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“And you’d do it again.”
She grinned at him.
Currently, their guests were in the Inn’s courtyard and the dining room for the reception. She could hear the faint threads of music and raucous voices deep in drink by now. She imagined her family dancing with the rest of the community that had raised her, along with the Queen and her sister, as well as her new in-laws celebrating.
There was a lot to celebrate. The treaty, the capture of the Feidel leaders, and the removal of the treasonous Rayoran from Queen Keyanna’s council. Things had moved so quickly and so successfully that when the Queen informed Tarley that she didn’t have to marry Lachlan if she didn’t want to, Tarley knew without a doubt that marrying him had never been about duty. When the same had been posed to Lachlan, he’d looked at Tarley, and said, “I will fucking want you until the end of my days—if you’re willing to make me yours?”
That had been it.
Now, he stalked another closer. “There will always be guards around, Princess. Clothes,” he reminded, shirking out of his jacket with two jerky movements. “I think they secretly get off on hearing it. I mean, who wouldn’t.” He grinned and yanked the tunic from his breeches, then hopped toward her, pulling off his boots one at a time. “Do you think you’ll be loud, my queen?”
My queen.
Her heart squeezed with joy, and with trembling fingers, she unfastened the diamond clasp at her throat—a gift from her new mother-in-law—loosening the heavy fabric of the cloak. “It’s a distinct possibility. I’ve been fantasizing–”
Lachlan groaned and pulled the shirt over his head, his gaze intense with want when they came to rest on her once more. “If you don’t move faster, I’m ripping that dress from your body.” He continued forward as Tarley backed toward the bed. “I have been fantasizing too, and I’m so fucking hard, Tarley.” Lachlan took himself in hand over his trousers.
She stopped moving, her throat suddenly dry. “Gods, Lach.”
He stopped in front of her, and she grasped his hips, then tugged at the fastening on his trousers, struggling to get them open, until finally, she released his erection, and it sprang free of its confines, glorious, hard, and perfect. “I’ve been dreaming about this, about you.” She wrapped her hand around his girth, his moan filling her ears with power. “In my mouth.”
“Tarley. Oh gods–” His breath caught, and she tugged on him, root to tip, then repeated the motion. He grasped her hand. “Stop.” He leaned forward and nipped at her lips, groaning as he did. “As much as I want to be in your mouth, let’s save that for later.” He ran the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “Why are you still dressed?” He grabbed her bodice and tugged on it, pulling several buttons at her back loose to rain on the wooden floor.
She gasped. “Lach!” she admonished, but her heart wasn’t in the complaint. Rather, the weight between her thighs, the heaviness of her breasts, as she anticipated Lachlan’s touch, his tongue, his cock was more adamantly on her mind.
“We’ll get it fixed.” He grabbed her face, his fingers diving into her hair, and pulled her in for an all-consuming kiss, his mouth taking more than it was giving, until he seemed to remember himself, pulling away and trailing kisses over her skin. “I find,” he said between each kiss, “I’m extremely impatient, my dear.”
He turned her and began releasing buttons one at a time, until he pushed the fabric down her arms. Tarley helped him, pulling free of her dress until she was just in her chemise and the slip, and turned to face him. She reached back to find the button fastening the slip at her waist and made quick work of it. The fabric loosened around her hips, and Lachlan pushed it down then lifted her out of the pool of silk.
She wrapped her legs around his hips, meeting his mouth once more as his tongue swirled with promise against hers, a beautiful dance that pushed her pulse and emptied her mind of everything but him. With a sigh, she tightened her legs around him to move against his hard length between them, reveling in the friction, moaning into his kiss.
“I want you,” she said.
“You’re still dressed.” He set her down.
“So are you.” Her eyes flicked to his open pants, still riding the curve of his hips even if his cock was free. She licked her lips.
“I’m going to rip them,” he warned, gripping the fabric so it tightened around her body, creating amazing friction against her skin.
“They’re my nicest set.” She hurried to remove them.
“I plan on you not wearing much of anything for a while.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her and grinned as he helped her remove the chemise, drawing it over her head until all that was left were her stockings. Then he grasped her hips, pulled her across the bed toward him, pressed her onto her back, and placing each of her ankles on his shoulders.
“I’m not sure that’s going to be appreciated by everyone else.”
“Oh. I think they would appreciate it very much.” He paused, considering it. “You’ll never leave our rooms.”
She laughed. “That doesn’t seem very practical.”
He pushed one stocking down her leg. “I should warn you.” He pulled the fabric free and dropped it.
“Warn me about what,” she asked, tilting her head.
“I’m about to make you scream, Tarley. I want everyone to know you’re mine.” He kissed the arch of her foot, before setting it on the bed at the edge. Then he turned to the other leg and removed the other stocking, exposing her skin, kissing, licking her leg as he did. “Then I’m going to do it again.”
Tarley shivered.
He set the other foot on the bed, her legs spread for him. Lachlan dropped to his knees and kissed her inner thighs. “Stars, Tarley.” He assessed her a moment before she felt the warmth of his tongue slide along her slit. Then he pressed a kiss over her clit—a caress and a kiss to cherish. “I’ve been dreaming about this.” He licked her again, his tongue flat and gentle. “My dreams are not enough,” he moaned and buried his face between her legs.
