Fic: A Twist of the Knife
Fandom: The Lion in Winter
Title: A Twist of the Knife
Author: shadow_truths
Pairing: Geoffrey/Alais
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Originally written for smallfandomfest.
Henry was alone with his wife, and Alais was just alone. He had told her to run along to bed, not cruelly, but as if she were a child who had stayed up too late. It had cut. He was always so sure she'd obey him. She felt unimportant, diminished, and buried deep inside her was a slender, white-hot core of anger.
Alais could remember how, when she was small, she'd idolized Eleanor, wishing that she might be so happy with her future husband. That had been before the rebellions, of course, and now, looking back on it as an adult, she understood that Eleanor and Henry had always been squabbling and making up again - until the day when they hadn't. Still, it was a long way from half-worshiping a woman to wishing she would just die already and leave one in peace.
She walked slowly, not certain exactly where she was going, and found herself wondering if Henry would do more than just speak with Eleanor. She knew that Eleanor would go back to him in a heartbeat if Henry so much as crooked a finger in her direction. But she was less certain about the king. He claimed to hate his wife, but sometimes Alais wasn't so sure. Eleanor was past her prime, but still beautiful in her way, and if any of the stories about her were to be believed, the older woman had surely forgotten more about lovemaking than Alais would ever know. She drove the vivid images out of her mind, swallowed her bile, and tried to think. She wanted to show Henry she wasn't just a wench to warm his bed, or a pawn he could sacrifice if it suited his plans. Henry had told her once that even if she wanted to, she couldn't make much trouble for him, but suddenly she felt like trying.
Geoffrey arched an eyebrow when he opened the door to her. "Have you lost your way? If it's my father's bedchamber you're after, it's back that way. Or Richard's is just down there, if you were hoping to throw yourself at his feet, though I don't think you'll find him in right now."
"No," said Alais, "I came to see you." And before she could lose her nerve, she stepped inside.
Geoffrey didn't stop her, but stood with his back to the door, as if he expected her to pull out a dagger at any moment. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.
Alais floundered for a moment. She knew she wasn't as clever as he was, or as any of them were, really, except perhaps John. "Because I want to teach Henry a lesson," she said eventually.
"Oh, I see," said Geoffrey, and he laughed. She didn't think he was laughing at her, though. "And why did you come to me, of all the worthy men you could have chosen for your little twist of the knife?"
"Richard frightens me, and John smells of sour milk," she blurted, feeling foolish even as she said it.
"You're not frightened of me?" he said, his voice low as he approached her.
"Not really." Her heart was beating so rapidly she thought surely he would be able to tell.
"You should be," Geoffrey said with a smile. "Henry underestimates me, so you've learned to do the same. It's all right," he added, sounding almost kindly for a moment, "I don't hold it against you."
"He underestimates me too," Alais said bitterly. "He thinks that when the time comes he'll just be able to cast me aside, saying 'Marry this son, or that son' and I'll do it."
"Won't you?"
"I…don't know. But he shouldn't just assume it!"
"Mm," Geoffrey said, taking her by the hand. His fingers were warm and dry against hers. "I married when he told me to, to the girl he chose for me when I was eight. It was easier, in the long run, and it brought me Brittany. It's not all bad."
"How is dear little Constance?" Alais mainly remembered Geoffrey's wife as the small, dark-haired toddler who'd trailed around behind her when she was a girl.
"Not so little anymore. Seven months gone with our first."
Alais felt a momentary, and unexpected, pang of guilt. "This is wrong. I should go," she said, pulling her mantle around her and trying to walk away with some semblance of dignity.
"No, you shouldn't," he said, drawing her back into his arms. She could almost see the wheels and gears turning behind his eyes. Her mantle fell to the floor, unheeded. "For once in your life, you've had a clever idea."
He kissed her, none too gently, and with a rush she remembered one hot summer day at Winchester when she was eleven, a year or two before Henry had so much as noticed her existence, when a thirteen-year-old Geoffrey had fed her tiny strawberries from red-stained fingers and then, shyly, pressed his lips to hers. She had pushed him away then, not wanting him to dirty her gown. But the man who was kissing her now was far from shy - already he was working with nimble fingers to unlace the neck of her gown - and she was no longer a blushing maiden. She clung to him as if she was falling, sliding one hand up under his loose tunic as he steered her backwards and onto the bed.
He worked her shift up past her hips, and the air was cool on her legs despite the fire burning in the hearth. "All the way off," he told her, and she did as she was commanded, tugging the loose robe over her head and tossing it to the floor. The wool blanket beneath her scratched lightly at her bare skin. His thumbs pressed hard into the flesh of her thighs as he parted them, hard enough that she thought it might leave bruises.
"That hurts," she said crossly.
He smirked up at her from between her open legs. "You want me to leave marks, don't you? Otherwise, how will Henry ever know?"
Alais thought for a moment, then nodded. He bowed his head over her slit then, licking her open, and she forgot about how he'd hurt her just a moment before, her head lolling back onto the pillow, eyes shut. Henry had lain with her that morning before they rose from bed, but it had just been a quick tumble, in and out and over. Geoffrey, on the other hand, seemed inclined to take his time, and he knew exactly how to gradually, methodically, awaken her desire. She could feel him watching her as she twisted and squirmed to the rhythm he was setting, which she was powerless to resist. I'll show Henry, she thought in a brief moment of lucidity, he shouldn't take me for granted. But soon all she could think about was what was going on between her thighs, and the need for release that was swelling inside her.
Before long she was moaning with each stroke of his clever tongue, aching for him to finally bring her to orgasm. When she pushed her hips up too insistently against his face, however, Geoffrey sat back on his heels. "Why are you stopping?" she asked, her breath coming in short gasps.
"Because you'll come when I tell you to, not before," he replied matter-of-factly. He stood, turning his back to her, and began to disrobe. She watched, captivated, as his body emerged from beneath his clothing, illuminated and shadowed by the flickering glow of hearth and candle. He wasn't the warrior Henry was, not so thickly-muscled or patterned with scars, but he gave an impression of strength even so. He's strong the way Eleanor is strong, Alais thought. Whip-cord strong. Willow-switch strong. The vision came to her unbidden: Geoffrey putting her over his knee and beating her, leaving slender red stripes across her backside, and she wondered anxiously just how he intended to mark her further.
He turned back to her, and she took in at a glance his considerable arousal and the expression on his face, the usual cynicism layered unexpectedly with hope. "Have you ever lain with anyone but my father?" he asked.
Alais had never been able to think quickly enough to come up with a witty response for every situation, so instead she was honest. Sometimes, with this family, that was enough to surprise them. "No, never."
"Good," he replied with a smile, "that will make this all the more pleasant." And he crept onto the bed beside her. She held her breath as he stroked the smooth skin of her stomach, down as far as the upper border of her damp curls, and she couldn't keep herself from quivering just a little. He didn't say anything, only brought his hand to her breast, pinching her nipple lightly between finger and thumb before twisting the pale bud more sharply. Her other nipple stiffened in synchronicity with its twin, and her flesh prickled with goosebumps.
"Hurry," she whispered, pleading with him. "We might not have much time." She opened her legs wider, urging him to take up his place between them.
"Why?" he asked, still stroking his fingers over her skin. He raised one of her hands to his lips, kissing the palm, the delicate web between the thumb and fingers, tracing the slim cords of her tendons up to her wrist. "Where else do you need to be tonight?"
"Henry might come looking for me whenever he's through with Eleanor. I'm supposed to be in my room."
"And what do you think would happen if he didn't find you there? Would he learn this lesson you're so keen to teach him?"
"I don't know. He might just tear the castle apart looking for me."
Geoffrey laughed, rolling on top of her. The tip of his cock slid against her parted lips, but he still wasn't inside her, where she wanted him. "Let him rage, then. I think he secretly enjoys it. If we hear him start bellowing, you'll have time to leave at your leisure - he certainly won't think to look here first." He pushed against her gently, teasing her without entering her, and she groaned impatiently. "Ah, Alais, you're so used to getting your own way," he said, stroking her fair hair back from her forehead. "But I'm going to make you tell me what you want first. I want to hear you say the words."
"I want…mnhh…I want you, Geoffrey."
"No, tell me what you really want."
"…I want Henry to suffer. I want to put horns on him so heavy his neck bows. I want to fuck you, and your brothers, and the whole garrison if I have to, until he finally pays attention to me."
And Geoffrey laughed under his breath, sliding into her like a blade through butter, slow and melting. She mewled, clutching at his shoulders and wrapping her legs around him to pull him closer. When he was as deep within her as he could get, she saw something pass across his face, a quick-buried hint of emotion she couldn't identify. He closed his eyes, resting there for a moment. "God, I've wanted this for half my life," he said dreamily. "I never imagined…" He shook his head, coming at least part of the way back to his senses, and began to thrust.
Henry's lovemaking was noisy, given to grunts and groans and the occasional roar. But Geoffrey was quiet, and the loudest sound out of him was his ragged breath against her cheek, or the occasional sharp sigh. He gripped her tightly, drawing his short fingernails slowly down her arms, making her shiver. His mouth worked at her neck, her shoulders, teeth grazing her skin, lips sucking on her pale flesh and leaving red marks in their wake. When he bit her hard enough to draw a few drops of blood, she squealed, pulling him up short. "You are allowed to fight back, you know," he told her, and rolled them both over until she was on top.
Alais planted her hands firmly on his chest, riding him hard, trying to break through whatever wall was keeping her from the climax that kept sliding out of reach. She hadn't believed him when he'd told her she couldn't come until he gave her permission, but it seemed to be true. Obedient Alais, she thought bitterly, and scored his chest with her nails almost without meaning to. Geoffrey gasped, clutching her wrists, and then grinned up at her, breathing harder than before. She smiled back, relieved that he wasn't angry, and then bent to take one of his nipples in her mouth, pinching it sharply between her teeth. He bucked his hips in response, pounding into her roughly, knocking her off-balance so that she fell forward and caught herself against the headboard, clinging to the carved wood to keep from falling. Her breasts hung just above his face, swinging gently back and forth, tempting targets, so he arched up and sucked one pink nipple hard between his lips, making it swell even further. She cried out and squeezed him even more tightly inside her, drawing a low moan from him, the first involuntary noise he'd made. His control was slipping, she could tell, and it wouldn't be long before he would come. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted, each breath shuddering out of him. Alais wondered if he was even thinking of her.
"All these years," he said suddenly, opening his eyes, "and Henry hasn't given you a child. Why is that?"
"I don't know," she answered quietly. "Sometimes the things he does with me wouldn't…or he spills his seed outside me, but not always. Maybe I'm barren."
Geoffrey chuckled. "More likely he's just old. Let's find out, shall we? If your belly swells, you can always imagine it's his, if that makes you happier." He pulled her down to him for a kiss, opening his mouth to her tongue, even as he drove himself into her harder and faster than before. She dug her nails into his shoulders, bit down on his lip, and felt him tense beneath her, everything trembling on a needle's point, before he fell hard, clutching her tight to him as he spent himself completely.
Alais waited until he was calm again, then decided to bring him out of his daze. She slowed her movements until she sat still, impaled on him. After a moment he opened his eyes and gazed up at her. "Is there a problem?" he asked, his voice dry.
"I want to come too," she said, playfully tracing a spiraling pattern on his chest with one finger.
"I told you, not until I say so."
"Then say so, please, I can't bear it much longer," she begged.
Geoffrey smiled slightly. He brought his thumb across to the cleft of her legs and pressed it firmly against her clitoris, moving it in a slow circle. Alais moaned, trying to grind herself against him, but he pulled his hand away again. "There's a lesson for you here, Alais," he said wryly. "What do you suppose it is?"
Confused, and finding it hard to think with her need so great, she just shook her head, close to tears. "I don't know. That I shouldn't trust you?"
Geoffrey sighed and reached up to stroke her cheek, as gentle as she'd ever seen him. "Take what you want - don't always wait for it to be given to you." He took her hand and moved it between her thighs, then watched as awareness dawned on her. Alais was angry with him, but too far gone to argue. Instead, she began to pleasure herself almost frantically, rubbing her clit and rocking on his now-softening cock. She moaned when he finally slipped out of her, but was almost immediately filled once more, this time with a pair of his long, slender fingers, which snaked between her legs and curled inside her, stroking her in ways she hadn't imagined could feel so good. She whimpered and squirmed, and finally let loose with a force that surprised her, a scream tearing from her throat.
When it was over, she slumped down on top of him. He held her close, stroking her hair and back. The sound of his heart beating against her ear settled her, and she couldn't remember exactly why she had wanted to cuff him just a few moments before.
The peaceful moment was interrupted by a sudden bellowing, not nearby but close enough, and they both knew in an instant that it was Henry. Alais quailed, but Geoffrey, ever practical, leapt out of bed and tossed her the shift she'd thrown to the floor. "Get dressed," he told her brusquely, even as he was hauling on his own shirt, and so she pulled the white gown on over her head and stood on still-shaky legs. He wrapped her mantle carefully around her, then drew her close to him. His lips lightly touched her forehead, and he murmured "Remember." Then he stuck his head out the door, looked around to make sure it was safe, and hustled her out of his room.
Alais made her way hastily back to her bedchamber. It was empty, the fire burning low. She could hear Henry raging somewhere downstairs, then out in the courtyard, and knew she had plenty of time. She found her comb and worked the worst tangles out of her hair before tying it back in a loose tail. Then she curled up on the rug before the fire and laid her head down on her arm. Her scratches smarted, her bruises were sore, and she could feel Geoffrey's seed still trickling out of her aching cunt. Alais smiled to herself and pretended to sleep.
Meanwhile, Geoffrey smoothed the rumpled blankets until there was no sign of their passion except for a few damp patches that would quickly dry, and crept back into bed, but left one candle burning. There was no way he could sleep now, not with Henry storming about outside and his mind whirring at full speed. He doubted that Alais would ever tell Henry, as much as she might wish to rub his face in her betrayal. She was too sweet, too weak, and too easily swayed, to be capable of such cruelty. Geoffrey, on the other hand, could wait until he found the perfect moment to tell his father everything.
Title: A Twist of the Knife
Author: shadow_truths
Pairing: Geoffrey/Alais
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Originally written for smallfandomfest.
Henry was alone with his wife, and Alais was just alone. He had told her to run along to bed, not cruelly, but as if she were a child who had stayed up too late. It had cut. He was always so sure she'd obey him. She felt unimportant, diminished, and buried deep inside her was a slender, white-hot core of anger.
Alais could remember how, when she was small, she'd idolized Eleanor, wishing that she might be so happy with her future husband. That had been before the rebellions, of course, and now, looking back on it as an adult, she understood that Eleanor and Henry had always been squabbling and making up again - until the day when they hadn't. Still, it was a long way from half-worshiping a woman to wishing she would just die already and leave one in peace.
She walked slowly, not certain exactly where she was going, and found herself wondering if Henry would do more than just speak with Eleanor. She knew that Eleanor would go back to him in a heartbeat if Henry so much as crooked a finger in her direction. But she was less certain about the king. He claimed to hate his wife, but sometimes Alais wasn't so sure. Eleanor was past her prime, but still beautiful in her way, and if any of the stories about her were to be believed, the older woman had surely forgotten more about lovemaking than Alais would ever know. She drove the vivid images out of her mind, swallowed her bile, and tried to think. She wanted to show Henry she wasn't just a wench to warm his bed, or a pawn he could sacrifice if it suited his plans. Henry had told her once that even if she wanted to, she couldn't make much trouble for him, but suddenly she felt like trying.
Geoffrey arched an eyebrow when he opened the door to her. "Have you lost your way? If it's my father's bedchamber you're after, it's back that way. Or Richard's is just down there, if you were hoping to throw yourself at his feet, though I don't think you'll find him in right now."
"No," said Alais, "I came to see you." And before she could lose her nerve, she stepped inside.
Geoffrey didn't stop her, but stood with his back to the door, as if he expected her to pull out a dagger at any moment. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.
Alais floundered for a moment. She knew she wasn't as clever as he was, or as any of them were, really, except perhaps John. "Because I want to teach Henry a lesson," she said eventually.
"Oh, I see," said Geoffrey, and he laughed. She didn't think he was laughing at her, though. "And why did you come to me, of all the worthy men you could have chosen for your little twist of the knife?"
"Richard frightens me, and John smells of sour milk," she blurted, feeling foolish even as she said it.
"You're not frightened of me?" he said, his voice low as he approached her.
"Not really." Her heart was beating so rapidly she thought surely he would be able to tell.
"You should be," Geoffrey said with a smile. "Henry underestimates me, so you've learned to do the same. It's all right," he added, sounding almost kindly for a moment, "I don't hold it against you."
"He underestimates me too," Alais said bitterly. "He thinks that when the time comes he'll just be able to cast me aside, saying 'Marry this son, or that son' and I'll do it."
"Won't you?"
"I…don't know. But he shouldn't just assume it!"
"Mm," Geoffrey said, taking her by the hand. His fingers were warm and dry against hers. "I married when he told me to, to the girl he chose for me when I was eight. It was easier, in the long run, and it brought me Brittany. It's not all bad."
"How is dear little Constance?" Alais mainly remembered Geoffrey's wife as the small, dark-haired toddler who'd trailed around behind her when she was a girl.
"Not so little anymore. Seven months gone with our first."
Alais felt a momentary, and unexpected, pang of guilt. "This is wrong. I should go," she said, pulling her mantle around her and trying to walk away with some semblance of dignity.
"No, you shouldn't," he said, drawing her back into his arms. She could almost see the wheels and gears turning behind his eyes. Her mantle fell to the floor, unheeded. "For once in your life, you've had a clever idea."
He kissed her, none too gently, and with a rush she remembered one hot summer day at Winchester when she was eleven, a year or two before Henry had so much as noticed her existence, when a thirteen-year-old Geoffrey had fed her tiny strawberries from red-stained fingers and then, shyly, pressed his lips to hers. She had pushed him away then, not wanting him to dirty her gown. But the man who was kissing her now was far from shy - already he was working with nimble fingers to unlace the neck of her gown - and she was no longer a blushing maiden. She clung to him as if she was falling, sliding one hand up under his loose tunic as he steered her backwards and onto the bed.
He worked her shift up past her hips, and the air was cool on her legs despite the fire burning in the hearth. "All the way off," he told her, and she did as she was commanded, tugging the loose robe over her head and tossing it to the floor. The wool blanket beneath her scratched lightly at her bare skin. His thumbs pressed hard into the flesh of her thighs as he parted them, hard enough that she thought it might leave bruises.
"That hurts," she said crossly.
He smirked up at her from between her open legs. "You want me to leave marks, don't you? Otherwise, how will Henry ever know?"
Alais thought for a moment, then nodded. He bowed his head over her slit then, licking her open, and she forgot about how he'd hurt her just a moment before, her head lolling back onto the pillow, eyes shut. Henry had lain with her that morning before they rose from bed, but it had just been a quick tumble, in and out and over. Geoffrey, on the other hand, seemed inclined to take his time, and he knew exactly how to gradually, methodically, awaken her desire. She could feel him watching her as she twisted and squirmed to the rhythm he was setting, which she was powerless to resist. I'll show Henry, she thought in a brief moment of lucidity, he shouldn't take me for granted. But soon all she could think about was what was going on between her thighs, and the need for release that was swelling inside her.
Before long she was moaning with each stroke of his clever tongue, aching for him to finally bring her to orgasm. When she pushed her hips up too insistently against his face, however, Geoffrey sat back on his heels. "Why are you stopping?" she asked, her breath coming in short gasps.
"Because you'll come when I tell you to, not before," he replied matter-of-factly. He stood, turning his back to her, and began to disrobe. She watched, captivated, as his body emerged from beneath his clothing, illuminated and shadowed by the flickering glow of hearth and candle. He wasn't the warrior Henry was, not so thickly-muscled or patterned with scars, but he gave an impression of strength even so. He's strong the way Eleanor is strong, Alais thought. Whip-cord strong. Willow-switch strong. The vision came to her unbidden: Geoffrey putting her over his knee and beating her, leaving slender red stripes across her backside, and she wondered anxiously just how he intended to mark her further.
He turned back to her, and she took in at a glance his considerable arousal and the expression on his face, the usual cynicism layered unexpectedly with hope. "Have you ever lain with anyone but my father?" he asked.
Alais had never been able to think quickly enough to come up with a witty response for every situation, so instead she was honest. Sometimes, with this family, that was enough to surprise them. "No, never."
"Good," he replied with a smile, "that will make this all the more pleasant." And he crept onto the bed beside her. She held her breath as he stroked the smooth skin of her stomach, down as far as the upper border of her damp curls, and she couldn't keep herself from quivering just a little. He didn't say anything, only brought his hand to her breast, pinching her nipple lightly between finger and thumb before twisting the pale bud more sharply. Her other nipple stiffened in synchronicity with its twin, and her flesh prickled with goosebumps.
"Hurry," she whispered, pleading with him. "We might not have much time." She opened her legs wider, urging him to take up his place between them.
"Why?" he asked, still stroking his fingers over her skin. He raised one of her hands to his lips, kissing the palm, the delicate web between the thumb and fingers, tracing the slim cords of her tendons up to her wrist. "Where else do you need to be tonight?"
"Henry might come looking for me whenever he's through with Eleanor. I'm supposed to be in my room."
"And what do you think would happen if he didn't find you there? Would he learn this lesson you're so keen to teach him?"
"I don't know. He might just tear the castle apart looking for me."
Geoffrey laughed, rolling on top of her. The tip of his cock slid against her parted lips, but he still wasn't inside her, where she wanted him. "Let him rage, then. I think he secretly enjoys it. If we hear him start bellowing, you'll have time to leave at your leisure - he certainly won't think to look here first." He pushed against her gently, teasing her without entering her, and she groaned impatiently. "Ah, Alais, you're so used to getting your own way," he said, stroking her fair hair back from her forehead. "But I'm going to make you tell me what you want first. I want to hear you say the words."
"I want…mnhh…I want you, Geoffrey."
"No, tell me what you really want."
"…I want Henry to suffer. I want to put horns on him so heavy his neck bows. I want to fuck you, and your brothers, and the whole garrison if I have to, until he finally pays attention to me."
And Geoffrey laughed under his breath, sliding into her like a blade through butter, slow and melting. She mewled, clutching at his shoulders and wrapping her legs around him to pull him closer. When he was as deep within her as he could get, she saw something pass across his face, a quick-buried hint of emotion she couldn't identify. He closed his eyes, resting there for a moment. "God, I've wanted this for half my life," he said dreamily. "I never imagined…" He shook his head, coming at least part of the way back to his senses, and began to thrust.
Henry's lovemaking was noisy, given to grunts and groans and the occasional roar. But Geoffrey was quiet, and the loudest sound out of him was his ragged breath against her cheek, or the occasional sharp sigh. He gripped her tightly, drawing his short fingernails slowly down her arms, making her shiver. His mouth worked at her neck, her shoulders, teeth grazing her skin, lips sucking on her pale flesh and leaving red marks in their wake. When he bit her hard enough to draw a few drops of blood, she squealed, pulling him up short. "You are allowed to fight back, you know," he told her, and rolled them both over until she was on top.
Alais planted her hands firmly on his chest, riding him hard, trying to break through whatever wall was keeping her from the climax that kept sliding out of reach. She hadn't believed him when he'd told her she couldn't come until he gave her permission, but it seemed to be true. Obedient Alais, she thought bitterly, and scored his chest with her nails almost without meaning to. Geoffrey gasped, clutching her wrists, and then grinned up at her, breathing harder than before. She smiled back, relieved that he wasn't angry, and then bent to take one of his nipples in her mouth, pinching it sharply between her teeth. He bucked his hips in response, pounding into her roughly, knocking her off-balance so that she fell forward and caught herself against the headboard, clinging to the carved wood to keep from falling. Her breasts hung just above his face, swinging gently back and forth, tempting targets, so he arched up and sucked one pink nipple hard between his lips, making it swell even further. She cried out and squeezed him even more tightly inside her, drawing a low moan from him, the first involuntary noise he'd made. His control was slipping, she could tell, and it wouldn't be long before he would come. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted, each breath shuddering out of him. Alais wondered if he was even thinking of her.
"All these years," he said suddenly, opening his eyes, "and Henry hasn't given you a child. Why is that?"
"I don't know," she answered quietly. "Sometimes the things he does with me wouldn't…or he spills his seed outside me, but not always. Maybe I'm barren."
Geoffrey chuckled. "More likely he's just old. Let's find out, shall we? If your belly swells, you can always imagine it's his, if that makes you happier." He pulled her down to him for a kiss, opening his mouth to her tongue, even as he drove himself into her harder and faster than before. She dug her nails into his shoulders, bit down on his lip, and felt him tense beneath her, everything trembling on a needle's point, before he fell hard, clutching her tight to him as he spent himself completely.
Alais waited until he was calm again, then decided to bring him out of his daze. She slowed her movements until she sat still, impaled on him. After a moment he opened his eyes and gazed up at her. "Is there a problem?" he asked, his voice dry.
"I want to come too," she said, playfully tracing a spiraling pattern on his chest with one finger.
"I told you, not until I say so."
"Then say so, please, I can't bear it much longer," she begged.
Geoffrey smiled slightly. He brought his thumb across to the cleft of her legs and pressed it firmly against her clitoris, moving it in a slow circle. Alais moaned, trying to grind herself against him, but he pulled his hand away again. "There's a lesson for you here, Alais," he said wryly. "What do you suppose it is?"
Confused, and finding it hard to think with her need so great, she just shook her head, close to tears. "I don't know. That I shouldn't trust you?"
Geoffrey sighed and reached up to stroke her cheek, as gentle as she'd ever seen him. "Take what you want - don't always wait for it to be given to you." He took her hand and moved it between her thighs, then watched as awareness dawned on her. Alais was angry with him, but too far gone to argue. Instead, she began to pleasure herself almost frantically, rubbing her clit and rocking on his now-softening cock. She moaned when he finally slipped out of her, but was almost immediately filled once more, this time with a pair of his long, slender fingers, which snaked between her legs and curled inside her, stroking her in ways she hadn't imagined could feel so good. She whimpered and squirmed, and finally let loose with a force that surprised her, a scream tearing from her throat.
When it was over, she slumped down on top of him. He held her close, stroking her hair and back. The sound of his heart beating against her ear settled her, and she couldn't remember exactly why she had wanted to cuff him just a few moments before.
The peaceful moment was interrupted by a sudden bellowing, not nearby but close enough, and they both knew in an instant that it was Henry. Alais quailed, but Geoffrey, ever practical, leapt out of bed and tossed her the shift she'd thrown to the floor. "Get dressed," he told her brusquely, even as he was hauling on his own shirt, and so she pulled the white gown on over her head and stood on still-shaky legs. He wrapped her mantle carefully around her, then drew her close to him. His lips lightly touched her forehead, and he murmured "Remember." Then he stuck his head out the door, looked around to make sure it was safe, and hustled her out of his room.
Alais made her way hastily back to her bedchamber. It was empty, the fire burning low. She could hear Henry raging somewhere downstairs, then out in the courtyard, and knew she had plenty of time. She found her comb and worked the worst tangles out of her hair before tying it back in a loose tail. Then she curled up on the rug before the fire and laid her head down on her arm. Her scratches smarted, her bruises were sore, and she could feel Geoffrey's seed still trickling out of her aching cunt. Alais smiled to herself and pretended to sleep.
Meanwhile, Geoffrey smoothed the rumpled blankets until there was no sign of their passion except for a few damp patches that would quickly dry, and crept back into bed, but left one candle burning. There was no way he could sleep now, not with Henry storming about outside and his mind whirring at full speed. He doubted that Alais would ever tell Henry, as much as she might wish to rub his face in her betrayal. She was too sweet, too weak, and too easily swayed, to be capable of such cruelty. Geoffrey, on the other hand, could wait until he found the perfect moment to tell his father everything.