Standing again, Elf smiled teasingly up into his face. Then she went about the business of removing his outer tunic, and the two undertunics he wore. Now Ranulf was clad only in his linen chemise. His raging manhood thrust the soft material forward. Licking her lips with her tongue in a provocative fashion, Elf slowly unlaced the garment, her hands pushing it open, smoothing over his broad chest, sliding the garment off his shoulders so that it fell to the floor. "Now," she said, "we are equal, my lord," and bending her head she stroked his warm flesh with her wet tongue, teasing at his nipples until he thought his head would burst and his loins explode with their raging desire for her.

Ranulf drew her up and wrapped his arms about her. His lips played softly over her lips. "What," he demanded, "has happened to the little innocent I married?" Then, before she might answer him, he kissed her hard as their bodies pressed together heatedly.

Elf knew she was yet in control, but she was half-conscious with the pleasure his lips offered. Too long! Too long, she thought muzzily. Her breasts were molded tightly against his chest. The heat from his body was utterly intoxicating. His manhood was like iron against her belly. His thighs were like rock. Her lips softened and parted just slightly beneath his. His tongue played with her tongue, sending shivers of delight and anticipation up and down her spine. Finally she drew her head away from him. "The water will grow cold if we do not bathe soon, but our desire, I think, will continue to remain hot, my love."

His hazel eyes were overflowing with his passion, but he released her and climbed up the steps into the tall oaken tub by the fire. Then reaching out he lifted her in with him. Elf took up the sea sponge and filled it with liquid soap. Then she began to wash him, rubbing the sponge over his back and his chest, down his arms, across his shoulders, around his neck. She took a small soft cloth to wash his face, then his ears. The sponge dipped beneath the water to wash what she could not see. Ranulf gritted his teeth and bore her delicious ministrations. On her command he dipped himself beneath the warm water to rinse. Then it was his turn.

Taking the sponge from her, he renewed the soft soap and rubbed across her back and shoulders, laving water with his big hand to rinse her silken skin. Laying the sponge aside on the ledge of the tub for a moment, he slipped an arm about her and drew her back against him. He kissed the nape of her neck softly, nibbling lightly at the tiny curls springing forth where her long hair was pinned up.

"Delicious," he murmured against her skin, then he nipped the flesh and laughed softly when she squealed, pressing her bottom against his groin.

"Witch," he told her, taking up the sponge again in his free hand. He encircled first one breast, rubbing lightly over the soft mound, slipping the sponge between her two breasts, and then moving on to the other. He could see the effect he was having upon her, for her little nipples thrust themselves forward, peaking hard. His hand moved beneath the water to smooth firmly over her Venus mont, cupping it.

Elf sighed with pleasure. She wanted this to go on forever and ever. Then to her surprise he pushed her firmly against the wall of the tub, pulling her thighs apart and bending her slightly. She felt the head of his manhood seeking her love channel, and then he was filling her full of himself. "Oh, Ranulf!" she murmured.

"I could wait no longer," he whispered in her ear. "Follow my rhythm, petite. There will be more afterward, I promise you!" His loins began to move against her, and Elf instinctively pushed her buttocks back against his strong thrusts. Her head was beginning to spin with delight as she felt the strongly pulsing, pulsing cadence of his manhood within her. His fingers dug into the flesh of her hips as he held her steady, pressing deeper and deeper within her wet and burning softness. Elf could feel her husband growing thicker and more demanding of her. She whimpered her pleasure, needing him so desperately she thought she would die. And then their combined passions exploded in a crescendo of boiling juices that crowned his manhood and flooded her heart and body with joy.

They cried out together, and he slumped for a long moment against her, his hands moving up to her breasts, teasing the nipples so that she spasmed again and yet again. When he came to himself, he turned her about and kissed her hungrily, his mouth fierce and demanding against hers. "It is a beginning, petite, but not yet enough," he growled in her ear. His hands clamped about her buttocks, and she felt him against her, already eager with his need for her.

"I never knew a man could be so insatiable," she said to him, wrapping her arms about his neck and pressing her breasts against his broad chest. But while he had driven her to an apogee, she could sense it had not been enough for her, either. Her breasts felt hard and quite dissatisfied with a strong longing that was unfamiliar, and yet familiar.

"It has been close to a year since I had you in my arms," he told her, "and all that time I remained faithful to you, petite. At Queen Alienor’s court of love, there were many beautiful women who would have gladly filled my bed, but I could only think of you, petite. My precious wife. My only love." His face was sincere with the declaration. There were, she noticed for the first time, small fine lines about his eyes. "My mission for the king came to naught, Eleanore. We shall have no grateful Henry Plantagenet granting us his permission to build a small keep here at Ashlin. We shall remain what we have always been. A simple manor, and worse off for Merin ap Owen."

"We will regain our lost ground, my lord. Did I not see some sheep with their lambs in the enclosure by the barns?" she asked him.

"Aye," he said with a small grin. "We shall speak on it later, my love. For now my lust has just been barely slaked. I want to take you to bed, wife, and bury myself in your sweet body." He climbed from the oak tub, lifting her out after him.

Together they dried each other, leaving the damp drying cloths on the stone floor of the solar as they entered their small bedchamber. Before he might draw her into bed, however, Elf knelt and, taking him in her mouth, pleasured him as she had once done before the separation. Her tongue ran around and around the ruby head of his manhood, teasing him, playing with him until he forbade it further. Picking her up, he placed her carefully upon the bed, her legs over the edge, her feet not quite touching the floor.

"I will show you the same pleasure you have shown me," he said, and then gently parting her nether lips, his head dipped between her thighs.

Elf gasped with delight as she felt the very tip of his tongue in that most secret of places. He licked her slowly. His tongue sought the opening to her passage and pushed in as far as it could go, tasting her renewed juices. She cried out with pleasure as his tongue began to play with her tiny jewel, and she felt it swell and burst with the delectation he offered her. "Ohhh, yes, my lord! It is soooo good," she mewled.

And when he had seen that she enjoyed this pleasure, he pulled her onto their bed fully, joining her with a smile. "I have wanted to give you that delight for so long," he said, kissing her lips so that she could taste herself upon them. He cupped her mound in one hand. "You are so warm and alive, my love. I do not believe I shall ever gain enough of you." His head dipped, and he fastened upon one of her nipples, suckling eagerly.

She cried out softly, her body arcing as the pleasure coursed through her again. He would surely kill her with his tender loving. Was it indeed possible to die of love? His hand kneaded the breast strongly, and Elf half sobbed. "I need you inside of me, my Ranulf! I am aching with my desire for you!"

Removing his hands from her body, he pinioned her between his thighs, and then he slowly entered her body, groaning with delight as he did so. She was the most perfect lover, he thought happily as his great lance sheathed itself deep inside her. He began to move with deliberate leisure upon her, within her, feeling her body welcoming him.

Elf wrapped her legs about her husband’s torso, drawing him as close as she could. She could feel his throbbing and pulsing within her, and with a behavior she hadn't known she possessed but knew was right, she contracted her muscles to squeeze him tightly. When he groaned, she knew she had given him pleasure, and did it again and again until he pleaded with her to cease, for he desired her delight, too. She allowed herself to drift away, engulfed by his love, his strength, his warmth. She was slowly, slowly ascending to a place of incredible pleasure such as she had never known. She clung to him breathlessly, and as the stars burst behind her closed eyes, she cried out his name. "Ranulf!" Then she tumbled into a place of incredible sweetness and warm darkness, hearing him cry her name as she fell. "Eleanore!"

When she awoke, it was to find herself sprawled half upon his chest, his arms about her. She smiled happily. There would be another child of their shared passion this night, Elf sensed, and she wanted that child and the other children that, God willing, would follow. She did not care that Ashlin would have no castle. She was content with what God had given her. A husband she loved, and who loved her. A healthy son named Simon Hubert. Ashlin with its good grazing and growing land. Her loyal serfs and freedmen and women. A guarantee from Merin ap Owen that he would leave them in peace. She was even grateful for a king she did not know, Henry Plantagenet, who had brought order and rule back to England again. And then there were the nuns, her true family and dearest friends, from St. Frideswide's. She must go and see them soon, to assure them she had come through her ordeal quite unscathed.