“Get out! Go find out when the farrier is available, and do not come anywhere near me again tonight!”
“Yes…yes, Sir Branford!” Michael cried as he dragged himself from the ground and raced out of our sight.
Everything had happened so fast, I had not even had time to process it before it was over. Branford stood with both hands in tight fists—which had to be painful for the left one—as he stared at the retreating page. I stood frozen as I watched his shoulders rise and fall with his deep breaths as he tried to regain his senses. He growled out a curse and turned back to me, his eyes full of fury again. He reached out and pulled me to him, his lips crashing against mine and his tongue pushing its way into my mouth.
He moved his hands from my hips to my hair, then to my shoulders and down my arms before he grasped my hips again and held me tight. His mouth continued its assault until I was completely out of breath from the kisses and the suddenness of his actions. Finally allowing me to breathe, he moved to my jaw and then my neck.
“I need you, Alexandra.” Branford panted hotly into my ear. “Right now. Right here.”
“Here?” I heard myself repeat in disbelief.
“Here,” he said again. He wrapped his forearm around my waist, and he pulled me with him as he walked backwards through the doorway of Romero’s stall. I found myself against the inside wall, Branford’s strong arms holding me off the ground as his mouth covered mine again. He released his grip on me and let my feet touch the ground and moved his hands up to cup my breasts as his mouth latched on to my throat. “Please.”
My heart pounded in my chest as I felt my husband’s hot desire pressed tightly against my stomach. “I will attempt to seduce you in the stables at midday,” he had said. Apparently, that was also not a jest though this did not resemble seduction, either. This was exactly what he had called it. This was need. I did not understand it, but I would not deny him. Lifting my arms to reach him, I tangled my fingers into his hair and guided his mouth to mine, pushing my tongue into his mouth this time as he grunted his acceptance. He found my face with his hands and pulled me back for a moment.
“You are mine,” he said, his voice sounding desperate. “My wife.”
I nodded quickly.
“Take me,” I whispered.
I felt the muscles in his shoulders and arms relax for a moment as his eyelids drifted closed, and he drew in a long breath. His hands still cupped my face, gentle at first as if he were trying to hold back, but soon his need was again apparent as his tongue ran over mine, and he used his hands to roam over my body again. He pulled back, panting.
“Pull up your skirts,” Branford commanded. “Hold them out of the way.”
I complied, hefting the bunched up fabric around my waist as I felt Branford’s hands slide up the outside of my thighs and grip my undergarment. He pulled at the sides, and it fell to my ankles. I heard the clink of his sword as he loosened the clasp, and it fell to the ground. He grabbed my hips and pulled me up against his flesh and took a step forward, anchoring me with a thud against the wall of Romero’s stall. He grabbed my legs and placed them over his hips, and I tightened my grip around his waist.
The horse nickered softly, and I found myself blushing and hoping he was far too busy with his bucket of oats to pay attention. The thought left my mind as quickly as it had arrived as Branford reached around and gripped my backside, and I felt him at my entrance.
“Ahh!” I cried out as he entered me swiftly while moaning softly into my ear. He pulled with his hands as he thrust, grinding himself so deeply inside me, I could not help but cry out until his mouth stifled my sounds. I wrapped my hands around his neck and held him tightly as he thrust upwards, practically impaling me against the wall.
This was so different than our nights in our bed. This was raw, fast, and primitive. There was nothing gentle about it at all. At the same time, I did not think I had ever felt so desired by him as I had at that very moment. Whatever the reason for this change in his behavior—his defeat, his injury, or Michael’s inappropriate gaze—the tyrant was now taking my body with quick, brutal strokes as retaliation.
And it was wonderful.
I felt my body respond to his motions, tightening up around him and rippling quickly from my core and outward though my legs. My moans were again muffled by my husband’s kisses. As I slumped against the wall, Branford released my mouth, tucked his forehead against my shoulder, and increased his relentless motions.
“My wife.” He snarled against the skin of my throat, his hot, wet breaths making me shiver as he spoke in time with his movements. “My wife…my wife…mine…mine…mine…”
He shoved hard one last time, and I had to hold him tightly for fear of being knocked right through the thin, wooden wall as he moaned loud and long, filling me more deeply than he had before.
Warm, panting breaths alternated with kisses against the skin of my neck as he slowly calmed and then slipped out of me. He did not look me in the eye as he lowered my feet to the straw and reached down to help me pull up my discarded undergarment.
“Forgive me, Alexandra,” Branford whispered softly, his eyes finally meeting mine. “I never intended to be so…so quick with you.”
“Branford,” I whispered back to him and shook my head. I took his face between my hands, as he had done so often with me, and kissed his lips gently. “There is no reason for your apology.”
“I was rough with you.”
“I am not injured.”
“I did not…I was not even thinking of your needs.”
“Yet you met them anyway.”
He stared at me again, and the strange look in his eyes, last evident on the stone bench as I examined his hand, returned. He stroked my cheek, kissed me back, and straightened his own clothes. He looked to his injured hand and flexed the muscles a couple of times and winced, then leaned close to me again and kissed along my jaw.
“I am undoubtedly the luckiest man to ever live,” Branford hummed into my ear. “I promise I will make this up to you tonight.”