Come to Me (Rogues of Rouen) by Tessa Fairfax

Author:Tessa Fairfax
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: earl; knight; medieval; forbidden; historical romance; Entangled Select Historical; romance; Oberon Wonch; series; Rogues of Rouen
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC (Select Historical)
Published: 2020-02-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Six

The dragon was FitzHenri.

As Bridget had known all along.

He had returned in the night and come to her. To her. And no one else.

He moved over her as a lover, nudging her onto her back, his fierce mouth grazing secret skin, his tongue laving sensitive places. He bared her quivering breast and suckled, shooting bolts of ecstasy through her until she thought she might shatter into a pulsing cloud of sparks.

But he wasn’t done, and it wasn’t over. His hand went to the lowest part of her body, between the tops of her thighs where not even she dared touch, and began to caress her there.

“I am yours alone,” he whispered in her ear, his voice rough yet silky, in the way of anguished longing. “Yours and no one else’s. Come, I will give you pleasure.”

A sudden pain struck her in the ribs.

“Quit mumbling,” urged a voice at her side.

A thunderclap brought Bridget fully awake. Lightning flickered, and the shutter crashed at the narrow window.

“Oh bother,” muttered Kaitlin, in bed next to her. “Now it’s raining in here.”

“Did you poke me with your elbow?” Bridget asked, battling to shed the confusion of fantasy and reality.

“I had to. You were having a bad dream. You wouldn’t stop moving and moaning.”

Aislinn’s sleep-softened voice came to them from the other side of the bed. “Someone close the shutter, will you?”

Bridget rose, her bare feet landing on the damp wooden floor. A blast of wind and rain lashed her as she reached for the shutter, but soon she had the worst of the storm locked outside.

She raced back to bed as flashes of lightning struck in quick succession and found their way into the chamber, blinding in their intensity. She hopped into the warm refuge of the bedding and tried to get back to sleep, but her insides reverberated with unsatisfied want.

“Aislinn,” she whispered into the dark. “Are you awake?”

“I am,” Kaitlin snapped.

“Aye,” Aislinn answered groggily.

Bridget sat up and crawled over Kaitlin’s legs to the foot of the bed on Aislinn’s side. With a rustling of the linens, Aislinn rose to join her. Kaitlin writhed her way over to the edge that Bridget had vacated, hunkering down into the blankets.

“What ails you?” Aislinn whispered.

“Are you worried?” This wasn’t what she really wanted to ask. She wanted to ask once and for all if Aislinn loved the earl, but the clutches of fear held her back.

What if the answer was aye? Then Bridget would have to set firmly aside all her dangerous feelings and somehow get herself away to the Martyred Virgins immediately. But if the answer was nay, then Bridget would have to face an even harder decision…and confront so many other things—her father, her own conscience. Him.

And after all that, what if FitzHenri didn’t love her back? She would die of shame.

And loss.

“About the earl?” her sister asked. “Naturally I’m worried. My fiancé is out in this dread weather. I’m concerned for his safety.” She paused. Her voice turned suspicious. “Why do you ask such a thing?”

“We’ve never really…I guess…talked about all this.

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