by Sabrina York
A dour reminder.
She shook it off.
“I’m a grown woman.” She ignored his dubious perusal. “You’re a grown man. And we desire each other…” She trailed off. “We do desire each other, do we no’?”
“I desire you.” A begrudging admission. “But it would be wrong for me to lead you on.”
“How are you leading me on if we both understand what this is? What is so wrong with using each other? For comfort? Companionship?” Glorious escapades? “If we want to enjoy relations, we simply should. Although…” She peered at him from beneath her lashes. “We should take those precautions.”
Holy hell, she was a tempting little minx. And her arguments made sense which, in and of itself, was evidence that he was sinking into insanity. But then, his ardor, now reawakened, had risen with a vengeance. Even now, even sated, he wanted her. Wanted to hold her and kiss her and nuzzle that delicious spot on her neck that made her mewl and thrash.
He thrust the thought from his mind. Thrust the urges from his soul. They clung.
Her scent, wafting to him on the dawning breeze, made it difficult for him to recall his reasoning, his logic.
Ah, but there was no logic when it came to her, he found. No logic whatsoever.
Funny, wasn’t it? Just a few days ago he’d been locked in his cage, thinking himself impotent and worthless. Thinking himself all alone.
Today the world was a different place.
He was not sure why.
“Well?”
Apparently he’d delayed too long in his response to her question. Indeed, had there been a question? He couldn’t recall. The lure of her presence had wiped his mind clean. A slate erased of everything but her.
“Well, what?”
“When shall we do this again?”
Damn, but she was insistent. And damn, but he wanted to succumb.
His rusty honor prodded him. She’d been a virgin. She needed time to recover. Aside from which, so did he. “Let’s play it by ear, shall we?”
She reared back. Apparently she did not care for honor.
He frowned at her, but he tried to make it a gentle frown. “It’s nearly daylight. We should get moving if we want to make it to Moulin. Shall we eat breakfast on the road?”
She crossed her arms, which was unfortunate, because it drew his attention to her breasts—which were still bare—and set up within him an unholy howl. “I should like to finish this conversation. If you doona want me then just say so and—”
“Doona want you?” Did she not understand? He wanted her more than anything. More than the honor that defined him.
And that horrified him.
“Well? Do you?” The hint of vulnerability, of doubt, of sadness in her eyes raked him.
He leaned closer—vowing this would absolutely be the last kiss of the morning—and set his lips to hers. “I do want you, Pippin. I do. But we are not doing that again. Not here.”
Her face crumpled into a confused rumple. “Why?”
“I shouldna ha’ taken you on the ground. Not the first time.”
“But I loved it.”
“How could you have?”
“It was…earthy.”
Of course it was earthy. He’d taken her on the fucking ground. “You deserved better.”
“It was perfect.”
It had been. He couldn’t disagree. “But you deserve better.”
She tipped her head to the side. “So…not now?”
He had to laugh. He had no idea where it came from because this was hardly a laughing matter. “Not now.”
She nodded, but it was with a pout. And then she stood and dressed—he tried not to wail as her silky skin disappeared—and began packing her things.
He was gratified that she finally understood. That she would give him the time and the space he needed to work out these new feelings, this maelstrom of emotion.
For surely, she had set his world on its ear.
Chapter Eight
While Fia wasn’t pleased that Daniel was still reticent, she was gratified that, as they rode on the pleasant road to Moulin—munching on apples—his gaze kept drifting to her. Licking her, in fact.
She was suffused by memories of their interaction, remembering, reveling in the recollection of his touch and imagining what more there was to come.
And more, there would be. This, she vowed.
Despite the fact he felt it was dishonorable and wrong for him to seduce her again, he’d said nothing whatsoever about her seducing him. So she did.
All day.
Practically all day.
She’d never seduced a man before, but it was surprising how quickly she picked it up. It was as simple as a glance, a certain kind of smile, an innocent comment about the desire for a vigorous ride.
Occasionally, she brushed against him, letting her leg touch his. When the opportunity arose, she would touch his arm or stroke his hand.
His glances in her direction became more frequent, his expressions hungrier, his frustration more patent. He shifted frequently in the saddle.
She reveled in his discomfort.
Though she was uncomfortable too. Her body ached in ways it never had before and the constant rub of the saddle on suddenly tender flesh was annoying. Each move sent twangs of awareness through her. It was as though he had awakened a part of her body that would not go back to sleep. She was on fire with a desire that was far too new to her.
She glanced at Daniel. He stared ahead with a pained look on his face. He grunted and readjusted his seat. His gaze caught hers. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m fine.” A lie.
“Well, I am not.”
His head jerked up. “What’s wrong?”
She sighed. “I doona know. This has never happened before but I am…warm.” She flicked a look at him.
He blinked. “Warm?”
She gestured to the spot where her groin rubbed against the leather. “Here.”
He paled. He might have choked on his breath. “Oh God, Pippin. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize…”
“Realize what?”
“What an ogre I am. How could I no’ have thought how tender you might be?”
Oh, she was tender all right.
“Shall we stop? We can find a brook for you to soak in. Something soothing?”
She laughed. “It’s not a painful kind of warmth.” Well, it was. But not painful in the way he meant. “It’s more like…a hunger.”
Every muscle on his face froze. His chest rose. His thighs tightened, causing Hunnam to dance restlessly. “H-hunger?”
She leaned forward. “Is that…normal?”
“Normal?” A squeak.
“To want you again? So soon?” She fluttered her lashes. “I doona want you to think me a wanton.”
“Wanton?”
It was adorable the way he repeated every word she said as though he couldn’t come up with thoughts of his own.
She tipped her head to the side and shot him a taunting grin. “It was rather glorious after all.” She dabbed at her lips with her tongue.
His gaze locked on it. His Adam’s apple worked. A flush crawled up his face. His fists tightened on the reins.
“So is it normal?”
“Normal?” he croaked.
“To want you again? Honestly, Daniel. You must pay attention. Is it normal for a woman to want a man again so soon?”
He made a sound that might have been human. She decided to prod him harder.
“I especially enjoyed it when you kissed me here.” She touched her nipple and when a now familiar delight washed through her, she moaned.
His eyes crossed.
“Though I loved when you touched me here too.” She allowed her hand to trace its way down and down, to that spot between her legs. He tracked the movement.
“Pippin…” His voice was harsh, pained.
“Should you like me to kiss you there?” She peered at him curiously. He appeared to be
strangling on something. “Do women do such things?”
“Pippin, please stop talking.”
“But I’m curious.”
“You’re killing me with your curiosity.”
“Do you think we can try that? When we get to Moulin?”
“Pippin, please.” Something of a wail.
She affected a pout, but she wasn’t put out in the slightest. Her teasing was having just the effect she intended.
Indeed, he flicked the reins and the horses launched into a trot.
Daniel was mortified. Not only had he taken her virginity like a cad, he’d done it in an orchard. On the ground. Not only had he been so swept away—by her scent, her cries, and the excitement sizzling through his body—that he had ignored his code of honor…he wanted to do it again.
Now.
All day.
Aside from that, if he didn’t know better, if he didn’t know beyond a shadow of a doubt what an innocent she’d been, he would swear she was attempting to seduce him. But she couldn’t be. She couldn’t be. He must be interpreting those sidelong glances through the haze of his seething desire. Her comments could not be the ribald jests, the lurid lures, they seemed to be.
No doubt insanity had claimed him.
He wanted to tip her off her horse into the heather and take her there.
Hard, hot and unrestrained. He wanted to cover her like a stallion and thrust his cock into her warm and willing body. He wanted to make her scream. He wanted to make her howl. He wanted to make her yank on his hair as she had so many times this morning.
Had it only been this morning?
It seemed much longer ago. Far too long ago. He wanted to take her again.
But he couldn’t. What shreds of honor he still retained wouldn’t let him.
Oh, he would fuck her again. He would have her. As often as she would allow. He knew this to the depths of his soul, despite the fact his mind kept insisting he should not.
But not in the heather. Not in an orchard. Not on the hard, cold ground.
She deserved better, his wee Pippin. She deserved romance. A meal. A soft bed.
She deserved a better man than he.
But he decided not to focus on that. She was here with him now, and she wanted him now. Tomorrow, or whenever they parted, she could have that better man. For now, she was his.
The thought exhilarated him…until he remembered that tomorrow was, always and ever, only a day away.
They reached Moulin much sooner than he expected. In time for lunch, in fact. And even though it was far too soon to stop for the day, they did. There was quite a stretch between here and Newtonmore with no inns, and he didn’t want to miss the opportunity to savor her in comfort.
He procured a room for them to share and ordered a bath to be prepared while they ate. It was a lavish extravagance, but she deserved it. After they saw to their horses, they joined a small collection of travelers in the common rooms and enjoyed a savory stew.
The company was fine; there was much conversation and jocularity. Daniel smiled and nodded and pretended to be engaged, but all he was aware of was the warm weight of the boy by his side. And the fact that a small foot was toying with his.
It made his blood burn.
She was a minx, no doubt. But he would pay her back.
And she would love it.
The instant her bowl was empty, they headed straight up to the small room on the second floor.
The instant the door closed, he whipped her into his arms.
And ah, her mouth. So soft, so supple, so sweet. She tasted of ambrosia. He wanted to sink in and stay there forever. But kissing her—as delightful as it was—was not enough. Not now. Not after the morning he’d spent, in hell, wanting her.
He walked her back toward the bed, his hands moving in a flurry to touch her, caress her, undress her.
Her hands were busy too and soon their clothes fell to the floor. He pulled her against him, sealing them together, reveling in the soft curves of her sweet body. “Ach, darling,” he murmured as he buried his face in her hair, supped on her neck, stroked her delicious backside.
She wiggled against him and when he leaned back to scold her, she shot him a disarming grin. “There’s a bath,” she said, gesturing to the large tub, wreathed in steam, by the fire.
“Aye.” His mood fell, just a tad, because he realized he wouldn’t be having her quite yet. It wouldn’t be fair to fall upon her again like a savage beast, at least not until she’d had her soak. “I ordered it for you.”
“Oh!” Her eyes lit up and she pulled from his arms—he was not wont to let her go—and skipped over to swish her fingers in the water. “How divine.”
He couldn’t halt the swell of pride that he’d provided something so pleasing to her. “Go on. Get in.” He watched with an indulgent smile as she slipped into the water; it turned to something else altogether when she moaned. It was a feral moan, an animalistic moan, one that stirred something bestial within him.
As she slid down into the swirling water, he stalked over to her and picked up the cloth the innkeeper had left on the table. “Shall I wash you?”
Her eyes flew open at his sultry tone. He saw an illicit interest flicker there. “W-wash me?”
He knelt beside her and made a lather with the soap. “Shall I?”
“No one’s ever washed me before.”
“Excellent. I rather like being the first.” They shared a smile at his jest but then he realized it wasn’t really a jest. It was God’s honest truth.
She sobered as well and their gazes clung as some arcane message passed between them. “Yes.” Her answer. To so many things. Spoken and unspoken.
He dunked the cloth in the water and proceeded to wash her. Her arms, her shoulders, her beautiful neck. Her breasts. Surely they were not that much in need of cleaning? But he found himself fascinated by the ever tightening crests, so pink and tender and sweet. When she wailed her frustration at his teasing touch, he shifted to her feet and her legs and her belly and then, when he could bear the suspense no longer, he found the place between her thighs and rubbed her there.
Poor thing. She was nearly mindless by then, panting and moaning and twitching restlessly. Her eyes were glazed over and her lips worked, issuing sounds that might have been pleas.
He tried to be diligent. Truly, he did, but he found that he was bereft of patience. He wanted, needed to touch her more deeply. He abandoned the cloth and stroked her barehanded, skin to skin.
Glory, she was wet and warm. Her crease was creamy, her clitoris hard. He circled it and she arched into him with a yowl. She clutched the sides of the tub and braced herself, her muscles stiff, her expression intent. A red tide rose on her chest and flooded her cheeks. Her eyes closed. Her nostrils flared. “Yes,” she panted as he drew her closer and closer to heaven. “Yes, yes, yes.”
It was delicious to watch, even more entrancing when she broke. Shuddering and keening and writhing in her pleasure. He slipped inside her, filled her with his fingers and played her, toyed with her, strung it out, urging her on and on and on.
It was hard to withdraw when she collapsed in the water, boneless and sated.
But then, everything was hard. He was not boneless in the slightest.
Every nerve in his body hummed and screamed and howled for more. For her. For release.
He stepped into the tub, which thankfully was a large one—scooped her into his arms and settled back down, holding her chest to chest. The warm water engulfed him and he shivered. Her weight on him was lovely. The feel of her breasts pressing against him was magnificent. He held her and stroked her and gloried in it. In her.
It did not take much time for her to recover.
It did not take much time for the minx in her to awaken.
Her hand drifted over his chest and down. She found his cock and encircled it with those tantalizing fingers.
“Mmm.” She stroked him leisurely. And damn, he didn’t feel leisurely in the slightest. “Th
at was wonderful.”
He kissed the tiny hairs curling at her temple. They were damp with her sweat. He licked her and her essence flooded his consciousness. “It was.”
She tugged on him and he flinched, though not from any kind of pain. Perhaps some kind of it. “You never did answer my question,” she said.
He knew from the tone of her voice there was trouble afoot. “Which one?” She had asked several. They’d all disturbed him.
She shifted up on his lap so she could look him in the eye, but she didn’t release her prize. Her grip firmed. His cock lurched. He couldn’t resist a tiny surge of his hips. Surely not to encourage more? “Do women ever kiss men here?” She traced the tip of his cock.
Shivers danced on every nerve.
His pulse surged.
Oh. Holy. God.
He cleared his throat. “Indeed, they do.”
It was alarming how quickly she pushed away and leaped from the bath. “Oh, I want to try.” She scrambled for a towel and briskly dried off. Then she handed it to him with a wicked grin. “Come along,” she commanded. “I want to try it now.”
He could hardly refuse her.
That would have been rude.
He barely bothered with the towel. A quick buff here and there. As soon as he was dry enough to not soak their bed, he sat. His cock, alert and impatient, rose between his legs.
She studied it—from too far away—turning her head this way and that. Her tongue peeped out as she contemplated where to begin and, dear God, he prayed she would. Just begin.
When she knelt between his legs he nearly collapsed—the sight was so beguiling—but he forced himself to hold still. To give her time. Space.
His patience was worth it.
First, she traced his scar with her fingers. It was ragged and thick and dead, but when she bent her head to kiss it, he could swear the nerves sprang back to life.
When she turned her attention to his cock and took him in her grasp and leaned forward and lapped at the head, stars danced before his eyes, a universe of stars. It was beyond perfection. But then she closed her lips on him and suckled. Sucking and sipping at him. And then, she moaned.
She released him, much to his chagrin, but it was to smile up at him and say, “You are delicious.”
