Page 53 of The Lyon Rampant

His hot gaze was on her breasts, plumped and rounded by her costume. Then his lips followed his gaze, his tongue caressing, his mouth exploring. Bother it! This bodice was far too tight.

“Would you like some help with that?” he murmured in her ear.

She didn’t want to ask—it was so wicked. But deep down, she felt as if this had been coming for a long time. It was inevitable that he and she should be one, whatever the consequences.

His fingers found the ties at the front of her bodice, undid the bow, then slickly pulled the laces through until the bodice hung limp and open, her breasts hidden only by the under-shift. He ran his fingers down the stiffened edges of the bodice, grazing her erect nipples with his knuckles.

Was he dressing her, or undressing her, and what were his intentions? Did it matter? She was too caught up in the moment to care. Then Piers undid the tie of her shift, smoothed the cloth back from her shoulders, and pulled it away from the swell of her breasts, making his intentions abundantly clear. She leaned toward him as he cupped each breast gently in his hands, groaning deep in his throat.

“Oh, Belinda!” His voice was a caressing sigh. “Oh, God forgive me!” He stepped back, his eyes full of desire and passion, boring into hers. “Do you want this? Just say the word, and I’ll stop.”

“I want this.” The words were out before she’d even thought about them.

“I’ll give you a moment while I create a makeshift bed. There’s still time to change your mind, you know—you must understand that once I’ve made love to you, there’s no going back.”

He broke away and began piling costumes on the floor—kings, thieves, beggars, mistresses, ghosts—the clothing of every character was thrown down, with no regard to status or history. Belinda pulled the edges of her bodice together as she waited—she had no desire to appear wanton in front of the man she loved. Even though every part of her body was now ardent for the touch of his fingers, his lips.

“I just need to find a sheet or two, then our bed is ready.”

“As you wish.” Her voice was lush and sensuous. Bother it! She was a wanton, after all. “You might want to remove those ridiculous hose and that codpiece. I can’t look at them without laughing.”

“I’ll teach you to laugh at me,” Piers growled again, and stepped out of the leggings, casting them aside. Before she could speculate on what he might look like beneath his shirt, he’d seized her and thrown her down upon the bed.

“Behave yourself, woman,” he murmured in her ear. “On second thought . . . don’t.”

He covered her body with his, then moved lower, drawing her shift up over her head. Now she was exposed—wonderfully, shamefully exposed—and her blood ran hot.

Supporting himself above her, Piers kissed one breast, then took the nipple between his teeth and tugged at it gently. Fire seared through Belinda, settling and flaring in her loins. She squeezed her legs together in silent anticipation as he switched his attention to the other breast. The sensation between her legs mounted until her whole self was focused there, and her entire being cried out for her lover to take her.

But he was in no hurry, happy to explore her breasts with lips and tongue and teasing fingers. She buried her hands in his hair and tugged, pulling him closer and raising his head. He smiled, holding her so close she could feel the heat of his body against her breasts, her stomach, and her thighs.

Supporting her head on his arm, he raised her, pressing his mouth against hers. In response to his demand, she parted her lips and kissed him back, melting as he deepened the kiss. Her senses reeled as he explored her thoroughly with his tongue, while fresh waves of desire washed through her. Then, to her surprise, he pulled back, rolled over, and drew her on top of him.

“I’ll crush you!”

“You won’t.” His eyes burned into hers, full of wicked promise. “I want you there!”

He smoothed his hands over her shoulders, then lightly caressed the sides of her breasts.

“Belinda, you are infinitely beautiful to me,” he murmured. “I love you more than I can ever express.”

Maybe he meant it, maybe he didn’t—in the heat of the moment, it was impossible to tell. But it didn’t matter—she’d made her decision, and now Piers was going to make love to her. She pulled back a little, reveling in the sensation of her engorged nipples rubbing against his shirt.

He nestled, suckled, and gasped in sheer pleasure until Belinda brought her head down to his and complained, “I can’t touch you!”

He raised an eyebrow. “Have you no shame woman?”

Teasingly, she shook her head.

With one swift motion, he rolled her onto her back and hovered above her, pulling the shirt over his head and throwing it to the floor. She stifled a gasp—if any man could be said to have the perfect body, Piers Darvill was that man. He was well-muscled and powerful with a broad torso tapering to a slim waist and flat belly. Before she could evaluate him further, he lowered himself over her and tugged at the ties of her drawers with his teeth, making her giggle. She hadn’t realized making love could be fun! But Piers, it seemed, intended that she would enjoy herself, in more ways than one.

As her drawers were removed, he followed their passage with kisses on her stomach, her mound, the insides of her thighs—even her knees. It felt glorious, just as if Piers were determined to love and adore every single inch of her. One day, soon—she’d do the same for him.

Now, they were both deliciously, unashamedly naked. Piers lowered himself onto one elbow, twining his legs firmly about hers. Lazily, teasingly, he traced her curves, bringing every nerve alive with his touch. She drank in the sight of him—his rapt, handsome face, the superb lines of his body. She pressed her fingers against his back, pushed them deep into his tousled hair, and caressed the strong line of his jaw. This man was going to be hers, if only for this one moment of suspended time—he would see, he would feel, nothing but her.

Piers’s hand traversed the length of Belinda’s thigh, then up over her belly and back to her breasts. Then—finally—he cupped one hand over the silky curls between her legs and pressed against her most intimate part.

“Are you sure you want this, Belinda?”