By Lynsay Sands
"Bastard daughter to the king, Rosamunde was once raised in a convent and fully ready to take the veil . . . till stable King Henry confirmed up with a reluctant husband in tow for her. without notice, she chanced on herself promising to like, honor, and obey Aric.
But Rosamunde's schooling had no longer lined a marriage evening, and the stables have been a terrible instance for an untried woman. might Aric chew her neck just like the animals did their friends? The virile warrior appeared in a position to such animal ardour, yet his eyes promised whatever sweeter. And Rosamunde quickly realized that whereas she could have hassle with obeying him, it should no longer be difficult to lover her new husband forever.
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Additional info for Always
Gnarled branches of ancient trees snatched at her hair like the twisted, arthritic hands of an old fey wife. There were no pine forests near McKinley lands. She must be dreaming. Iona closed her eyes and surrendered to the liberating sensation, imagining herself fleeing from the life her father had decreed for her. When she came to, she was sitting on the ground. Though the rain had stopped, she was wet through, her long copper-coloured hair hanging down her back in damp tendrils. “Cold,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around herself, not sure that she really was awake.
She had never before experienced such intimacy. It shocked her, a clandestine pleasure. It made her think of other intimacies. Other pleasures. It made her think of Struan. Who had abandoned her. They dressed her in a rich silk sark, plain white, with satin ribbons at the neck and cuffs. It was her only garment. A bell began to toll. Clang. Clang. Clang. A summoning. Or a death knell. It stopped abruptly. The women, who had been whispering together, got to their feet. Lillias cast an eye over Iona, nodded her satisfaction to the other women, and they once more encircled her.
He licked her again, a long, languorous stroke of his tongue that made her squirm with pleasure. He slipped his finger inside and found her as tight and welcoming as he had imagined. He was just as ready as she. His shaft was pulsing. He licked again, and thrust a little higher inside her. Again, touching the swollen nub of her at the same time, and again. She came with a force which ripped an animal-like cry from her throat. Panting hard, she was tossed up into some sort of crimsoning sky of rapture, which cocooned her pulsing, throbbing body, until he stroked her again, and she was thrust higher still, so high that she thought she would tear apart.
Always by Lynsay Sands