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Lips the color of blood.
She wore her father’s crown. It, too, drank in the moonlight.
He held his breath as she mounted the steps. He heard the watchtower groan and felt it sway. Soon, she stood before him… a vision in that sparkling golden crown and red cloak.
“Blanchette… come to me.” Rowan’s command hung in the air. She obeyed and closed the distance between them. A wicked smile crept across her lips. “I’ve been so cold,” he confessed as he placed her hands on his leather-clad chest. His heart hammered against her small, pale palms.
“That’s why I’ve come… to keep you warm. I’m cold too. So very, very cold. But we don’t have to be any longer…” Her fair hands slid down the leather in a lazy perusal until they stopped at his waist, inches above his groin. He looked down at the large bulge in his trousers, then back up at her expression.
He found desire there. One that rivaled his own.
Only a hint of fear still lived in her eyes.
“Touch me, Blanchette. I want you to feel me. All of me.”
She exhaled a long, sweet-smelling breath that heated his cheeks and mouth. He gasped as her palms slid over his trousers. Then her fingertips tracked over his arousal, outlining its jutting, rigid shape. He gasped again as her index finger traced the shaft from base to head. Then back up again. Her breath, warm and intoxicating, brushed against his face. She pinched her thumb and forefinger together and gently squeezed. She looked into eyes, reading him, seeing into him. The material of his trousers strained against his growing arousal. She teased him with another gentle but firm squeeze, and Rowan released a heavy moan.
She looked up at him with eyes so blue, so deep, that he felt himself sinking in them.
“How does it feel, Blanchette? Wearing your family’s crown?”
She met his gaze. Held it. A fire came into her eyes that melted away the icy blue. Whatever fear he’d seen moments ago vanished. “Like power. I’ve dreamt about this, you know…”
“About wearing the crown?” he stupidly asked, his breaths coming short as she played with the front of his trousers. His arousal jerked against the material and her palms. He felt lightheaded from desire.Weak in the knees. He grabbed an overhead beam to stabilize himself.
“This crown… and us. I’ve dreamt of touching you… tasting you.” She knelt in front of him, her eyes never leaving his, her hands never leaving his painful arousal. She leaned forward and pushed her mouth against him, down there, sensually molding her lips around the fabric-covered shaft. Rowan gripped the beam and gritted his teeth as the stirrings of an intensely powerful climax built.
Her pink tongue pushed between her lips and circled the throbbing head. Once. Twice. Thrice. The fabric of his trousers clung to his skin as it grew damp from her mouth. Then he watched, mesmerized, as one of her hands slipped under her dress to touch herself between her legs. In this light, it was difficult to see where the crown ended and her golden curls began.
“Blanchette…”
“I often touch myself like this when I think of you. I imagine how good it would feel to take you inside my mouth, inside my body…”
“Oh God, Blanchette… please. I-I can’t take much more. God—” His words choked off as her free hand tugged on the tie of his trousers to loosen the material. Then her fingers dipped inside and wrapped around his hard manhood. He gazed at the lofty trees. The watchtower was of a height with them, and Rowan felt like he was soaring.
He felt how she only circled three-fourths of him. He was so large, and she so small.His balls pulled tight as she squeezed and explored. She ran her fingers up and down the pulsating head, then traced the slit. Liquid seeped out, and that mounting feeling intensified. Her finger wiped it up, then she withdrew her hand. She sucked the liquid off the tip of her finger, the gold in her hair and on her crown glinting in the moonlight.
God, if she touches me again… or looks at me like that again…
He growled and yanked her to her feet. Before he knew what was happening, he’d pinned against the watchtower’s wooden wall, his lips on her throat. She threw her head back and moaned. Panting, she whispered his name and dragged her hands down his back, her fingernails raking his skin through the jerkin. Then those hands tangled in his hair and pulled, increasing the pressure of his mouth and tongue as they slid over her bare skin. She tasted as sweet as he’d imagined. Like honey and sunshine. He hiked up her skirts and felt the wetness between her legs, dripping through her smallclothes.
“Rowan, yes… oh God, touch me,teach me… please… I want you inside me.”
“I’m going to devour you,ma princesse. I’m going to fill every inch of you, slowly, so painfully slow, till you beg for it. I want to hear you scream my name. You are mine now.”
His climax came powerfully. He moaned from the intense release and rode those waves of pleasure as they pulsed through him again and again…
… and caused him to wake inside his solar. As the tremors subsided, he leaped from the bed and cursed himself, feeling very much like a little boy who’d wet the bed.
Shame. Disgust. And a burning desire.
He felt that strongest of all.
Rowan stood at the window and stared at the outer bailey, where the watchtower jutted into the ink-black sky.
Waiting. Watching. As it had for centuries.
What is it watching?he mused.And what secrets does it hold?
