Twenty-two
Rosalin was still asleep. Instead of being bundled up against him, she’d taken one of the pillows and was hugging it to her chest. She looked as sweet and contented as a child, her beautiful face soft in repose, her small fist resting near her strawberry-red mouth, and her golden-blond hair streaming out behind her in wavy, tumbled disarray. Robbie had covered her last night while she slept, but he knew that the half-naked skin beneath the coverlet was every bit as velvety and baby-soft.
Unable to resist—and admittedly feeling a bit put out over a damned pillow—he removed his boots, cotun, and shirt, and crawled back into bed beside her. Carefully extracting the pillow from her hold, he felt a satisfied swell in his chest when, after a kittenish mewl of displeasure, she slid back into his arms with a contented sigh.
God, he could get used to this. She was so warm and soft, and she smelled like a bed of roses—a bed of well-ravished roses. His chest ached from just the simple pleasure of holding her. He hadn’t felt at peace like this in years. Maybe ever.
Stroking her hair, he watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest on his for as long as he could—until the first rays of sunshine captured the strands of gold in their shimmery light. Then, he knew he could not wait any longer.
He gave her a gentle shake. “Rosalin.”
Her long lashes fluttered open. Still groggy with sleep, her gaze found his. Slowly the confusion cleared, and a broad smile curved her sensually bruised lips. “Good morning.”
His chest tugged. She looked so damned happy. He would do just about anything to keep her that way. But he feared “just about” might not be enough.
The lass was too perceptive. Before he could respond, her smile fell. She propped herself up a little on his chest. “Is something wrong?”
“You need to return to your room.”
She drew in her breath, her eyes widening as if his words had somehow hurt her. “You’re sending me away?”
There was something small and vulnerable in her voice that made him frown. Unintentionally, he’d struck a tender spot. She’d been sent away before, he realized. If the hurt in her eyes was any indication, perhaps quite a lot. He knew little of her childhood other than what he’d been able to piece together. She’d been orphaned young and sent to live with the Earl of Hereford. Clifford was the only sibling he knew about. Because of her rank and wealth, the esteem of her guardian, and her brother’s position, Robbie had assumed her life had been easy. But privilege and favor, it seemed, did not replace a family.
Any more than war did. But it was the only way he knew, the only way he could make the deaths of the people he’d loved mean something.
He squeezed her tighter. “Nay,” he said, wanting to ease her fears as quickly as possible with a kiss on her head. “Or at least only temporarily. It’s almost morning, and unless you want the entire castle to know what we’ve been doing, you should return to your own bed before someone comes to check on you.”
Her relief was visceral. He could feel it in the relaxing of her muscles as his thumb gently caressed her back while he held her.
She lay her cheek back down on his chest. “I don’t mind.”
“Well, I do.” He lifted her chin to look into her eyes. “I will not have you maligned or subject to slurs for what I have done.”
“For what we have done,” she corrected. “I knew full well the consequences, Robbie. You do not need to protect me from them. I am not ashamed of what we did. No promises, remember?”
His mouth hardened. Aye, he did. But that didn’t ease the frustration at being unable to make them—or assuage his guilt for taking her innocence. Guilt that for a man who purported not to worry about honor weighed surprisingly heavily. What a damned mess!
He told himself that at least he had not put the truce in jeopardy. Technically, he’d kept his word. He had not forced her. Although he doubted Clifford would appreciate the distinction. Nor would he if their roles were reversed.
Why the hell did he care? Clifford had wanted to kill him before. If Clifford kept his side of the bargain, Robbie would keep his: Rosalin would be returned to her brother unharmed. Nothing had changed. All this had done was make their parting more difficult.
Suddenly, her expression changed. She sat up, her eyes quickly darting from his chausses to the clothes that he’d discarded on the chair in his rush to climb back into bed with her. “You’ve been up.”
It was not a question, but he nodded anyway. “Aye.”
She waited, watching him silently, but he knew what she was asking.
“I sent Seton and Douglas with a message for your brother demanding an explanation.”
Given their divergent interests, by sending both of them, he hoped to get an accurate answer. It also meant neither of them would guess what had happened, and he would be free from their judgment for a few days. Seton would be enraged. Why did he dread his partner’s finding out so much? Since when did Seton’s opinion matter? They never agreed on anything. But maybe this time, it was justified.
Her eyes widened to fairly insulting proportions. “You did?”
One side of his mouth curved. He supposed he deserved her shock. “Aye, you will have your few days.”
She looked at him as if he’d just handed her the heavens. “You did this for me? For us? Does this mean…”
Robbie didn’t know what it meant. He’d done it partly for her, and partly to ease his guilt. Hell, what he’d done to her last night could be considered retaliation enough.
But he knew what she was asking, and he wouldn’t give her false hope.
She was already stretched out against him, but he drew her in tight and snug. Their eyes met. “It means we have a few days until they return, that is all. But beyond that…” He looked at her intently. “I have to do my job, Rosalin. No matter what that entails.”
She nodded. “I understand.”
Did she? He wasn’t sure she did. Too much was resting on this. His duty would always come first. And he had no idea how he could reconcile the feelings he had for her with the determination to win Scotland’s freedom and punish the oppressors that had driven him for years. For so long nothing had mattered in his life but war. He still wasn’t sure there was room for anything else. How could an Englishwoman—even one sympathetic to his cause—fit in with that? “I don’t know if I can give you what you want.”
She blinked up at him. “But you care for me.”
He wouldn’t deny it. But caring wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted a future.
“Then is this about my brother? About me being English?”
“Yes. No.” He raked his fingers back through his hair. “Christ, isn’t that enough?”
“It doesn’t have to be. This can work, Robbie. I know it can. Just give it a chance.”
When she looked at him like that, she could almost make him a believer. “I’ll try.”
She beamed up at him, and he felt something hot and tight catch in his throat. His chest swelled so hard it felt like it was going to explode. It had been so long since he felt anything like this, it took him a moment to realize it was happiness. Happiness that was so big and powerful it almost felt threatening.
All he could do was kiss her, which, as she was already halfway up his chest, simply required a little lifting of his arms to drag her up the other half.
He groaned at the warm, willing taste of her and at the sensation of having her stretched out on top of him.
Aye, he liked that. Liked it a whole hell of a lot.
His hand slid down her back, coming to rest on the gentle swell of her buttocks. He held her against him, letting her feel him thicken and lengthen as his tongue licked deeper and deeper into her mouth. She was like the sweetest ambrosia and he couldn’t get enough.
But when she moaned and started to squirm, he had to pull away. “Christ, sweetheart, there isn’t time.”
She gave him a mischievous grin, but it was the glint in her eye that alarmed him. The glint that was far too wicked for a lass who’d just lost her virginity. “Are you sure?” She was still draped on top of him, and he swore the little vixen circled her hips against him purposefully. “I was rather hoping you would make it up to me.”
His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean ‘make it up to me’?”
She gave a careless shrug. “You know, about the second time being better than the first.”
He flipped her on her back and came down on top of her to pin her with his body so quickly, all she could do was gasp in shock.
“How did you do that?” she demanded, half outraged and half awed.
He smiled slowly. “Practice.” His combat skills were being put to unexpectedly good use. He glared down into her eyes. “What do you mean ‘better’? I’m not sure what you were expecting, but that was bloody spectacular.”
She had the impudence to appear surprised. “Was it? How should I know when I have nothing to compare it to? But if you aren’t up for the challenge, I understand.”
She started to try to roll out from under him, but he wasn’t about to let her go anywhere. No self-respecting Scotsman would let a slur like that go unpunished.
Taking her wrists, he pinned them above her head and proceeded to kiss, lick, and rake his teeth gently against her neck until she started to shiver and shudder.
“Oh, I’m up for it,” he whispered huskily in her ear. “Very up for it.” He slid his length up and down between her legs until she wasn’t just shivering and shuddering, she was shaking. “Perhaps we have time for a lesson after all.”
“Very well, but don’t take too long.”
His gaze met hers with a wicked gleam of his own. “Aye, well in that case I suspect you are going to be disappointed.”
He intended to punish her with the torture of anticipation.
Only when he saw the amusement twinkling in her eyes did he realize he’d been maneuvered. But by that point he was already circling one very pink and very tight nipple with his thumb, she was making those breathy little gasps, and he no longer gave a shite.
Rosalin was close. The feel of him big and deep inside her—filling her—as she rode him like a stallion was unlike anything she’d ever imagined. It was wild, freeing, and strangely empowering, knowing that she was in control of the powerful warrior beneath her.
He held her hips, guiding her as she rode the thick club of his erection up and down, taking him deep and hard, finding the perfect rhythm for her pleasure.
It had started out slow. Languorously slow as she wanted to savor every sensation, every thick inch of his body stretching and filling hers. But then it had quickened, until she was moving over him at a frenzied gallop.
When her pace reached the breaking point, she arched her back and cried out as her body started to fly. She was shaking and shattering, chanting his name in a soft whimper as the flood of heat rushed free.
She thought the sensation couldn’t get any sweeter, but she should have known better. The hands that were gripping her hips brought her down hard on top of him. He held her there, grinding her against him until she shattered again. It was deeper this time, and even more powerful. “Yes, oh God, yes, Robbie…!” She was mindless with passion, consumed by the pleasure overtaking her.
He was, too. She could feel him straining beneath her, the big body fighting for control. “That’s it, mo ghrá. Christ, I can feel you squeezing me—”
He stopped, tensing right before he let out a roar and his pleasure shot deep inside her in hot, pulsing spasms.
She collapsed on top of his naked, hot, and slightly damp chest into a boneless, syrupy heap. She couldn’t have found the strength to move even if Hannibal himself were knocking at the gate. She smiled, thinking that Robbie would appreciate her analogy.
She lay there in complete and utter contentment, savoring the simple pleasure of the heavy rise and fall of his chest under her cheek.
The past two days had been some of the happiest in her life, but this was her favorite of all. This was what she would remember forever. Being curled up on top of him, every inch of her body weary and sated from his lovemaking, his steely arm wrapped around her as if he would never let her go, with the heavy beat of his heart reverberating like a drum through her. She felt utterly connected and utterly contented.
“Well?” The deep, powerful voice held a note of expectation, and something else that she treasured for the gift it was: teasing.
She schooled her features into blank repose and managed to find the strength to tilt her face to meet his gaze. “I stand corrected. It was possible.” When he’d rolled her into his lap and told her what she could do, she hadn’t been so sure.
“And?”
She nodded, seeming to consider. “Yes, definitely an improvement.”
He cocked a brow, challenging her assessment. Her stomach flipped. God, he was handsome. He looked every inch the brigand with his bed-rumpled hair, piercing blue eyes, dark stubble, and bruised right cheek, sustained in some kind of skirmish when he’d been riding out yesterday. There was a small cut, too, and she suspected he’d taken a blow to his still injured ribs as well, but he’d refused to let her “fuss” over him. Stubborn brute.
He told her little of what he’d done the past two days they had been at the castle. He rode out every day, she assumed to scout and do whatever it was he did to enforce the king’s authority in the Borders. In the afternoons, he and his men practiced in the yard. Only at night did he come to her.
She feigned ambivalence. “How many times is that now? Three? Four?” Five.
His eyes narrowed, but she saw the glint of amusement. “I guess it depends on how you want to look at it. By my last count, eight.”
Rosalin couldn’t prevent the heat from rushing to her cheeks. The rogue! He was counting how many times he’d made her shatter!
She harrumphed and pursed her mouth primly. “Ah yes, well, maybe by the time you get to ten it will be, what did you call it…enjoyable?”
“Spectacular, brat.” He gave her a playful swat on her backside. “You do wonders for a man’s confidence.”
Her mouth twisted to hold back a smile. “I wasn’t aware you needed an improvement in that area. From what I can see from the window when you are practicing, you have plenty of confidence boosting going on out there.”
He frowned until he realized to what she was referring, and then a broad smile curved his mouth.
The boyish grin slammed right into her heart. If she ever needed proof of how much he needed her, it was right there. For a moment, she could almost see what he might have been like had war not stolen everything away from him. Happy, relaxed, teasing.
“You’re jealous,” he said, looking much too pleased with himself.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
She tried to toss her nose up in the air but he caught her chin. The amusement was gone from his expression. “You have no reason to be, Rosalin.”
Admittedly, he’d paid little attention to the steady flock of women who seemed to find any manner of duties to attend to in the yard whenever the infamous Robbie Boyd was training with his men. But it was still difficult for her when the other women were out there, and she was once again watching him from a window. Only at night did he belong to her.
“I know,” she said. “But can you blame me? They are free to watch you, while I am…” She shrugged. “I feel like I’m at Kildrummy again.”
She could tell he didn’t like the comparison. “I’m trying to protect you. It is safer for you in here when I cannot be with you.”
“That’s exactly what Cliff used to say.”
He definitely didn’t like that comparison.
But he surprised her with his response. Actually, he shocked her speechless. “Well, he was probably right. You had no business being in Scotland at such a time. What was he thinking to let you come?”
It must be snowing in hell: Robbie Boyd was in agreement with Lord Robert Clifford. It would be cause for celebration if the subject of that agreement weren’t locking her up in a tower. He was staring at her, apparently waiting for her to answer. She pursed her mouth. “He didn’t exactly agree to let me come visit.”
He had an extremely discomfiting way of remaining dauntingly expressionless yet still conveying danger. “What do you mean?”
“My guardian, the earl of Hereford, was ordered to Scotland by the king, and I convinced him to take me along.”
“Into the middle of a war?” he roared, his expression no longer so expressionless.
“The war was over at the time, if you’ll recall. Or at least it was thought to be over. Bruce’s men were scattered. Bruce himself had fled Scotland.”
“Aye, I seem to recall the period,” he said dryly.
She bit her lip, embarrassed. Of course he did. “The countess and a number of other ladies were going; I saw no reason why I shouldn’t join them. I hadn’t seen Cliff in almost two years, and I missed him desperately. I knew he would keep me safe—and he did. Just like I know you will keep me safe.”
He held her gaze, and she knew he was thinking of what had happened—or nearly happened—that night at camp with Uilleam. And no doubt about his sister. “Not always.” His voice was oddly thick.
“No, not always. But no one is safe always. Even locked in a tower,” she added with a wry smile. “And that is not a way to live.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute, and then switched the subject. “How old were you when your parents died?”
She propped her chin up on his broad chest and stared at him. It seemed like an innocuous question, but she got the feeling it was anything but. “I was four when my father died. My mother followed him to the grave before the year was out.”
He appeared surprised—and troubled. “I didn’t realize you were so young. There were just you and your brother?”
She nodded. “There were other babes, but all but one were lost in the womb or infancy. I had a brother who was a year older than me, but he died about a year before my father. Each death took a little of my mother’s heart, and after my father died I think she just lost the will to go on.” She smiled. “I missed her—or maybe the idea of her—for a long time. But in truth, Cliff was more of a mother to me. Mother, father, and brother all rolled up in one. I followed him around everywhere; I don’t know how he tolerated it.”
“But you were separated?”
She nodded, her face shadowing at the memory. “They had to drag me crying and screaming out of his arms when I was sent to live with the earl. I didn’t understand why I could not be with Cliff while he went to squire. I was too young to understand about rights of wardship and marriage. But the de Bohuns were kind to me, and Cliff visited or sent for me when he could.”
Absently, he twisted a lock of hair around his finger. “You were lonely, though.”
She frowned, slightly taken aback by the observation. But then she shrugged. “Perhaps a little. More after I returned from a visit, especially after he married Maud and had the children. But with Cliff in the north and me in London, it had been some time since I’d seen any of them. I was only allowed to travel because of the wed—”
She stopped, feeling his muscles tense, and caught her bottom lip with her teeth, cursing the inadvertent reminder.
“Because of your wedding?” he finished, surprisingly calmly.
She nodded, and peered into his eyes intently. “I meant what I said, Robbie. I will not marry him. No matter what happens.”
Their eyes held. It was one of the rare times in the past two days that she’d referred to the uncertainty of their future—or whether they even had one. By unspoken agreement they’d avoided any discussion of what would happen when the Black Douglas and Sir Alex returned. It was as if neither one of them wanted to disturb the fragile peace they’d constructed around them with talk of retaliation, truces, her brother, or the war.
Did he want a future with her? He’d shown her in countless ways with his tenderness and gentleness that he loved her. But he’d never actually said the words. Nor, she was painfully aware, had he mentioned marriage.
Whatever his intentions were, Rosalin did not want to push. She knew she needed to give him time. He might not realize yet what he wanted. What she’d tried to do the past couple of days was show him how wonderful it could be, shower him with love, and make him see all that he’d been missing. How there was more to life than war. How he could still do his duty, fight for Scotland’s independence, and carve out some happiness for himself. And how she could be a part of that.
There was more to him than the brutal war machine bent on vengeance, striking without thought. The reprieve he’d given her had proved the man she remembered still existed. But she was painfully aware that reprieve was only temporary. The men could return at any time.
Would he send her back or did he love her enough to fight to keep her, even if she was English and Robert Clifford’s sister? Her deepest fear was that he would never be able to reconcile the two. And worse, that maybe he wasn’t keeping her in this tower just to protect her but also because he was ashamed of her. That a relationship with an Englishwoman somehow diminished his reputation as the freedom fighter who despised all things English.
She tried to ignore the stab of disappointment when he didn’t respond to her vow not to marry Sir Henry. Instead, he started to roll off the bed. “I need to return to my chamber.” After the first night, he’d come to her.
“Already?” she asked, trying to hide her disappointment with a smile.
He saw through it anyway. “I’m riding out at dawn. Besides, I do not want to give Lady Joanna any reason to suspect that I am not enjoying the fine bed in her mother-in-law’s chamber.”
Rosalin suspected it was too late for that. She suspected Lady Joanna knew exactly whose bed he was enjoying.
She watched him dress in silence, wishing that their worlds did not feel so apart. The one he shared in here with her and the one he shared out there with everyone else that required strapping on armor and swords. Her eyes moved from the bruises on his ribs to the one on his face. “I hope you will not be returning with any more ‘scratches’?”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Not today, unless they are wielded by farm implements.”
She gazed at him questioningly.
He grimaced. “One of my duties for the king is to listen to the disputes of the people when he cannot, which means a long morning listening to a bunch of squabbling between neighboring farmers.”
“The Devil’s Enforcer meting out justice?”
Her incredulity seemed to amuse rather than offend him. “Aye, well, it’s only one of my duties—a very small part. My reputation is not in any danger.”
She’d sat up in bed to watch him, and she realized his gaze had fallen to her very thin chemise. Although he did not seem to possess a modest bone in his body (admittedly with good reason) and came to her bed completely naked (not that she was complaining), sensing her modesty, he had not pressed her to remove her chemise. But if his heated gaze on her barely covered breasts was any indication, she suspected that patience was almost at an end.
“Have you heard of the legal term quid pro quo?”
She translated the Latin in her head: this for that. She wrinkled her nose. “Nay.”
He grinned. Perhaps if she hadn’t been so excited by his next words, she would have noticed how slyly. “How would you like to go on a short hike later?”
She practically jumped out of the bed. “Really?”
That smile deepened. “Be ready at about three.”
She nodded excitedly. “I will be.”
He started out the door, but at the last minute he turned. “And Rosalin.” Her eyes met his. “Make sure not to wear anything with too many ties.”
She was left to ponder that for the remainder of the day.
Rosalin spun on him angrily, eyes flashing and hands on her hips. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Robert Boyd. You tricked me and brought me up here under false pretenses.”
Robbie tried not to laugh, but she looked so adorable and outraged it wasn’t easy. He gestured to the valley below them. “I promised you a short hike and a beautiful view. Did I not deliver both?”
If looks could kill, he’d be dead right now. “It’s breathtaking. But you know very well it’s not the view. It’s the payment you’ve demanded in return that’s the problem.”
He shook his head, tsking. “I wouldn’t use the term ‘payment’; it sounds too…”
“Underhanded? Strong-arming? Unscrupulous?”
He grinned. “I was going to say formal. I prefer quid pro quo. I give you a little something of this, you give me a little something of that. Everyone’s happy.”
“I’d hardly say stripping down naked in the middle of the day outside where anyone can happen upon us is ‘a little something.’”
“We are up on a hilltop, surrounded by trees, with no one around for miles.” A slight exaggeration, but he would hear anyone who tried to sneak up on them. “I thought it would be fun.”
“Fun?” she exclaimed, practically sputtering. “Fun for you, you mean.”
He had to grin at that. Damned right it would be fun for him. Even the thought of all that naked skin bared to his eyes in the sunlight made him hard. He shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “That’s all right. I thought you were more adventurous, but if you are too embarrassed by whatever it is you are intent on keeping hidden under that shift, we can return to the castle.”
Aye, and he’d be lying dead with two very green daggers in his chest. “You are a horrible man who deserves every bit of your ruthless reputation.”
He grinned harder. When it came to having her naked, she was probably right. He waited with surprising patience, when all he wanted to do was rip those clothes right off her and taste every inch of that naked skin. He was rewarded. A moment later she started furiously working the ties of her gown. She was calling him all kinds of names under her breath, but he didn’t care. His pulse had stopped and his breath seemed lodged in his lungs as piece after piece of clothing fell at her feet.
He was in awe.
He was in rapture.
He was in…
Oh hell, he was in trouble. The past few days had been like a dream. He felt himself caught up in the magical web she’d spun around him and didn’t know how he was going to get out. Didn’t know whether he wanted to get out. Though he knew he shouldn’t be encouraging her fantasy of a future between them, like Icarus to the sun, he was powerless to stay away from the warmth in her eyes. And the heat. That, he sure as hell couldn’t stay away from.
She paused when she reached her shift. Their eyes met. The anger that he’d counted on to make her forget her embarrassment had faded. She looked at him uncertainly. But he was too far gone—and too damned aroused—to have pity.
“Take it off, sweetheart. I want to see every inch of you.” His voice was husky and dark and full of sensual promise.
“What about you?”
She was stalling, but as his being naked worked with his plan, he let her get away with it. He removed his weapons first, then his leather armor and boots, and finally his shirt and braies. As always, he was conscious of her eyes on him when he undressed, which only added to his arousal. By the time he was standing naked in front of her, his cock was so hard it was practically pounding a hole in his ribs.
She might have been a maid a few days ago, but the heat in her gaze as her eyes roamed over his naked body was anything but innocent. When she got to his manhood and stopped, and unconsciously licked her bottom lip, he had to grit his teeth against the surge of lust that pulsed through him.
If she ever realized the sensual power she wielded over him, he feared she could have him following her around like an eager pup with one crook of that slender white finger.
“Is that better?” he challenged.
Her eyes skated over him again, getting that soft, heavy-lidded look of arousal that he’d come to crave. She gave a quick nod and with a deep breath, lifted the linen chemise over her head and let it drop in a pool at her feet.
He sucked in his breath, his eyes slowly scanning the delicate feminine curves of the lithe beauty before him. Christ, she was even more beautiful than he’d imagined from the pieced-together views he’d managed. Her legs were long, her waist slim, her breasts firm and perfectly round. And her skin…It was incredible. As smooth and flawless as freshly churned cream. He knew the baby-softness, the velvety feel, and when he dared to run the back of his finger over her breast, he groaned.
Realizing her cheeks were pink and her eyes had dropped to her feet, he cupped her chin and forced her gaze to his. “You are perfect, mo ghrá. There is no cause for you to be embarrassed.”
But she was. And as jittery as a filly before a storm. Not a bad analogy for what was to come.
“Make love to me, Robbie,” she whispered.
It was the sweetest plea he’d ever heard, and one he sure as hell wasn’t going to refuse. “Aye, my lady. I intend to.” In one smooth motion, he swept her up into his arms, cradling her like a child. Although the sensation set off by the contact of her naked skin to his left him no doubt of her womanliness.
She laughed in surprise and gazed up at him with so much emotion in her eyes it made his chest hurt. He bent down to pick up the plaid she’d worn around her shoulders and carried her toward the large tree.
She latched her arms around his neck. “You’ll hurt your ribs carrying me like this.”
“My ribs are fine. And the day I can’t carry a slip of a lass like you is the day I’ll resign my title at the Games forever.”
She grinned. “I suppose there are a few benefits to that title of yours—other than the more obvious ones.”
He had no idea what she was talking about. His brows knit together in question.
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You’ll get no more compliments from me. I’m sure you are well aware of how the ladies view that impressive physique of yours.”
He grinned wickedly. “Oh, that.”
“Yes, that, you wretch.” She swiped at him, but as he decided at that moment to put her down on the plaid he’d spread out on a bed of leaves, she missed.
He grinned down at her. “You hit like a lass.”
“I am a ‘lass,’ in case you hadn’t noticed.”
He gave her a long, hot look up and down. “Oh, I’ve noticed.”
He bent on one knee and leaned over her. She looked so beautiful it took his breath away. Naked, in a bed of leaves, hair spread out wildly behind her, she looked like a wood nymph in some kind of erotic dream. Except it wasn’t a dream. This was real.
The moment of playfulness was gone. “There is only one lady whose opinion matters to me,” he said truthfully, bringing her hand to his lips.
She smiled, the knightly gesture obviously surprising her as much as it did him.
He kissed her then. Gently. Tenderly. Giving free rein not just to the passion, but also to the powerful feelings that seemed to give it much more force.
He worshipped her body with his mouth and tongue, leaving no inch of her unclaimed. Her skin was like the sweetest cream, and he drank her in like a man dying of thirst. Like a dying man. That’s what she was—ambrosia for his soul.
He feasted on her, burying his face between her velvety thighs and lapping her creamy softness. He licked and nuzzled, flicked and sucked until her beautiful breasts arched into the sun and her thighs tightened around his neck. He held her to his mouth as she shattered, crying out his name.
When she could open her eyes, he gave her a wicked grin. “I told you it would be fun.”
She gave him a look that made him feel like he was an incorrigible lad of about five. But then a decidedly wicked gleam appeared. “It’s certainly about to be.” Their eyes met. “I should warn you that I can be quite merciless as well.”
He smiled, genuinely amused. “You can?”
She nodded and lazily started to run her soft fingertips over the hard-muscled bands of his stomach, her wrist passing dangerously close to the powerful head of his erection. She was teasing him, and he didn’t think he liked it. Or rather, he liked it too much.
She pushed him onto his back with a gentle shove and rolled on top of him, straddling him. At first he thought she would impale herself on him again, but instead, she started trailing soft little kisses down his chest. Down his chest and over the same bands of muscle she’d just teased.
His stomach dropped. Could she intend…
“Do you remember what you told me that first night at camp?”
He swore. His heart started to pound with something akin to fear. “Nay.”
The look she shot him from his stomach, her mouth achingly close to his cock, called him a liar. “You told me I could suck your…” She blushed, unable to get the word out.
Oh Christ. Every muscle in his body jumped. Hell, his skin jumped—or he jumped out of it. He had to fight to keep himself from grabbing her. All he could manage was a groan.
“I think I should like to,” she whispered.
And then she kissed him. She moved her soft, pink lips over the big, fat head of his cock and slowly lowered her mouth.
He did jump out of his skin then. Every ounce of blood pounded through his body. He’d never been so aroused in his life. He wouldn’t have moved if the entire English army were climbing up that hill.
He prayed for strength. But God wasn’t giving him any. And she was just as merciless as she’d promised. She brought him to his fucking knees.
“Show me,” she whispered, holding him in her hand.
And he did. He lifted her head over him and told her how to milk him. How to lave him with her tongue and take him deep in her throat and pump the length that wouldn’t fit with her hand. He watched her take him in her warm, moist mouth, watched as those beautiful pink lips stretched around him, until he felt the first pulse ratchet through him. And then he took her with his body, making love to her under the trees as if he could hold on to this day forever.