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“And demote myself?” He scoffed with exaggeration. “Nay, lass. Why would I do that?”
He didn’t sound so convincing. I knew Little John. As much as he defended himself as “de facto boss” of the Merry Men, he’d never seen himself as a leader. He preferred not to be charged with that title, even though everyone pinned it on him.
“Maybe we’ll have to keep that designation for you once we return to camp,” he said.
I bit my lip and winced.
“What?”
I fidgeted now, looking anywhere but his beautiful face. “Well, um, I might have already lost it. The men didn’t end up liking being led by a woman. Who would have thought? So now you’ll have to contend with Will Scarlet for the honor.”
He let out a “Gah!” of frustration. “That fucking lad always did love to push me to the brink of my sanity, didn’t he?”
“You and me both, sir. You and me both.”
He sighed, and by the small smile on his face, I reckoned it was the first contented sigh he’d let out in ages.
I blinked at him, letting the quietness envelop us and swaddle us in its protection. All the things left unsaid, all the memories we shared, and the heartbreaking losses and hits we’d taken.
His voice lowered, and his eyes smoldered in the darkness of the tent. “I have only one request before we sleep, little hope.”
“Anything.”
“Let me worship you. Let me have you. All of you.”
My breath halted somewhere in my throat.
It wasn’t over. “I don’t know if I’ll be of much use right now, given what happened to me. But I can’t look at you any longer without needing to give you every shred of pleasure I can offer. Every scrap of blissfulness you deserve. You saved me . . . and now I need you to help me forget.”
My heart thrummed, a warm sensation blooming through my body. “That’s funny, love,” I said, slightly tugging on his beard so I could pull myself up to his face and kiss him hard on the lips. “Because I need you to help me remember.”
Chapter 34
Little John
Our need was chasing two different things. I prayed it would lead to the same insatiable outcome.
Sheriff George wanted me to wallow in misery, despair, and pain. He wanted me to lose myself to anger and shame. To become like him.
I wouldn’t let him win.
Because what he never realized was that I had a secret weapon. A weapon that kept me intact, even when he’d stolen my dignity, my faith, my body, and my happiness.
And now she was in my arms, and she felt more like an answer than a weapon. An answer to my faithless prayers, and the intense emotions I felt and tried desperately to hide.
I couldn’t hide from Robin. She was my everything, and holding her tight made me want to renew my vow never to let her go again. Because she hadn’t let me go. She had come for me, against all odds—somehow sneaking down into that dank, horror-filled jailhouse—and rescued me from my captivity. She had staged a fucking coup just for my sake.
I didn’t deserve her. Yet I would do everything in my power to make her feel loved and deserving.
I brought her to the small cot in the center of the tent. Space was at a premium here, but we had long ago learned how to move in such confined, stuffy locations.
I laid her down, on her back, and she propped herself up on her elbows and forearms to stare up at me. Adoring, loving, excited. The glint of mischief and want in her eyes nearly matched my own.
I helped her out of her pants, moving slowly, then caressed every inch of her perfect legs, her lush thighs, and peppered her with kisses along the way.
She let out little sounds when my lips met her soft, pale skin, which only spurred my need and lust for her, motivating me to give her everything I could.
She was a porcelain statue, but in my well-worn hands she became clay I could mold and shape and build. A vivid tapestry that I painted with my lips and my touch—which I would always stare at with my proudest smile, always admiring.
