“About this,” he said, and brushed her lips with his, once, twice, and then took her mouth without holding back. She retreated a fraction, but then gave in to her response, as if coming to a decision. Her lips parted under his, letting him in.
She wound her fingers though his hair, pulling out the tie that held it back. Her teeth nipped at his bottom lip, not breaking skin but marking possession.
“I want you,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t, but I do.”
“Then I shall be your sinful pleasure.”
Reynard pulled Ashe into him, holding her hard against his chest. She felt so warm, so soft and strong at once. He grasped her shoulders, feeling the bones and muscles move as she wrapped her arms around his neck, then slipped her fingers down his shoulders. His own hands cupped her cheeks, running his thumbs along the fine ridge of her jaw. The pulse in her neck fluttered against his fingers, as if reaching for his caress.
Ashe was mortal, her life spent in an instant. Like him, she was more than human but she had none of the guardsmen’s indestructible power. The magic she had was all but destroyed. Or so she said. He could feel the remnants of it clinging to her, as ephemeral as cobwebs and yet curiously strong.
Her mouth found his neck, leaving nips as she tasted his flesh. Clean, silky hair brushed his cheek as she caressed him. The sunny softness of it reminded him of home—of meadow flowers and random feathers found by the banks of a wild creek. Ashe belonged there, in that land of freedom and instinct. The land where sensation weighed heavier than thought.
There was something oddly innocent about that, and it charmed him.
She leaned her weight against his chest, forcing him to fall back a step. Retreat signaled a change of tactics. She swerved, pushing him against the wall. His shoulders thumped against the hard surface.
“Take off your shirt,” she said, her words half whisper, half growl.
“La, madam,” he murmured into her ear. “Do you mean to strip me of my virtue?”
She looked up through her lashes, her eyes sharp and hungry. “First things first, boy. Shirt. Off.”
The challenge was too much. “The devil I will. You’ll have to work for it.”
“You’ll pay for that.” Grasping the hem of his T-shirt, she started to pull it up his stomach.
“Not so fast.”
He grabbed her by the waist, lifting her feet from the floor as if she were no more than a naughty child. In response, she wrapped her legs around his middle, holding on with the strength in her thighs. The motion turned them in a half circle, knocking over a floor lamp that fell with a clatter. Neither of them stopped to assess the damage.
Ashe pulled the shirt off over his head. By that point, he had to cooperate and raise his arms or she’d tear the shirt. Possibly with her teeth. Besides, the feel of her against his bare skin was too enticing to resist. She waved the garment for a moment like a victory flag, then let it arc to the floor.
“I always get my way eventually.” Releasing her grip on his waist, she braced herself on his shoulders and slithered down his front until her feet touched the floor. The movement made him wish for that wall to brace himself against. Friction was exquisite torture. All of a sudden, his knees were not at their most reliable.
Her hand cupped the front of his jeans just for a moment, a quick, possessive gesture. Reynard caught his breath. Blood and thunder, if I don’t hurry this along, I won’t last beyond the opening pleasantries.
Roaming up her ribs, his hands could find only flesh beneath the top she wore. He felt a brief pang of disappointment—he had fancied an encounter with one of those frilly bras he’d seen in modern magazines—but warm female breast quickly occupied his attention. He circled her nipples with his thumbs, bringing a groan from her throat. Her hands raked through his hair, then fell to his shoulders, then slowly ran down his arms, caressing him until she cupped his own hands where he touched her.
She turned, pulling him down and falling onto the couch in one graceful motion. The fabric that covered it was a deep green, her bare arms ivory against it. Reynard knelt, straddling her legs, knocking throw cushions to the floor as he settled. Ashe was on her back, underneath him, as he’d fantasized so many times.
Only this time, there was no Castle to throttle that desire. The pounding in his loins was as raw and real as it had been in his youth. The scent of her skin filled his nose, his lungs, seeping into his blood like a drug. A flush of desire was creeping over her, turning the ivory to rose. He could feel the warmth of it, and he heated in turn.
Her eyes widened with appreciation of the tattoos that crawled over his chest.
“These are so funky,” she said, tracing them lightly with her nails. The butterfly touch made him shiver, hardening his own nipples into pale peaks. Her hand moved to a scar that curled from his shoulder down to his chest. “What’s this?”
The impulse to talk was fading fast. “The sword thrust that sent me home to England.”
“And here.” She ran her fingers over his abdomen. “There should be a scar here, from last fall, but there’s no mark. That ax wound was deep.”
Reynard began to play with the waistband of her pants, hoping to lure her back to the task at hand. “I have scars only from before I became a guardsman. The rest heal completely, given time.”
“That’s right. You’ve got superpowers of recovery. That should come in handy tonight.”
Tonight. It might be all they had, but he would make her remember it. Reynard pulled up the hem of her shirt and pressed his lips to the soft flesh just above her navel, tasting it, nuzzling his way upward between the arcs of her rib cage.
Seeming suddenly impatient, she peeled the peach-colored tank top over her head, revealing small, firm breasts. Her nipples were the delicate pink of seashells. He took one greedily, using his tongue to bring it to a peak. She arched into him.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, kissing the hollow of her collarbone, the soft spot just below her ear. He used his hands and his mouth to make her breath come quickly, short gasps of need that made the back of his own neck prickle.
“It’s all good,” she whispered.
“But all women have a key,” he murmured into her ear. “A secret wish that unlocks them every time.”
“You wouldn’t like it.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s not pretty.”
Ashe writhed as he pulled down her stretchy slacks, tossing them to the floor. He nearly fell to the floor right along with them.
“Bloody hell.”
She was wearing nothing underneath, not even the usual triangle of hair. His imagination hadn’t predicted that one, but it was sure to be included in any future scripts.
“That would be your key, would it?” she said slyly. “Or perhaps calling it the lock would be more anatomically correct.”
Reynard cleared his throat, but there would be no more talking as her fingers found his zipper and slid it carefully open, giving him blessed relief. Her breasts rose in a quick inhale as he shed the rest of his clothes.
“Sweet Hecate, no wonder they locked you up.”
“You have no idea,” he said, keeping the irony out of his tone.
She shifted, welcoming him into her arms. The sensation of touching skin to skin, the complete freedom of nakedness, filled every sense. She was smooth and lean, long legs wrapping around his waist. It had been so long since he had felt anything like this, the physical world began to blur. Nothing was left but the painful, throbbing need to possess.
“I can’t wait,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Then don’t.”
“It will be rough.”
“Perfect.” Her gaze was unfocused. “Completely perfect. Don’t hold back.”
She shifted again, her hand guiding him as he pushed inside. The hot tightness of her made him cry out. A growl came from her throat. Sharp nails dug into his shoulders, the pain only increasing his desire. He moved inside her carefully, biting his lip, doing everything he could to slow down and give her some chance at pleasure. Her muscles clenched around him, the delicious agony of it turning his vision to starbursts.
Then rhythm took over, each thrust making her gasp and the couch moan. He heard the sounds, but they
