He should have felt a flicker of hesitation. A feeling that what he was about to do was wrong. Honor was important to him, even if the knightly code was not.
But he didn't.
All he could think about was that he couldn't lose her. That he had to make her his. That if he could only do so, everything would be all right.
When the sensitive head of his cock met the damp heat of her entry, a deep, guttural groan of pure pleasure tore from him.
He rubbed himself in her creamy dampness, lingering, wanting to prolong the pleasure. He knew that when he was inside her, it would be too late.
His body was on fire. Every muscle tense, poised for entry. Blood pounded in his veins. In his ears. In his bones. His skin felt tight and hot.
Thrust. God, he wanted to thrust. He'd never wanted to thrust into someone so badly.
He knew it would be incredible. Her body would grip him like a hot glove. Milking him in long, hard pulls. Sending him deeper and deeper into mindless oblivion. He wanted to see her moving under him with the power of his thrusts. Lifting her hips to meet each deep stroke. He wanted to watch his cock sliding in and out of her.
He clenched, the urge to plunge inside almost overpowering.
But he couldn't hurt her.
So, he forced himself to go slow, teasing her with his thickness, getting her used to the size and strength of him, slicking the head of his cock with her dampness to ease his entry.
It felt too good. The pressure was coiling at the base of his spine, cinching tighter and tighter.
She was moaning again, her breath coming hard and heavy. Desire flushed her beautiful face. Her leg tightened around his hip, trying to draw him inside her.
It was all he could take. He started to push.
She cried out in surprise.
Jesus. He gritted his teeth. Sweat gathered on his brow. Blood drummed through his veins. Tight. So incredibly tight. He had to go slow and easy. God, he wanted to come.
Almost there ...
A faint sound penetrated the haze.
He froze, a flicker of premonition brushing the back of his neck. The air shifted.
He swore and pulled away, his body throbbing in protest. "Cover yourself," he said, yanking up her gown while simultaneously fumbling with the ties of his braies.
But it was too late--or too soon, if the frustration burning in his bollocks right now meant anything.
The door opened with a crash.
Sir Hugh Ross stood in the doorway, his steely gaze taking in every detail.
Though they'd managed to cover themselves, nothing could hide what they'd just been doing. Anna was still leaned back on the table--cheeks flushed and eyes hazy--Arthur was still positioned between her legs, and the small room was hot and heavy with the musky scent of mating--or near mating.
She gasped. Horror draining the blush of pleasure from her face.
Instinctively, Arthur moved in front of her, trying to block her from view, as if he could protect her from the venom shooting from the other man with the shield of his body.
The dead silence--punctuated only by the flicker of flames--extended to well past uncomfortable.
Sir Hugh stood stone still. Too still. As if he were waiting to pounce. Arthur watched him like a hawk, waiting for the first sign of movement. Hell, he hoped for it, wanting the excuse.
"I heard a cry," Sir Hugh finally said. "I thought you might be hurt." The proud knight's face twisted with disgust, contempt dripping from his voice. "But I guess you didn't need rescue."
Anna made a sound of pain that tore at Arthur's heart. Knowing he had to protect her from Sir Hugh's anger, he turned and took her by the shoulders. "Go to your chamber," he said roughly. She tried to protest, but he stopped her. "We will talk about this later. Right now I need to speak with Sir Hugh. Let me handle this."
