Page 24 of Chivalry is Not Dead

“We don’t have to if you don’t—” I interrupt, but he stops me with a gentle finger on my lips.

“Let me say what I need to say. Please.”

I nod and he continues.

“There is one more item on the list, but I need you to know that even if it was not on the list—even if there was no time constraint, no worry about how much longer we have together, no list whatsoever—I would still want to be with you in this way. I have come to care deeply about you, Penelope. I crave your body, yes. But I also crave you. Your soul, your wit, your kindness. You, Penelope Graves. You are the reason I kept coming back, and I would return a thousand more times if it meant I would find you.”

I’m crying and the thread in my chest feels like it’s so tight it might snap. I knew this would happen eventually, but I admit this isn’t the ideal time. Sanders cups my cheek, swiping tears away with his thumb. He doesn’t say anything, just lets me feel.

“I crave you too, Alisander Wilde. In all of the same ways. I don’t understand why or how we found each other, but right now I don’t care.” I look into his eyes, pleading. “Kiss me?”

And he does. Sweeping me into his arms with ease, my legs wrap around his waist and he carries me into the bedroom, never breaking our kiss.

Gently, he guides us down to the bed, only leaving my lips to kiss across my collar bone and down my arms. I grasp the back of his T-shirt, yanking it over his head and tossing it onto the floor. My hands run across his chest, exploring the juxtaposition between his soft hair and hard muscles.

He pulls me up, removing my sleep tank, not hesitating to suck my nipple into his mouth. My head falls back in ecstasy, so uninhibited that my glasses fall off. Sanders laughs, attempting to return them to my face, but I stop him. “It’s fine, I can see you up close like this without them.”

He cocks his head to the side. “My eyes do that too.”

“I’ve noticed,” I tease. “We’ll get you some glasses.” We won’t, but I don’t want to think about that right now. I pull him back down to me, kissing him senselessly.

His hands chart a course across my body, mapping it in his mind. He plays with the waistband of my shorts, snapping them playfully before tugging. I lift my hips so he can remove them fully, and he doesn’t waste time before following with my underwear.

I’m now completely bare for Sanders.

Something I thought would be incredibly vulnerable, feels the complete opposite.

I feel safe.

He kisses, licks, and sucks his way down my stomach, positioning himself between my thighs. Caressing each leg as he lifts it onto his shoulder, he looks up at me through hooded eyes. “May I?”

Always asking permission.

“Please,” I beg, squirming with anticipation.

He licks one long line up until he reaches my clit, expertly circling his tongue around the tight bundle of nerves. “Oh gods,” I cry. “How are you so good at this?”

“We knights are chivalrous, not celibate, Penelope.”

Oh. Oh. Obviously he’s done this before. Which causes a quick pang of jealousy to run through me.

He chuckles from between my thighs. “No need to be envious, princess. I never want to taste another after you.”

Well, if he insists. As quickly as that jealous feeling appeared, it disappears. Which might have something to do with the way Sanders has started moving his tongue. Who could know?

I run my hands through his soft hair—something I’ve learned I rather enjoy doing—and hold him to my center, wordlessly encouraging him to keep going. He does, and I also feel as he begins to draw slow circles around my entrance with his finger.

It feels fucking phenomenal, and even more so when he gently presses into me. I rut my hips down, riding his hand before he even has a chance to get all the way in. He feels so incredibly amazing and that thread pulls tighter, tighter, tighter inside my chest.

“Sanders,” I moan. “You’re going to make me come.”

Those words have the exact opposite effect than I was intending because he immediately pulls away from me. I stare at him, incredulous, trying not to focus on how I’ve made the lower half of his face glisten. “What are you doing?” I cry, sexual frustration evident in my tone.

“I am sorry.” His chest heaves with panting breaths. “I… I would really like to be inside you when that happens for the first time.”

The first time? Okay, I’m less mad now.

He stands up, stripping out of his pants, and oh my gods—“It’s not going to fit!”