Page 89 of A Knight’s Vengeance

He tensed. His eyes narrowed in warning, and she froze with her palm pressed to his warm belly. Had she displeased him? She had never lain with a man before. Dismay whirled up inside her. If she had ruined her chance to save her father⁠—

Geoffrey covered her hand with his, and drew it to a buckled ridge along the right side of his chest. A scar. A long, hideous scar. Elizabeth traced the line of marred flesh with her fingertips and bit back a horrified cry. What had happened to him? How had he survived such a wound?

Anguish shimmered in his eyes, and she sensed him steel himself for her rejection. With a gentle smile, she tugged the tunic up past his navel.

“’Tis not a pleasant sight,” he muttered.

“Please.” She pushed herself up to sitting.

He raised up on one elbow, drew the tunic over his head, and tossed it onto the floor.

Elizabeth sucked in a breath. She had expected the warrior strength of his physique, but not his godlike beauty, which the scar could never diminish. His skin gleamed like polished bronze. She smoothed her fingers over the swell of muscles and ribs, and marveled at the perfection of the human body. His body.

Geoffrey pushed up to sit beside her. The skin across her breasts tingled, for she recognized the wicked gleam in his eyes. His fingers drifted over her bodice, down to her waist, and as she swayed against him, her eyes closed. He took her mouth in a fiery kiss, reached down, and unlaced his boots. They fell to the floor. He did not break the kiss as he unfastened the points of his hose, removed the belt, and stripped the wool from each leg.

His thumb caressed her cheek, and Elizabeth dared to open her eyes. He was naked. Glorious. Her gaze traveled over his body, worshipped each gleaming swell of muscle and sinew. Her fingers burned to touch him. She reached for his thigh, but he captured her hand. His fingers linked through hers and he pressed her back on the bed.

His face taut with need, he leaned over her. His tongue slicked over the sensitive hollow of her throat, then moved to her bodice’s edge. How did such pleasure exist in a simple touch? Through half-lowered lashes, she watched him unfasten her bliaut’s ties. His hands moved again, down her side, down her leg, to her hem.

When his fingers grazed the inside of her leg, she quivered. His lips swept over hers. He whispered tender reassurances, and pulled her bliaut and chemise to her waist. He coaxed her to wriggle out of them, and then dropped them over the side of the bed.

Cool air kissed her skin. Elizabeth shivered. She lay naked before him. The rough hair on his legs brushed against her, reminded her of the different textures of man and woman. With her hands, she tried to hide her nakedness, but he raised her fingers to his mouth and kissed them, one by one.

“You are beautiful,” he murmured.

“And you tell a fine falsehood.” She gave a shaky laugh. “My cheekbones are too high and⁠—”

“Believe me, damsel, you are exquisite. All of you.”

His eyes blazed, and a thrill of wonder and excitement coursed through her. He ran his hand over her hipbone and flat stomach. When the muscles fluttered at his touch, he grinned.

With slow, careful movements, he lowered his weight over her. As he braced his arms on either side of her shoulders, his silky hair brushed her temple. Elizabeth swallowed. Dipping his head, he distracted her with a searing kiss. He teased her desire, taunted her with his hands, lips, and tongue, until her body writhed beneath him.

“Elizabeth,” he said in a thick voice. “Are you certain?”

She nodded.

His hardness pressed into her, bringing pressure and stabbing pain. She gasped. His body tensed above her, and she sensed the effort it took him to stop.

“I do not wish to hurt you.”

“I know.”

His face held such a tortured expression, she drew his head down to kiss him. His lips moved over hers. He kissed her with a muffled apology, and then thrust hard and deep.

He crushed her, everywhere, inside as well as out. She thought she could bear no more, when he whispered her name and began to move. The gentle friction dimmed the pain and brought with it a delicious, slow burn. With each of his strokes, the pleasure intensified.

The smell of his sweat filled her nostrils. His stubbled jaw grazed her cheek. Need heightened, and she whimpered. Groaning, he quickened the pace. She dug her heels into the bedding, matched his thrusts.

Faster.

Faster.

The burn flared, then exploded into a single, brilliant, exquisite flame. She cried out as it engulfed her.

In its fiery wake, Geoffrey roared with pleasure. His breaths became shuddered gasps.

And, when he buried his head against her shoulder, she tasted the tears streaming down her cheeks.