Grinning, he rose to his knees, unfastened his cloak, and tossed it in the corner. He lifted her tunic and began to pull her shirt out of her leggings ever so slowly. The smooth linen fabric moved against her skin, followed by a rush of cool air.
She would never have guessed that his lips, his tongue, his loose hair, would feel so good against the bare skin of her belly. As he inched his way slowly upward, exposing more skin as he went, she felt a tightening in her womb.
Oh, my. She shivered with the sensations racing through her body. When he abruptly stopped and pulled her shirt back over her stomach, she opened her eyes wide.
Stephen was on his hands and knees above her, a frown of concern on his face. “You are cold.”
“Nay, I am not,” she said.
The brocade of his tunic felt rough under her fingers as she took hold of it and pulled him down. Despite the deep, lingering kiss she gave him, he held his body away from hers.
“I want to feel you against me,” she whispered.
“Oh, Isobel,” he said, sliding down beside her and burying his face in her neck, “you will undo me.”
He held her tight against him so that she could feel his warmth from her head to her toes. She pressed her face against him, blocking out the faint smell of rotting apples from the orchard and the heavier smell of mildewed thatch. She wanted to breathe in only his scent. Horse and healthy sweat and wool and leather. And just Stephen.
When he kissed her this time, he did not hold back. The passion exploded between them. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed against him until a blade of grass could not have fit between them. And still, she was not close enough.
When he rolled on top of her, he felt so good that she tore her mouth away to tell him. Before she could form the words, he slid down her body, kissing her through the cloth until, again, he found bare skin. His mouth felt as good on her belly as the first time.
As he moved upward, she breathed, “Don’t stop this time.”
He moved so slowly that her breasts were aching for his touch long before he got to them. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she ran her own hands over them. She heard Stephen groan and felt his large, warm hands cover hers.
“Jesus, Isobel,” he whispered, “you cannot expect me to go slowly when you do that.”
“Must you go slowly?”
He gave a half-strangled sound and lifted one of her hands to press his mouth against her palm. When he ran his tongue in a circle over it, she felt her nipple harden through the fabric beneath her other hand. She drew in a sharp breath as he ran his thumb along the underside of her breast.
“Mmmmm,” came from her throat as he dragged his tongue along the line his thumb had just traveled. She arched her back, lifting her breasts to him.
“Aye,” she breathed as his other hand slid under her shirt, and “aye,” again, when it finally covered her breast.
The rough skin of his thumb over her nipple sent ripples of sensation down to the depths of her belly.
She meant to offer another word of encouragement. But then he rolled her nipple between his finger and thumb, and the sounds that came from her lips would not shape themselves into words. She felt the warm wetness of his mouth on her other nipple and was lost in a swirl of sensation.
How did he know how she wanted to be touched before she knew it herself? The more he touched her, the greater was her need. Never, never did she imagine it would be like this.
He pulled her up to a sitting position, and they leaned against each other, both breathing hard.
“Stephen, that felt…” She tried, but she could not find words to describe it.
“Can we take this off?” he asked, fingering the bottom edge of her tunic.
“You first,” she surprised herself by saying.
He rewarded her with a wide grin that lit up his eyes. Before she knew it, he whipped off his tunic and shirt together in one quick movement and sat before her bare-chested.
She drew in a long breath as she ran her eyes over the hard muscles of his chest. How many other women had looked at him like this and found him so beautiful it made them ache? She would not let herself think of those other women now. Today he was hers and no other’s.
She reached out and ran possessive hands over his chest, feeling the roughness of hair over the sinewy muscle and warm skin. This close, she could see that black hairs were interspersed with the curly auburn hair on his chest. She followed the hair down to his flat belly.
Would it feel as good to him as it had to her to kiss him there? When she dropped her head to try, he gripped her shoulders and pulled her up onto his chest. She feared she’d done something wrong—until he smashed his mouth against hers.
“Your clothes now. All of them, off,” he gasped against her ear. “I need to feel you naked against me.”