She nodded briskly. “I will have my wish, but afterward, it will be your turn.”
“Very well,” he said, and without taking his eyes off her, he cleaned his hands on the rag and threw it away.
Then he raised his arms, the muscles in his shoulders and biceps contracting, and tugged his hair free.
“It’s not your hair I want to touch this time.”
Pedro’s brows furrowed, his eyes widening in surprise.
“Can you please remove your shirt, Your Excellency?”
A subtle, impressed smile lifted the corner of his lips. Ha, he didn’t anticipate her bold move. Well, husband, she wasn’t as predictable as he thought. A sense of accomplishment washed over her, and she suppressed a triumphant grin, savoring the satisfaction of her small victory.
He stood abruptly. The tack room became much smaller. And warm. His hypnotic eyes caressed her while he undid the buttons of his shirt and shrugged away the white linen. Anne’s gaze traveled the expanse of his chest, his skin still bronzed from their week at the yacht. Pedro had the body of an Adonis and the scars of a warrior. The play of light and shadows emphasized his lean perfection. She lingered over the trail of golden hair starting on his navel and vanishing inside his trousers. Her mouth suddenly dry, Anne licked her lips.
With a subtle nod to her, he sat back on the stool, his stance now challenging.
Anne moved softly behind him and fished inside her pocket for the black cravat. Fumbling a little, she pressed the silk over his eyes. The chill she felt outside was replaced by a sudden heat. Would she ever tire of his textures, his temperature, his power? And to know he only accepted touch from her? It stirred her in ways she could not explain.
Because she had a weakness for his hair, Anne sifted her fingers through the silky strands. The length was perfect, long enough for her to lose herself, but not so long that she couldn’t feel the warmth of his scalp beneath.
How could such a rough warrior have such soft hair? As if she didn’t know… It was why she fell in love with him, wasn’t it? Anne had dreamed of marrying a perfect prince, but it was in the imperfect warrior's arms that she found perfection.
While she would spend hours touching his hair, she wanted more. She massaged his shoulders, and when he sighed, leaning back on her, she glided her hands to his torso. A shudder coursed through Pedro, and the way his breathing caught thrilled her. His skin was warm and smooth, deceptively soft against the steel beneath. Bolder now, she allowed her nails to graze over his chest, enjoying how his muscles rippled.
Before she lost herself in him, she moved to his front and undid the buttons of her cape. The silk whispered around her as she knelt before him. She nurtured no illusions that he didn’t know where she was or what she was up to. Pedro's sharp intake of breath and straight posture signaled that he was aware the surprises weren't over.
He stood still, even blindfolded, fully alert.
She nudged his legs apart and shifted closer. With trembling fingers, she reached for the placket of his trousers.
“Ana.”
“You shouldn’t question my desires.”
The air grew denser, wrapping around Anne’s skin like the finest silk, and the cool floor beneath her knees contrasted with the warmth spreading through her core. The cedar of his cologne faded, overshadowed by the raw scent of anticipation.
Anne opened the fastenings and freed his member. He was erect, the skin puckered over the base and stretched taut at the tip. Even this part of him was beautiful… and menacing. Anne’s courage faltered her. She had never taken the initiative. But after her talk with Flor, she couldn’t help but feel there were things Pedro had kept her from doing, perhaps fearing for her innocence. Still, she craved this, and taking hold of him with both her hands, she leaned forward and closed her lips around the tip. Heat invaded her as if she stood in front of a furnace. Pedro’s musky scent surrounded her. The skin was smooth, like kid leather pulled tight, and she rolled her tongue, wanting to experience all the textures.
Pedro hissed, his hips bucking, and then his hands clamped her head. As she licked the blunt tip, wild energy emanated from him, and his grip tightened as if unsure if he wanted to pull her closer or push her away. He liked this. The feeling was heady, like a potent wine, and she tasted the moment on her tongue, a mix of sweet victory and the metallic tang of power.
His heart vaulted inside his chest, and Pedro wrestled the cravat from his face. Anne was kneeling between his legs, her plump lips around his cock, her hair spilling over his feet. The cape gaped open, revealing her pert breasts. He froze. If the sensation had exploded his senses, the visual had him reeling. Struggling to draw in air, he closed his eyes, trying to center himself.
Groaning, Pedro pulled her from him.
Her lips slid away, leaving a trail of wet fire.
He had forsaken his defenses for her, and he would do it again and again. But in this, in lovemaking, he was in control. He was the one who worshiped her.
He controlled his breathing, but his muscles rivaled with his cock for hardness. He couldn’t think with her between his thighs. Catching her by the waist, he sat her atop the saddle.
Her appearance, hot, unapologetic, seductive, tempted him beyond endurance, so he lowered his eyes from the proud peak of her breasts, past her taut abdomen, and down her legs. A red blotch marred her fair skin.
“You scraped your knees.” Pedro moved in the space between her thighs, his every fiber screaming for him to wrap her long legs around his hips and claim her.
But Pedro had not survived two courts and three wars by being gullible. Even angels had hidden intentions. Why had she come? In the middle of the day, demanding invisibility?
“It’s nothing.” She tried to cover her breasts with the cape, but the silk caught under her, and she only succeeded in exposing more of herself. “You never allow me to do this to you, even though you always do it to me. Pedro, you placed me on a pedestal, and I—”
