Bound by Honor

“The prince enjoys his entertainment,” Will said, standing at the door again. “ ’ Tis best not to fight it, else you may find yourself hurt, or otherwise . . . upset . . . in the attempt.”

Marian was beginning to understand. Her stomach pitched, and all the arousal that had peaked through her body ebbed away, leaving her cold and empty. “And so it will continue. Nights like tonight.”

“Like tonight . . . and more,” he said. “You can be certain of it.”

And he left.

The door to Marian’s chamber opened after no more than a few moments. Robin was surprised by that, but he assumed either Nottingham’s performance lacked finesse and was quicker than a noosed man dropping from the scaffold . . . or he hadn’t performed at all.

By the look of the sheriff, Robin suspected the latter.

Nottingham shut the door behind him and turned to leave, giving Robin a clear view of his black expression.

Though there was a weariness about him, the sheriff certainly did not look like a man who’d just tupped the lovely Lady Marian.

Robin couldn’t resist a smile in the dark of a deep alcove as Nottingham walked past. But then the smile froze and disappeared.

“If I were an outlaw,” came the sheriff ’s voice wafting down the corridor behind him, like an afterthought, “I should make certain that I wasn’t so foolish as to be discovered in the very place I should not be . . . for I might find myself shortly dressed in a noose.”

Nottingham’s solid strides never hitched or paused, and he continued on, leaving Robin to glare after him.

Though her day had been exhausting, Marian slept little that night. And when she did sleep, her dreams swirled with dark, erotic images. She woke near dawn with aching breasts and a dull throb between her legs, her body moist, warm, and unsettled.

Her long hair had become loose in its thick braid and was clinging to her damp skin and wrapping around her arms and torso. When she rolled beneath the linens, her sensitive nipples brushed against the fabric and hardened even more. Her legs pressed together, and the pulsing there between them seemed to grow stronger.

The memories of last evening in John’s chambers surged back into her mind, though she tried to block them out. She’d never imagined the sensuality of such sights, of red tongues and slick lips and white breasts, of swollen, glistening quims . . . the wet sounds of lust and pleasure, the soft moans and little gasps . . . the smell of body and musky heat and sex . . . the feel of solid male muscle behind her, beneath her, and hands on her own breasts, demanding . . . yet enticing.

Marian’s breathing rose again and her fingers slid around to cover her breasts in an echo of Will’s large palms last night. They felt heavy and soft, and her skin tingled, tightening under her touch. She circled one fingertip experimentally over the top of a nipple. A responding streak of pleasure zipped down inside her, and she did it again . . . and again, and then on the other side as well. Her nipples tightened so hard they hurt, and the pounding in her quim ached and her flesh drew up tightly, expectantly. She let her legs fall apart and moved one hand down to touch herself.

Her fingers slipped through heat and wet and found the hard little pearl, the source of the throbbing. Marian closed her eyes and used the pads of her fingers to tease and dance and flicker in and around her swollen quim and the engorged nib, the pleasure and heat collecting and rising in her belly and between her legs as she shifted and bent her knees, working faster and more furiously . . . and then at last, an explosion was shooting through her body.

Warmth rushed over her as she shuddered and sighed and felt her whole person quake and shiver . . . and then lull into quiet and satiation.

Her hands slid away. She’d never felt like that after the rushed beddings with Harold. He joined her in bed, parted her legs, squeezed her breasts a bit, and then pounded himself inside her five or six times, cried out, and rolled away . . . and that was all.

After the first few occasions, Marian had learned to ease the way by slipping her own fingers up inside her quim beforehand, using her own moisture-or butter from the kitchen-to lubricate her body before he came to her . . . but she’d rarely given herself pleasure like she had this morning. And when she had, the results had never been so intense . . . so desperate. So necessary.

She had a sudden flash of Will’s face last night as he stood by the door.

I’m no saint, Marian.

She doubted that not a whit.

Yet he hadn’t forced her. He hadn’t even attempted it.

Even though in John’s chamber Will had had his hands all over her-despite the fact that she’d felt his own heart slamming in his chest, his breathing harsh in her ear . . . and the unmistakable bulge of his cock beneath her-he’d left her untouched in the chamber.

He’d left her still burning with a need she hadn’t, until now, really understood how to resolve.