The Heat of the Knight by Scottie Barrett

right to summon a servant, she had a roaring fire prepared. After bolting the shutters to keep out the celebratory noises, she shed her clothing. From the sewing basket, she pulled his tunic and donned it. She brought the sleeve up to her nose and inhaled deeply. She blissfully imagined that his masculine scent still lingered. Wrapping herself in furs, she stretched out before the hearth with a generous mug of wine. When the door opened behind her, she did not turn her head to acknowledge his entrance. She tossed back some of the wine.
    “You appear to have survived your kidnapping ordeal well.”
    She viewed him over her shoulder. His face looked ashen, and the skin beneath his eyes was so dark it looked bruised, as if he hadn't slept in weeks.
    “All due to the Blacksmith.”
    His black brows raised. “The smithy, Old Dodd?” he asked, apparently unaware of the nickname the villeins had given him.
    “Not the actual blacksmith. The hero who forges a riotous path for the king. Certainly you know of the man's exploits. His metal is gleaming black or is it matte? 'Twas hard to tell in the near twilight.” She shrugged.
    “Bastards wanted a ransom, no doubt.”
    She giggled. “Though they insisted it wasn't gold they were after, I believe the fools actually thought you cared enough to pay to get me back.”
    A muscle in his jaw jumped. “A sentry at the gate saw Thomas leading you out.”
    “Do not blame the boy. They'd beaten him, I'm certain.”
    To calm herself, she shut her eyes for a moment and concentrated on the pine scent of the wood fire.
    “You are reprieved. Your services are no longer necessary.”
    Her eyes snapped open. “I've already anticipated that.” She pointed to the bundle of garments she'd tied together. “I saw you arrive with your lady-wife,” she said. The wine she'd used to fortify herself blunted the pain of the expected dismissal. But her body was restless. It did not accept her new fate so easily. She squirmed beneath the coverlet. Her body craved the attention he once lavished on her.
    “Lady Pikhorn is very tall. I believe she suits you. You will breed Amazons and giants. Children with her vibrant red hair or your beautiful black eyes.”
    After another emboldening swallow of the wine, she peeled away the furs. “I had been hoping we could have one last night of it. But I see that's quite impossible.”
    His eyes flickered. Was he surprised to find that she'd been nearly naked beneath the covers? He seemed particularly fascinated with her bare calves.
    She drew the tunic over her head and tossed it back into the sewing basket. His wolfish gaze hungrily stroked her bared body. “I'd been thinking all week of what I wished to do to you,” she said. “I wanted to kneel at your feet. To take each of those deliciously heavy sacs and lave them with my tongue before taking turns cupping each in my mouth. Then I'd lick away the cream that would have formed at the tip of your cock.”
    Though her body was rosy from the heat, her nipples puckered at the thought of servicing him.
    Beckett's gaze drifted to her breasts, plainly focusing on the manifestation of her desire. She wet her finger and swirled it around one of her aroused nipples, then did the same for the other, making them glisten.
    His eyes gleamed with a predatory light. Unsettled, her voice quavered as she continued. She showed him that her hair was now long enough to wrap around her fist.
    “You could have had a nice grasp on my locks, and be quite demanding. Make sure I took as much of you in my mouth as I possibly could.”
    He stalked to the window, worked the bolts loose, and flung open the shutters. They clapped against the stone wall. The night poured in. His nostrils flared as they drew in the frigid air.
    He turned back to face her, his entire body held tensely. “Put your damn clothes on,” he thundered.
    She nearly unbalanced herself with a curtsy, and said, “Your command is my wish, or some such obedient