Read Online The Modest and the Bold by Leelou Cervant - Free Book Online Page A

groaned, yanking at the ties of his braise to shove
them down. Naked, he aided her out of every single article that
concealed her flesh from his voracious hands and eyes. Getting into
his bed he knelt upon it, appreciating her naked form in the faint
light. All lush curves, pale, gleaming skin, and tresses about her
like a dark cloud, he decided that she’d never appeared lovelier.
Holding out a hand to her she took it and he drew her into the bed
to lay below him. Even as his blood seethed, he wanted to take her
gradually, expressing with caresses and kisses and plunges what he
could not say aloud.
    * * *
    The second Fulke slide
between her thighs, Constance arranged them around his own, gliding
her soft calves about their muscled hardness as he bore into her.
Bearing his weight upon his left forearm he snaked it about her
head, fisting his hand in her hair. His hard buttocks rolled with
precision as he kneaded her flesh with his free hand. Tears of
utter happiness and overpowering pleasure welled-up into her
eyes.
    She arched in his embrace
as he raised her left breast for his hungry kiss.
“Fulke.”
    He loosed her nipple on a
moan. “Constance.”
    As she raked her nails up
his back to his shoulders, he sucked in his breath. Slating his
mouth over hers, tongue delving, he gripped her knee and sped up
his pumps, panting her name every chance their lips
separated.
    An eternity seemed to pass
before the combination of his moaning her name and the steady rise
in the speed of his thrusts took their toll upon Constance’s
bombarded senses. “Uhhh! Fulke!”
    His sweat-sleek body
slapping against hers, he bowed his damp head, his hot, shallow
breathing fanning across her flushed cheek. “Come with me,
Constance!”
    Tightening her arms about
him, Constance sobbed, “Yes!” His hips pumped with savage speed and
the heat surged up to bloom in her chest, stealing her breath,
sending her over the verge into an abyss of molten waves. Gasping,
her sex convulsing, she wailed, “ Fuullkkee !”
    “ Constance!
UHHHHH!”
    Fulke lunged into her one
final time, stiffed, and loosed a loud, protracted groan, his sex
erupting into her own once, twice, thrice.
    Clinging to the man she
loved, Constance heeded their labored breathing, their sweaty
bodies, the odor of their coupling permeating the tiny chamber. She
alleged never to have heard or felt or smelt things more divine
than these.
    When both of their hearts
beat normal again, Fulke raised his head and peered down at her.
Lifting her hands she swept his hair back from his countenance.
Because of the oil lamp she was able to perceive the tenderness in
his eyes, an expression she’d heretofore never glimpsed.
    Her heart almost
stopped.
    “ Evermore, Constance de
Molineaux, I am yours. Will you—”
    Whatever he’d been about
to say was cut short by the brusque opening of the door.
    Fulke was up in a trice,
using the blanket to cover her nakedness and taking a protective
stance in front of her.
    “ What the bloody hell goes
here, sir? Who do you have there with you?”
    At the furious voice of
her brother, horror ripped through Constance. Evidently, Béatrix
had not found the fair to her liking and had persuaded Richard to
depart early. But what had prompted him to seek out Fulke? Had
someone seen her coming into his room and reported it to her
brother upon his return?
    Vibrating with fear,
Constance contemplated what she should do. The answer swooped in.
She may have always been modest, but she was no coward.
    She shifted on the bed to
leave Fulke’s protection, his hand twisted behind to hold her
there.
    “ Who I choose to lay with
is not your concern, Sir Richard.”
    Constance’s lips parted at
Fulke’s biting tone, for he’d only ever shown him utmost respect.
In the hope of allaying the rising contention between the two men,
she disengaged herself from Fulke’s protection. Rising, clutching
the cover about her, her eyes rounded a measure. “It is