Which made him feel lower than a snake’s belly.
“And one cup of milk per child and breeding mother,” he added.
Finn was looking at him with alarm now. Generosity was fine, according to his steward, but he was perhaps going too far.
It was very late when he and Finn arrived back at the castle. They handed their horses over to a stable boy and made their way through the back door of the keep, into the empty kitchen. Empty except for Girda, who snored loudly from her pallet by the fire, and several youthlings, girls and boys both, who slept on the stone floor, lured no doubt by the hearths where embers still threw off heat. Dinner was over long ago, of course, so he and Finn grabbed a circle of manchet bread and a hunk of meat each, to be washed down with water, though Finn offered to go unlock the private larder where he’d hidden the ale.
A tremendous hunger and thirst gnawed at his stomach and dried his throat, as fierce as the old days. Was he destined to gluttony again? Would he blow up like a fat balloon, again?
Not if I can help it, he vowed.
Cnut was cold and bone-weary by the time he made his way up the stairs to his bedchamber, where he was greeted with a warm fire, a very clean room without any rushes, and a woman under his bed furs. He didn’t need to uncover her to know who it was.
The room smelled of sweet coconut.
And he was hit with yet another temptation, more powerful than that for food or drink. Blood drained from his head and heat sizzled across his skin from his scalp to the tips of his fingers and the ends of his curled toes. Between his legs, his balls shifted and his staff seemed to yawn and stretch and come to life. If cocks could smile, his was doing a happy dance of anticipation. He moaned, and, suddenly weak, sank down into a chair.
He was no longer tired. He was energized, as if he’d just mainlined Red Bull. Or testosterone. Like he needed any more of that!
What to do? What to do?
He hesitated, but only for a moment, before standing and shucking out of his clothing. He was going to sleep in his own bed, but not before taking care of business. Taking his cock in hand, he stroked himself. Up, down. Slow, then fast. He knew just how to bring himself to completion. He’d done it more times than he could count over the centuries. Was it a sin? Yes, but not nearly as sinful as what his body really wanted. The whole time he watched Andrea. Stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke. Only her face showed above the bed furs, but he had a good imagination for what lay underneath. Soft skin, small breasts, a curvy ass, long legs. Faster, faster, faster. In all, it probably took only two minutes before he climaxed with a long groan of pleasure/pain. Was it good for him? Hell, no! But it satisfied him for the moment.
He went over to the washstand, where he splashed cold water on his face, then washed his face and genitals. Then he turned to the bed, still aroused but not voraciously so, his sexual appetite overridden by the aches and exhaustion of the long day.
He could go downstairs and seek an empty pallet, or he could lie here on the hard floor before the fire, but he was so damned weary and muscle-sore from all the riding. Besides, he didn’t want to, dammit! She slept so soundly, she wouldn’t even notice that he shared the bed furs, the bed being wide enough for two people, three if so inclined.
Lifting the bed fur on the far side from the hearth, he slid inside the delicious warmth of the two furs. Fur side up on the bottom, fur side down on the top. These were two large skins, soft and thick, of bears he’d killed himself many years ago, before he’d gotten too heavy to walk or ride on long hunts.
He yawned widely and let himself relax into the furs. There was a body width of space separating him from Andrea. He was safe. He might even be able to escape in the morning before she awakened, without her ever knowing they’d shared a bed.
Turning on his side, away from her, he let his mind wander. There were so many problems to be resolved here at Hoggstead. And so many questions about his role here or in the future. Still more about what to do with his reluctant travel companion. But he settled almost immediately into a deep sleep.
And came instantly awake in the middle of the night.
He was lying flat on his back, arms folded under his head, legs spread, still on his side of the bed. But Andrea had moved. Like a kitten, she was cuddled up against him, her face on his chest, one leg over his thigh, the knee nudging Neverland, or what she would consider Neverland if she were awake, and the palm of one hand resting over his chest.
Couldn’t she hear the loud thumping of his heart? Couldn’t she feel the rhythm of his breathing? Couldn’t she tell that her coconut essence was becoming a sex trigger to him?
Oddly, he could smell mint now, too. His own unique body odor? And he liked the way it blended with the coconut. An odd combination, coconut and mint. But perhaps not so odd. In fact, it felt too right.