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How would it feel to have him fill her? She blushed at the thought and grew wetter down there.
She imagined how her father’s crown would look on his head. He’d look dangerous. Regal. Like a force to be reckoned with.
She tentatively reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder. Her fingers curled around the firm muscle, and he exhaled a long-suffering sigh.
“Does it still hurt?” she asked, alarmed and pulling her hand away. His own hand whipped out, quick as a lightning strike, and his fingers encircled her wrist. He held her like that, stilling her retreat. Then, with a sudden, delicious jerk, he brought her body forward and onto his lap.
“I’m going to kiss you again.”
“Yes…”
Their lips crashed together in a movement neither one of them could control.
She lost herself in the feel of him, his taste, his scent. His manhood hardened against her, and she burned to relieve an ache. She moved against him urgently, feverishly, her bottom sliding across his lap. A moan ripped from her throat. She heard his breaths shorten, and he paused their kisses; his head slumped against her own. His large hands rested on her hips, and she felt as they helped guide her body. In circles. Up and down. Side to side. Right there, on the hard ridge of his arousal. He pushed down on her hips and lifted his own, increasing the sweet pressure between them. She ground against his hardness. Rubbing back and forth, he guided her movements with his massive hands and pressed down. Hard.
My God…
Something built inside her.
She was climbing a precipice… a steep pathway in which every step brought about a mounting anticipation, a tingling sensation that warmed her from the inside out.
She pressed more firmly against him until he hit the perfect spot. She tossed her head back, and Rowan’s lips were on her exposed neck. She felt his teeth as he pulled his lips back into a hard moan. His hands moved from her waist and slid up her arching back slowly, sensually, lovingly.
He whispered her name, and his deep, rolling timbre sent her plummeting over an edge she hadn’t known existed.
Waves crashed through her body. Her heart hammered against her ribs as that exquisite, tingling warmth shot through her. Her toes curled against the soles of her boots. She released an uncontrollable moan as those tremors blossomed inside her again and again.
She rode those delicious waves of pleasure as her heartbeat settled. Rowan’s hands skirted up and down her back, up and down, caressing her with a sweetly comforting motion that brought tears to her eyes.
Yes… I am lost.
After a moment, she climbed off his lap and stood in front of him. His hazel eyes were hooded with desire, and sweat had formed in his dark hairline. Blanchette knelt before him, her legs unstable, hardly knowing what she was doing… only that she ached to return the pleasure he’d given her.
She set her palms on his knees and nudged his thighs open. Her hands trembled in time with her heart as she set her fingers on his trousers’ ties. She undid them clumsily, watching as Rowan watched her. He’d braced his hands on either armrest, and she heard his quick intake of breath. Then she was pulling him free, moving as if in a dream. His flesh was silk and steel—hard and massive in her small palm, encased in smooth, velvet-like skin.
“Blanchette,” he breathed huskily. She recalled the wicked stories Isadora had told her years back. She lowered her lips to the tip of his manhood, then paused, her warm breaths brushing against his flesh.
“Can I kiss you here, Rowan? Would you like that?”
“You know I would,” he said. His voice sounded choked like he was in pain. But when her wet mouth slid over the head, his pleasure-filled moan told her otherwise. She watched as he threw his head back and clenched his teeth. She took that as an invitation to go deeper and explore him further. And so she did. Her tongue swirled around the silky head, then down the long, throbbing shaft while her hands moved over any exposed skin.
She read his body language. The way he tensed and tightened and raised his hips, how his hands gripped the armrests, and his eyes squeezed shut. He murmured something in French; it sounded like liquid gold from his husky voice.
She went on like that for several minutes. Her hands and mouth and tongue worked in unison, drawing primitive sounds from her Black Wolf. Behind her, the sun was almost fully set, and a velvety sky hung over Norland.
Soon, her jaw ached as he seemed to grow and fill her mouth. His moans clamped off into shallow grunts, and she felt one of his large hands leave the armrest to lay on the back of her hair. He ran his fingers through her loose curls gently. Those sensual pulls on her scalp felt wonderful, commanding… she moaned lightly, and she knew he was reaching an edge. That same precipice she’d just discovered moments before.
“Please, God,” he groaned. “Oh, Blanchette, darling…” She wasn’t sure what he was imploring, but his bucking hips encouraged her to move faster, suck harder, grip tighter. She obeyed his command, encasing her mouth over the swollen head, her small hands working his shaft. Then she pressed her tongue along the slit and swirled it around. She felt him go taut everywhere, then expel a loud moan that she was sure the soldiers in the barracks could hear.
Hot liquid filled her mouth and throat. She felt him pulsing against her swirling tongue while his body gradually went limp.
After it was done, he swept her from the floor and into his arms. Laying her down on the bed, he kissed her forehead and held her tight, their hearts beating as one.
Yes… we both are lost…
* * *
Huntley felt very much at home, a deck below his feet, the salt-laden breeze in his hair, and an army behind him. Dozens of ships traveled in the Nomad’s wake—carrying fighting men from the Kingdom of Demrov and into his command.
