Page 144 of The Pirate Queen

“You forfeit,” he tells her.

Gráinne pulls back so that she can see his face. “Make me.”

“With pleasure.”

He laughs. Slides that hand around the back of her leg. Upward. And yes. It is everything at once, all he’d been curious about. Smooth as fresh cream, but he feels her shudder with pleasure, feels her skin prickle beneath his fingers.

“This”—Richard motions to her body—“is a ship I have longed to sail. To guide through smooth waters. And rough. But any good captain must explore his vessel before taking it to sea. He must know it bow”—he lifts his head and kisses her softly—“to stern”—wraps his calf around hers. Richard is very careful when he lowers his chin and brushes his lips across her chest. “Port.” He slides his mouth to the right. “Starboard.” Then he spreads the hand that already cups her arse. “Midships.”

She gasps when he places a warm kiss at the center of her breastbone. Well. It’s easy enough to disarm her, then. Richard rolls Gráinne onto her back and both of their knives fall away, lost to the possibility of other uses for their hands. But she is pinned now and he sees the flash of panic in her eyes, feels her body stiffen beneath him. Gráinne squeezes her eyes closed, then gulps hard, lost to some momentary unwanted memory.

“ ’Tis only me,” he whispers in her ear, then lifts his weight so that it’s resting on his forearms. When her eyes don’t open immediately, he shifts again, rolling to the side so that he’s on one hip, so she can easily maneuver away.

Her lungs fill, then empty with stuttered relief. Gráinne’s eyes flutter open. “I’m sor—”

“Do not apologize for the sins of another man,” he says.

The shadow fades from her expression and she lifts her chin to kiss him. Soft, then urgent, and her body softens once more. Gráinne pulls him back on top of her.

“I’ll never hear you say that you’ve done your duty with me, wife.” His hand moves along the inside of her thigh now. Higher and higher until her mouth parts and her eyes close. A long slow stroke with one well-placed finger. “There. That’s a good start, mo ghrá.”

Richard kisses her. Hard and fast. Then slow and sweet, his tongue tasting and savoring. He takes his time coaxing her surrender.

Only a few times in all the years he has known Gráinne has she been at an utter loss for words. To see her like this, soft and pliant beneath him, is almost more than he can bear.

“Feck,” he growls, then pushes onto his knees.

He scoops her up and sets her on her feet.

“Undress me,” he orders.

Her pupils are large and dark in the dim room. Her lips swollen from kissing. She looks at him stupidly for a moment, then shifts closer until her fingers are at the ties of his trews. His turn to suck in a breath now as she lets those fingers drift at his waist, lower.

“Gráinne.” Her name, through gritted teeth.

Now her turn to be gentle. “I am not so scared as you might think. And those memories are not yours to chase away. I’ll banish them myself. In time.”

She makes quick work of his laces, then lets his trews hang low on his hips. Gráinne takes a step backward, and when he protests the distance between them she says, “Boots.”

It takes a moment, but they stumble their way out of them. Richard yanks her close again and loosens her skirt. She steps out of it easily, then shoves his trews to the floor. It is only her leine between them then. He slides it up and over her head, his warm hands gliding over the soft curves of her body. They stop at the indent of her waist. They are naked, finally, and each takes the other in slowly. A few soft candles and a dying fire are all the light they have.

Richard thinks of old words, written in an old book, about Adam and Eve and how they were both naked and unashamed. He understands the latter part now. The awe and reverence.

“I have loved you since I was a boy,” Richard tells her, then bends to scoop her into his arms. Two steps to the bed and he lays her gently on the mattress, then lays himself on top of her. “And I cannot think of anything that will stop me from loving you until the day I die.”

“I have hated myself for loving you,” she tells him. “But I have only ever wanted you. I have only ever loved you.”

“Then you will keep no part of yourself from me,” he whispers into her ear. “I want all of you.”

He kisses her again. Then he tastes her neck. Her collarbone. Both breasts, slowly. Runs lips and teeth and tongue down the space between them, over her belly. He tastes everything. And only when she is limp does he return to her mouth.

“Then take me,” she says.

So he does. And then they are one, united in body and soul.

They lie awake until dawn. Touching and talking. They explore each other, and when they come together again, there is no shyness. Only heat and temper and rage that they have had to wait so long.

Grace is strewn across Richard’s bare chest. He has one hand tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck, and the other drags a long trail down her spine and over her arse. Back and forth, back and forth his fingers march that path until the candles gutter out one by one and their pungent smoke fills the air. The coals are low in the hearth, and they are surrounded by warmth and darkness.