Page 54 of Lord of the Forest

“More than anything.” She touched him again, running her fingers along the iron-hard length of him, overcome with wonder at the magical transformation, excited by the tension her touch aroused in his body.

The more she rubbed and squeezed, the more he seemed to have difficulty breathing. So, she had power, too—a highly satisfying revelation.

“Enough—I beg you.” He reached between them to remove her hand, then settled himself between her legs, hands gently lifting her buttocks.

She quailed a little as his nub probed at her opening, but pressure and determination breached her defenses, and soon, after a brief stab of pain, he was pushing inside her.

“Lancelot!” She couldn’t stop gasping his name as he began a rhythmic movement, pulling out, then pushing in, a little farther each time. Like an opening flower, she felt herself bloom around him, welcome him in, admit him to the very core of her body.

Then she found she could squeeze, which she did with relish, as each contraction elicited a groan of pleasure from him. His head went back, then lowered again as he gazed at the point of their joining, before coming to rest on her face.

Never before had she seen so passionate, so poignant a look on anyone’s face. It mingled triumph and tenderness, and at that moment, as if it were even possible, she loved him more than ever.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

“It’s not over yet,” he murmured back.

Suddenly, his body began thrusting harder into her, his thighs thudding against hers. Pleasure slammed into her, and her concentration intensified as she squeezed in time with his thrusts.

As he rode her, pleasure jolted through her, rising from peak to peak, and she writhed, and gasped, and cried out, until ecstasy took her, holding her captive as wave after wave of delight crashed over her.

Still rocking, he lost his rhythm but continued to pump into her, head tilted back, his powerful throat exposed, eyes closed as he joined her on a level far beyond their earthly bodies. Bit by bit, he eased his frantic movements, sighing and bowing his head, saluting her lips with a kiss and, finally, stilling his hips.

As her heart gradually settled back to its normal speed and her breathing eased, he drew his arms around her and sat back, pulling her with him, so she was sitting astride his lap, facing him.

Then he just held her close, his cheek nestled against hers, chest heaving.

Now, they were one, a union that meant more to her than any church service, any wedding band. The trees of the forest were their congregation, the ancient oak their minister, and the clear summer sky their witness. She thought she had never felt truly whole until this moment.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” she whispered.

“I wonder how long it takes to dry out a wet shift? Fancy wearing it when you went in the brook.” He rolled his eyes. “Foolish girl, to be so self-conscious with your future husband.”

“We’ll have to go back and face everyone, though, will we not?” She didn’t know if she’d be able to hide her happiness. And her gleeful guilt must be written all over her face.

His hands stroked slowly over her back, then began gently removing the tangles from her wet hair. “Aye, that we will. I must speak to Walter. Now, I cannot rest easy until I know what happened to Paris.”

“Have you no more memories?” She smoothed his damp locks back from his face.

He grinned. “They trickle back, like miniature paintings, and I tidy them away until they are needed. But all memory was eclipsed by what just happened between us. If I can only remember one thing throughout my existence, it will be the first time I made love to my beloved Clemence.”

She smiled back at him and wriggled a little, determining that he was still hard within her. So, they could, theoretically, do it again? Suddenly, she felt too shy to ask. It was ridiculous under the circumstances, but how was she to know what almost-married ladies could or couldn’t ask?

“We should see how your shift is doing.” He eased her off his lap, set her down gently, and strode back to the brook. She watched, greedily enjoying his nakedness once again, the rippling of his muscles as he wrung her shift out over the water, before spreading it across a bush to dry.

When he returned to their forest bed, he wore a sinful grin. “It will be a little while ere you can put that on again.” He leaned down and scooped her into his arms, then possessed her mouth in a searing kiss. “Now, shall we explore my suggestion for your second time?”

Chapter Twenty-One

Five long days had passed since Clemence had bid Lancelot an unwilling farewell, and returned to Clairbourne Manor. She’d spent the entire time indoors, in expectation of his arrival. There were no herb-collecting forays and she had no interest in visitors, sewing, playing on her dulcimer, or making preserves. Mostly, she gazed out her chamber window, watching the road.

Only commonplace traffic passed by; farmers’ carts piled high with hay or vegetables, drovers herding cattle and geese to market, youngbloods hurtling past on newly-acquired steeds, and stately merchants, traveling together in groups, well-armed against potential robbers.

The door opened. “Clemence? Are you well?”

“Aye, Mother. Well enough.” She didn’t know what else to say. Everything seemed so complicated, and the fact she couldn’t see Lancelot to plan for their future—and had no idea of his whereabouts—was weighing on her mind like a millstone.

“You miss your betrothed sorely. I understand. Once, I was like that with your father. The young heart is both vulnerable and apt to feel things more than it should. Lancelot won’t let you down—I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”