Page 13 of Marin’s Promise

Her cheeks went deep red.

“If ye’re no’, we'll have to change that, aye?” He caught her face gently in his hand and those large blue eyes turned up to gaze at him, burning with desire.

Many of these noble lasses had been married off to the worst of men, aging bastards who used them like mares to sire children and nothing more. Or they’d been seduced by some courtier who used them to slake their own desire. None of the noblemen he’d ever heard of knew how to handle a lady. At least not like Bran.

There would be no stiff coupling where she lay beneath him with her eyes tightly closed. Nay, he would have her crying out, her hips meeting his with matched urgency, her hands on his body.

He pressed his lips to hers. This time when he brushed his tongue against her mouth, she opened for him immediately, like a flower parting its petals to the sun. He drank her in, teasing and tasting her sweetness. She gave a moan and her tongue flicked against his with tentative curiosity.

Aye, there. That was what he wanted.

His body was on fire, his cock throbbing with want of her. He wanted to tear the kirtle off her and spread her legs to reveal her pink, damp center. In his mind he could see it perfectly, him positioning the head of his manhood at her entrance and sheathing himself in her tight, wet heat until they both cried out.

He gave a little growl of desire and deepened the kiss, so his tongue tangled with hers. His hands moved down her back to the round shape of her bottom. He drew her to him again, so her legs spread over his thigh and his cock nestled against her.

She curled her hips toward him in an instinctive motion of coupling. The pressure of her body against the raging lust of his erection tightened pleasantly through him. He grunted and pushed against her.

He had taken off his quilted gambeson earlier and now drew back to pull his leine over his head. It fell the floor, leaving him in only his trews with his cock straining at the leather.

He’d never wanted a woman so badly in all his life as he wanted this fine noblewoman. To show her what loving truly was, to bring her more pleasure than she’d ever had in the whole of her life.

* * *

Marin couldn’t dragher stare from Bran’s naked torso, his powerful muscles rippling in the firelight. Dark hairs dusted over his chest and various scars left his skin puckered. The body of a warrior. He was a man who had seen much war in his life. And doubtless many lovers.

Everything within her spun with the most thrilling, dizzying sensation and her heartbeat pounded between her legs with a wetness she was too shy to admit.

“Take off yer kirtle.” His voice was silky and so sensual, it made prickles of desire shiver down her skin.

He wanted to have her, which had been her intention. He was sufficiently lulled into a sense of trust. Though she had not expected it so quickly, nor so enjoyably. A deep part of her wanted to comply with his request, to slip off her kirtle and let her curiosity be sated. But the blade was in her belt, and she would need the dagger to kill him.

“I am not ready yet,” she said in a strong voice.

He stepped back and put his hands up in an innocent gesture. “I willna force ye. In fact, ye may leave any time ye like.” His dark eyes glittered. “If ye stay, I'll kiss ye and touch ye until ye beg me to take ye. I want ye aching with longing. But I'll no' have ye with yer dress on. Ye’re far too lovely to no’ see all of ye.”

Suddenly it was almost impossible to breathe.

“Will ye leave?” he queried. “Or stay?”

He closed the scant distance between them, and the light spice of the oil he'd used while bathing swirled around them both.

“Stay.” She swallowed. “I want to stay.” And oh, how she wanted to stay. She wished she was in a different time, a different place, a different woman. She wanted this.

His gaze drifted down her body and her nipples tingled as though he'd caressed her again. “I wager if I swept my fingers against yer center, they’d come away wet.”

Fire flashed in her cheeks and she licked her lips. She wanted to squirm from the words he spoke, as if he knew the sinful sensation between her legs.

His dark stare fixed on her mouth. “It drives me mad when ye do that, Marin.”

She shouldn't like the way he said her name. And yet she did, his Scottish brogue making her name sound like a sensual purr. “When I do what?”

“When ye lick yer lips.” He cradled her jaw in one large, powerful hand, his touch light. “It leaves them glistening and makes me want to kiss ye.”

Her pulse raced faster at the thought of his kisses and the heat of his tongue against hers. “Oh.”

“And it makes me want to feed ye my cock to suck.”

Even as surprise took her, the lust between her thighs pulsed harder, burned hotter.