Page 18 of Sherwood
LOX
Of the thingsI regretted most in my life—and they were many—I most regretted never seeing Marian Fitzwalter come. I especially regretted it now, having seen her gasp and arch at Rafe’s skilled touch, watching her fall apart under someone else’s care, knowing that it wasn’t my hand inside her designer panties, knowing that it wasn’t my welts on her backside that had driven her to the point of madness.
I had once shoved my fingers in her mouth though. That I had done before the Tom Ford-clad monster in front of me had, and I couldn’t help feeling a little smug about it.
As for the pulse of swollen need currently making my entire cunt throb, I tried my best to ignore it. It was only because Marian was bent over in that white dress like a bride bent over an altar. It was only because I’d just seen her lips part in mindless pleasure as she came, because I’d witnessed the alluring obedience with which she’d accepted Rafe’s fingers in her mouth.
It was not because Rafe was wearing one of those suits that made him look like a magazine ad for unethically expensive watches. It was not because of the easy, graceful power he had as he brought Marian off, as he casually shoved his fingers into her mouth, as he ignored the thick erection pressing against the front of his suit trousers.
It was not because he was handsome and cruel and interesting. It would never be because of that.
At least, never again.
But once they saw me, I’d known I’d miscalculated. Not because of anything I’d predicted about them, but because of what I hadn’t predicted aboutmyself. About my reaction to seeing the two of them together: one part fury, one part jealousy. Several parts undiluted lust.
“Lox,” Rafe said, his eyes like a clear winter sky as he looked at me. He kept his fingers in Marian’s mouth. “Welcome.”
Marian was so deep in subspace that I don’t think anything could have surprised her, but even so, I would’ve thought my appearance would have had some discernible impact. Something other than that come-drunk stare and post-orgasm panting, at least. Maybe I was becoming predictable—though I doubted it—or maybe she’d secretly hoped I’d come tonight, and my appearance was confirmation of a wish she’d pretended she hadn’t wished.
Or maybe Rafe was as good as he’d ever been, and Marian was blitzed out of her goddamn mind with the best neurotransmitters and hormones kink had to offer.
But while Rafe seemed like he’d expected me—which confirmed that he’d known I was here in Sherwood—a quick, assessing flick of his eyes from Marian’s face to mine told me that he had expectedherto be more surprised at the sight of me.
Which meant she hadn’t told him about my little visit last night.
Good girl.
Rafe slid his fingers free of Marian’s plush mouth and wiped them on a handkerchief he pulled from his suit pocket. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit tonight, Robin?” he asked. His voice was pleasant, conversational even, but I knew him better than that. I knew he was seething under that veneer of cool control.
“I thought I’d drop in and see how you were topping these days,” I said, setting my helmet down on a nearby table with athunk. “Come on, Rafe. Why do you think I’m here?”
Rafe wasn’t looking at me as I stepped closer, his eyes on Marian’s skin as he ran a careful palm over her punished thighs and bottom. Then he tugged the sheer white fabric of her dress back over her body and scooped her into his arms, already on his way to the low bed in the center of the room.
With the fluttering dress and the garters and the drugged gaze, she looked just like a bride who’d been thoroughly ravished after the ceremony, and Rafe the dashing groom with her in his arms. The jealousy hit me like a wall of fire, but the fire was something else too, something so close to loneliness and lust both that I couldn’t pick it apart from everything else.
“Idon’tknow why you’re here, Lox,” Rafe said as he laid Marian down on the bed and covered her with a blanket. She blinked at me from across the room, still floating like a kite in subspace, and my fingers curled in my palms as I watched Rafe tug the ponytail holder from the bottom of her braid and efficiently unravel the plait as he sat down on the edge of the bed.
That should be me. She should be blissed as hell because ofme, welted and sore because ofme.
His voice was quieter now, losing a little of that calculated pleasantry. “I can’t say it was wise of you to come.”
“I suppose that remains to be seen,” I said, although he was right and he knew it. It was stupid to show him how much Marian meant to me. Stupid to prove that I was here in Sherwood after all.
And it was beyond stupid to score my already battered heart with the sight of him gently—and with a care and attention he normally reserved for checking weapons and inspecting abseiling equipment—sliding his hands into Marian’s hair and massaging her scalp until she sighed.
Those big eyes fluttered closed, and within only a minute or two, she was falling deep into a subspace nap. Rafe didn’t stop massaging her scalp though, only pausing after a moment to tuck the blanket more securely around her shoulder.
I begrudgingly had to admit that he was taking good care of her.
“Why, Rafe?” I asked in a low voice, not wanting to wake our sleeping beauty. “Why her?”
“I think you know why,” he responded, without taking his eyes from where his fingers still moved in her hair. From where his fingertips rubbed her scalp and where the silky tresses slid around his hands like dark, dark water.
I felt strangely entranced by the sight, like I could watch him play with her hair for the rest of my life.
“I know you’re looking for me, if that’s what you’re implying,” I murmured, still watching his hands. “But why drag her into it? Why use her?”
“I had to assume that if you came back to Sherwood, you’d be tempted to make contact with the mysterious sweetheart you’d always refused to talk to me about. And if I could turn her into an asset…”
