She met his fervor with her own, sliding her tongue against his, mimicking his erotic movements with her own.
The roaring in his head got louder.
His body got harder.
It wasn’t enough. He leaned into her, fitting his body to hers, and rocked. Gently, and then more insistently as she started to writhe and whimper in innocent frustration.
He wanted to lift up her skirts and sink into her. Feel her shatter around him as he drove into her hard and deep. Over and over. Claiming her as his.
But she was so responsive—so pure in her pleasure—a swell of tenderness rose up inside him, and he pulled away.
She blinked up at him, her eyes swimming with passion, her lips softly parted and swollen from his kiss. “Please, don’t—”
“Shhh.” He stopped her protest with a soft kiss. “I’m not stopping.” It was too late for that. He was a man, not a bloody saint. He wanted her too badly, and she’d pushed him too far. Recriminations would come later. Right now, she was his.
But he wouldn’t take her like a rutting beast against a door.
He unfastened the Campbell brooch that he wore to secure his plaid and spread it out on the stone floor. After sitting, he held out his hand.
She didn’t hesitate, but slid her hand into his with a smile that tore at his heart and allowed him to lower her down beside him. There was just enough room to stretch out between the barrels of wine.
He slid his hand in her hair and drew her face to his, kissing her with all the passion and emotion teeming inside him. Kissing her as if she meant everything to him.
Anna gave herself over to the sweet possessiveness of his kiss. She curled against him, feeling warm, protected, and sheltered from the events taking place outside the magical bower of his embrace. She felt …
Peace. In his arms she felt the sense of peace and contentment that had always eluded her.
He slid his hand through her hair, cradling the back of her head in his big, callused palm. His thumb caressed soft little circles at the back of her neck.
She could kiss him like this forever. Lying beside him, molded together, feeling the hard strength of his body pressed against her. His warmth a protective cocoon around them. The long, languid strokes of his tongue making her hot and boneless. It was perfect.
But when the long, languid strokes grew more demanding, when his kiss became harder and deeper, when his hold around her tightened and she became aware of the hard column of steel wedged against her stomach, kissing wasn’t enough.
She felt that strange sensation building inside her again. The awakening. The stirring. The restless energy that pulsed between her legs, making her feel anxious and desperate for pressure.
But this time she knew what would happen. She remembered his hand between her legs. His fingers inside her. The sharp spasms of release. She remembered the plump round head of his manhood pressing intimately inside her.
She moaned, circling her hips against him, wanting the relief that only friction could bring. Her body was on fire, her nipples tight and achy as they raked his chest.
Her hands roamed over the broad span of his shoulders, the hard muscles of his arms and back, trying to draw him closer. Though beneath his plaid he wore only a tunic, chausses, and braies, the thin layers of wool and linen had become a maddening barrier. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to feel the heat of his skin pulsing under her fingertips.
He must have sensed her frustration. Wrenching his mouth away, he unbuckled his belt and jerked the tunic over his head, tossing it to the side.
His chest was as incredible as she remembered. Broad shoulders, heavily muscled arms, flat stomach bisected by rigid bands of steel, the smooth plane of tanned skin marked by various-sized scars. The worst was the star-shaped scar on his upper arm near his shoulder—the type of mark left by an arrow. And she could see the marking on his arm clearer now: the Lion Rampant, the symbol of Scotland’s kingship.
She couldn’t tear her eyes away. Lord, he was beautiful.
“Keep looking at me like that, lass, and this won’t last that long.”
The huskiness of his voice sent a shiver of desire running down her spine. She blushed. “I like looking at you.” His eyes darkened. “You’re magnificent.”
Unable to wait a moment longer, she flattened her palms over his chest, gasping at the sharp sizzle of contact.
He made a deep, guttural sound and drew her into his arms again. This time there was no holding back. She could taste his desire. Feel his need in the erotic thrusts of his tongue.
It was all happening fast now, but each moment burned sharply in her mind. She wanted to remember everything about this. The way he tasted. The way his mouth felt on hers. The rough scrape of his beard on her chin. The heat of his skin. The power of his muscles flexing under her palms. The hard pounding of his heart against hers. She wanted to remember every sensation. Every smell. Every touch.
She was so hot and achy, her skin fevered and flushed. Vaguely she was aware of his hands loosening the ties of her sleeveless surcoat and easing it past her shoulders. Then he was cupping her breasts, kneading them through the wool of her cotte and linen of her chemise as his mouth traveled down her throat. His thumb moved over the hard nub of her nipple. Circling. Caressing. Pinching gently between his fingertips.
Her hands skimmed wildly over his back, clutching his shoulders, her fingers digging into his skin with every teasing stroke. She moaned, wanting to strip away the fabric, to feel his hands—his mouth—on her skin.
And then they were. First her cotte, then her chemise, were eased up her legs, past her waist, and then over her head.
She might not have noticed if he hadn’t stopped to look at her. He lifted his head from her throat and slid his gaze over her nakedness.
She blushed and tried to cover herself, but he wouldn’t let her.
He grabbed her wrists and shook his head. “Don’t,” he said roughly, something thick and raw in his voice. “You’re beautiful.” He lay on his side and trailed his finger down her arm as if she were so delicate she might break from his touch. His eyes caressed her breasts, making her nipples tighten even more. He slid a finger over the tip, then around the heavy curve. “Jesu,” he breathed raggedly. “Your breasts are unreal.” He groaned and eased down to cup them in his hands, lifting them to his mouth.
He kissed one throbbing tip, then the other, leaving her trembling with need. When he finally closed his lips over her and sucked one nipple deep in his mouth, she cried out.
Arthur had never seen anything more beautiful. He knew he should slow down to take in every inch of creamy, baby-soft skin, but one glance had been enough to nearly send him over the edge.
Slim and delicately formed from the top of her head to the tiny arches on her feet, she looked like an angel. He might have thought he’d died and gone to heaven, if it weren’t for her breasts. Her breasts were pure sin. A male fantasy come to life. A little too big, round and high with youthful pertness, the soft, creamy flesh was tipped by berry-pink nipples that made his mouth water. And they tasted …
He groaned and drew her in his mouth again, circling the warm, taut peak with his tongue. They tasted of sweet carnal desires and dark honey pleasures.
He wanted to go slow, to draw out every moment of pleasure, but their need was too hot. Too desperate. And too long denied.
He eased his hand between her legs, testing her with his fingers.
He was hard as a spike, but feeling her dampness—knowing she was already wet for him—made him swell even harder. He sucked her breasts and stroked her with his fingers until her hips lifted against his hand and her breath started to hitch erratically.
When he knew she was close, he quickly rid himself of his chausses and braies and moved over her, positioning himself between her legs.
Their eyes met.
He wished he could say he hesitated, but he didn’t. All he could think about was that he needed to make her his. That he had to hold o
n to her. That in her eyes he’d seen the acceptance and love he’d never thought would be for him. Love that God knew he didn’t deserve but wanted more than anything in the world.
“Please,” she whimpered.
It was all the invitation he needed.
Gritting his teeth against the urge to thrust hard and deep, he lifted one of her legs around his waist and started to ease inside. Although “ease” was probably the wrong word. She was tight, and he was big—very big.
Sweat gathered on his brow.
Tight. God, so incredibly tight.
He clenched against the hard pull in his groin. His bollocks tightened as the pressure built at the base of his spine.
Her body fought against the invasion, but he wouldn’t be denied. He pushed a little deeper.
She flinched and made a sharp sound of distress.
Blood pounded through his veins. He felt as if he were going to explode, but he held back, giving her a moment to adjust before burying himself deep inside.
Jesus. Don’t push …
“I-I’m n-not sure this is going to work,” she said anxiously. “M-maybe when you’re a bit smaller?”
A chuckle rumbled from his chest through the pain. He would explain some of the intricacies of the matter later. “Trust me, love. We will fit perfectly.” But admittedly he’d never been with a maid before. “You might feel some pain for a moment.” He looked into her eyes. “All right?”
She nodded, but looked a little less certain than before.
He held her gaze the entire time, giving her silent encouragement, as he sank a little deeper. Inch by excruciating inch.
The sensation of her body wrapped tightly around his cock was nearly too much. He had to fight against the urge to thrust, knowing how good it would feel. The tight, wet heat gripping him. Milking him. Every muscle in his body was rigid with tension as he tried to hold back, as he tried to go slow. It felt so good.
But he would make it perfect for her, damn it.
Almost …
There. The point of no return. Looking deep into her eyes, he felt his chest contract and gave the final push.
She gasped, and her eyes widened with pain, but she didn’t cry out. The stoic look on her face gave him the perverse urge to smile. “It will get better, my love, I promise. Try to relax.”
She shot him a look as if he were crazy. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
But then he kissed her and proved that she was wrong.
Anna felt a sharp pinch as he entered her and wanted to cry out in pain. But she could see him struggling and bit it back, knowing how badly he was trying not to hurt her. It wasn’t his fault God had made him so … oversized. It must make things terribly uncomfortable—
Wait. He was distracting her with his kiss, but she thought she’d felt …
There it was again. A twinge. A twinge that felt nice. Very nice. In fact, it felt amazing. Her body had softened around him and the pain had subsided. Now she could feel him. Hot and hard, filling her in a way that she’d never imagined.
And then he started to move. Slowly at first. Sinking in and out in long, smooth strokes.
She gasped as each thrust reverberated through her body. It felt as though he were claiming her. Possessing her in the most primitive way possible.
It felt incredible. She had to move with him, lifting her hips to meet his thrusts, taking him deeper. Harder. Then faster.
She clutched his shoulders, drawing him closer. Wanting to feel his weight on top of her. Their bodies seemed fused together. Skin to skin. It was so hot. Her body so achingly heavy.
Passion gripped her in its shimmery hold. Sensations fired inside her. Building. Coiling. Concentrating in that most feminine part of her. He felt it, too. He was like steel under her fingertips, his muscles tense and flared, ready to explode.
But it was the look in his eyes that sent her over the edge. Intense. Penetrating. Dark with not just desire but also with emotion. Reflected in those golden-amber depths, she saw the love that burned in her own heart.
He loved her. He might not realize it yet, but she did.
He held her to him, not letting her turn away as he thrust into her again, burying himself as deep as he could go, and held her there.
Something powerful and magical passed between them. A connection unlike anything she’d ever imagined.
Her breath caught high in her chest as sensation took hold. For one moment everything seemed to stop. Her body held at the very peak of ecstasy, balanced on the heavenly precipice.
She let out a sharp cry as the first spasm of release sent her careening over, shattering into mindless oblivion.
“That’s it, love, come for me.” He started to move again, pounding into her with fierce abandon. “Oh God. You feel so good. I can’t …”
With a deep groan of satisfaction that seemed ripped from his soul, he drove into her one last time. His body stiffened, then shuddered as his release caught the tiding wave of her own. His face was fierce and beautiful, primitive in its passion.
When the last sensation had flickered to an end, he collapsed on top of her, their bodies still joined. All she could hear was the heavy sound of their breathing and the fierce pounding of their hearts.
She wished she could stay like this forever, but too soon he rolled off her, breaking the connection.
Cool air swept over her flushed, damp skin, making it prickle with gooseflesh. She was conscious of her nakedness but too spent to move. Her limbs were like jelly. But she had no cause for embarrassment; Arthur wasn’t looking at her.
He stared up at the ceiling, still breathing unevenly but ominously quiet.
Shouldn’t he be saying something?
She bit her lip, wondering what he was thinking. It had seemed wonderful to her, but what if—she felt a pang—she’d disappointed him?
At last he turned his head to the side to look at her. Lifting his hand to her face, he gently swept the hair back from her face. Seeing her uncertainty, he smiled—a lopsided, boyish smile that wrapped right around her heart and would never let go. She knew she would never forget how he looked at this moment.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say. I’ve never … I’ve never felt anything like that.”
She beamed back at him, unable to hide her joy. “Really? I didn’t have anything to compare it with, but I thought it was wonderful.”
“Aye, it was.” He bent down and gave her a tender kiss. But when he lifted his head to look at her again, his gaze had clouded. “I’ll never regret what just happened, Anna, but for your sake I wish it hadn’t.”
Anna felt a flicker of unease, hearing the unmistakable air of warning, but she pushed it aside, refusing to let anything cloud the moment.
Instinctively, she tucked herself against him, nestling under his arm and resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m glad it did,” she said.
Now they were bound together and nothing could break them apart.
Arthur gazed down at the tiny, naked woman snuggled in his arms and felt his heart catch. What they’d just shared had been unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He’d had more than his fair share of women, but swiving for him had always been about sating lust. He’d see to a woman’s pleasure and she would see to his with one goal in mind—release. Once accomplished, that was the end of it. He didn’t linger. And he sure as hell didn’t want to hold her in his arms and wish that they could stay like this forever.
Compared to what had just happened with Anna, what had come before seemed almost mechanical—as if he’d just been going through the motions to get the prize.
But with Anna, the prize had been the experience itself. The pleasure was in the exploration, in the discovery, and in the details. It was in the way she responded to his touch—the arch of her back, the press of her hips, and the little sounds that came from her lips. It was the look in her eyes when he slid into her, the flush that spread over her cheeks as she neared her release, and the way her head fell back
and lips parted when she finally found it.
He hadn’t been able to look away. He usually avoided eye contact, but with Anna he’d sought the connection. He wanted the closeness.
He rested his cheek on the top of her head, savoring the silky softness of her hair. She was so sweet and beautiful. And so damned trusting. A fierce swell of protectiveness rose inside him. And something else. Something warm and tender and powerful. Something he’d never thought was meant for him.
He’d thought himself different. That he didn’t need anyone. That he was happy being alone. But he’d been fooling himself. He wasn’t different at all. He needed her. Wanted her. Loved her with a ferocity that surprised him.
Maybe he could find a way to explain. To beg her forgiveness. Maybe there was hope …
Ah hell. A knot fisted in his gut as he pulled himself back to reality. Who was he fooling? She would never forgive him. How could she, when he was here to destroy all that she held dear?
He loved her, but it didn’t change a damned thing. It would only make what was to come more painful. When he finished what he’d come to do, there would be no chance for them.
He loved her, but his loyalty was to Bruce. He had a mission to complete, not only for the king but for his father.
In a different time—in a place uncomplicated by war and feuds—they might have a chance. But not here. Not today.
Yet he wished …
God, how he wished it were different.
She peeked up at him from under her lashes. “I’m sure we aren’t the first betrothed couple to anticipate the wedding night.”
The stab of guilt deepened. That was the problem: There would be no wedding night. Not when she discovered the truth. He was an arse. A dishonorable arse. What could he have been thinking?
He knew exactly what he’d been thinking. That he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life, and that he’d do anything to hold on to her. Consciously or unconsciously, he’d wanted to bind her to him in a way that could not be undone. Not even by deceit and betrayal.
It was desperate. It was selfish. It was wrong. It would only serve to give her more cause to hate him. But it was done, and he could not change it even if he wanted to.