The Lily and the Sword (Medieval 1)

He had found himself drawn to her as a swimmer caught in a tidal pull tries for the shore. Struggle though he might, his eyes kept returning to Lily as she combed that wondrous hair, the sweet curve of her neck and cheek, the swell of her breast. His groin throbbed and burned. He wanted to run his hands through that silver wave, press his mouth to it, hold it fast as he thrust his body into hers.

Two days, maybe three, and Lily would be at Rennoc with her father. The future beyond that was uncertain. He had so little time to be with her. She was the moon to his ocean, drawing him with a subtle yet irresistible pull.

He knew he had lost his struggle when he had stood up earlier, telling himself he must see to his men.

Now Radulf had lost even the will to pretend.

“Come!” He held out his hand.

Lily blinked. “My lord?”

But Radulf couldn’t wait for explanations. He grabbed her hand and jerked her to her feet, spilling the cup of water. Lily cried out softly, stumbling after him. “My lord,” she gasped. “There is no need—My lord!”

His men scuttled out of his way, openmouthed.

They think he means to kill me, thought Lily in fright, and perhaps he does. Radulf kept walking, pulling her behind him. Across the slippery stones in the shallow stream, between the moss-clothed trees, until the twisted branches above them filtered the sunlight into a swirl of green.

“Radulf!” Lily gasped, pulling her gown free from yet another bush of thorns. Her shoes were thin, and stones and twigs dug through the soft leather, bruising the soles of her feet. Her hair, which she had spent so much time tidying, was snarled again, blinding her.

Radulf spun her around and pulled her hard against him, his mouth coming down on hers with barely controlled savagery. His hands clasped her buttocks, pressing her against him, and leaving her in no doubt as to his urgent need.

Lily gasped, and then softened against him as the reason for his roughness suddenly became very clear to her. He was not angry; he wanted her! Wanted her with a desperate, unstoppable urgency.

Just as she wanted him.

Her response startled him. It was as if he expected her to struggle, to cry out for help, to be afraid. But Lily wound her arms about his neck and clung instead, her mouth opening to his, her tongue as wild to taste him as he was her.

Radulf groaned and caught her about the waist, dropping them both down onto their knees in the soft, thick carpet of leaves. Above them the linnet sang again, and the beeches rustled softly in the cool breeze.

Their mouths parted and for a moment they remained motionless, breathing quickly. As if, thought Radulf, they were at prayer. The ridiculousness of the situation struck him forcibly. He almost laughed. What must his men think of the terrible Radulf now, dragging this girl into the woods because he could not control his lust for her?

He was making a fool of himself, just like his father.

The thought turned him so cold he nearly pulled back. And then Lily put her hands, light as butterflies, upon his shoulders, and leaned against him, her soft mouth lifted invitingly to his. Desire roared through him again, and with a groan he bent to kiss her. She pressed still closer, her breasts soft through his shirt, her nipples still hard.

Radulf lifted his hand to cup one firm mound and felt her tremble, her gasp softly erotic against his lips. If he didn’t get inside her soon he would burst. He sprawled onto the ground, uncaring of the damp soil and damper leaves, and his back came to rest against the trunk of a tree.

He could take her now, quick and hard. The thought was tempting, very tempting, but he wanted her to enjoy the act as much as he. And he wanted to make it last.

Grasping Lily’s waist, he pulled her down onto his lap so that her legs straddled his thighs. Slowly, purposefully, his warm, strong hands slid under the hem of her chemise, gliding over satin skin, following the curves and hollows of her body.

Lily sighed in bliss and reached for him. Radulf grasped her hips and held her still. “No,” he said. “You are impatient, lady. You will have your turn.”

Radulf’s hands kneaded and stroked and caressed until Lily gasped and swayed, beyond thought. And then his fingers slid into the curls between her thighs, dipping and sliding in the moisture there.

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It was too much. Lily swayed closer, her lips parted. He was watching her, dark eyes gleaming through his lashes, his face tense with the battle to control his desire.

Her mouth was his undoing.

Lily reached up and pressed her lips to his, and felt him shudder. The kiss deepened at the same moment as Radulf’s finger thrust itself further into her heat. Lily gasped and trembled like a shot bird, dizzy with the sensations he was drawing from her. His finger stroked boldly, mimicking his tongue in her mouth.

Lily peaked with a cry, shuddering and clutching at his chest. He waited while she calmed, soothing her with gentle caresses over her back and shoulders. Then he lifted the gown and chemise from her, leaning forward to kiss her breasts, his tongue lathing the sensitive nipples. Lily moaned, her fingers clutching his head to bind him closer.

Gently, but firmly, he pulled away. Dazed gray eyes met heated dark ones. Radulf smiled. “Now it’s your turn,” he murmured.

Delicate color flooded her face as she grasped his meaning. For a moment Vorgen, and all the bitterness and doubt he had heaped upon her, swam through her mind. Her touch was poison, vile…And yet she wanted dearly to touch him.