Bound by Honor

Alys nearly came off the pallet when he kissed the inside of her thigh. Just a little brush of lips, but she was so sensitive that the prickles shot all up and down, and then there were more, from every direction, as he kissed his way along her thigh, along that sensitive, soft, virginal skin, toward the cluster of golden curls. . . . She held her breath when he reached them, but he skimmed over her full nether lips, merely brushing the edges of the hair, and then settled on the other thigh.

She relaxed, closed her eyes, opened them, and vaguely saw the timber-roofed ceiling. Then she closed them again as his tongue sleeked out and his lips bussed gently against her leg, along its innermost part. . . . She sighed, no longer needing to twitch and shift with every touch. . . . She felt herself grow and swell. . . .

He lifted his head and she saw the laughter in his eyes, and the heat, the determination . . . the pleasure. ’Twas the overt delight, the lust in his own expression, that undid her and when he touched her ever so lightly, with the tip of his tongue . . . right there on her tight little pearl, Alys gave a soft little cry and arched back onto the pallet.

“Aye,” he murmured in deep satisfaction, but his mouth moved against her and she felt the vibration against her pip, and she writhed more because it was so . . . hot, taut, needy. “Ah, Alys,” he sighed.

And then it began in earnest . . . first a little tickle with the point of his tongue, and then a long, slow swipe on either side of her swollen quim, down into the depths of its folds, then over and back and forth and around and inside and she could no longer follow the path, and she fell into the rhythm of it, let it suck her in . . . the pull and tug and rise and rise of warmth. . . . She felt it shiver up her legs where his fingers lightly moved, and from her belly, it coiled and spun down and around and before she knew it, she was crying out . . . for something. . . . She cried and begged and gasped and he slipped and slid faster and faster and finally she felt something give.

Just give . . . and then she cried out and her body was an uncontrollable mass of shiver and shudders and tears and long, great, rolling warmth.

Alys did not know how long it was before she opened her eyes, but when she did, there he was. Looking down at her with the most satisfied grin, the happiest eyes-as if he’d just brought down a boar single-handedly. Or fought off a band of raiders on his own. Or found heaven.

“Would it be fair to say you enjoyed helping me break my fast?” he murmured, trailing a sleek finger up from her still-pulsing core along the soft rise of her belly.

She could only nod, still trying to focus. “Robin. Is it always like that?” she whispered, reaching up to touch his face.

“Nay. Only if one is very fortunate.” His grin grew wider. “I consider us the most fortunate of all.”

“But you . . .” Her voice trailed off. There was no “us” about it. She might be a maid, but she knew enough to know that he’d not found the same pleasure as she.

He shook his head gently. “I’ll not take your maidenhead, Alys. It belongs to your husband, whenever you might take one.”

“What is this?” she asked, keeping her tone light. “Has the outlaw grown a conscience?”

“The outlaw . . .” His voice trailed off, then picked up more strongly. “The outlaw Robin of the Hood shall be no more.”

“What?”

He pulled away, ruffling his thick hair with an energetic hand, looking across the room. “It has weighed upon me as of late, this charade I play. And I’ve lost a great friend this day, and I do not wish to put any more of my comrades in danger. There are other ways to help the people of Nottinghamshire. And . . . I have fallen in love with a lady that I shall not endanger. ’Tis that, most of all, that has opened my eyes.”

“Endanger?”

“I’m wanted by the law-by the prince. Any liaison we have would implicate you as well.” He cupped her face in his hands, seriousness in his expression. “I cannot take you as my leman, much as I want to. If a miracle happens, when the king returns and if God wills it, you’ll be the wife of Robin of Locksley. But I will not despoil you before then. Much as I want to.”

“But, Robin,” she said, but he covered her lips with his, drowning her protests. The throb between her legs began anew along with the sleek swipe of his tongue, curling inside her. She felt his cock lift and shift against her thigh and without any further thought, Alys reached for it, slipping beneath his braies.

Soft as velvet, yet hard as iron, it grew and swelled in her hand. She almost forgot to kiss him, to taste him, as she was so enthralled by the sensation, and the burning between her legs began anew.