the other man’s. What he was gripping wasn’t hard to deduce.
“Yes, Matthaus,” Philippe gasped, his head flung back in a pained sort of ecstasy. “God in heaven, it has been too long.”
“It is always too long,” Matthaus returned. His hips thrust forward in a hard rhythm. “I could take you twelve times a day.”
In answer, Philippe clapped one hand around his rear, increasing the very enthusiastic pressure with which they strove together. Without warning, Matthaus made a choked, high sound, his face twisting strangely as his body went board-stiff.
Inexperience notwithstanding, Grace had a pretty good idea what had just happened.
Philippe did, too. He waited until Matthaus relaxed, then slid down him to his knees with a soft chuckle.
“You always go first,” he said, his hands untying something at the other’s waist. “It is fortunate I know how to help you rise again.”
Matthaus moaned as Philippe’s face disappeared into his parted clothing. “Yes. Lave me there with your tongue.”
Grace had been frozen, but now an upsurge of embarrassment reminded her what she was doing.
Get out of here , she thought to herself. You weren’t invited to this party.
She wasn’t sure how it happened, but the hall blinked out of sight around her. In an instant, she was transported to Christian’s room.
C hristian felt as rattled as a bunch of knucklebones a giant hand had thrown. Between his father and Grace and this odd encounter at the Crowing Cock, he scarcely knew which end of him was up.
He should not have been walking faster as he approached his chamber, should not have felt his heart beating harder as his prick swelled ungovernably. Most definitely he should not have experienced a bloom of warmth within his breast at finding Grace inside. Her company had no business assuaging him. Her company was not even real. Strange though the woman at the tavern was, she was a far more suitable match for a man like him.
At the least, the minstrel had been alive.
Grace twisted from the window as he came in. Her cheeks were as flushed as if he had caught her in a forbidden act. The deep pink stain was like a punch to his heating groin, an all too pleasant one. A thousand thoughts of what she might have been doing blazed through his mind.
“Christian,” she gasped.
He closed the door behind him. “Has something happened?” he asked carefully.
Her hands were clutched together beneath her bosom, which her gown did not shield any more effectively than before. He struggled not to stare at her rose pink nipples—or to notice that they were furled.
“I was walking,” she said somewhat breathlessly. “Around the house. I popped back here, and I don’t know how.”
“You popped back here.”
She nodded and blushed harder.
The laugh that rushed up in his throat surprised him. “You were spying, and you saw something personal.”
“I didn’t mean to spy. I was bored up here on my own.”
The plaint was half apology. He stepped to her, remembering only at the last moment not to try to stroke back her deep red hair. He did not know how he could have thought her a witch. She was clean and sweet, almost radiant in the candlelight.
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