Her Knight at the Museum

Chapter Twenty

Twenty

As soon as Emily and Griffin got back to the apartment, he started kissing her. She pulled away to tell him she had to take Andy outside and she wanted to take a bath first.

“I will take him,” Griffin said. “You bathe.”

“Okay.”

“When I return, may I watch you bathe?”

Emily laughed. Griffin made her feel so confident, she almost said yes, but she wanted to shave in private. “Maybe next time.”

After her bath, she put on her robe, noticing that Andy was dozing at the foot of her bed. When she came out into the living room, she found Griffin sitting on the sofa, bent over a paperback with a rapt expression.

“What are you reading?” she asked. He’d spent a lot of time reading already, but those had been history books.

He held up the red and black cover. A romance novel.

“Oh!” she said. “That’s, um, that’s a spicy one.”

He set it on the coffee table. “It is very good. Do you have more like this?”

She laughed. “Actually, yeah, but they’re on my phone.”

“I would very much like to read them and learn all I can about bedsport.”

She felt a smile spread across her face…and a flutter in her belly. “Is that right?” She sat down on the sofa next to him. “Well, I know you love to learn.”

“Aye, but I cannot learn from books alone,” he said, feigning earnestness. “I am certain that I need a great deal of practice and instruction.”

“Hey, that goes both ways. I want to learn more about what you like, too.”

His gaze traveled over her. “You know what I like. You, naked.”

“I’m sure it’s a little more complicated than that.”

He shrugged. “I am a simple man from a simpler time.”

She laughed again, and he did, too. “I’m just saying that when it comes to the bedroom, there are lots of possibilities.”

He took her hand and turned it over to stroke the inside of her forearm and wrist lightly with one finger. “What kinds of possibilities, my sweet cinnamon?”

The deep rumble in his voice and the delicate caress made her shiver. “I don’t know. I mean, maybe sometime you’d like me to be on top?”

“Can you do that?” he asked with such blatant amazement that she pressed her lips together to stop herself from giggling. She didn’t want him to think she was laughing at him.

“Aye, of course you can,” he added with a faraway expression, clearly imagining it.

“If that would feel too weird to you, though—”

“Nay, I would like that very much.” He stared at her intently. “What else, my lady?”

Her cheeks heated. “Well, I could…You know how you go down on me?” She gestured. How had he referred to it? “Tasting the…”

“Aye,” he said, understanding. “Yes. I love to go down on you.” He repeated it, she could tell, so he would remember her term for it.

“Well, I could be on top for that, too. Like, kneeling over your face…?”

“We must do this.” The hoarse edge to his voice startled her.

She was turning him on. Not just a little. Seriously turning him on.

Oh my God. I’m talking dirty . She’d never thought of herself as someone who did that. Not that she thought it was wrong; she’d just never had the confidence. But now she was doing it accidentally.

And…well, it was turning her on, too. Maybe it was no wonder, since she was talking about sex to a very horny knight.

He shifted where he sat, his gaze raking over her. “What else?”

“I mean, obviously I could…” Why was she acting like a Sunday school teacher? She’d already taught him that word, after all. “Suck your cock.” This time, his astonished expression took her aback. “You must know about that.”

“Aye, I do, but I knew not that you might perform such a base act.”

This was way too much fun. “Base?” she asked innocently. “So you wouldn’t want me to do it?”

He gave a choked laugh. “Although I said base, I would feel exalted.”

It was all the invitation she needed.

She stood up and let the robe fall to the floor. When she’d been with Tom, she’d liked to get undressed in the dark, but Griffin’s desire for her made her feel bold and free.

“You look like Eve in the garden,” he murmured.

An image popped into her head: a particular depiction of Eve, from an illuminated German Bible from around his era. She did look like that Eve.

During his time, Eve, and other naked women, had usually been depicted with small breasts and a bit of a belly. She’d assumed Griffin was being hyperbolic, with his talk of goddesses and such. But he’d been used to images like that. And somehow, in all her studies, she’d missed a very important concept: Eve and the other ladies had been portrayed in that way because men thought it was hot .

In fact, there was no kind of body that had not been considered hot. The busty hourglass sculptures of ancient India. The plump nymphs of Peter Paul Rubens—pellucid cellulite and all. The boyish flappers in fashion illustrations from the Jazz Age. Now that she considered it, she just happened to match the late medieval ideal.

And as she stood in front of him, with nothing on her body except his hungry, worshipful gaze, she felt an unfamiliar and glorious sense of beauty and power.

Smiling, she joined him on the sofa again—her knees on either side of his thighs this time, her arms wrapped around him—and bent down to kiss him, her hair falling like a curtain on either side of her face. She reached down to undo his jeans. A low sound came from deep in his throat as he grabbed the back of her head to pull her closer in, forcing her mouth open with his, invading it.

His desire turned her insides to liquid heat. He might have all the courtly words and manners of his time, but he also had its fierceness. His fingers sank into her hair and tightened, pulling on it. If he’d been any other man, his roughness might have scared her. But she trusted him. Griffin would never hurt her.

He broke off the kiss and took hold of her sides, urging her upward a bit to kiss her breasts. She let out a soft, high-pitched ohh and her legs trembled beneath her. Feeling unsteady, she gripped his shoulder for support with one hand, and with the other, she stroked his glorious blond hair. He bit her lightly, a sensation right between pain and pleasure that made her gasp.

“Oh God.”

She was already aching for him. A glance down confirmed that his cock stood ready, tinged violet-red. She moved to lower herself onto him, but he still held on to her tightly, preventing her. When she met his eyes, questioning, she found them dark with need.

“Take me into your mouth,” he said, his voice low and harsh. “As you said before.”

Right. She’d somehow forgotten that. He was going to drive her crazy with delaying. But then…she could do the same to him, and it would only be fair. Still shaky, she got off the sofa and knelt between his feet, pulling at his hips to urge him to the edge of the seat. He immediately moved, giving her perfect access, half lying back as if lounging indolently on a throne but staring down at her.

In a moment of risqué inspiration, she reached between her thighs to slick her fingers with wetness, then wrapped her hand around his girth. He rewarded her with an amazed groan. She stroked him a couple of times before swirling her tongue around the straining tip.

“Christ Jesus,” he hissed.

She took as much of him as she could. He straightened up enough to touch her hair.

Ugh, he’d better not push on her head. Tom had done that—not just once, which would’ve been forgivable, but a second time after she’d pushed his hand away.

He only gripped her hair again. To her surprise, she liked that tug at her scalp and his intensity behind it. Being on her knees on the bare wooden floor, pleasing him, hearing him panting with pleasure, made the throb between her legs almost unbearable, even as another part of her felt satisfied.

She couldn’t tell him, I love you . She didn’t trust her luck or her judgment enough to believe it…or at least, to believe that it would end in anything but heartbreak. But she could show him, in no uncertain terms, how deeply she felt for him.

“Sweet Christ,” he uttered on a groan, and then his muscles tensed. “Stop now, or I shall not be able to stop myself.”

She lifted her head up, stroking him with her hand again. “Go ahead,” she encouraged. “Do it.” To make her meaning clear, she licked the tip again. Doing this always turned her on, and this time it was unbearable. She wanted him inside her so badly it almost hurt. But even more than that, she wanted to put him first.

“Nay.” He gave a quick shake of his head. His tight expression, somewhere between agony and ecstasy, thrilled her. “Stand up.”

She obeyed. “You want to go back to the bedroom?” She wasn’t against it.

He shook his head, but then wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her in that direction…What was he doing?

The next thing she knew, she was facing the back of the sofa, and his hand was on her back, urging her to bend over.

Oh. My. God . Even though she knew by now he wasn’t all genteel words and flourishes, she hadn’t expected this. His hands gripped her hips; his foot pushed against the inside of hers, urging her to a wider stance. She complied immediately, dying for him by that point. She felt thrilled that he hadn’t taken her up on her earlier offer of coming in her mouth, as sincerely as she’d meant it.

“Look at you,” he murmured.

She could only imagine what he was seeing: her brown hair tumbling around her on the sofa cushions and the pale expanse of her bare back as she was bent over for him, waiting and ready. His large, warm palm stroked down her spine, then rounded the curve of her ass. She whimpered and wriggled against him impatiently.

He reached around to cup her and then gave an appreciative growl. “So wet for me.”

No kidding! “Griffin, please…”

He pressed harder there, moving in circles.

“Oh!” Her pleasure spiraled upward. He shifted behind her, and she begged, “Please don’t stop yet.” She was close, but she might not get there if he entered her now and took his hand away…

His hand stayed right there, circling at her most sensitive place, as he thrust into her.

“Griffin,” she breathed. The delicious intensity built even as he filled her completely, once, several times. “Yes!” And then she let out a sharp cry as her orgasm rocked her, making her squeeze around him. It seemed to go on and on. She went limp against the sofa. So good …

His fingers dug into her hips as he plunged deep into her.

“Ahh…” It was almost too much. He was so thick and hard. A lock of her hair fell in her face, and she flicked it away. In the next moment, he bent over her to gather up her hair and toss it over the opposite shoulder. Considerate, for a man who had her bent over her sofa.

The naughtiness of the position added to her pleasure as he drove into her with sure, even strokes. He caressed her ass, and she raised one foot off the floor to rub against the back of his calf, not being able to touch him in any other way from this angle. But he could do anything he wanted to her. He reached around to cup her in front again without pausing in his rhythm. The welcome friction made her let out a little shriek.

“Does that please you, my cinnamon?” His baritone voice seemed to rumble through her body.

“Ahh…” He surely didn’t expect a coherent answer at this point.

He pulled almost all the way out, moving his hand to her hip. Fuck. She restrained herself from actually grinding against the back of the sofa.

“I asked, does that please you?” His voice was dark, deep velvet.

Oh. He did expect an answer. “Yes! Griffin, please…”

She pushed back into him, but he caught her hips in his hands to prevent her, still only barely inside her. So it was going to be like that. She swallowed. It was easy to imagine him enjoying her helpless agitation.

“Call me the other thing.” His voice was quieter, but no less deep and no less devastating.

Oh God, what other thing? “Sweetheart,” she begged. He rubbed her ass again, in a slow circle. What?… Oh . “My lord, please .”

With a gravelly sound in the back of his throat, he drove into her again.

“Ah!” she cried out in relief. “Yes…”

His hand found its place again, teasing her clit as he, well, swived her. He coaxed a few more pleases out of her, and even another my lord , and then—

“Yes!” Okay, maybe that was a scream, but it was his fault. She went limp on the sofa as the aftershocks of the climax shuddered through her. Nothing had ever felt that good in her life .

He gripped her hips with both hands and pounded into her with a madman’s frenzy. His intensity left her gasping. He growled a word or two she couldn’t make out…French? With a wordless shout, he climaxed, pumping into her.

Oh, wow . Stunned, she stretched her hand back toward him, touching his thigh as he pulled out of her.

He reached down for her, his panting breath warm on her skin, and gathered her up into a standing position against him. His arms were wrapped around her, and he pressed fervent kisses on her neck, her cheek, her hair. With her back against his chest, she could feel his ragged breaths. She moved to turn and face him, and he loosened his grip at once to permit her, then embraced her again and let his forehead come to rest on hers.

He raised his hand to caress her cheek. “My dearest lady.”

She gave an unsteady laugh. The ardor in his tone wasn’t exactly what she’d expected after him drilling her like a jackhammer. She thought dizzily, a knight in the streets, a freak in the…well, living room. He did not need much instruction, though he could have as much practice as he liked.

“I need to sit down,” she realized aloud. She went around to the front of the sofa and wrapped herself up in the throw before curling up.

He sat next to her, frowning. “Is anything amiss?”

“What? No!” She’d had, hands down—literally hands down, on the sofa cushions—the best sex of her life. “My legs were just shaky.”

“I was too rough,” he guessed.

“No!” She laughed and kissed him on the cheek. “That was fantastic . In case you didn’t gather that from my, you know, loud orgasms.”

He nodded. “In my mind’s eye I had seen us doing these things. ’Twas your wicked tongue that emboldened me.”

“Now wait a minute,” she said, laughing. “You like my wicked tongue.”

He groaned. “That I do, my lady, more than I can say.”