By My Choice...: A Valentine's Day Story (Valentine's Day Stories) by Christine Blackthorn Page B
Authors: Christine Blackthorn
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feel the tightness of her chest foreshadowing the rising hyperventilation she could not control, when a voice sounded close behind her.
“Milord, everything is arranged to your satisfaction.”
Her nerves were so tense, so frayed, her body jerked at the tenor of the voice, instinctively, her body cringed away from the pale hand setting a plate piled high with cheese and grapes on the table. At her reaction, a man stepped from behind her to the side, into her field of vision, and she realised it was one of the twins. Only one. One man - she could survive only one. Her breath calmed, the involuntary shakes of her body abating almost from one moment to the next. Kathryn felt their eyes on her, felt their answering tension, their vigilance. Not even the smallest twitch, the smallest change in her body, escaped their notice. Only with the minute relaxation of her fear, did the men relax their intense concentration.
“Thank you, Brandon.”
“My pleasure, Milord.” He bowed to his liege and then, to her surprise, to her: “Milady.”
She did not hear him leave, but the sound of the latch was loud and somewhat final as it fell close this time.
“I am still thirsty.”
His demand brought her back to the task at hand, sharpened her concentration, her mind on him anew. She reached for the glass anew and took a sip into her mouth. As she leant close, she was frightened her nerves would betray her, that she would again spill the wine too soon - but before she had the chance, he closed the last distance between them and opened his lips beneath hers. When she let the wine from her mouth run into his, she felt him swallow, felt his tongue lap at her lips, never forcing its way into her mouth. When she moved away he did not hold her back, though his tongue licked over his lips as if to savour the last drop of wine he could.
“Take another sip.”
She did and held it in her mouth whilst setting the glass down again.
When she turned to him, he grinned almost boyishly and said: “Now swallow.”
The smooth and heavy wine slid down her throat, pooling comfortably warm in her belly, just underneath his hypnotically stroking fingers. She was not used to alcohol. It was not a good habit to acquire when you were constantly on the run - as Paul was a good example of. Even with only these two sips in her she thought she felt warm languidness rising in her joints.
“Choose something.”
It was an unmistakable order. He indicated the plate with a movement of his chin. She wanted so bad to take some cheese. Cheese was expensive and therefore a rarity in her world, a rarity which, if found, was normally saved for the children. But she was afraid, she would not be able to keep it down so she reached for one of the grapes, but it was taken from her before she could raise it to her mouth. He held it between his long fingers, waited for her attention to return to him, before offering the grape to her lips.
Holding his gaze, her lips tried to take the fruit from his hand, the cold, sweetness a counterpoint to the warmth of the fingers so close. She tried to take the fruit from him without touching those fingers, without tasting the skin so strangely alluring. His fingers refused to let go, forcing her to bite the ripe grape in two. The juice spurted down his hand, the smell an somehow weaving seamlessly into the basic nature of his presence in the room. She was so mesmerised by the path the juice took along his skin, she swallowed her half of the grape without due attention to the delicacy.
He waited patiently, not even with the bat of an eyelash did he betray any reaction, simply offered the other half of the grape to her lips. This time she savoured the taste of the fruit. When she had swallowed the piece, he held his fingers to her mouth and ordered:
“Clean it.”
Her tongue caught the sticky juice trail across his palm from wrist to fingers. His skin had a salty taste, almost
“Milord, everything is arranged to your satisfaction.”
Her nerves were so tense, so frayed, her body jerked at the tenor of the voice, instinctively, her body cringed away from the pale hand setting a plate piled high with cheese and grapes on the table. At her reaction, a man stepped from behind her to the side, into her field of vision, and she realised it was one of the twins. Only one. One man - she could survive only one. Her breath calmed, the involuntary shakes of her body abating almost from one moment to the next. Kathryn felt their eyes on her, felt their answering tension, their vigilance. Not even the smallest twitch, the smallest change in her body, escaped their notice. Only with the minute relaxation of her fear, did the men relax their intense concentration.
“Thank you, Brandon.”
“My pleasure, Milord.” He bowed to his liege and then, to her surprise, to her: “Milady.”
She did not hear him leave, but the sound of the latch was loud and somewhat final as it fell close this time.
“I am still thirsty.”
His demand brought her back to the task at hand, sharpened her concentration, her mind on him anew. She reached for the glass anew and took a sip into her mouth. As she leant close, she was frightened her nerves would betray her, that she would again spill the wine too soon - but before she had the chance, he closed the last distance between them and opened his lips beneath hers. When she let the wine from her mouth run into his, she felt him swallow, felt his tongue lap at her lips, never forcing its way into her mouth. When she moved away he did not hold her back, though his tongue licked over his lips as if to savour the last drop of wine he could.
“Take another sip.”
She did and held it in her mouth whilst setting the glass down again.
When she turned to him, he grinned almost boyishly and said: “Now swallow.”
The smooth and heavy wine slid down her throat, pooling comfortably warm in her belly, just underneath his hypnotically stroking fingers. She was not used to alcohol. It was not a good habit to acquire when you were constantly on the run - as Paul was a good example of. Even with only these two sips in her she thought she felt warm languidness rising in her joints.
“Choose something.”
It was an unmistakable order. He indicated the plate with a movement of his chin. She wanted so bad to take some cheese. Cheese was expensive and therefore a rarity in her world, a rarity which, if found, was normally saved for the children. But she was afraid, she would not be able to keep it down so she reached for one of the grapes, but it was taken from her before she could raise it to her mouth. He held it between his long fingers, waited for her attention to return to him, before offering the grape to her lips.
Holding his gaze, her lips tried to take the fruit from his hand, the cold, sweetness a counterpoint to the warmth of the fingers so close. She tried to take the fruit from him without touching those fingers, without tasting the skin so strangely alluring. His fingers refused to let go, forcing her to bite the ripe grape in two. The juice spurted down his hand, the smell an somehow weaving seamlessly into the basic nature of his presence in the room. She was so mesmerised by the path the juice took along his skin, she swallowed her half of the grape without due attention to the delicacy.
He waited patiently, not even with the bat of an eyelash did he betray any reaction, simply offered the other half of the grape to her lips. This time she savoured the taste of the fruit. When she had swallowed the piece, he held his fingers to her mouth and ordered:
“Clean it.”
Her tongue caught the sticky juice trail across his palm from wrist to fingers. His skin had a salty taste, almost
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