Ewan sat beside her, unfastening her cloak until it lay upon the ground. Wearing only her shift, she drew her knees up.
He rested his hands on either side of her, leaning down. “Do you want me to take you back to your chamber?”
All she had to do was say yes. A single word, and he wouldn’t touch her at all. But the very thought of leaving him was unbearable.
She reached up to his shoulder, sliding her hand beneath his tunic. “Don’t go.”
Ewan lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her gently, softly. She grew pliant in his arms, the warmth melting over her like heat against ice. The touch of his kiss healed the buried hurts and fears.
“Don’t wed Ademar,” he commanded, before his mouth came down upon hers again. “Let no other man touch you.”
This time, he kissed her with a savage hunger, and she was overwhelmed by the forbidden feelings coursing through her.
She wanted to forget the bad memories, of a husband who didn’t want her. Of the sister she was betraying.
For now, there was only Ewan, and this moment together. In the darkness, no one would see them. The temptation to surrender was heady, impossible to resist.
He laid her down upon the soft grass, his mouth moving down the column of her throat. She reached beneath his tunic with her uninjured hand to touch the hot, male skin.
The answering growl told her that Ewan liked her touch. She grew bolder, exploring his ribs, moving across his heartbeat. Never had she been given the chance to touch a man, to know the hard planes of his body.
Ewan lifted her bruised wrist, tenderly kissing the skin. His mouth moved over it, as if trying to heal it with his touch. Her body arched closer, her womanhood aching with need for him. His hand pushed up the hem of her shift, baring her legs until he lifted the fabric to her waist.
She was naked now, and the hush of the night air against her skin was both terrifying and arousing. She shifted her legs, moaning when his hand slid between her thighs. It shocked her to realize that she’d grown wet. What was happening to her?
The dizzying feelings built up inside, making her burn for something she couldn’t understand. He teased the cleft, dipping his fingers inside her warmth. With his fingertips, he nudged at the swollen nub,
She grasped his hair, both fighting the erotic sensations and needing more. Never had she been touched like this. Never had she felt such a need, a raw craving to be filled.
Jesu, this was wrong. She needed to push him away, to gather her wayward thoughts.
But then Ewan lowered her gown to her waist, taking her breast into his mouth. She cried out, unable to break free of the mindless need for him. And when he continued to caress her folds, teasing and tempting the part of her that ached for him, she couldn’t stop shaking.
“It would be like this, if I became your lover,” he said huskily. “Every single night. I’d touch you here.” His hand stroked her sensitive flesh, finding a torturous rhythm. Her hands moved beneath his tunic, sliding over his spine, guiding him closer until she felt his hot length resting between her legs. He was still clothed, but she yearned to remove the barrier between them.
“I’d taste your skin. Like this.” His mouth moved across the healing welts above her breasts. Lower, still, until he kissed each nipple. His tongue darted over the hardened tips, his warm breath sending shivers through her.
“I’d fill your body with mine. Like this.”
He slid two fingers inside her, and she responded with another surge of wetness. He mimicked the sensation of lovemaking, tantalizing her with the promise of more.
Her body ached, reaching for something she couldn’t explain. But as he moved his fingers, she arched higher, straining against him.
More. She needed him to intensify the pace, to ease the torment. But instead, he slowed down, his thumb spiraling against her while his fingers entered and retreated.
“Ewan,” she pleaded, grasping his head. Her muscles tightened, straining hard. She didn’t understand what was happening to her, the raw sensations that were tearing her asunder.
And then, without warning, his mouth ground on top of hers, his hand rubbing her so hard she came apart, a blinding frenzy of tremors filling her up inside.
Oh, God above. She could hardly move, her body had grown pliant, shivering with unfamiliar aftershocks.
Honora gripped him hard around the neck, wanting so badly for him to claim her. His eyes darkened with passion, and he took her hand and brought it to his trews.
The hard thickness of him reminded her of what would happen next. If she let him continue, he would thrust inside her. Like before, she would have to endure the pain, waiting for him to finish. He would pound against her while she lay still, and when it was over, he would leave.
All of her desire seemed to shrivel up and die.
Her heartbeat trebled, and she found herself unable to move or speak. This . . . all of it was never meant to happen. She’d let him get too close, forgetting herself in his arms. The brutality of her husband came back, rushing over her until she couldn’t help the tears. “I need you to stop.”
