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Leather and soap. She smelled leather and soap.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
He had come back.
There were no words between them. William’s mouth was on hers, kissing her so hard that he was bruising her. His tongue plunged into her mouth and she responded to him with equal abandon, gasping and crying so that he would never stop. Her hands were thickly entwined in his inky hair, holding him against her mouth as if she were afraid he would change his mind and try to leave. What had been pain only moments before was now wild, unadulterated bliss.
They were on the bed and her robe was open and his clothes were coming off in sections. His hands were on her, everywhere, stroking, caressing, teasing her as she twisted and writhed against him. She cried softly in disappointment when his mouth left her own, only to cry out a second later in ecstasy as his hot, wet mouth latched onto a peaked nipple.
She arched into him, her actions telling him silently how much she was enjoying his attention. He responded by snaking his big arm underneath the small of her back to hold her up to his eager mouth.
She was crying and whimpering softly, calling him ‘English’ as his mouth did wonderful, decadent, indecent things to her. She was answering him with complete surrender, her senses overwhelmed. Never did she imagine a touch could be the most important thing in her life.
He came back up to her mouth, licking and suckling her until she was gasping for air. The warm tingle she had felt earlier was now a raging fire deep in her torso; spreading to her loins. His urgent hand drifted to her dark blond mound of curls, stroking the thick lips and already feeling the slippery moisture. When he slipped a finger inside her, she raised her legs and pushed into his open palm.
William had lost control the moment he had walked back through the door. He was unstoppable now, trying to retain at least enough sense to remember to be careful with her, but when she arched into his hand he damn near snapped. God, she was so wet and hot and her muscles were already throbbing around his finger. He could feel the thin shield of her virginity opposing him.
He wanted to go slowly, but he had already lost the fight against his raging desire. He pushed her legs apart and settled in between them, stroking her with feverish but gentle delight. He started to kiss her tender core, his tongue flicking about the pink skin, but she let out a muffled shriek and he was dangerously close to spilling himself.
He could wait no longer; he had to have her or die.
Their eyes met as he raised himself over her, her wide ones and his smoky ones. They were sweating, breathing heavily, and he almost forgot what he wanted to say as he stared at her flushed face and kiss-swollen lips.
She saw his hesitation. “We can still stop, English,” she whispered. “No harm has been done yet.”
He shushed her. “I am betraying myself if I do not admit my feelings for you. I must be true to my heart.” He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “My shame is so great you could not possibly understand, but you are not the cause of it. ’Tis for the fact that I know what I am doing is clandestine and wrong in the eyes of our king and of our moral law, but I am unable to stop myself. My feelings for you are too great. I have fought them off for so long that I can do it no longer. Forgive me my weakness.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. She felt like an evil, shameless hussy who had forced a man of such high principal into something he was already regretting.
“Forgive me for thinking only of myself,” she whispered, trying to move out from under him. “This is my fault. I shouldna have forced ye into this. Yer a good man, William, and I willna see ye miserable because of me. Ye’re trying to do the right thing and I stand in yer way.”
He stopped her movements. “I would be miserable without you. To have you and your love, although it will be a secret known only to us, makes my whole life on this earth worth something.”
She was openly sobbing now. “But we are sinning against God and yer liege,” she whispered. “And I am guilty because I do not care that we are, I only know that I love ye, English. How can love be wrong?”
He kissed her tears away, gently lapping up the moisture from her temples. “It is not wrong in my heart. I know God will find us guiltless. Yet it is not God I am worried of; your danger would be great should the earl find us out.”
“What would he do?”
He traced along the tracks of her drying tears with his fingers. “ ’Tis hard to say,” he replied vaguely.
“Would he order me killed?” she asked timidly.
“Never.”
She fell quiet a moment, allowing her hands to caress his broad shoulders and linger along his back; she had wanted to touch him in this manner for as long as she could remember.
“But what if what if he hears rumors and confronts ye?” she questioned.
“I will not lie to the man, Jordan,” he said huskily. “But neither will I volunteer that I love his wife. His question would have to be direct and to the point to obtain that information.”
“Sweet William,” she smiled sadly. “Ye are so noble.”
“I know,” he kissed her softly. “But you, madam, could topple God himself.”
There were no more words to be spoken, only the anticipation of the physical demonstration of their feelings. He pushed into her slowly, acutely aware of how small she was, seating himself a centimeter at a time and giving her time to adjust to the sensual intrusion. He could feel her rapid breathing underneath him.
He knew she was scared; they were both scared in more ways than one, but they also agreed that the risks were worth everything. Nothing would ever keep them apart, king, country, liege. Ever since the day they had met on the moor, he knew they were destined to be together. There was no doubt in his mind.
