Her heart picked up. “So what’s our plan? Where are we going? I need to go wherever the villagers went.”
“Unfortunately, I’m uncertain of the villagers. My mother learned that my commander is in Flint, not Wrexham. He will know where they are if they are not in Flint. Madog has provisioned us with food for our journey as well as a horse for you. Our passage will be much easier and swifter than before, what with the extra horse and the relatively flatter terrain.”
“How long will it take?”
“It is not but fifteen miles from here. At a nice walk, we can be there before sunset.”
“And then you will be sent to fight the Welsh, and I…” She swallowed a serving of panic that threatened to come up her throat.
“Yes,” he said after a weighted pause. “What are your plans?” He crossed his arms and looked to the side as if her answer didn’t matter.
She took a deep breath. “I lost something of mine before the siege. Outside the castle walls. You brought me inside while I was searching, and I was never able to return.”
“I’m sorry to say, the chances of it remaining are nigh on impossible. Besides, it’s too dangerous to return. I’ve heard the region is firmly in the control of the rebel forces.”
She scooted forward on her bench, a tad closer to Robert. “But I don’t have to go back. Just as we were retreating, I saw it with one of the villagers. I plan to find her and get it back.”
“How do you know she still has what you seek?”
Yeah, she’d been worried about that too. “I don’t. But it’s unique and valuable, made of silver. I expect she’ll hold onto it until she can get a good price. If I’m too late, and she’s sold it, I’m hoping it’s distinctive enough to be remembered, and I can trace who has it now.”
Robert stretched his hand forward, as if to clasp her clenched fingers, then made a fist and thumped it against his thigh. “Why is this object so important?”
“It’s the only way I can return to my…land.”
His eyebrows rose. “The money you could fetch from that ring will not be sufficient?”
“It’s not the monetary value, but the object itself. It is the, uh, token, by which I will be recognized and allowed to return.”
“And it’s important for you to return to your land?” His voice was low, thready, and his piercing gaze held hers, questions and some kind of suppressed emotion lurking in their depths.
She straightened, swallowing her doubt. “Yes,” she choked out. “It is.”
“Then I wish I could lend you my assistance when we reach Flint, but I know not what will be asked of me. I may be sent directly on some errand for my lord or put in service to fight the rebels. Once we reach Flint, I’m afraid we will have to go our separate ways.”
“I know,” she whispered.
Damn her moratorium on sleeping with him. Yes, she had to go home, but she knew she couldn’t marry Preston. Well, she’d wanted to know if they should marry—had even wished on the stupid calling card case—and she had her answer. Calling it off and facing her mother would be a bitch, since her mother had never understood her.
The shadows and light in the room played across Robert’s handsome features. Yes, this felt right to say. “Do you still wish to lie with me?”
His eyes widened, and he took her hand in his firm grip, his callouses deliciously rasping against her skin. He raised her hand, turned it over, and brushed his mouth against her palm, his lips whisper soft. Shivers coursed all over her at that simple gesture.
“Very much so.” His voice was dark with sensual promise.
“I think…I think I was wrong before. Since we’ll be parting at Flint, and tonight is our last night together…” Truth was, she couldn’t deny herself one more taste of him before she left. Consequences be damned.
Supper took for-friggin-ever. Since it was their last night, their host had turned it into a celebratory feast. But finally Katy was slipping up the tower stairs, Robert’s strong form one step below. Knowing he was right there, knowing he was intent on the same goal once they reached their room, was getting her just a little hot.
And then he touched her hand and stroked up under her sleeve, the contrast between his calloused fingers and the supple velvet of her sleeve brushing against her skin sending a flash of chills over her body. She faltered on the step, the sole of her slipper scraping across the stone. One strong hand gripped her wrist, and another clutched her hip.
A jolt of desire went through her, and she stopped to get her balance. She grasped his hand at her waist, but didn’t dare increase her pace on the steep spiraling stairs. He kissed her hand, and his warm lips brushed her wrist through the cloth of her sleeve. His nose nudged the cloth aside, his sharp breaths bathing the inside of her wrist, and his lips softly skimmed the sensitized flesh. A light touch by his tongue, and desire pooled in her sex.
He climbed another step, closing the space between them until his chest dragged up against her back, his heat pouring over her. Their soft, strained breaths bounced off the stone walls, loud in the narrow confines. Warm air on her neck narrowed her perception to his puffs of breath on her skin. Warm lips nibbled, brushed, kissed.
The hand holding her wrist circled around and pressed into her belly, pushing her bottom flush against his hips, against the hard evidence of his arousal. Oh. God. A shudder rocked through her.
Must. Get. Up. Stairs.
She drifted up to the next step, and the next, his heat, his presence, following until she reached the top. Robert leaned over, a breath near her ear, and helped open the door. Which was a good thing, for her fingers had been fumbling, shaking, eager to get inside. With a sure hand at the small of her back, he guided her into their space.
Alone now, she whirled around and faced him.
“Katy—”
“Robert—” she said at the same time, both of their voices breathless, on edge.
Their gazes locked. The heat and desire and naked longing in those fascinating eyes made her knees soften. Just a little. She leaned back and steadied herself with a hand to the trestle table. Eyes never leaving hers, he reached for his tunic. No. She wanted to do that. She took a couple of steps and then stumbled forward in her eagerness and bumped into him. Seriously. It was as if she had no control over her suddenly awkward limbs.
His strong arms banded around her waist, steadying her. “I need you,” he grunted in her ear, his voice laced with dark intent and stark need--and slightly distorted as if wrenched from deep within.
Longing, urgency, and something else she wasn’t ready to analyze, coursed through her at his words.
On sharp inhales, their mouths collided in a hungry kiss, one that punished the other for their absence, but also expressed how much they’d missed the other. With his hands, he carved paths into her hair, his nails a pleasant sting along her scalp. He angled her head, deepening the kiss, tongue stroking tongue, while she skimmed her hands up his back and gripped a handful of his tunic in each fist.
Oh God, she’d missed this. Missed his taste, his heat. Missed him.
His hard length pressed insistently against her stomach, and she ground her hips against him, rising to her tiptoes to get a better angle.
He moaned into her mouth, spun them around, and crushed her against the wall, trapping her deliciously between two hard, unyielding surfaces—one cold, one hot. Frantic, she fumbled with his tunic while he attacked the lacings of her surcoat, his hips pinning her in place, their arms tangling, brushing, and bumping into each other in their haste. She giggled, her frantic desire a heady rush, and whipped off his tunic in triumph. And his linen shirt.
“Ha. Beat you.” Then her breath caught in her throat as she allowed herself the luxury of drinking in the splendor of his chest. He took advantage of her stillness and pulled her arms free of her tunic and yanked it down, freeing her swollen breasts. Cool air kissed the stiffened peaks, replaced in an instant by his warm hand, cupping one, the battle-hardened skin rasping along her
soft curves. His thumb flicked her nipple.
“Robert. Robert. Robert.” Need roughened her voice.
Eyes hidden by his thick lashes, he gazed downward. He hiked her up the wall to bring her breasts level with his mouth, and then he slowed, urgency bleeding from the moment. Reverently, he kissed the underside of her breast.
No way, buster. Don’t you slow this down. She was in this for the kiss with chaos being with him gave her. No way could she let him change the dynamic, infuse it with meaning beyond that. She was hightailing it out of the Middle Ages as soon as she could.
She arched into him, gyrating her hips against him. Dark, intense eyes snapped to hers on an oath, and he captured her breast in his mouth, his hand holding it firmly in place. He sucked hard and she bucked, her body humming. Eyes now locked with hers, he flicked his wet tongue over the hardening peak. The erotic sight had her quivering in his arms. She shoved her hand between them and, ah, yes…she stroked hard down his length through his braies.
“Oh, Christ, woman,” he gasped, his eyes closing tight.
She grazed his erection again, gently this time, and at the bottom of the stroke, reached around and delicately squeezed his balls.
The next instant, she was flattened against the wall with his upper body, his hand yanking on the string holding up his braies. He fisted the hem of her tunic in great handfuls, and she caught the fabric, bunching it around her waist. Their breaths stuttered in their throats, her sensitive breasts crushed against the hot skin of his muscled chest. He grasped her waist and lifted her, breaths heightening in anticipation. She whipped her legs around his lean hips. On a shout, he plunged inside her, pushing her back up against the stone wall.
“Oh. Oh holy shit!” she cried out at his exquisite invasion.
Chapter Twenty-Three
And the usual bond made between two persons was made between Geraint and the maiden, and the choicest of all Gwenhwyvar’s apparel was given to the maiden; and thus arrayed, she appeared comely and graceful to all who beheld her.
The Mabinogion, an ancient Welsh romance
Robert’s voice, rough with desire, whispered unintelligible words in Katy’s ear, sending a fresh wave of chills and heat over her skin.
Breathless, she dropped her hem and gripped his shoulders, digging her fingers into his flesh. Robert’s hands on her waist kept her pinned against the wall as he pounded into her without mercy, his breaths sharp and fevered. It was glorious. His hot need, hers spiraling tighter and tighter.
The sight. Oh God.
She spread her arms against the wall, the stone cool against her bare arms, and drank in every detail, like a woman starved: his powerful arms corded and straining as he pinned her in place, the firelight glistening across the smooth planes of his chest, the angle of his jaw tight with strain, the dark smattering of hair that circled each nipple and speared downward to disappear beneath her tunic, unable to see him working in her but oh, was she feeling the hot, hard, relentless glide. So close.
His gaze lifted to hers—hungry. The angle of his hips shifted, filling her impossibly fuller. The pulsing ache within built in successive waves, coiling, coiling, coiling, making her frantic for release, as if it would never, ever happen. Until it did. She tightened around him, her release exploding through her, her whole body shaking from the force of her orgasm. She clasped her arms around him and rode out the potent waves.
His speed increased, and it almost became too much, bordering on pain, but a delicious, fevered pain. He gave a roaring shout, head thrown back, neck taut. His hot warmth shot inside her, triggering another orgasm for her as she milked his pleasure.
She squeezed him, her body quivering--his too. Their sweat mingled and cooled as they fought to catch their breath, to calm the pounding beats of their hearts. His forehead bumped into hers.
She clung to him, hands in his hair, unwilling to let go, but her legs had turned to mush and slid down his. He slipped out of her, and she ached already at the loss. He cinched his arms around her, holding her up, and kissed the crook of her neck, his lips warm and lingering.
“Ah, cariad, finally I have you to myself, with a bed behind me, and what do I do? I had not planned to take you in such a fashion.” His words came out in a ragged line as he struggled to get his breathing under control. “Please forgive me. Did I hurt you?” His eyes locked with hers, worry lurking within. He brushed a blunt finger across her cheek.
She touched his jaw. “No, I…it was exactly what I craved.”
“I wished to take it slower though.”
“Well, we do have the whole night…” She smiled against his shoulder and planted a nibbling kiss there, savoring the heat and strength radiating from his sumptuous skin. The moisture against her lips, the salty tang of his skin, his spicy, musky, warrior scent mixed with the essence of their love-making, a heady perfume.
“Indeed,” he said, his voice a tad huskier. His manly bits jerked against her belly. A radiant smile transformed his handsome face, and her breath caught. So beautiful.
He scooped her up, and she squealed with delight. He marched to their bed and set her gently on her feet, which freed her tunic, shift, and surcoat, still bunched at her waist. The fabric dropped with a soft whoosh. His smile still playing at the corners, he turned her around.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, his breath on her shoulder. He traced along her body, one curve after another. His calloused hands, so gentle, had her vibrating again with need.
She sighed, arched, reached back, and dug her fingers into his silky dark locks, gripping his scalp. Breath ragged, he yanked her against him and cupped her breasts, pinching, kneading, teasing, his body hot against her back. Oh God. She wanted him all over her. She gripped his butt—his very muscular butt—and ground against him. He groaned, his deep voice rumbling along her back. Shivers of delight coursed through her at the feel of him stirring and hardening against the small of her back.
He edged her forward, and she stepped out of the fabric at her feet. Her shins bumped against the bed, and he skimmed his hands from her breasts to her shoulders. Gently, he bent her forward between the gap in the picket-fence bed frame, his hands stroking down her back. A thrill of anticipation tightened her skin, tightened her sex. She braced herself against the feather tick mattress, the worshipful tracing of her body’s curves making her feel more beautiful, more sensual, more special than she’d ever felt. Why had she denied herself this whole time? She shoved down the burgeoning regret—enjoy the moment, this time with Robert. My last time with Robert.
His erection rubbed against her now-slick sex, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Her awareness shrank to his firm, roving hands, to her sharpening arousal, to his velvety hard length stroking against her wet folds, her clit. Without warning, she cried out and shuddered with a small orgasm.
He gasped, bent over, covering her with his body. “So responsive,” he choked out.
With a blunt fingertip, he stroked her as her shudders faded. Growling softly in her ear, he pushed slowly into her, filling her, stretching her, driving deeper than ever in this position. She dropped to her elbows and clutched the soft linen covering the mattress, her body quivering at his delicious and achingly slow invasion.
Normally, she hated this position, as if she were a mere object for her lover’s pleasure, but, God, this was different. She trembled again as he pulled back out, inch by greedy hot inch and…
Fuck!
She wanted him to slam into her.
Take her. Possess her.
What the eff was wrong with her? This was so not her. But her body screamed otherwise as she pushed back against him, protesting his withdrawal, urging him to pound into her.
With one hand firmly gripping her hip, he stroked his other up the small of her back.
“Robert.” She shuddered in frustration and need. “Take-me-take-me-take-me,” she urged, though part of her realized she babbled in English.
“Shh, shh,” he whispered. His wandering hand braced against
the mattress, and he drove into her on a grunt. He cursed, set his teeth into the soft part where her neck met her shoulder, and drew slowly out again, obviously determined to take it slow.
On his next languorous thrust, she growled and pushed back, crying out. “Please, Robert.” Already, a worry thumped alongside her heartbeat that this was starting to mean more than it could ever be allowed to.
His pace increased. His heat left her back as he lifted upward, gripped her hips and pounded into her.
“Yes, Robert. Yes.” Her worry vanished at the force of his primal onslaught.
But on the next thrust, he stopped, his hands flexing and clamping on her waist. “No,” he ground out.
He withdrew completely.
No. No. No.
He pushed his knee against the back of hers. Legs already weak, she fell easily onto the soft mattress, his large body tumbling with her, covering her. He flipped her onto her back and settled himself against her side, his dark eyes roaming the length of her body, while her sex throbbed at his loss. His nostrils flared. Now she could look at him again, and touch him, so she skimmed her hands along the hard planes of his chest, the tight, wispy curls tickling against her palms. She pinched his nipple, and he jerked.
He wanted to take it slow? She’d play along. She wanted to know all of his sensitive spots, since she’d not yet had that luxury, and if she was in control… She raked her nails over a nipple and trailed swirly strokes down his abs to his stomach, alert for the smallest reaction. He went completely still, which told her volumes—he feared doing anything that would stop what she did.
Did his past lovers not caress him, explore him, pleasure him? His smoky, heavy-lidded gaze locked with hers, desire and a touch of vulnerability lurking there. Knowing she caused this shot both heat and a touch of trepidation through her. Smiling, shifting sideways to hide what she intended from his view, she lifted her hand away and grasped his erection.
His body jackknifed. “Christ.” He clasped her hand with a groan. “Much as I burn for your touch there…” He swallowed and took a deep breath. “…I fear it will hasten the event, and I wish…” He kissed her neck. “…to take my time with you.”
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