❝ I did, ❞ Michel confirmed, his lips curving up into a smile against Colombe’s shoulder. He followed it up with another kiss, adjusted his leg to trap hers against his; the fingers that had taken an exploratory path under her silk robe dared to trace a light circle around her nipple, tweaking it between his thumb and forefinger a second later at the same time he planted a more open-mouthed kiss to her neck, lazy but heated.
He didn’t need her again, not really; she had left him more than sated last night. Even as the fog of sleep cleared, there was still a certain weightiness to his limbs, as if they were going to be slower to wake than his mind this morning. But she was there, and enticingly dressed, and still smelling of sex … not awake long enough to bathe herself, then, but the lack of damp hair could have told him that much. Idly, he wondered how she’d look, all dewy-skinned and smelling of soaps and bath-salts, even more pliable beneath him after relaxing in the embrace of the warm water.
A perk of taking a noblewoman as a lover, mm?
Michel’s hand retreated, sliding out from under the warm covering of silk to seek out its sashed waist, and pulling when he found it, tugging until he could feel the loose knot release itself. Easier by far than the elaborate dresses she had worn yesterday.
❝ Is this alright? ❞ he asked, lips finding a spot next to her ear.
It was too early for the doubts to start creeping back in full force, but they were never far from reach; it occurred to him that even if Colombe had been discreet about who entered her bedroom, and he had no evidence to say she had been, someone might well have found him missing from the guest room by now. She might prefer him gone before he started a scandal for them, and had only neglected to shoo him from her bed out of pity. The wound, after all, was not gone, and at some point he’d have to set about the ugly task of discarding its bandages to look at the raw pink skin beneath. Last night probably had not done it any favors.
And, for all he knew, she had found the time to regret taking disgraced, wounded, barely-noble-to-begin-with Ser Michel into her bed. Brace for the worst, and he would not have to end up disappointed …
Michel’s hand had settled on the outside curve of her thigh, and let his fingers mirror their earlier circular motion, admiring the way it made the silk bunch up. He gave in, too, to the temptation of suckling her earlobe into his mouth, giving a small graze of teeth. There was a saying he knew, about the value of a bird held in your hand; Colombe was in his arms, in her bed, the cool blue silk of her dressing gown rubbing against his skin. It didn’t take deep consideration to remember there was a host of reasons why he shouldn’t take something like this for granted — even if it wasn’t his last opportunity, it was still one that was worth making the most of, just in case.
She gasped softly at the light pinch to her nipple, body awakening to him just that easily. She might have thought herself entirely satisfied after the night they’d shared, the variety of positions they had tried, the many pleasures they have given one another. Her body already ached in that delightful way which spoke of delicious exertions, the memory of those pleasures living in each little bruised place his mouth had left.
But Colombe was a creature of appetites, and he roused her easily to a fresh awareness of them. His mouth was hot on her throat and his hand was hot upon her breast and all at once she wanted him. He smelled of sex and a muskiness which was all male animal; his chest was strong and hard against her back and his leg demandingly tight where it lay across hers. She writhed back against him in a deliberately enticing manner, allowing her silk-clad body to slide teasingly against his thigh and groin and belly.
❝ Oh, yes, ❞ she gasped in response, making a small sound of pleasure when she felt that hint of teeth at her ear. ❝ Yes, quite all right, Michel, more than...! ❞
The question pleased her. Though his body was bold against her, she enjoyed that he asked, all the same. Had she told him he must leave, she did not doubt that he would. Disappointedly, perhaps. With pride injured, maybe. But leave he would, if she asked it.
She was not even considering doing so, luckily perhaps for Michel.
Perhaps, she realized, he had the same concerns she’d had upon waking. He couldn’t know that she’d already sent away the servant who would otherwise have entered to begin the day’s preparations, clearing and airing the room and assisting her to bathe and to dress. He also could not know she had requested food -- for the both of them. He might wonder if he ought to leave before he was caught there.
She had also allowed him to believe Fabien might have disapproved of her taking him as a lover. That it would be a scandal, perhaps, or would threaten her position in Serault’s court. Well, perhaps Fabien would disapprove, but not of Colombe laying with the man. Of her liking him, though? The growing, guilty fondness for him? Of that, certainly.
She would tell Fabien, she decided, if she believed this was becoming a problem. But if she refused to allow it to impact her effectiveness in carrying out her duties, there was no reason to tell her dear cousin a thing. He already worried too much about her, thinking her heart too hardened or her hands too bloodied.
There was no need to tell him, though. And no need to rush through the pleasures waking in Michel’s arms promised, either. There would not be so many days left in which they could enjoy this, after all.
❝ We will not be disturbed, my lion, ❞ she told him somewhat pointedly. ❝ And no one will think it unusual if I am late to rise, and if I take a large breakfast in my rooms. ❞
She caught his hand and drew it back to her breast. ❝ We have all morning. ❞
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