The Warrior's Forbidden Virgin

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Had he made her cry? Or was she dreaming of Ewan MacEgan, grieving for her loss?

Ademar moved in front of her, tilting her chin up to look at him. He slid his fingers into her hair, tossing aside the wet veil, and framing her face with his clumsy hands.

He kissed her. With his mouth, he tried to tell her that she was beautiful. He savored the taste of her lips, like sweet grapes.

She lifted her arms around him once more, and he opened his mouth, dipping his tongue into her depths the way he wanted to enter her body. She was trembling now, her skin prickling with goose flesh.

Without asking permission, he pulled her into his arms and brought her near the hearth. Turning her to face the flames, he lifted the wet gown away from her skin, trying to warm it. And her.

Katherine didn’t speak, but peeled away the wet bliaud and underdress. The layers fell away until she stood in her linen shift, barefoot. He couldn’t stop himself from tracing the outline of her neck, down her slender shoulders, to rest upon her waist. Her bottom rested against his hard length, and she deliberately pressed against him.

“This is sinful,” she whispered, holding his hands in hers. “But I don’t care. I want to be wicked right now.”

She drew his arms to cross over her breasts. He could feel the plump curves of them, and he tried to distract himself with kissing her nape.

Then she moved his palms to her nipples, and he grew even harder. He could barely breathe, he knew not what she was doing. He spread out his fingers, letting them splay over the large handful. Then he gently squeezed the flesh, and she gasped.

Suddenly, it didn’t matter that he didn’t know what to do. This was about her, about making her understand how much he cared. He experimented with his touch, gently caressing her as though she were made of silk. He learned the amount of pressure she liked, and when she leaned in, he rubbed his thumbs over the ridged tips, responding to her sighs of need.