Chapter 300: All I Saw Was You

Henry’s gaze dropped to her hands again. His amusement struggled bravely and lost to the far older, simpler truth of wanting her. "Slowly...For mercy’s sake, slowly, or I shall suffer a heart attack."

Livia giggled. "I hear you like them substantial."

"I never exactly said it aloud."

Livia’s smile trembled. Then she pulled the loosened nightdress lower. The linen slipped from one shoulder, then the other, falling down her arms. The gown settled below her breasts.

She was beautiful. She was beautiful because she was Livia. His gaze feasted on her, yes. He was only mortal, and barely that where she was concerned.

But beneath the hunger was wonder. He reached up slowly. His fingers touched the centre of her chest, then slid down between her breasts.

"On my trip to France," he said, "the cold nights on the boat were only bearable because I could not stop thinking about the last night with you." Henry’s fingers moved gently over her skin. "All I saw was you. Every time I closed my eyes, it was you beneath me, beside me, above me. I would hold my cock in my hand and imagine it was still you touching me. Your mouth. Your lips wrapped around it."

"I have every part of you etched into my mind’s eye," he said. "You. As you are." His fingers circled one dark nipple, then the other. They hardened beneath his touch, and Livia’s breath trembled in response. "So when you ask whether it bothers me or whether your body meets some expectation, you are asking the wrong question."

She swallowed. "What is the right one?"

"Whether I can think of anything else when I have you near me."

"And can you?"

"No. You are my preference," Henry said. "Whatever you have, as long as it is on you, as long as it is you, it is substantial to me. It is more than enough for me." Henry lifted himself slightly, his eyes locked on hers. "Let me show you," he whispered.

Her hand came to his shoulder. Henry bent his head and closed his mouth around one hardened bud. Livia sighed his name. "Henry..."

He drew her in gently, his tongue rolling around her nipple. Livia’s fingers slipped into his hair. At first, she touched him cautiously. Then, as pleasure loosened the last of her guardedness, she held him closer, guiding him. His hand moved to her other breast, gently kneading, testing what made her breath quicken and what made her fingers tighten against his scalp. Her body answered him in small ways: the arch of her back, the soft parting of her lips.

He shifted his mouth to the other side, lavishing it with the same slow attention, while his thumb circled the wet, hardened nipple he had left behind.

Livia shuddered. When her nipples were hardened, they were quite substantial. Henry pulled her by the waist into him, as though there was anywhere else she could go.

There was not. Not with his arms around her, not with his mouth still warm against her breast, not with the whole of his body pressed so close. There was hunger in his hands that made her want to ruin him for it.

She felt wanted. Her body shook in his hands, and God knew Henry would have given every jewel, every acre of land, every privilege attached to his miserable crown just to feel her tremble like that in his arms every day. If God in His infinite mercies granted him strength, and the ability not to behave like a starving fool before the wedding, Henry intended to count himself blessed.

Livia’s hand found his. Her fingers closed around his wrist, and she guided him down her body. Past the warmth of her stomach. Past the gathered linen at her hips. Between her thighs, where she needed him most. "I want more, Henry."

His eyes lifted to hers. Henry pulled his mouth away from her breast with great difficulty. "Christ," he muttered. He turned her onto her back against the pillows and leaned over her.

Livia looked up at him, hair spread beneath her, lips parted, chest rising and falling with each uneven breath. Her night rail had slipped low around her waist, leaving her bare to him, and Henry took one moment simply to look.

One moment was not enough. It would never be enough.

"I want you," she whispered. "All of you."

Heat rushed through him, and he had to lower his head for a second as if prayer might still be useful.

His fingers moved down her thighs. He skimmed her skin, feeling every tremble beneath his touch. Livia’s breath caught as he spread his hand wider, tracing the soft inside of her thigh. Her own fingers reached for the fastening of his breeches. Henry caught her hand at once. He brought it to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.

"Not yet, my love," he whispered.

Her brows drew together. "We are already getting married."

"I know. And by God, I want to give myself to you. Do not mistake me. I want to be inside you until I forget my own name. But I want to wait."

"Why?"

"Because I want to worship you the way you should be worshipped." His hand returned to her thigh, stroking slowly, soothing the frustration he had caused. "I want God Himself to bless our union. I want vows over us. I want the Church, and heaven forced to witness that you are mine by honour as well as desire."

"I want you to feel like the queen that you are when I finally take you," he said. "I want you crowned. Then I will spend our wedding night proving that patience made me grateful." His fingers slid higher, spreading her thighs apart. He kissed her hip, then her lower stomach, then lifted his head so he could watch her face as his fingers found her.

"But I can still pleasure you," he said. His touch moved over her, parting the slick heat of her folds. Livia’s fingers clutched at the coverlet. Her eyes fluttered closed. He rubbed his fingers up and down her sex, coating them in her wetness. "But," he whispered, "she that taught me love and suffer pain..."

He slid one finger inside her. Livia arched sharply, her back lifting from the bed, pushing her bare breasts towards him as a gasp broke from her mouth. He leaned down over her, one hand braced beside her head, his fingers still buried inside her. His mouth hovered near her ear so his words would reach her even while pleasure trapped her in its grip.

"My doubtful hope and eke my hot desire." His fingers moved inside her again, and her grip tightened sharply. Her nails dug through the linen of his nightshirt, and her feet curled as pleasure caught her, and slowly robbed her of every sensible thought. Henry watched her face as if he were committing scripture to memory.

"With shamefast look," he murmured near her ear, "to shadow and refrain..."

Livia shivered beneath him. His thumb searched for the sensitive little bud above her opening and found it with devastating accuracy. Livia inhaled sharply. "Henry."

He pressed his mouth briefly to her cheek, then her jaw. His fingers curled inside her, and his thumb rolled over her clit. Henry had never seen anything more ruinous. He quickened his thumb slightly.

"Hmmm..." she moaned, biting down on her lower lip as pleasure tipped over into release.

Henry felt the moment take her. Her body tightened around his fingers, her breath broke. "Her ire," he whispered, smiling against her temple, "converteth straight to smiling grace."

Livia’s lashes fluttered. Even half undone, even with her body still pulsing around his fingers, she managed to frown. "Wrong," she murmured.

He laughed softly. "No."

"Yes," she insisted. "It is wrong."

He slowly withdrew his fingers, pressing a kiss to her shoulder as he did. "Is it?"

Her eyes opened more fully. "It is ’her smiling grace converteth straight to ire.’"

Henry looked at her for a moment. He was absurdly pleased. Pleased that she had caught it. God help England. Its future queen was going to be magnificent. "I know...I altered it."

"You cannot alter Surrey." Her lips parted in offended amusement.

"When I came in, you were angry," he said softly then lowered his mouth close to hers. "And now look at you," he whispered. "Beautiful and finished."

The colour rose in her cheeks. she lifted one hand to the back of his neck and pulled him closer. Their mouths met gently with lingering warmth.

He kissed her until her body loosened fully beneath him. Then he settled beside her again and drew the covers up, tucking them around her. Livia’s lashes drooped. Her breathing began to slow. Henry stroked her hair back from her face. "Sleep," he murmured.

Her mouth curved faintly. "Will you stay?"

"Yes."

"Even if I am angry tomorrow?"