Her Knight at the Museum

Chapter Sixteen

Sixteen

Griffin enjoyed the ride home, his view alternating between her behind the wheel and the everlasting lake dotted with white boats. When they went into Emily’s apartment, Andy was frantic to get out, and Griffin accompanied them both down the sidewalk.

Andy let out his howling version of hello as a young woman crossed the street to approach them. She wore high-waisted, faded blue jeans and a knitted… something , not unlike Emily’s bra.

It was not the first time since Griffin had come to life that he’d seen a young lady walking around in public with her midriff naked to the world. No one minded now, although a woman who’d done so in his time would’ve been put in the stocks for public lewdness.

“Good afternoon, my lady,” Griffin greeted her. “What ho?”

She narrowed her eyes. “ What did you call me?”

“He means, What’s up ,” Emily said quickly. “He’s British.”

The young woman gave Griffin a wary sidelong glance. “There were a couple of guys around here asking about you.”

“Who?” Emily demanded.

The young woman shrugged. “I don’t know. They described you and asked me if I knew you, and I said no, but said I’d seen you around. And then they sat in a car for about two hours, like it was a stakeout. I guess they finally got bored and left. They asked if I’d seen you, too,” she added to Griffin. “But I hadn’t.”

Emily wrapped her arms around her middle. “Well, if anyone else asks, could you still say you haven’t seen him?”

The young woman looked up and down the block. One couple pushed a stroller, and on the other side of the street, a man strolled with a brown sack clutched in one hand. “It’s not like you’re doing a great job of hiding him. But I won’t tell anyone if you tell me something.” The young woman took a step closer to Emily and asked in a low tone, “Did you take that statue?”

Emily drew back. “No!—How do you even know where I work?”

“I saw a TikTok about all the suspects.”

Some of the color drained from Emily’s face. “Well, I didn’t take anything.”

The neighbor gave a huff of disbelief. “Be for real.”

This foolish cod was calling Emily a liar to her face. Griffin reminded himself that the girl was too young to know better.

“Excuse us,” he said, putting his hand on Emily’s shoulder, “but we do not intend to tarry.” Nor did he intend to let a gossip ruin Emily’s day.

“That’s right,” Emily agreed immediately. “No tarrying.” They turned away and headed back inside.

“I like how you put that,” she murmured to him. “?‘We do not intend to tarry.’?” Before they went inside, she stopped, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him on the cheek. More innocent than the kiss at Wrigley Field, yet his whole mind and body seemed to focus on it, driving him to distraction.

As they got onto the elevator, he imagined her fingers gripping his hair as he kissed her, or her nails digging into his shoulders as he brought her to ecstasy. A couple of the ladies he’d known had done this, as he employed his tongue. Would she be the kind to leave marks? She was so polite and genteel, but perhaps he could make her forget that she was. Unlike the scars he bore from battle, he would wear a scratch or a bite mark from Emily with pride.

How long must he wait?

It had been only days since he’d met Emily. Men had waited longer for a woman, God knew. But it had been centuries since he’d been in a lady’s bed.

As they got off the elevator on her floor, Emily said, “What are you thinking about?”

He had little talent for lying, and less taste for lying to her. He cleared his throat. “Grant pardon, but I would fain not say.”

She gave him a compassionate look and squeezed his hand. “Those guys looking for us were probably just podcasters, or maybe journalists.” He’d already forgotten about them, when they had brought her distress. “I know it’s weird to have people asking about us, but I’m sure it’ll all blow over in a day or two.” The tone of her voice suggested she was sure of no such thing.

Back inside the apartment, while Emily opened a can of dog food, Andy grabbed a stuffed duck toy from the corner of the room and brought it up to Griffin. With some difficulty, Griffin wrested it from his mouth, then sent it flying down the hallway. The dog joyfully scampered after it and grabbed it, making it squeak.

“Hey bud, come have dinner,” Emily called to him, setting a bowl on the kitchen floor. Andy trotted back and tucked into his meal, and Emily took a seat on the sofa.

Griffin sat next to her, smiling. “He takes much pleasure in his play.”

“He does.” Emily inched closer to him and gave him a meaningful look. “So, I’ve been thinking that maybe I should also take some, um, pleasure in my play.”

“What do you mean?” She’d explained to him earlier how people sometimes ran on the streets for health and for fun; maybe she was thinking of doing the same.

“I mean…” She took a deep breath. “I was thinking of going into my bedroom.”

He wasn’t following her train of thought, but no matter. “If you are weary, my lady, by all means, take your rest.” He gestured toward her chamber.

“No. In fact, I have a lot of energy…” She dropped her head. “Ugh, why am I so bad at this?”

“So bad at what, my lady?”

“Probably because I was with him for so long,” she said, as if to herself. She turned back to Griffin and her eyes were wide, vulnerable.

“Griffin, do you still want to be lovers?”

The question stunned him like a blow. Did she really need to ask?

Pleasure in play…the bedroom… When had he become so thickskulled?

He took her lovely face in his hands and kissed her as gently as he could manage. He felt her slight tremble, strengthening his will to go slowly, though the savage beast in him, made mad from centuries of isolation, wanted to devour her in a demanding kiss, wanted to strip her naked and bend her right over the back of the sofa and drive into her—he who respected her more than any knight ever respected a queen, he who had never swived a lady in his life.

She put her hands on his upper arms, stroking them. Every inch of his body was tense and hard. She filled his senses: the scent of her floral perfume and her sun-warmed skin and hair, the touch of her hands, the taste of her. He deepened the kiss, urging her mouth wider under his, and she yielded easily; her head tilting back in sweet acquiescence to his invasion.

He stroked her soft cheek, smoothed her hair back, his hand touching her ear. Then he broke off the kiss and dipped his head to taste that graceful curve where her neck met her shoulder. She squirmed in pleasure.

He whispered next to her ear, “I want to strip you bare as Diana in her sacred grove.” He kissed her neck again, and then let her feel the scrape of his teeth there. The needy sound that came from her was all the encouragement he required.

He drew back long enough to pull her T-shirt over her head. She let him do it, raising her arms, and then stripped off her bra almost before he could blink. She could not want this as badly as he did, but still, her eagerness delighted him. Her breasts were the perfect size to cradle in his palms. They were exquisite, with nipples the pink of a Lenten rose, tightened to hard points. Her lips were plump and cherry red from kissing, and he pulled her close to kiss them again.

He stroked her bare back. Were his hands too hard and rough against such smooth, soft skin? No, he wasn’t going to think overmuch. This was truly happening, an actual dream come to life, and he was going to savor every moment.

But then she paused and drew back from him, looking over her shoulder.

“We shouldn’t do this in front of Andy,” she murmured.

Griffin looked over at the dog, whose eyes were wide with curiosity. “You are right. He is but an innocent hound.”

He picked Emily up as he got to his feet.

She let out a startled squeak. “Oh my God.” She wrapped her arms around his neck tightly as he carried her to the bedroom. “Don’t drop me.”

He gave a low laugh. “You should rather fear I shall never let you go.”

“I’m too heavy for you to do this,” she protested as he carried her through the threshold of her bedchamber and kicked the door shut behind them.

“That is a strange thing to say, sweet bird, whilst I do it,” he teased. He sat her on the bed and stared down at her as she half reclined, propped up on both elbows.

“Take off your jeans now,” he said. It would be quicker for her to do it than for him to make an attempt. “And your…” She wore some flimsy thing beneath them, made of satin and lace; he had seen them in the clothes to be washed. Sudden irritation, and impatience, made his voice rough. “Take off everything.”

Her eyes widened. “Since when are you so bossy?” Her rapid, shaky breath made her breasts rise and fall. Something dark and powerful swelled up in him, exulting in the effect he had on her, making him feel like a lord again…nay, more than that; a king.

He sat on the bed next to her and placed his palm flat on her torso, between her breasts and her belly. Even there, he could feel her pulse, the movement of her ribs. Christ Jesus, he wanted to touch every inch of her body; the small of her back, the curves of her arse, the arches of her feet. He wanted to know it as well as he knew his own.

“ Bossy. I do not know that word, my lady,” he confessed as he studied her face, watching her reaction. Her eyes looked darker, the pupils larger, and they glistened. “But I do know that it is something you like.”

“Bossy means you’re telling me what to do.”

He smoothed his hand lower, exploring the contour of her stomach and feeling it quiver. She lay back flat on the bed, making it easier for him to explore.

“Mmm.” He glided his hand down into her jeans. “And do you object?” She hadn’t obeyed him yet.

He swept his hand slowly from one hip bone to another, dying to know whether, if he reached down any further, he’d find her wet with desire. She rocked slightly, as if encouraging him to do it, but he wouldn’t, not until she complied.

“It’s just that…you don’t usually boss me around.”

His finger brushed across something, the lacy edge of her undergarment. “I was the son of an earl,” he reminded her in a low tone as he stroked one finger slowly along that edge. “I was the leader of an army in France. I am no stranger to giving commands.”

She reached out to caress his thigh through his own jeans. “This is my bedroom, not a battlefield.”

“Aye, in truth, they are as unalike as two things might be,” he conceded, somehow managing a casual tone despite his enraptured state. “And yet both have maneuvers…” With his thumb, he drew a little circle on the silky fabric of her undergarment. “And advances…” He unbuttoned the jeans with a hard tug. “And retreats.”

He withdrew his hand. Her brow knitted slightly in uncertainty. Aye, she was his, more than she knew. He leaned down and dragged his tongue along the soft flesh right above the waistband of the jeans. Her little whimper heated his blood. But he would go slowly, driving her frustration upward. He had lived for centuries, and still, he had all the time in the world. Right in the subtle hollow of the top of her hip bone, he bit her. She let out a squeal, followed by a giggle.

He looked up at her. Oh God. The mischievous smile that played at her lips, her hair spread on her naked shoulders—his prick was so hard, it might have been limestone still.

“Take off all your clothes this moment,” he said.

She smiled and opened her mouth to make a jest—but then, when she met his gaze, the words on her glistening lips faded away. She unzipped her jeans, and as she lifted her hips to pull them off, she demurely averted her eyes, her long eyelashes almost sweeping her flushed cheeks. He hadn’t expected her shyness, and it made him feel a sudden tenderness and protectiveness—even as he, perversely, wanted to undo it, wanted to make her forget herself and beg him to do wanton acts to her like a shameless Jezebel and cry out his name.

Christ, he was going to have to rein in his thoughts, or he would shame himself like an overeager lad. But what youth had ever been so eager as he?

She kicked her feet free of the jeans and the little undergarment, and he caught a glimpse of her queint: rosy, glistening, and wet.

He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. Her body was in every way ready for him. She was as he’d wanted her, like a nymph lying in a fair meadow. He took the vision of her in all at once: her smooth bare arms, her breasts rising with her short breaths, the flare of her hips, her mound of dark curling maidenhair, and her rounded, inviting thighs.

“What’s wrong?”

Wrong? Startled, he looked up. Her eyes were filled with uncertainty.

“Sweeting, nothing is wrong,” he rushed to say. “You must forgive me if I am struck dumb, for you are exceedingly sexy.”

She laughed, surprised out of her moment of worry. “You remembered that word.”

“Aye, my lady, how could I not, when I spend so many hours with you?” He leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. “You are the sexiest woman I have ever seen in my life.”

“Hmmm.” She smoothed her palm up the side of his body, the caress a delicious fresh torment. “You probably don’t remember the others.”

When he’d been trapped in stone, he’d remembered them all. Who knew how many hours, how many days, he’d spent reliving those memories, moment by moment…including moments that had never happened? He dropped his head again to kiss her belly and then nuzzle his cheek against it. The little wiggle she made amused him; he’d hardly gotten started.

“In truth, their names, their faces, all vanish entirely from my memory…” He trailed a few kisses higher, in the direction of one of her pert breasts. “The way the morning mist burns away in the splendor of the dazzling sun.” He stroked the outer curve of her breast, gazing up at her.

“You…really say the nicest things,” she said softly.

“I am glad you think so.” He dragged his thumb along the hardened nipple. “But as I am no bard, I cannot find the words worthy of your beauty.” His voice pitched lower. “And meseems there are better uses for my tongue.”

He cupped the breast to bring it to his mouth, intending to begin gently, but as soon as his lips touched that irresistible firm nipple, he took all of it and more into his mouth. As he sucked and nibbled there, he reached down to press his palm between her legs. Emily moaned and rocked. He kept his hand firmly in place, grinding the heel of it against her most sensitive place as he lavished attention on her breast, and then the other, so as not to neglect it. Her gasps turned into little cries, sweeter than any birdsong to his ears. She gripped his shoulder with one hand, the other one half covering her face.

She was close, and he focused on his task, exulting in it. He knew enough about a woman’s body to know that a pause now would be either artless or wicked. He’d already teased her a little when he wanted nothing more than to bring her pleasure.

He’d spoken nothing but the plain truth of the women he’d known before her, but did she still think of her former husband? He’d been the last one to pleasure her thus, if he understood things aright.

She moaned Griffin’s name.

He smiled darkly to himself. Nay, she had no thought of that villainous wretch. She bucked under him.

“Oh God,” she cried out, as though he’d transported her closer to Heaven.

Yes! He took hold of her cheek, belatedly aware that his hand was still drenched with her pleasure, and she was still gasping when he claimed her mouth in a deep kiss. She glided her fingers lightly down the side of his body, almost unconsciously, maybe, but it could’ve just as easily been calculated to drive him mad. Now that he’d brought her to climax, the beast in him roared for his own satisfaction.

He broke off the kiss. “ Mon trésor . I must have you.” His voice came out rough.

“Yes,” she breathed. She gave a tiny smile and plucked at the hem of his T-shirt.

He got up on his knees on the bed and took it off. Her gaze was fixed on him. He stood up to shuck off the jeans and boxer briefs.

“Wow,” she murmured. “You look even more amazing than you did in my dream.”

He moved back onto the bed and stretched out over her, propping himself up on his forearms so as not to crush her. She spread her legs wider to accommodate him.

He knew at least the basics of this. As a boy, he’d blundered upon his uncle servicing a plump widow of their acquaintance, and there had been certain lewd sketches that had been passed among the squires. Years after that, at war, he’d seen a fellow soldier with a strumpet, up against a wall. But it was one thing to watch or hear of a deed, and another to do it. He’d felt like a king, carrying her to her bed, like the ruler of the world…Now, even as he was ready to claim her, he felt like an untried youth.

“You know I have not done this before,” he murmured.

Her eyes sparkled. There was no apprehension in them, nor judgment, nor pity.

“Thank you for letting me be first,” she whispered. He hardly knew what to say to that. The honor, and the gratitude, was surely all on his side. “I’ll help you, okay?”

The pride in him revolted at that, but he pushed it away and nodded. Only a fool would refuse help when he didn’t know exactly what he was doing.

She reached down and wrapped her hand firmly around his hard length. Griffin sucked in a breath. Her hand was small and soft but so sure. She guided him to her entrance, the tip of his prick against her hot, luscious queint. He didn’t need any urging to glide into her.

Her sleek heat surrounded him, clasping him tightly.

“God in Heaven,” he whispered, as she moaned again. No, he was in Heaven…becoming one with her.

“Good?” she asked in his ear, petting his hair.

He nodded but could not answer. It felt something like the first time a woman had sucked his cock, but he and that jolly brewster had meant nothing to each other. Still, he’d much regretted making her gag with a rude thrust, and being new at this more sacred act, with his beloved Emily, he had to take care, listening to her voice and the language of her body, in order to learn how to best please her. He drew back and stroked in again, as slowly as he could, but with her encouraging hand on his arse, he sheathed himself nearly to the hilt.

“Yes.” She moaned. “That’s perfect.”

He thrust again, and again, reveling in the sensation. Her hips rose to meet his, matching his rhythm, and the sounds of her gasps and little cries entranced him.

Her eyes were closed, leaving her vulnerable to his awestruck gaze. She tilted her head back on the pillow; her brow knitted briefly, as though the pleasure of that particular stroke required extra concentration. She threaded her fingers through his hair, then gripped it lightly. He was hers…and she was his, more with every glorious stroke. He wanted it to last forever.

But it might not have been more than a couple of minutes before his control began to slip. He couldn’t help but move faster. The light scent of her perfume mingled with that of her blatant arousal. Her soft voice said something else, but he couldn’t make it out.

“My love,” he said hoarsely. “I’m going to—”

“Do it. Inside me.”

Her breathless command pulled him toward the shore and the depths beyond. Emily’s embrace tightened as he exulted in the plunge. Ecstasy overtook him. Yes. A wordless shout tore from his lips—joined by a sudden loud cry from hers, and her body squeezed around him as his seed pulsed into her.

Griffin brought his mouth down on hers, clumsy in his passion and his haste, but she steadied him with her hand on his cheek and returned his kiss with tenderness. Then he bowed his head to her shoulder, breathing hard. For long centuries, he’d lamented never having done this, but he had long stopped imagining doing it with someone he adored.

He pulled out of her, reminding himself that his seed would find no purchase. It was strange not to worry about a babe arriving before they were ready to receive one. He lay next to her on his side, propped up on one elbow so he could keep looking down at her lovely face, flushed with satisfaction.

She was his lover—but he’d heard that word used in much more trifling assignations. A nobleman in a marriage of state quickly gone cold, slaking his desire with a series of indulged ladies. A yeoman and a widow keeping each other company.

He needed better words for Emily. She was so precious to him. But even without that possibility, they belonged to each other.

She leaned over and kissed his chest, below the collarbone. Her easy familiarity pleased him. She whispered, “You liked it, right?”

“Need you ask, my dove?” He gave a wondering laugh. “Never in my life have I known such bliss.”

She graced him with a loving smile. “I’m glad.”

A roaring howl came from the other side of the bedroom door.

“Oh my God,” she said with a laugh that made her body shake under him, and then she called out, “Andy, shut up!”

The dog’s baying ended, replaced by a few disgruntled woofs. She shook her head.

More quietly, she told him, “I was about to say that you ”—she punctuated it with a gentle kiss on the cheek—“were amazing.”

Her praise was worth more than gold, but he could not quite accept it. He cleared his throat.

“I did not last as long as I had hoped, but I confess I lasted longer than I feared I might.”

She laughed, a sound of pure merriment, with no mocking in it as far as he could tell. “What? It was perfect. Plus…sweetheart, you were a virgin .”

Sweet heart —his soul warmed at that. An easy-to-understand endearment, not unlike those of his time, though he had never heard it before. And it was the first time she’d used such a love-name with him. He must’ve done so a hundred times with her, in a short time, but until this moment, he hadn’t realized how much he’d yearned to hear her respond in kind.

He’d missed something else she’d said, but she continued, amused. “You did not do that like it was your first time.” He chose to believe her, because it flattered his pride. “Not to mention you’d been turned to stone for centuries . I was fully prepared for you to, um, get too excited for it to even happen.”

“It might’ve been much worse,” he agreed.

She shrugged. “We would’ve just tried again later.”

He hadn’t considered that. Somehow, he’d imagined this as something one won or lost.

If she would give him more chances, that meant her heart had already made at least some commitment to him, whether she’d admit it or not.

He turned to her. “And I was not too fast, at the end?”

She smiled. “No. You’re not going to break me. You can go slow or fast or rough…whatever you like.”

That was indeed a satisfactory answer. He adjusted them both so that he lay on his back, her head resting on his shoulder. He pulled the blankets up over them both, for he could not have his sweetheart go cold. Surely, she felt it, too; how right they were together. He would be with her for many years. There was plenty of time for swiving, whether in the morning, noon, or night.

She said, “When you say those romantic things, it, um…heats my blood.” He smiled; she was deliberately using his phrase. “I guess you could say I have a chivalry kink.”

The gist of this, at least, was clear enough. “?’Tis no effort to speak of your beauty and all your qualities, nor of my devotion, for they fill my senses.” With the tip of his finger, he traced a star shape on her shoulder, and then another. “And I’ll do it often, if such words make you wet as with morning dew.”

Her jaw dropped. “I don’t know if that’s poetic or just dirty.” Andy scratched at the door. “Mmm. I should let him in.”

“Aye,” he said, though part of him didn’t want her to move. “The poor hound can hardly bear to be away from his sweet mistress’s side, and who can blame him?”

“Aww.” She hopped up and went over to the door, affording him a very agreeable view of her bare back and round dimpled arse. It was almost worth her absence from his side. Opening the door, she said, “Come on in, buddy.”

Andy bounded into the room—floppy ears flying—onto the bed, and onto Griffin’s chest.

“Aghgh!” Griffin pushed the hound off and avoiding getting licked in the face.

“Andy!” Emily admonished him, laughing. “Settle down there, bud.” She returned to the bed, sitting with her knees up and pulling the covers up around her, and Andy made a few turns in place before curling up at her feet.

She looked over at Griffin’s chest. “He didn’t scratch you, did he?”

“If he did, it is no matter.”

She frowned. “Do you mind my asking how you got this?” She touched the jagged scar on his chest, purple and shiny. “You have one under your arm, too…You didn’t have them in my dream.”

“Did I not?” he asked, stalling.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, forget I asked.”

“They are both from swords. I received this one”—he touched the scar on his chest—“in a surprise attack on the camp in Brittany.”

Emily’s shoulders lifted in a shudder. “That sounds terrifying.”

It had been. Images flitted through his mind—burned bodies, men’s screams. His lady did not need such details. “?’Twas soon after our battle at Verneuil-sur-Avre.”

“Where you were fighting the French,” she said, half a question.

“The French and the Scots, with the Burgundians on our side.”

“Is that where you got the one here?” She indicated the place under her own arm.

“Nay, that was at a great battle at Avranches…Do you know the place?” She shook her head. “On the border between Normandy and Brittany. I was wearing my armor, but under the arm, and in other places, there are gaps.”

She nodded slowly. “Did you lose the battle?”

“Nay, my heart. We were outnumbered many times over, yet we prevailed…but two of my brothers-in-arms were cut down by arrows.” A heavy feeling settled on him. “The lands we won were lost again, and what was it all for? I benefited from the victories, in reputation and favor, but so many died, and the common soldiers, even if they lived, gained little.” His self-reproach overwhelmed him.

Her eyes were filled with understanding. She picked up one of his hands and kissed it. “You were doing what was expected of you.”

Everyone had said it was right and good, the will of God, even. But the other side had believed that, too, and they could not have both been in the right.

Griffin snorted. “We should’ve all stayed home in our beds.”

In the interminable hell of his frozen existence, he’d come to that conclusion many times. As if to emphasize it now, he pulled Emily down next to him again. Andy readjusted himself, finding a cozy spot between her legs and his.

“It’s easy for me to forget that you were in battles like that,” she said.

“I would like to forget myself.”

She took in a breath as if to say something, but then she didn’t speak.

Griffin, attuned to her every gesture in this moment of closeness, touched her hair. “What would you say, sweeting?”

“I just…Since you didn’t even like going to war, are you sure you don’t want to think about selling your armor?”

He stiffened. Had he not been clear on this matter? Had she seduced him in order to persuade him?

No. She wasn’t conniving, and he’d been eager all along. But his blood was simmering.

“I know I asked before,” Emily said in response to his silence. “But even if we couldn’t get it authenticated, it would be worth a lot of money.”

“I know,” he said shortly. God’s bones. Did she think he didn’t know the value of a fine suit of armor?

“And it’s not just that. I…” She trailed off, seeing his expression. “You know what? It’s fine. Forget I asked.”

“If I fight in these tournaments for sport, will I not need armor?”

“You would use theirs. Yours is too fancy for them. It’s too fancy to wear at all, honestly.”

That gave him a moment’s pause. What was the value of a suit of armor that one never wore?

No. It was unthinkable.

“When I was turned to stone, I lost any mote of power or respect that a man might have. And now, even my own noble name means nothing.” Bitterness flowed through his veins as he said it. He’d thought that he cared nothing about such matters. He’d thought just to be alive was blessing enough.

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I know.”

That should have lightened his mood, but he found he could not smile. “I will spar at those tournaments or find some other worthy labor. But I will not sell my armor.”