changed her mind about this and intended to return to her studies.
She regarded him solemnly.
He couldn’t stand the suspense. “What?”
“I want the same of you. Fully naked.”
Astounded and pleased, he grinned.
“You must take care with my virginity though. I may lose my resolve. You cannot.”
He wanted to laugh, bellow his frustration, beg her to reconsider and agree to wed him, with their betrothal solving everything.
“Please.” She touched his cheek lightly.
His heart stalled, then raced out of control, but he nodded, determined to honor her request. Getting them out of their clothes wasn’t an opportunity he’d pass up, though the matter soon proved far more daunting than he planned. He wasn’t a stranger to buttons and laces on a woman’s garments. However, hers seemed made to defeat him.
Biting back oath after oath, he forced himself not to rend the fabric in his haste to uncover her. At last, her gown lay on the blanket, followed by her kirtle, farthingale, and chemise.
After placing her shoes to the side, Sancha faced him.
The sun had gone behind the trees, the last of its light streaming across her nudity. The finest cream couldn’t have competed with the smooth texture of her skin, its flawless white flushed with pink. Her nipples were rosy and aroused, tips erect, the curls between her legs fiery, the same as her hair.
She looked too perfect to be real. His mouth watered.
She tugged on his shirt. “How does this come off? Why are you still wearing it?”
“I thought you were a woman with endless patience.”
“I have been in the past when I had to see to my own restraint. Now I have you to protect me from myself.”
Yes, there was that. He held back a sigh at what he’d promised, wondering if such denial would kill a man. Good sense told him to turn away, order her to dress, return to the castle, and drink himself into a stupor.
His heart wouldn’t allow defeat, urging him to woo her to his side, prove she could trust him not to clip her wings as she did with him.
Before either of them changed their minds, he tossed his shoes aside, pulled off his belt, shirt, hose, and braies, dropping everything into a messy pile. At last, he was naked and fully aroused.
* * * *
She studied him as one would a celebrated painting or a brilliant sunset, speechless at its beauty.
His arms were muscular, and his chest, torso, and the rest of him so perfect she’d never understand how anyone could consider a man’s nudity wrong. To her, his male beauty was miraculous.
Dark hair dusted his powerful calves and thighs. His sex was pendulous, the root of his shaft nestled in a nest of thick, dark curls. Veins dashed up the erect column, his crown scarlet with passion. A bead of clear fluid escaped the small slit at the top.
She longed to touch and taste the pearl of moisture but still had far too much to see. His sac was lightly furred, the two halves plump to make a perfect whole. Yearning and curiosity encouraged her to touch and explore him as a blind woman might, caressing every part until she’d had her fill.
She never would.
She’d guessed his intent about these moments when he’d come to her room with his basket. Yet, she hadn’t stopped him. Didn’t want to. She’d been in agony these last weeks with him so close, every look, word, unexpected touch tormenting her. Hours would go by with her reading the same passage dozens of times understanding none of the words. Her mind kept drifting to him. She’d listened for his footfalls, waited to hear his deep voice as he spoke to a servant, smiled when he laughed, wondering what had made him happy.
Avoiding Enrique hadn’t caused her to forget him. Her longing had merely deepened, driving her mad with desire. She still feared succumbing to their basest needs, though not because it was wrong. Sancha couldn’t imagine anything more sacred than a man and a woman coming together, or a matter more frightening than marriage when it came
She regarded him solemnly.
He couldn’t stand the suspense. “What?”
“I want the same of you. Fully naked.”
Astounded and pleased, he grinned.
“You must take care with my virginity though. I may lose my resolve. You cannot.”
He wanted to laugh, bellow his frustration, beg her to reconsider and agree to wed him, with their betrothal solving everything.
“Please.” She touched his cheek lightly.
His heart stalled, then raced out of control, but he nodded, determined to honor her request. Getting them out of their clothes wasn’t an opportunity he’d pass up, though the matter soon proved far more daunting than he planned. He wasn’t a stranger to buttons and laces on a woman’s garments. However, hers seemed made to defeat him.
Biting back oath after oath, he forced himself not to rend the fabric in his haste to uncover her. At last, her gown lay on the blanket, followed by her kirtle, farthingale, and chemise.
After placing her shoes to the side, Sancha faced him.
The sun had gone behind the trees, the last of its light streaming across her nudity. The finest cream couldn’t have competed with the smooth texture of her skin, its flawless white flushed with pink. Her nipples were rosy and aroused, tips erect, the curls between her legs fiery, the same as her hair.
She looked too perfect to be real. His mouth watered.
She tugged on his shirt. “How does this come off? Why are you still wearing it?”
“I thought you were a woman with endless patience.”
“I have been in the past when I had to see to my own restraint. Now I have you to protect me from myself.”
Yes, there was that. He held back a sigh at what he’d promised, wondering if such denial would kill a man. Good sense told him to turn away, order her to dress, return to the castle, and drink himself into a stupor.
His heart wouldn’t allow defeat, urging him to woo her to his side, prove she could trust him not to clip her wings as she did with him.
Before either of them changed their minds, he tossed his shoes aside, pulled off his belt, shirt, hose, and braies, dropping everything into a messy pile. At last, he was naked and fully aroused.
* * * *
She studied him as one would a celebrated painting or a brilliant sunset, speechless at its beauty.
His arms were muscular, and his chest, torso, and the rest of him so perfect she’d never understand how anyone could consider a man’s nudity wrong. To her, his male beauty was miraculous.
Dark hair dusted his powerful calves and thighs. His sex was pendulous, the root of his shaft nestled in a nest of thick, dark curls. Veins dashed up the erect column, his crown scarlet with passion. A bead of clear fluid escaped the small slit at the top.
She longed to touch and taste the pearl of moisture but still had far too much to see. His sac was lightly furred, the two halves plump to make a perfect whole. Yearning and curiosity encouraged her to touch and explore him as a blind woman might, caressing every part until she’d had her fill.
She never would.
She’d guessed his intent about these moments when he’d come to her room with his basket. Yet, she hadn’t stopped him. Didn’t want to. She’d been in agony these last weeks with him so close, every look, word, unexpected touch tormenting her. Hours would go by with her reading the same passage dozens of times understanding none of the words. Her mind kept drifting to him. She’d listened for his footfalls, waited to hear his deep voice as he spoke to a servant, smiled when he laughed, wondering what had made him happy.
Avoiding Enrique hadn’t caused her to forget him. Her longing had merely deepened, driving her mad with desire. She still feared succumbing to their basest needs, though not because it was wrong. Sancha couldn’t imagine anything more sacred than a man and a woman coming together, or a matter more frightening than marriage when it came
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