The Warrior

“You . . . you . . .” she sputtered.

Her ire rising to the breaking point, Ariane picked up a wooden bishop and threw it at Ranulf’s broad chest. It bounced off and clattered to the floor.

He laughed at her outburst, the warm, rich sound filling the chamber. The knave actually had the audacity to laugh!

Her eyes flashed sparks as she reached for another piece, but Ranulf was quicker. With a sudden lunge, he moved around the table and caught her in his grasp, pinning both her arms to her sides. In a single, easy motion, he bore her down to the furs before the hearth.

Ariane struggled against his embrace, but Ranulf subdued her with ease. When finally she ceased squirming to glare at him, panting, he grinned down at her, his eyes bright. “You have challenged me and lost, demoiselle. Now you must pay a forfeit.”

Before she could catch her breath or even protest, he covered her mouth with his. His kiss was hungry, lusty, and when he finally raised his head, his eyes smoldered with need. “Ah, what you do to me, wench . . .”

He gazed down at her silently for a moment before shaking his head. An intimate, amused warmth entered his voice as he remarked, “And yet your methods of persuasion seem wanting. Why do you not try to use your womanly arts to stir my passion and sway my judgment instead of forever fighting me? A wise leman knows well how to bend a man to her whims—with honey, not vinegar.”

“I am not like your lemans,” Ariane said stiffly, refusing to be provoked further by his teasing.

In truth, she was like no other wench of his acquaintance, Ranulf reflected, and yet she was a woman, with a woman’s needs. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that he would do better to take the offensive, to use passion as a weapon in order to compel Ariane’s loyalty and bind her to him.

His lips curved upward in anticipation. He had enjoyed their fight, but he would relish her surrender more.

He bent to nibble at her lips, murmuring in a voice suddenly grown husky, “And I am not like other lords. Indeed, I am inclined to show you lenience and devise a penance you will enjoy.”

Ariane pushed futilely against his broad shoulders, deploring the way her senses throbbed at Ranulf’s gentle, arousing kisses. “I will derive no enjoyment from being mauled, you conceited oaf! I find no pleasure in your touch.”

“None?” His slow-growing smile was a sensual caress. “Methinks you are untruthful, wench. Shall I prove it?”

He had no need to prove his expertise, Ariane thought with despair. Ranulf well knew he could command her body’s every response. She twisted beneath him, but with his weight holding her down, she could not break free.

He did not bother to undress her, but merely tugged down the bodice of her tunics and shift, baring her beauty to his gaze. His golden eyes kindled. For a heartbeat, he buried his face in her breasts, drinking in the sweet warm fragrance of her skin. “Can I make you hot for me, I wonder?”

In answer to his own question, his mouth dipped to her repeatedly, tasting and kissing her erect nipples . . . until she whimpered.

He smiled against her skin. “That is how I want you, sweeting . . . pleading for me . . .” Reaching down, he drew up her skirts and slipped a probing hand between her thighs. “Show me where you want me to caress you.”

She tried unsuccessfully to elude his searching fingers. “Ranulf, please. . . .”

“Please?” His teasing grin held an intimacy that made her heart twist. “Truly I like that word on your lips.”

“Nay, Ranulf! I don’t want you.”

He laughed softly.

“Your body wants me,” he murmured huskily against her throat.

“No . . .”

In answer, he rubbed his thumb along the wet, swollen lips of her sex, finding the tender nub that was the seat of her passion. “This bud is plump and juicy—evidence of your desire, sweeting. Can you honestly claim you dislike being stroked here?” Her muted whimper made him smile. Probingly, he slid two fingers into her sleek passage, making Ariane draw a sharp breath. “So, you feel no pleasure at my touch, at having my flesh buried within you?” His fingers thrust deeper, while his thumb caressed.

Her choked gasp was the only answer he needed.

“I crave a taste of you,” he announced softly in satisfaction.

Shifting his weight, Ranulf moved his mouth downward over her body, to her womanhood, his strong hands spreading her naked thighs for his enjoyment. When he lowered his head to her, Ariane clenched her teeth, trying desperately not to respond to each delicately provocative thrust of his tongue, but the sweet agony was too much to bear. Her hips strained against his mouth of their own accord.

When a moan dredged from deep within her throat, Ranulf stopped to gaze up at her in triumph. His lips, wet with her dew, curved in a tender smile.

Without haste, he raised his tunic and tugged at his braies, freeing himself. Then he slowly lowered himself upon her, sighing with pleasure as he entered her.

“I may not give you rest until the dawn,” he whispered as he began to move urgently within her.