Page 28 of Ella’s Desire

He tugged it free of his trews and lifted the hem upward, over his head. Ella drew in an audible gasp. He would take that as a good thing.

Once more, he bent over the stream and scooped up handfuls of water to let them sluice over his face and body. When he was done, he turned to Ella and found her staring.

“You have…your arm…” she stammered. Her cheeks went pink. “You have an injury on your arm.”

He followed her gaze to his forearm where the blade had nicked him. A watery trail of blood dribbled down from it. The thing was little more than a scratch. He was damned lucky that’s all he’d gotten, especially when he’d frozen after killing the first man.

“Let me see it.” She stepped out of the stream and made her way over to him.

Bronson got to his feet and faced her with his forearm extended.

Her fingers brushed his skin, more of a caress than an inspection of his wound. “It isn’t deep. I’m sure I’ll live.”

Her gaze slid up to his, her eyes wide and blue and innocent.

Lust slammed into him. Hard and undeniable. He’d heard soldiers speak of it before, the overwhelming desire after a battle, when the energy still roared in one’s blood and left them restless and unsettled.

Ella ran her tongue over her bottom lip and glanced toward his mouth, as though of the same mindset as he. It was all he needed. He drew her into his arms. Her head tilted back in supplication, her lips parting.

Aye, this was what he wanted. Needed.

He pressed his mouth to hers. He tried to be chaste at first, not wanting to frighten her. Not wanting to move too fast lest he lose control of the powerful, raw longing pumping through him.

She flicked her tongue against his. He groaned at her forwardness and stroked his over hers. The delicate dance of their attraction descended into something desperate then, with mouths slanting, teeth scraping, breaths panting. His body was on fire, his cock raging for release.

His hands were on her, smoothing over the curves he’d imagined. He longed to draw up her skirt and skim his palms over her shapely legs. The image of the long, naked limb dangling in front of him had teased him for far too long.

Ella’s hands moved over his bare chest, her fingers roaming in exploration, sending ripples of pleasure prickling over his skin. He wanted her to touch all of him thus.

The very thought sent another surge of yearning through him. He cupped her breast, the move brazen. But she did not nudge his hand away or shy back. Nay, she pushed into his touch, arching into him. Her hips brushed his hard prick and another groan tore from him.

Without thinking, he caught her bottom with his free hand and pushed their pelvises together. Her softness ground against him with the most wonderful friction.

She gasped suddenly and snapped him from his lustful haze.

He released his hold on her and straightened. Ella’s hands curled around his neck and she rose on her toes while she tried to pull him down to her once more.

“Where are you going?” Her hand cradled his jaw. “Please don’t stop, Calville.” She searched his eyes as if she could spend a lifetime doing so. “Bronson.”

His name emerged on a breathy sigh, one born of desire and daydreams and exhaled in such a manner, he could not refuse.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly, with passion infused in the claiming of her lips. Despite the reminder of her innocence, he found himself touching her again, stroking her breasts through the silky fabric of her kirtle, tracing the hard nub of her nipple with his thumb. This time when he caught her fine bottom in the palm of his hands and drew her against him, Ella melted into the embrace with a moan.

She moved against him, grinding against the bulge of his need until he feared the tease of such pressure might unman him. He wanted to lay her out on the bank of the stream and push her skirts up so he could let his gaze caress those beautiful legs.

His fingers clenched a handful of her skirt, the thick fabric bunching in his palm with physical temptation. He need only lift it higher, kneel at her feet, run his hands up her slender ankles and firm calves. “Ella.” He’d meant to say her name to tell her they should stop, but the rest of the words did not emerge.

“Ella?” She arched her brow in flirtation. “Not Lady Ella, Bronson?”

“It should be.” He didn’t bend over her again, despite the temptation to do so.

“Should it?” She ran a single fingertip down his naked chest to his navel.

He drew in a shuddering breath. “Aye.” He brushed his thumb over her lower lip. “And we should not be doing this either.”

She closed her eyes at his touch, her mouth parting. “And what exactly is ‘this?’” Her breath whispered over his finger. “Kissing?”

“More than kissing.” His voice came out gruff. “Touching.”