Page 41 of Ella’s Desire

“Leave your door unlatched tonight,” she whispered, her breath sweet and hot against his ear.

He straightened and gazed down at her. She smiled and slipped into her room.

Ella’s heart threatened to pound through her chest with nervous excitement. She lifted the small hand mirror once more and glanced at her reflection. Had she put on too much rouge? Not enough?

Was she being overly critical?

Aye, that was definitely it. She had spent the last hour in her private chambers readying herself as the castle quieted for the night. Bronson’s room was only a short way down the hall from hers. A brisk walk would have her to his door in moments. She pulled a cloak over her shoulders and secured it at her throat. If nothing else, the voluminous fabric would cover her simple night rail beneath, and the hood would hide her identity if someone should happen upon her.

She put her hand to the latch of her door and paused with reverence. This would be it. The night she would give herself to Bronson. The night she would tell him she loved him, and when she would show him as much. Her body was already burning with the need for release.

She pulled her door open and went out into the dark hall. Her feet were bare on the cool stone floor, but more importantly, her steps were silent. She moved like a shadow to the door she knew was Bronson’s and quietly entered.

He sat before the fire, the elbow of his good arm propped on his knee as he stared into the flames. At the quiet click of his door closing, he lifted his head and grinned at her. “Does the evening require a cloak?” He got to his feet to approach her. He still wore his blue and gold doublet and leather trews from supper.

She was not so overdressed. With her gaze locked on his, she pulled the hood back and unclipped the fastening. In a quiet rustle of costly fabric, the heavy cloak fell from her shoulders, leaving her in nothing but her night rail.

Bronson paused mid-step as his gaze combed over the length of her.

She walked toward him with the slow saunter she’d seen tavern ladies use, her hips swaying with promise. “It’s warm enough to not require a cloak for anything other than concealment.” She stopped in front of him, so close her bosom nearly touched his chest. “I don’t imagine I’ll need this night rail either.”

Bronson’s gaze swept down her once more and lingered on her breasts. Her nipples prickled at the attention and she felt them growing taut. He swallowed. “Ella, you are a maiden and I am not yet your husband.”

“You will be my husband soon.” She stroked a hand over his sling. “Your poor arm. Does it pain you?”

“Nay.”

“Let me make it up to you.” Her fingers slid down the sling to his stomach, over the band of his trews and down to where she’d touched him so intimately earlier. “I want you to have me, Bronson. All of me.”

The bulk under her hand twitched and began to grow firm. He closed his eyes. “What you are asking cannot be undone, Ella.”

She framed the thickness with her fingers and slowly moved her palm up and down. “I want you, Bronson. I can’t stop thinking about how badly I want you.”

He gave a strangled groan. “It isn’t right for you to be here.”

His manhood was now rock hard beneath her touch and it made the place between her legs grow damp, the pulse of heat insistent.

“Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll leave.” She squeezed the length of him the way he’d showed her.

His breath hissed through his teeth.

“Touch me and see for yourself how badly I want you.” She finally released him and drew up the hem of her night rail to her upper thighs, shielding her intimate place from him while still offering herself for his caress.

His hand stretched toward her, sampling her with a single stroke. Ella whimpered as pleasure rippled through her. He clenched his jaw and fixed his gaze on his hand as he slid over her once more, then again, his finger lightly probing inside of her.

Her knees went soft and threatened to drop her from where she stood. “Tell me you don’t want this,” she whispered. “And I’ll leave.”

“That’s the problem.” His stare dragged back up toward her face. “I do.”

“Then have me.” She put a hand to his doublet and popped free the first button.

“This isn’t play, Ella.” There was a note of warning in his tone, even as he continued to glide his touch over her center.

She slipped another button free.

“There can be consequences.” He took the hem of her night rail from her and lifted it higher.

She relinquished the flimsy cloth to him and worked even faster on his buttons. He drew the gown up over her breasts, over her head, stopping her efforts briefly.