“Do you . . . remember?” he murmured.
“I remember when you were inside me.” Her face transformed, revealing her own needs. “It took my breath away.”
She moved against him, and he drew his hands beneath her skirts, touching her bare legs. Her mouth opened in shock as his hands drifted up her calves, to the backs of her knees. A shiver broke over her, and she drew her palms beneath his tunic.
“You’re the only man I want,” she confessed, touching his chest. “You’re the man I want to wake up with in the morning. Not someone else.”
“Then don’t,” he demanded. His hand moved higher, touching the curve of her hip, slipping between her thighs. He’ll never give you the same kind of pleasure I will.
Her eyes closed, a gasp escaping her mouth as he drew his knuckles against her soft mound. She bit her lip, and he heard the clenched moan within her throat.
“Don’t speak, Marguerite,” he whispered against her skin. “Not . . . a sound.”
Against his hand, she was wet, wanting him so badly. He tormented her with the lightest touch, shifting his fingers intimately against her. Her breasts ached for his touch, and she reached up, struggling to loosen the cote she wore. It was dangerous, being with him here while the rest of the castle slept. At any moment, someone could intrude upon them.
There was no time for slow, gentle lovemaking. No, this was a desperate need, to take him into her body and savor the last time together. After tonight, she would hold this memory in her heart.
Callum’s hands moved out from beneath her gown to touch her shoulders. Marguerite sensed his hesitation and the fear that they would be caught together.
“Please,” she whispered, moving her hands down to his trews. Against her palm, she felt his heavy arousal, and his breath inhaled sharply.
Silently, she touched him, exploring him through the rough wool. “Be with me now,” she begged.
His answer was to lower the gown, drawing it down one shoulder. Her arms were trapped in the tight sleeves, as he bared her breasts. Leaning down, he teased her nipple with his tongue. Tasting her, awakening the bloom of dark pleasure that he offered.
Against her hand, she felt his erection straining, growing harder. As he suckled her, she curled her fingers around him, rubbing against his shaft. He helped to free himself until she could feel the heat of his length against her wetness.
“No sound,” he whispered again, guiding her hips up. His thickness stretched at her entrance, but he entered her easily, as if he were made to be joined with her.
Her arms were pinned at her sides, and he lifted her a fraction higher, letting her slide upon him as he kissed her bare skin.
Marguerite fought to remain silent as he started to thrust with a gentle rhythm, now using his mouth to encircle her breasts, in a nibbling warmth that he brought up to her throat and down her shoulder. His hands lifted her bottom, and he was so hard, she ached as he sheathed himself within her. The torment of being unable to speak grew more intense, and he withdrew from her body, standing up.
She was about to protest, when suddenly, he lifted her, balancing her back against the wall. Her skirts hung down, but he bunched them at her waist, holding her tight as he eased back inside. She was feverishly hot, drowning with need for him.
Though his voice was rough and broken, he told her of the night he’d lost his voice, and the horror of the sword against his throat. Her arms tightened around him as he thrust inside, telling her of how he’d almost died.
Tears welled up, but she let him release all the words, all the horrors.
“I survived,” he said, still inside her as he lowered her to stand. He guided her hip around his, and drew his fingers back between her legs. “But you gave . . . a reason to fight. Reason to live.”
He kissed away her tears as his hands stroked and caressed her. With his body still sheathed within her, she felt as if she were being touched by both his hands and his manhood. The sensations were magnified, and she guided his hands where she wanted them. His eyes burned into hers as he touched her until she was trembling. She moved against him, feeling him penetrate as his hands urged her closer to the edge.
“I love you,” she told him, locking her gaze with his.
The words transformed him, and he stilled, their bodies joined together. His voice was hoarse, but every word was clear. “Love you . . . Marguerite.”
Her heart warmed to know it, and his hands moved in a caress while he entered her tenderly. He continued the deep penetration, and the rhythmic caresses of his hands sent her past the brink. She bit back a scream, and as she came apart, his mouth closed over her breast in a hot, wet suction.
“Love you,” he repeated, and his movement changed from gentle into a man starving for her. He quickened his pace, thrusting against her so hard, she came again, half-crying at the intensity of pleasure.
No longer did she care where they were or that they might be caught. She wanted him to feel the same release that she’d found, and she met him, her hips pushing in counterpoint to his. Gripping his hair, she wrapped her legs around his waist and he backed her against the wall again, his body moving in swift strokes. She saw the exertion on his face, welcomed the slick penetration of his manhood inside her, and he kept up the harsh pace.
“Don’t . . . wed him, Marguerite,” he commanded. “I’ll . . . find a way for us. I swear.”
But as he let out a groan and spilled his essence within her, she could only hold him. Tears filled up her eyes, for there seemed no possible means of being with this man.
And it broke her heart.
