Linda Skye by A Pleasurable Shame

hauberk,” he instructed, lifting his arms above his head.
    Giselle tugged at the chain-mail tunic and pulled it away from his body. It was so heavy that it almost pulled her to the ground. She dropped it, and it landed in the grass with a rattling thud. But when she made as if to pick it back up, Eustache pulled her to him and pressed his face to her stomach.
    “Leave it,” he growled, fiercely tightening his arms around her midsection.
    “Mon seigneur,” Giselle breathed, gently lifting the helmet from his head.
    Letting it drop to the ground, she threaded her fingers through Eustache’s hair.
    “You saved me,” she murmured. “Again.”
    Eustache rose suddenly, easily sweeping her into his arms as he did. He carried her to the edge of the creek and then let her down slowly.
    “You are unhurt?” he asked, cupping her face in his large hands.
    She nodded, giving him a wan smile.
    “Let me be sure,” he said, his voice husky. “Undress for me, Giselle.”
    She had never heard her name said with such absolute longing. She pulled her kirtle and tunic over her head without hesitation, baring her lithe body to his eyes. His eyes travelled over her as his hands mapped her curves reverently. Then, he stepped back to shed his own clothing. Offering her his hand, he slowly led her into the stream. The water was crisp but pleasant, and she eagerly followed his lead.
    Eustache stopped when he found a large, flat stone that rose above the water, parting the path of the stream. He effortlessly lifted Giselle into his arms and then sat down on the rock. He pulled her into a warm embrace, her back to his chest and her slim hips between his thighs.
    “Giselle,” he said, his chest vibrating against her back as he spoke. “Are you cold?”
    “A little,” she admitted quietly.
    “Let me warm you,” he said, pressing his lips to her ear.
    Giselle gasped as Eustache slid his hands down her shoulders, over her breasts and down her thighs. He began to rub her supple flesh in slow, agonisingly wonderful circles, inciting a heat in her flesh that had nothing to do with temperature. A sweet ache began to burn between her thighs, and she shifted, rubbing her backside up against his groin. The stiffness that prodded at her spine did not surprise her, but it did make anticipation spike down to her toes. Eustache grunted and pushed back, placing hot, wet kisses on her shoulder.
    “Not yet, ma cherie ,” he muttered at her ear. “Be patient.”
    He cupped water in his hands and let it slide down her body. He rubbed at her skin until it glowed, washing away the grime of her unwanted travels. She moaned at the refreshing sensations, her heated flesh calling out in want. Then, with one hand kneading her breast, his other hand dipped low between her thighs. Giselle’s breath hitched and her spine arched away from his chest as he pressed a long finger against her slit. He pulled her back so that she was tightly moulded to him and then eased his finger deeper. She cried out in pleasure. He began to rub her slowly, stoking her desire into a blazing flame. She twisted against him, her hands fisting. But when he withdrew his hand, she protested with a loud cry. Chuckling, Eustache hooked his forearms under her knees and pulled her thighs over his so she straddled him with her back to his chest.
    He planted his palm between her shoulder blades and gently pushed her forward so that he could guide her hips over his arousal. With a throaty groan, he grabbed her hips and helped her sink down over his erect shaft. She took him into herself willingly, clenching around him eagerly. Bracing herself with her hands on his knees, she began to pump up and down. His fingers dug into her as he growled his pleasure. And just when she felt that the burning bliss building in her core could be no more intense, he stood suddenly and whirled her around. For a moment he paused, allowing her to grow accustomed to the new position. He stood behind her, his hands