Mesmerized, he still didn’t move. Not even when she stopped before him and reached up to touch his face. Chills erupted through him and he allowed her to tilt his head down as she rose on her tiptoes to meet his lips.
She pressed her breasts flat against his armor as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Encircling her bare body with his arms, he took possession of her mouth. Draven moaned as he tasted the pure honey of her breath, her tongue. The scent of honeysuckle filled his head and he closed his eyes, reveling in the sound of her welcoming sigh.
Somehow, he found his armor in a puddle at his feet, and he stood completely naked before her.
Draven kissed a circle around her, from her lips to her neck to her shoulders. He came up behind her, running his hands over her breasts as she arched her back against his chest. He buried his lips against the back of her neck as she drew her breath in sharply between her teeth.
“I want you, Draven,” she whispered, her voice whipping through him, driving his throbbing body to new heights of pleasure.
Brazenly, she took his hands and placed them on her breasts. “Do with me as you will.”
Leaning his head back, he gave his battle cry as he moved his hands from her breasts down her arms and to her hands. He laced his fingers with hers, then placed her hands against the wall in front of her.
Aye, he would have his way with her this night. Damn his oath and damn his past. For one moment, he would know what it was like to feel as if he belonged. As if he could have all he desired.
He buried his face in her hair and bent her forward ever so slightly to brace herself against the wall. She spread her legs for him. “Come inside, my sweet,” she whispered.
Trembling from the invitation, Draven didn’t hesitate. He drove himself inside her, up to the hilt. She moaned in ecstasy as she rose up onto her tiptoes, then lowered herself down upon his shaft.
It was heaven. Pure, blessed heaven. The likes of which he’d never thought to have.
“Milord,” she breathed insistently.
“Emily,” he said at last, enjoying the feel of her name on his lips as he pulled himself back, then plunged himself deep inside her again.
“Milord,” she said again even more insistently than before.
“Emily,” he sighed.
“Milord!”
Draven came awake with a start as someone grabbed him by the shoulder. His first instinct to lay low his attacker, he barely caught himself before he yielded to that protective urge.
He blinked twice as he looked up into bright green eyes set in a puzzled face. The same bright green eyes he’d just been dreaming of.
Emily stood above him, fully clothed. And this was not his room where the dream had taken place. This was the old orchard behind the donjon.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Aye,” he said hoarsely, shifting his body to keep her from seeing the hardness of him that jutted out like a ten-foot maypole.
He didn’t know what annoyed him most, being interrupted from his dream or being caught in the midst of some adolescent fantasy the likes of which he’d not had since he was an adolescent.
How could his dreams have betrayed him so?
And worse, in a castle full of people, why did it have to be Emily who awakened him?
Could he possible be any more embarrassed?
Nay, not even if it were the pope, himself, who had awakened him.
“Are you certain all is well?” she asked again. “Your face is terribly flushed.” She reached out to touch his forehead.
For an instant, Draven didn’t move. He craved her touch so much that he was frozen.
Until his sense finally took hold of him. Jumping to his feet, he put a safe distance between them.
