Page 77 of Kings of Sherwood

“Yes.” I nod again, a few more times. “Definitely yes.”

Will rises sharply to his feet. “On your back, then.”

It’s not harsh, the way he speaks, but it is firm. No room for questioning. I do as he says, lying back across the cool expanse of mattress and duvet beneath me. He wastes no time, lifting my waist, my shoulders, swiftly but gently pulling my waistband down and skimming fingers up my ribs to lift the T-shirt up and away. Then his hands find one ankle, then the other, securing me. His lips brush up my stomach and chest as he crawls to my arms, kissing me firmly as he expertly finds the last two bindings: right, then left.

He pulls back, momentarily, sitting on his heels.

“Look at you.”

Surveys me. Smiles. Bends over me and speaks into the hollow of my neck.

“You darling, perfect thing.”

With one hand, he reaches down, strokes me, and the feeling of his touch is so sudden and fierce and sure that I jerk, gasp, go nowhere. There’s nowhere to go.

“Mmm.” Will moves his mouth to mine, languid and easy as he takes me in a kiss, his fingers moving steadily all the while. I whimper—exposed, immobile—but he just catches my chin with his free hand and steers me back to him, to the warm taste of his mouth. “Don’t think, Maren. Please.”

My eyes fly shut. It’s too easy to obey, too easy to go soft and pliant under the surety of his grasp, and I realize I don’t want anything else right now, can’t even imagine anything else, only velvet Will Scarlet wrapping all of me up.

His fingers plunge deeper, and my legs kick, almost, as much as they can. I feel him smile against my mouth. “Easy. Easy.”

It is easy. Gloriously easy. I’m pouring out all over his hand, I’m sure, writhing like an idiot, and yet he stays with me, stays here.

“So good,” he says, his voice much raspier now, and as he stirs I notice just how hard he is, pressing against my bare leg through his trousers. “Maren, I—”

I can only nod. Only think enough to say one word: “Please.”

Will nods back, rocks to his knees, ripping at shirt buttons and the buckle of his belt, and then descends, clasping each of my locked hands in his.

“Mine.”

He pushes inside me, just barely, the thick tip of him already slick, and it’s somuchalready, so good and tight that I—

“Ah!”

I pant, shocked, and strain at my bonds as I come—hard, clenching, unexpected. Will stays on me, stays in me, holds my body down as the wave rolls through and over me, and just when it’s nearly ebbed and the prickles of goosebumps start down my skin, he thrusts into me, fully, and pumps, deep and strong, to join me.

“Mm.” Slowly, he extricates himself, gives his head a little shake. Blinks once or twice. “Well.” He stretches above me, unhooks one wrist cuff, then the other. “You feel all right? Any pain?”

I shake my head as he frees my ankles. “No, sir.”

His lips twist. “Now, now. None of that.” He gives my ass a little smack. “One thing at a time. Crawl before you walk—so to speak.” He slides to his side of the bed, where he appears to have stashed a pitcher and glasses in his nightstand.

“Just water,” he says, handing me one. “Not gin.”

“What a refreshing change,” I say, voice froggy. My body’s still humming all over—not trembling, exactly, but somewhere close.

“I like refreshing.” Will ducks to his en suite and returns with a towel that he presses against my stomach, down my thighs, warm and damp. “Are you feeling better?”

All I can manage is a nod.

“Good. Now get some rest.” He plants a kiss on my temple. “Big day tomorrow, I’d imagine.”

Chapter Eighteen

Maren

“Maren.”

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