Page 51 of Queen of Sherwood

I blinked and moved my eyes from the skyline to the crisp blades of grass under my feet. They glistened, and I could feel the wind stretching across my skin, fluttering every fiber of my being.

Across from me, Little John sat at the ashen campfire. He peered into my soul with a blank expression on his face. Flat, almost, as if taking in every imperfection and pore of my skin.

I blinked, squeezing my thighs together from a sudden rush of heat that found its way to my core. Furrowing my brow, I grasped a moment of clarity and looked around the camp. My other three mates were similarly lazing around. The fire had long gone out. Across camp, people were moseying. Chores had been stopped. Conversation was either low or nonexistent.

“We’re going to sink divots into these logs if we keep sitting our asses on them much longer,” Will Scarlet pointed out, looking down at his lap. “Yet I can’t move my legs.”

My throat was dry, so I said nothing. I simply studied his beautiful face, and the sharp angles of his jaw, tilting my head curiously. His curly hair, which was like a spider’s many legs rustling in the soft breeze.

God, that breeze felt nice. It warmed my skin despite its briskness.

“How long . . . have we been sitting here?” Friar Tuck asked aloud, apropos of nothing.

We all shook our heads and shrugged. Glanced at each other. Slowly, brows furrowed.

The heat pooling at my center burgeoned when everyone’s eyes landed on me. As if I had all the answers. Yet at that moment, with the soft headiness of late afternoon swimming around my skull, I had none. Truth be told, I had no idea where I was.

Swimming, I thought. That sounds amazing right now.

If the breeze was doing such a thing to my skin, what would cool, crisp water feel like?

“Let’s go,” I said abruptly, and stood from my overturned log. When I got to my feet, I swayed, dizziness lingering through my body. As if the blood inside me had taken longer to unsettle than the rest of my body.

Alan-a-Dale was at my side in an instant, on his feet, clutching at my elbow. “You all right, little songbird?”

“I’m . . .” What was I? A woman on a mission? A pale flower in a forest of stillness? “I’m amazing,” I answered.

“A little unsteady, perhaps,” he said, and his face seemed to grow before my eyes. It was still gorgeous, and his blond hair was golden and radiant in the sun. Almost too radiant, like an angel’s blinding wings.

I wandered off without another word, feeling like it was time to move. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to move locations or worlds or thoughts, so I just went.

I heard the footsteps of the men following me away from camp. As I strolled at a leisurely pace, the world around me hummed and pulsated. I walked through a haze, yet it wasn’t the fog. It was God, perhaps, reaching down to me and cupping my chin, smiling at me.

I smiled back.

Except I wasn’t smiling at anything in particular. Or anyone. My men were behind me. The critters and animals of the forest were in front, making their little noises, which only bloomed in my mind until they were louder than swords clashing together.

I shook my head, wincing, and pushed through some trees to come to a wondrous glade. Here, the flowers were brilliant—a rainbow of hues and sizes and shapes.

A rainbow like my men, all different sizes and shapes.

I went to my hands and knees because I wanted the grass in my palms. I kicked off my boots because I needed the feeling of the earth and soil between my toes. A creak babbled nearby, and I tried to make a sound to mimic it.

The men laughed at my attempt. Alan-a-Dale squatted near me, examining a wild rose that shone pink and red. “This is a good flower,” he said, voice droll. With a firm nod, he plucked the rose. “Very good flower.”

“Careful for the thorns, dandelion,” Will said, scooting in next to him.

While those two studied the flowers, I raised my head from the ground and examined their backsides. They were nice backsides. Firm asses, taut and tight when they crouched like that.

I found myself sighing and going onto my belly on the forest floor. With a jolt of arousal, I bucked my hips, grinding my neediness against the grass and hard earth. I settled the side of my cheek down and hummed to myself, closing my eyes, smiling as I let the haze of life wash over the entire front of me. My nipples pebbled from the friction.

“Um, little star,” Little John rumbled behind me. “What are you doing?”

I hummed again. “Enjoying life, sir. Is that so wrong?” Cracking one eye open, annoyed at his distracting, deep voice, I gasped.

A bulge throbbed in his pants, against his thigh—lively and huge. “That’s fine,” he said, standing over me, “but if you keep enjoying life like that, I might have to enjoy you.”

My eyes widened when his hand unabashedly stroked the thick outline of his cock.

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