ran a finger along her cheek, barely touching before he pulled away. Her lips trembled for a moment and then stilled. Thank the gods . She was warmer than the last time he’d checked. He stood, looked toward the ceiling of his chamber, and sent a heavy sigh of relief into the cavernous space.
He hadn’t known relief was a tangible entity. He knew it now.
“An...so?”
His name was the vaguest whisper. He spun and dropped to a knee, placing him close to her level. “My lioban ?”
She frowned slightly. Narrowed her eyes. “I’m still here.”
She wasn’t questioning it. He answered it anyway. “Yes.”
“And...you’re still here.”
“Yes.”
“That’s...worrisome.”
“You expected me to leave you?” he asked.
Her frown disappeared. “No. No. It’s not that. It’s—.” She stopped. Licked her lips. Trembled. “I’m...really cold.”
He snatched the coverlet from the floor and shook it slightly before settling the soft underside of fabric onto her, tucking it along her form. The material skimmed her body. And then he had to choke back an instant pinch of desire. It was unbidden. And intense. His rod stirred against the leather pants, instantly interested. He tightened his gut and held it.
“This is a beautiful comforter.”
“Yes.”
“Where did you get it?”
“I think France. Fourteenth century.”
She jerked slightly. “Fourteenth century?”
“Perhaps fifteenth. I forget.”
He shrugged, loosening his grip on his body. And then he had to push back a rush of longing that had a physical presence. He’d been accurate when describing how mating felt with her earlier. Despite what might happen, his body craved what only she could give. Again. And again. And as many times as he could.
“You should use something a little less...costly.”
“No.”
She frowned. He scooted closer, scraping his knee on the stone floor. That gained a slight impression of hurt. He could feel such things as minor ache, too? The timing was fortuitous. He used the pain as another bar, caging a sense of yearning that just kept building.
“Maybe you could elaborate?” she said.
“What?” He was dealing with a plethora of physical needs and wants and cravings. He didn’t dare voice any of them.
“You’re wrapping me in a priceless antiquity here.”
He glanced to the coverlet. Back to her face. “Oh. That.”
“Yes. That. Why would you do such a thing? Perhaps the better question is, why on earth would I envision it?”
“It is the lone thing I have...at the moment...worthy of touching you.”
She looked at him with astonishment for a moment. And then she answered. “Um. Wow.”
“Perhaps it is you...who should elaborate,” he requested.
“Oh. Funny. Funny. Ha. Ha,” she replied.
Anso swallowed. Forced his mind to function. He still didn’t comprehend her meaning. Or tone. He shook his head. “I do not understand.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“That figures.”
“Is the coverlet not to your satisfaction? I can fetch others.”
“You have more of these?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, why do I bother asking?”
Anso puzzled her words while she watched him with an unblinking gaze. His heart stuttered, or something equally noticeable. Hers did the same thing. She gasped, her eyes widened, and he nearly bolted onto the mattress to join her. Her struggle to sit stopped him. She was so weak! He was with her, a mass of still-intact pillows in his hand before she had a chance to collapse back down. She didn’t say anything as he lifted her to the headboard, propped the pillows behind her, and resettled the coverlet about her. That was so stupid.
She was too womanly .
The yearning wasn’t going away. He trembled more than once, and hoped she wouldn’t note it, or decipher the cause.
The gods must be laughing at his predicament.
Anso sat on the edge of the mattress, rocking it slightly.
“I feel really...weird,” she informed him.
“You do?”
“I feel fantastic, and yet,
He hadn’t known relief was a tangible entity. He knew it now.
“An...so?”
His name was the vaguest whisper. He spun and dropped to a knee, placing him close to her level. “My lioban ?”
She frowned slightly. Narrowed her eyes. “I’m still here.”
She wasn’t questioning it. He answered it anyway. “Yes.”
“And...you’re still here.”
“Yes.”
“That’s...worrisome.”
“You expected me to leave you?” he asked.
Her frown disappeared. “No. No. It’s not that. It’s—.” She stopped. Licked her lips. Trembled. “I’m...really cold.”
He snatched the coverlet from the floor and shook it slightly before settling the soft underside of fabric onto her, tucking it along her form. The material skimmed her body. And then he had to choke back an instant pinch of desire. It was unbidden. And intense. His rod stirred against the leather pants, instantly interested. He tightened his gut and held it.
“This is a beautiful comforter.”
“Yes.”
“Where did you get it?”
“I think France. Fourteenth century.”
She jerked slightly. “Fourteenth century?”
“Perhaps fifteenth. I forget.”
He shrugged, loosening his grip on his body. And then he had to push back a rush of longing that had a physical presence. He’d been accurate when describing how mating felt with her earlier. Despite what might happen, his body craved what only she could give. Again. And again. And as many times as he could.
“You should use something a little less...costly.”
“No.”
She frowned. He scooted closer, scraping his knee on the stone floor. That gained a slight impression of hurt. He could feel such things as minor ache, too? The timing was fortuitous. He used the pain as another bar, caging a sense of yearning that just kept building.
“Maybe you could elaborate?” she said.
“What?” He was dealing with a plethora of physical needs and wants and cravings. He didn’t dare voice any of them.
“You’re wrapping me in a priceless antiquity here.”
He glanced to the coverlet. Back to her face. “Oh. That.”
“Yes. That. Why would you do such a thing? Perhaps the better question is, why on earth would I envision it?”
“It is the lone thing I have...at the moment...worthy of touching you.”
She looked at him with astonishment for a moment. And then she answered. “Um. Wow.”
“Perhaps it is you...who should elaborate,” he requested.
“Oh. Funny. Funny. Ha. Ha,” she replied.
Anso swallowed. Forced his mind to function. He still didn’t comprehend her meaning. Or tone. He shook his head. “I do not understand.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“That figures.”
“Is the coverlet not to your satisfaction? I can fetch others.”
“You have more of these?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, why do I bother asking?”
Anso puzzled her words while she watched him with an unblinking gaze. His heart stuttered, or something equally noticeable. Hers did the same thing. She gasped, her eyes widened, and he nearly bolted onto the mattress to join her. Her struggle to sit stopped him. She was so weak! He was with her, a mass of still-intact pillows in his hand before she had a chance to collapse back down. She didn’t say anything as he lifted her to the headboard, propped the pillows behind her, and resettled the coverlet about her. That was so stupid.
She was too womanly .
The yearning wasn’t going away. He trembled more than once, and hoped she wouldn’t note it, or decipher the cause.
The gods must be laughing at his predicament.
Anso sat on the edge of the mattress, rocking it slightly.
“I feel really...weird,” she informed him.
“You do?”
“I feel fantastic, and yet,
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