The Knight(7)
James fought to take it slow as control quickly spiraled away from him. He wanted to give her more pleasure than she’d ever dreamed of, for God knows what she did to him was beyond his wildest fantasies.
Just the press of her body against his was incredible. The soft crush of her breasts against his chest, the gentle sway of her hips to his groin…
She drove him wild.
A flood of heat washed over him, and he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. Her hair slipped from its binding, pouring over his hands like a silken waterfall and filling his nose with the heady scent of the roses she used in her bath water. She always smelled good. Like a hot apple tart pulled from the oven, he couldn’t resist inhaling and drawing the sweet scent deep into his lungs.
But it was her response that undid him. The circling of her tongue, tentative at first, and then bolder as she met his determined strokes with her own. The soft whimpers of pleasure that quickened and grew more insistent. The gentle sway of her hips against him that turned into a base grind. Every primitive instinct in him had been stoked to the point of no return. Like a boat headed over a waterfall, there was no turning back.
Seton and Boyd were going to have to wait.
She was making erotic little gasps deep in her throat. Her hands clutched wildly at his arms and shoulders, his muscles flexing with restraint underneath.
A haze descended over him. All he could think about was the woman in his arms and the incredible sensations she wrought in his body. Nothing else mattered.
His hands filled with the soft flesh of her bottom, her legs, her breasts. God, those breasts! She had the most spectacular breasts of any woman he’d ever seen. Full and round and topped with the rosiest tips. He cupped the soft, ripe flesh, running his fingers over the taut peaks until she arched into his hand.
They were both breathing hard, and he was perilously close to spilling in his braies, but he was determined to make it better this time. The first had been a frantic fumbling, a frenzied, youthful explosion of long-repressed lust and passion. Yet amazingly, despite the initial pain, he’d managed to give her some pleasure. This time he wanted to give her everything. The lass was born for lovemaking.
He forced himself to slow and lowered her to her knees with him, breaking the kiss only long enough to tear the plaid from his shoulders and spread it on the ground behind them. For now, nature’s bower would have to do, but one day he swore he would give her the fine bed with the silk linens and bed hangings that she deserved.
When he returned what the English king had stolen from his family.
Something must have flickered in his gaze.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
He gazed down into her upturned face, into the big blue eyes soft with passion, the flushed cheeks, and kiss-swollen lips, and felt a hard lump of emotion in his chest.
He reached out, cupped her velvety chin in his hand, and shook his head. How could anything be wrong when they were together? “I just wish I could give you more than a plaid under the trees.”
She smiled. “I don’t mind. It’s beautiful here. When you are gone, I come here, and it makes me feel closer to you.” A blush rose up her cheeks. “I think of it as our place.”
Her sentiment touched him. They’d been meeting here for years, but he knew that was not the reason. It was because of what had happened last time. Trust Joanna to always see the good—even in something that could be viewed as illicit. Determination rose hot and heavy inside him. “One day I’ll build you a palace like you deserve.”
Her eyes met his; she looked unaccountably relieved. “Do you mean it?”
“Of course.” He frowned. “Do you doubt me?”
“Never. But I don’t need a palace; I’ll be happy anywhere as long as we are together.” She beamed up at him, as brightly and warmly as the sun, and like Icarus, he was helpless to resist the magnetic pull. With a groan, he covered her mouth once again and eased her back on the plaid.
He propped on his side to protect her from the brunt of his weight. The benefit was that it not only gave him a better angle to kiss her, it also gave his hand free access to explore.
While his tongue delved into the warm recesses of her mouth, his hand roamed over the lush curves of her body—all over her body. He couldn’t get enough of touching her, feeling all that soft feminine flesh filling—spilling over—his hand, feeling her flush and heat for him. She was so hot. Hot and anxious and needy.
She writhed and arched under his fingertips, unconsciously seeking the pressure and friction her body desired.
She moaned into his mouth when he finally cupped her breasts.
He kissed her harder, working her mouth with the stroke of his tongue, as his hand did the same with her breast. Cupping, squeezing, circling the taut nipple with the pad of his thumb before finally taking it between his fingers and giving it the friction her arching back demanded.