His beard gently prickled her skin, not so smooth as the rabbit pelts beneath her, but more coarse, like the coat of a fox. Much better than when Harold had come to her, with short, rough whiskers.
Marian’s feet were cold, for he’d drawn her hose down and away, leaving them bare. And the chill of the floor seeped through the thin pallet beneath her. Something hard was digging into the back of her shoulder, and she shifted to move away from the pointed rock.
Robin reached for her hand and brought it down between their bodies, lifting away from the breast he’d been sucking to press his lips to her fingers, then directing them down. She knew what he wanted, and eager to erase the memory of the prince’s similar demands, she closed her fingers around a longer, more slender cock than the one they’d held last night. Yet it was just as warm and smooth, pulsing beneath her touch.
He released a long, pent-up sigh as she began to stroke, and lifted himself so that she could move more easily. Now she was even colder as his warm body shifted away, and Marian became aware of their legs twined together, his heavy, haired ones against her lighter, more slender ones.
“Marian,” he sighed, “please.”
He kissed and fondled her breast, lying next to her on his side as she reached between them, slowly lifting and lowering her hand over his cock. Strangely detached, she found herself watching his face as she varied her movements, slower . . . then more quickly . . . tightening and then loosening her grip. His mouth moved, making soundless pleas, and his eyes closed.
Fascinated by the concept of the power she literally held in her hand, Marian watched and listened, noticing his breathing, his eyes fluttering beneath half-closed lids. She felt him gather up next to her, the tension simmering beneath his skin . . . the burgeoning of his cock in her hand.
She felt a little drip at the tip and used her thumb to slide it around and over, using it to lubricate her way, and felt a little tingling rise inside herself. . . . He breathed faster, had released her breast, and now simply lay there, one hand resting on her hip, gripping with his fingers.
“Please,” he said, sounding horribly desperate. “I need . . .”
Something shimmered up under his skin, beneath her fingers, and she moved faster, watching him, still strangely detached, her arm aching but her lips parted, matching him breath for breath, rising with him. . . . He stiffened, gave a low, sharp cry, and pulsed beneath her fingers, his seed spilling warm over her hand.
After a moment Marian released him, wiping his semen off herself on the edge of the fur pelts. As she did so, she realized that her own body was thrumming quietly.
Robin opened his eyes and, for an instant, she saw regret there. Then it evaporated, replaced by a hint of chagrin and a saucy smile. “Ah, Marian, you’ve no idea how badly I needed that,” he said. “But, my lady, now that that little distraction’s been taken care of, let me attend to other necessities.”
His hand moved easily between her legs, finding the soft down of hair there and the sleekness of her full nether lips. She sighed, opening her legs a bit, allowing the slide of his fingers for a moment.
But then . . . she stopped him. She was too aware of her chilled body, and the fact that her men had been waiting a long time for her. “Nay, Robin,” she said mildly, and pulled his hand away. “I have been away too long, and my men will come looking for me if I do not reappear soon. And aside of that,” she said when he would have opened his mouth to protest, “I have taken a bit of a chill here in this damp cavern.”
Easing away, she reached for her bliaud and began to search for the bottom to pull it on over her head. She was cold, and . . . ’twas God’s truth, but she realized she did not desire those elegant hands on her after all.
“Marian,” Robin said, his voice low. And hurt. “I am sorry. I did not mean for things to go . . . this way.”
“Robin, ’tis of no account. I found it all quite . . . interesting.” Marian spoke the unvarnished truth, for while her experiences of the previous nights had occurred in an environment of fear and shock, along with her own unbidden lust, this experience had been simply . . . enlightening. Fascinating. So fascinating and arousing, to watch a man taking his pleasure, so vulnerable and open during those moments. To see a strong, powerful man helpless and trembling because of the simple touch of a woman. Completely tantalizing.
Her mouth dried and she realized her breathing had risen. Marian swallowed hard and pushed away the thoughts teasing the edge of her consciousness-not of Robin, the man next to her, but images of Will’s dark hair, shadowed eyes, and strong shoulders, corded with tension.
“And aside of that, Robin,” she said, emerging from the other side of the bliaud’s neckline, “I suggest that any future trysts you might arrange with a lady not take place in this damp, cold cave.”
