His hands moved over her, catching up her breasts where they tipped above him, finding the nipples that had tightened. He released her mouth and grasped her waist to move her up, above him, settling her full, wet quim over his belly. Unable to help it, she moved, pressing her throbbing little pip into his skin, seeking relief, grinding madly into him.
He made a noise-mayhap it was her name-planting his hands on her hips as he lifted his head. Will found one of her nipples, closing his warm mouth around it.
Marian gasped. Her face lifted, her head tipping back at the sharp pleasure-at last!-shooting down, from breast to belly to the little throbbing piece between her legs. As he sucked and licked over the top of her sensitive nipple, she cried and squirmed against him, feeling his breathing roughen beneath her, conscious of the little pulses between her legs. More . . . more . . .
At last, he released her breast, tumbling her off and to the side next to him. Will moved with her too, somehow managing not to catch her hair under an elbow or a hip or leg as he levered his torso half over hers, one hand propping himself near her hips, the other near her shoulder.
Yes, aye, oh . . . please, she was ready. She wanted . . . She made a little noise, another desperate gasp, and hitched her hips impatiently. He buried his face in her neck, hot and damp, kissing her shoulder, using his strong tongue to glide along the tender part there as she twitched and writhed and thought about begging.
Urgent, desperate, she reached, her hand glancing over his belly, still damp from her moisture moments ago. She felt the rough hair growing there, then the waist of his braies. . . . She slipped her hand down into the heat.
“Nay,” he said suddenly, the word a clipped order. Lifting his face from her neck, he shifted out of reach and her hand fell away. And then she forgot all, for his fingers moved between her legs.
Marian cried out, arching up into his hand as he found her swollen pip. Oh, aye . . . he slid a finger deep inside, and then another one, filling her . . . moving in and out, sliding through the pool of dampness. He used his thumb to massage in and around, caressing her swollen labia, gently flicking over her tight little pip, slow and easy . . . and then, as she began to breathe more urgently, feeling the pleasure gather there, he teased and rubbed harder, faster, his own breath hot on her neck, his skin sticky against hers.
Marian’s eyes were closed, and she knew naught but the rise and tightening of pleasure . . . the climb toward relief, as it coiled-almost painfully-there beneath his hand strokes . . . and all at once she slipped over with a cry, bursting into delicious warmth and gasping with the rolling waves of relief as she shuddered against him.
Oh, aye . . . aye . . .
Her face was wet, her body still twitching, the little pearl between her legs heavy and pulsing, the gentle weight of his hand against it, as she sifted back to reality. Then he moved away, eased his fingers free, and she blinked her eyes open, finding the lit seam of the bed-curtains and a haze over her vision. Despite all that had happened, Marian could not keep a satisfied smile from curving her lips. . . . She had needed that so, needed the blast of release, the touch of a strong body, sure fingers, skillful mouth.
But Will . . . he’d moved away, and before she could speak, or reach for him-she wanted to touch him-he sat up, flung the curtains open.
“Come,” he said sharply, quietly, looking not at her but into the chamber beyond.
Only then did Marian become aware that the sounds of pleasure beyond their curtained sanctuary had not eased. But Will had opened the opposite side of the bed, out of sight of the others. When he beckoned, she moved sluggishly toward him, still languid and dazed from the wine and pleasure.
Will grabbed her arm and pulled her along, unspeaking, away from the bed. He snatched up a wrap of some sort and flung it over her: a dusty cloak with a hood that would hide her distinctive hair, and the rest of her body.
From the other end of the chamber, beyond the bed they’d just vacated, came the sounds of pleasure and pain, of flesh slaps and guttural cries, galvanizing Marian to move more readily. She wanted to escape before John noticed them, and she understood that silence and speed were imperative.
To that end, she couldn’t be concerned with the pile of her discarded clothing, yet Will snatched it up, bundling it under his arm and towing her along with his other hand.
Moments later, they were safely outside the chamber, and she noticed that he’d left his own clothing behind. He still wore only the low-hanging braies, which defied the law of nature and remained at his hips.
“Come,” he hissed again, without a look at her. One of the guards made a move as if to question him, but Will turned and gave him a cold order. “Yield.”
