No Fury

Now: Thirty Eight

The past few weeks I have grown so hungry for his impatient, scraping touch that by the time I get inside the shed, bare and prone, I am restless on the feather bed beneath him.

But I am becoming round and full; our child is a fluttering, flipping fish inside my belly and my stomach is a gentle curve beneath Harry's cupped, anxious palms. The larger I become with his babe, the more he worries.

I touch his face, turning it up to me. "Look at me. Kiss me."

He curls on his side,  leaning over me. His long fingers cup my breast as he bends to place his mouth right up against mine.  "Soon your breasts will be heavier. I'll lick the milk from your skin."

My fingers find their home in his soft, wild curls, holding him close. "You will not."

"Aye. I will." Harry nips at my bottom lip. "I'll taste every bit of you."

I giggle, and it turns into a moan of pleasure as his mouth moves lower, lower between my legs.

While he kisses me there, I have the fantasy of the scrape of his teeth, the rough slap of his fingers.

I am jerked out of my  delirium by a sound outside the shed: a thunk, followed by a quiet  rustle. As he is every Saturday, James is away at the local market  several miles down the road. Harry and I are meant to be alone.

He is up and off me in an instant, silently holding his hand up to tell me to remain still.

"I'll go look," he whispers.

Panic clutches my chest when he slips to the window, peeking out carefully. Visions of men  patrolling, of rebel soldiers with swords lying in wait clutch at my  heart until Harry smiles, sighing in relief. "It was only a branch."

"Are we in danger here?" I ask him when he returns to our nest.

"You are only in danger of being held down in this bed for the whole of the morning."

The only thing capable of distracting me from the idea of such rough lovemaking is the possibility of him being threatened. I put my hand on his chest, urging him to look at me. "Harry? Is war looming still?"

His eyes turn down a little when he blinks away from my mouth and up to meet my eyes. "Aye. It is. But we are hoping it will not come to that."

I want details, and he  gives me some that I already know - that those who live just outside the kingdom boundaries believe the King and Harry claim no right to the throne - and some details that I don't: every country bordering us and beyond would benefit from a dethroning. We have the most desirable ocean ports in all of Europe.

"You wouldn't go?" I ask him, hoping. "Your father would lead the battle and you would remain here?"

He smile is wan. "That is the most likely possibility."

I don't want to hear the others. I pull him down to my neck, tilting my head back in offering.

Kiss me here, I think. Kiss me here, and down the length of my body and to that place between my  legs and into my soul. I am a ravenous creature these days. I want, and want, and want.

Harry begins to, but pulls back, seeming to think only now to ask: "Has he taken you this day?"

I laugh. "Before I come to you? Of course not."

He ducks to meet my eyes. "Have you found pleasure with him?"

I stare him down until he relents, apologizing under his breath.

"Can you not close your eyes?" he asks, sounding almost as if he wants me to enjoy giving myself to Liam. "Pretend it's me?"

"He's gentle. I cannot pretend it's you."

Harry's hands form fists in the bed linens.

"And anyway he hasn't taken me this  past week," I tell him. "I believe he is not touching me anymore because  of the roundness of my belly. Everyone sees now. Everyone congratulates us. It's a relief. But it makes me think of  you all the more and I want . . ."

He looks over at me and I realize that what I want - this drum of need in my thoughts - sounds mad.

A scorching blush crawls from my chest to my cheeks.

Leaning in, interest piqued now, he asks, "You want what?"

Pregnancy is making my body a stranger.

I stare ahead, whispering, "I want to feel defiled by you."

I can see his jaw go slack out of the corner of my eye. I plow on. "I want to feel safe, but I need so much sensation I want pleasure and pain at once." Looking up into his eyes, I admit, "I miss the days from before when you were a little angry over wanting me."

He watches me with such intent, such focus. "You want me to be rough with you?"

I know he won't do it.  Not with the new swell to my belly, not with the precious few hours we  have together each week. "I'm sorry, Harry. Forget this. My body is a  stranger to me, wanting your hands all over me, wanting to feel wicked  and . . . I . . . have this desperate lust in me that feels too big. It is the state of my body like this. I feel wild."

He reaches between my thighs, breath catching.

"You are slick for this, to be treated brutally by me."

"Don't make me feel ashamed."

Pulling back, he looks  at me with confusion. "Why would you feel shame? Do you not remember the afternoon before the banquet?" He pushes two fingers deep inside me, thrusting hard and fast as his teeth scrape along my jaw. "I struck you. Bit you. I took you like an animal on all fours. And I  relished every second of it because you did, too."

He sucks at my neck, fingers pumping furiously. "You miss this? I thought it was only I who longed for it to occasionally not be sweet. Who longed for it to occasionally be a battle between us."

It is there.
There.
The edge of it.

Not enough.

"Like this, my darling? Hard?" He pushes three inside, then four, his other hand grasps my breast so tight I lose my breath.

"Like this," I breathe. "But more. Don't ask me. Go farther than you think you ought."

"How will I know if it's too far?"

My body coils under his touch. Too desperate. "It won't be."

And as I admit it out loud, my body releases around him, soft and grateful but still not enough.