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Dark fragments of memory tumbled into place and he cracked open one eye. Morwyn was asleep beside him, tangled hair framing her face, kiss-swollen lips slightly parted.

Desire tugged deep in his groin, hardening his already burgeoning erection. Stealthily, so as not to awaken her and have to face harsh reality, he rose onto his elbow.

She looked so peaceful when asleep. No one would guess she possessed a tongue incapable of remaining silent. Were he truly her enemy, he would have ripped the offending flesh from her mouth for voicing nothing but treason from the moment they’d met.

An odd sensation stabbed through his chest. She had to learn caution. Learn how to hide the fire in her eyes, the hate in her heart. Know that sometimes the truth could get you killed.

His gaze drifted over her disheveled hair, her rumpled gown. Lingered on the mark of possession he’d branded her with during the night, and the desire clawed deeper into his gut.

In the heated black, she’d welcomed him. But only because she had been half-asleep and half-petrified from her nightmare. And only because, in that disconnected moment of time, she’d imagined he was Gawain.

Gawain
. The name scraped along his nerve endings. It was a commonplace name. It didn’t mean the Gawain he’d once encountered was the same man Morwyn dreamed of. The man she’d imagined she was loving during the night.

He was under no illusions that once she was fully conscious, she’d spit in his eye rather than allow him to enjoy her again. Slowly he peeled the sheet from her legs. Her gown was twisted around her waist, revealing naked thighs. His gaze snagged on the luscious curls of her pussy, at the glimpse of plump lips, the suggestion of fresh dampness.

Chest tightened, lungs constricted. He could have her one more time before facing her fury. Lose himself in her sweet heat, hear her throaty moans of pleasure as he filled her. And maybe, once again, he’d momentarily forget the evil soaking his soul.

He trailed his fingers over the smooth flesh of her inner thighs. She stirred, legs parting farther as if in silent invitation, and he took advantage of her vulnerability.

Sliding into her tangled curls, the scent of primal sex and sated lust drifted in the air. She was wet already, her arousal evident, and he drew in a deep breath, savoring her erotic essence.

Gently he caressed the hood of her clitoris, using her juices as lubrication, fascinated by how readily her body responded to his touch. Again she stirred, angling her hips toward him, her breath noticeably ragged. Somehow he tore his gaze from her glistening pussy to look at her face. She was still asleep, lips still parted. Dreaming, doubtless, of her absent lover.

The notion jarred. Rising, he moved between her thighs and used his knees to spread her farther for his visual delight. Pink flesh tantalized and he swallowed a groan, unwilling to wake her until he was inside her, until she was so mindless with lust she’d willingly accept their mutual completion.

He pulled at the loosened ties of her bodice with fingers that shook. Thank the gods she
was
still asleep and couldn’t observe such weakness. It was only because it had been so long since he’d lain with a woman . . . discounting last night.

But last night had been swathed in velvet blackness, where they could be anyone. Now, when she opened her eyes, she would see the face of the man that caused her body to orgasm with abandoned delirium. And it wasn’t Gawain.

Breath hissed between his teeth as he eased open her gown. The tightness of her bodice prevented complete exposure, but somehow it was infinitely erotic being able to allow only one full, creamy globe to escape its confines.

Her luscious nipple beckoned, proud and erect, and he sucked the rosy berry into his mouth as he increased the pressure against her blossoming core.

Languid fingers trailed through his hair. She was close to waking, close to realizing who aroused her while she slept. He cupped her mound, slid a finger into her wet cleft, knew he couldn’t hold on much longer.

Releasing her succulent nipple, he angled his weight on one arm so he could watch her face. Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted, and he knew at any moment her eyes would open and desire would mutate into derision.

But not yet. He nudged her entrance with the head of his cock. So hot. So wet. Blood thundered in his veins, pounded against his temples, and, gritting his teeth against the primal groan that threatened to escape, he surged into her welcoming channel.

She contracted around him, strong and sure, ripples of pleasure that radiated along her sheath and across his straining shaft. Her body was so tight around him, an embrace so intimate the sensation of stretching her delicate flesh streaked along his invading cock and splintered his mind.

Her eyelashes flickered and her unfocused gaze meshed with his, eyes darkening with rising desire. Slowly he dragged his hand from between her thighs, over her hip, then pinched her nipple between thumb and finger. She sucked in a shocked gasp and her eyes glittered, but before she could give voice to the scalding words tumbling on her lips, he claimed her in an openmouthed kiss.

Swallowing her words of condemnation. Exploring the heat of her mouth, challenging her tongue for dominance, overriding her loathing with lust.

Her heels smashed into his arse, jerking him farther into her body, and a strangled groan filled his mind, rumbled along his throat. Her teeth sank into his tongue and pain throbbed, harshly arousing. She clawed the back of his neck, gouged his flesh, before releasing his tongue and tearing into the skin of his inner lip.

The metallic taste of blood swept through his senses, tensing his muscles. Intoxicating. Like nothing he’d experienced before. Yet like everything he’d wanted before.

He ripped his bloodied mouth from her, panted into her flushed face. She didn’t look away. Didn’t condemn him. Without breaking eye contact the tip of her tongue licked a drop of his blood from her lip. And then she swallowed.

It was blatantly provocative. As potent as any of his most lascivious fantasies. Need pounded along his cock, wrapped merciless fingers around his iron-hard balls. Breath gusted and he clung grimly to the edge of sanity. He would prolong this moment. Stoke their passion. Fuck her until all thought of vengeance incinerated within her mind. Until no man existed but him.

“Stop thinking, Gaul.” Her voice rasped in the sex-drenched air, and she followed her words by wrapping her legs around his waist in a brutal vise.

But he was beyond thinking. Couldn’t even form the words to respond to her taunt, because she clenched her muscles around him in a grip so tight stars exploded behind his eyes.

“Fuck.” The tortured word fell from his lips as he struggled to maintain control. But control slipped from his grasp because the only grasp his mind could comprehend was the one Morwyn controlled around his throbbing cock.

“Yes.” She dug her fingers into his scalp. “That’s right, Gaul.”

Involuntarily he rammed into her, unable to stop the primal imperative scorching his blood, erasing his reason. There was only this woman beneath him. This woman’s heat engulfing him.
Consuming him
.

He braced his weight on both hands, to give better leverage. She gasped as he changed the angle of his penetration and her hands slipped from his head, slid over his back and gripped his backside. Gods, he couldn’t hold on. He couldn’t—

Her finger delved into his crevice and even the most basic of thought processes shattered. Sensation flooded through his body, radiating from his tight balls, thundering along his rigid shaft, hammering her to the mattress with every mindless, ecstatic thrust.

Dimly, beyond the pounding beat of his heart and blood, beyond the exquisite release pumping from his cock, he heard Morwyn’s choked gasps. Felt her nails score his backside, her legs clamp even more firmly around him.

Felt her climax splinter through her as if it were his own, an indescribable melding of scorching heat and tangled limbs.

Completion
.

This time he didn’t collapse onto her. This time he panted into her face as delicious spasms, the uninhibited aftereffects of her orgasm, claimed her.

Claimed him.

And in that moment a rare certainty formed in his mind. This was more than a simple, fleeting fuck. More than a casual slaking of lust. Languid heat slid through his veins, bathed his thoughts, cradled his battered soul.

She looked up at him, eyes regaining focus. Instinctively he tensed, and the illusory moment of peace, of somehow
belonging
, shattered. Wrenching his barriers back in place, he waited for her venom. Her denials.

“And a good morn to you too, Gaul.” Her voice was ragged. Her words unexpectedly civil. His eyes narrowed, waiting for the punch. Waiting for her to realize who it was invading her body. Who had brought her such abandoned pleasure.

Instead her fingers trailed a languid path down his thighs, and against his better inclinations his cock appreciated the gesture. Morwyn smiled, as if his reaction was entirely satisfactory.

“You don’t say much, do you?”

Did she require an answer? After a moment when she continued to stare at him as if she did, indeed, require a response, he managed to locate his voice.

“What would you have me say?”

Amusement flashed over her face and shock speared through his chest. He had to be mistaken. Why would Morwyn be amused by this situation? He had expected anger that he’d taken advantage of her. Or perhaps denial that she’d enjoyed their coupling.

Acidic words, maybe even her knuckles embedded into his face.

Anything, in truth, but the extraordinary way she was currently behaving.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Her nails dug into the corded muscle of his lower thighs. “Perhaps how I was the best fuck you’ve had this moon? That would do for a start.”

Since she was the first woman he’d had in countless months, that went without saying. Somehow he knew that answer wouldn’t suffice.

“Why? Would you believe me?” And was he really conducting a conversation while still impaled within her welcoming body?

It was surreal. Took him back to a time when life was for living, not merely surviving.

A familiar ache wound its way through his guts, but for the first time tempered by—by what? He couldn’t fathom. Knew only that the ache was not as all-consuming. That he didn’t feel unclean and despicable the way he usually did after laying with a woman.

“That,” Morwyn said, pulling him abruptly back to the present, “would depend upon how sincerely you said the words.”

He shifted his weight and her legs slid from his back to thump onto the mattress. But still they remained joined.

There was no time for this interlude. They had to get back in the saddle. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to sever this strange, tenuous connection. He’d enjoy this tranquil moment for a little longer, at least.

“Morwyn.” Bracing his weight on one arm, he cradled her face with his free hand. Wasn’t sure why. It just felt right. “You’re the best fuck I’ve had for a long time.”

The faintest trace of a smile lifted her lips. “Passably sincere. You’re forgiven.”

“And what of me?” Why had he asked her that?
Gawain
thudded through his mind. Bren had no desire to be compared—and unfavorably—with her absent lover.

Gods, let the Gawain of Morwyn’s dreams not be the man Bren had so violently crossed paths with.

“You?” Morwyn’s eyebrows rose as if the question astonished her almost as much as it did him. Then her dark eyes glittered, as if with suppressed mirth.
But that couldn’t be so . . .
“Let me think.” She glanced at the ceiling as if contemplating the matter, and a thread of disbelief coiled in his belly as he finally understood.

She was flirting with him.
Again
. And again, it had taken him too long to recognize. Was he really so disconnected from normalcy?

Once again she dug her nails into his flesh, as if aware his attention had momentarily scattered. “Your performance,” she said, as if addressing a slave who had been ordered to entertain her, “was . . . passably adequate.”

Their eyes clashed, and an unfamiliar congestion curdled deep within his chest. It took a moment to realize the sensation was that of suppressed laughter.

His lips twitched, but the laughter remained buried within the cavern of his withered soul. “Merely adequate?”

“Doubtless you’ll improve with practice.”

The laugh caught him unawares, echoed around the room. A strange, unfamiliar sound. Morwyn smirked up at him, clearly well satisfied by his response.

He twisted her hair around his fingers and gently tugged. Just enough to make her wince.

“And do I need plenty of practice?” An inane question that meant nothing. He was wasting time, was further delaying his arrival in Camulodunon. But still he waited for her reply.

The tip of her tongue teased the seam of her lips in a slow, sensual caress. The need to remain in bed with her, to forget about his duty to king and country, thudded in his brain with treacherous insistence.

“Yes.” Her husky voice curled around his senses. “And next time you can start by stripping for my pleasure.”

He kissed her, harsh and swift, before pushing himself upright and out of her. Before he succumbed to his desires and took her again, and risked Roman investigation into the details of his delayed arrival when he finally reached Camulodunon.

“Next time,” he said as he watched the annoyed frown flicker over her face, “you will strip for
my
pleasure, Morwyn.” Because there was no way he’d ever strip naked before her. Not unless they were both blinded by the night, and perhaps . . . not even then.

Chapter Twelve