Rhystan waited just inside the door, near what looked like a storeroom, his heart pounding a staccato in his chest until she walked by, the scent of her like a red rag to a turkey-cock. He hauled her to him and pressed her into the nook, filling his palms with her luscious bottom. He kicked the wooden slat shut behind them.

“Hell, Sarani, these trousers,” he whispered, nuzzling into her fragrant neck. “They’re criminal on your legs. On this arse.”

“You like them?” she panted, arms going around his neck as she rubbed her body against his. It gratified him to see that the near-painful state of arousal was mutual.

“I like you in them.”

With a moan, she kissed him, shoving up to her tiptoes and dragging her open mouth across his. He felt the swipe of her tongue and then the wicked nip of her teeth on his lower lip. He groaned at the bite of pain, pleasure following in its wake. And then it was a mass of lips, teeth, and tongues as they devoured each other, uncaring of the tiny room or the fact that they could be discovered at any moment.

“What are you doing to me?” he growled, one hand tugging her shirt out and slipping up inside to her warm skin.

Her breasts were bound with linen, but he still rubbed over her hardened nipples, pinching them lightly. He swallowed her moans with his mouth, his hand going to her falls. Blast these buttons! He tore them from their moorings, shoving them down to cup her sex with his palm.

“Bloody hell, you’re soaked.” His cock was hard enough to hammer steel. “I want you so badly.”

“Yes,” she gasped, her tongue sucking his, her own fingers tugging at his hair. “Now, please.”

Rhystan didn’t hesitate. He unbuttoned his own fly—not falls, thank his ingenious tailor—pulled his weeping cock out, lifted her up, and drove himself to the hilt. She was so wet that he glided in snugly, though she gasped at the intrusion and he groaned at the tightness.

“Rhystan,” she said breathlessly.

He kissed her harder. “I love hearing my name on your lips.”

She clenched her muscles, hooking her knees over his hips, hardly able to do more, impaled as she was on him. “Enough prevaricating, Your Grace. Hurry up and take me before someone barges in here.”

God, this woman.

Rhystan did just that, grabbing handfuls of those perfect hips and driving into her. Sarani held on for dear life, arms winding around his neck. The position of her split legs wrapped around him made her gasp every time their bodies ground together, and soon, she was panting, her desire spiraling to the precipice.

“Rhystan!” she cried.