He leaned down. Brought his mouth gently to hers. Kissed her, slowly, tenderly. She savored the taste of him, breathing him in. Kissing him back, slowly, until she thought her chest would burst from the need to let go. To pull him down, to take him. Be taken.
A stream trickled somewhere in the distance. A happy sound, so carefree and light, and in such counterpoint to her galloping heart.
He pulled away. His body was tense, and she thought maybe he felt it too. This raging need. But still, he kept himself in check.
Will was from such a different world, and she thought how, right then, he’d probably be concerned for her. He’d be mindful of her fears, her anxieties.
If only he knew how much she wanted him. Her only fear, the thought that he might not love her. Desire consumed her. It was a palpable thing, like a constant drone in her head, or a filter that colored her world.
If he didn’t know, she would show him.
“Lie down,” she whispered. She urged him lower. Seated herself next to him in the dirt, guided Will’s shoulders down til he was lying on his back. She stretched her body along his, on her side.
He watched her, his eyes now gold in the light, now green in the shadow, so intent on her.
She climbed onto him, straddled him. She felt him through all that wool, big and hard, and feminine satisfaction swelled through her to know she was the cause. Felicity rocked her hips, settling him in her cleft, and heat and want suffused her.
“I’ve thought about this for some time,” she told him, her voice husky with desire. She took his hand, raised it to her breast.
He cupped her carefully at first. She ground her hips more snugly to him, and something dark and hungry clouded his eyes. He gripped her more surely then, kneading her breast, thumbing her nipple, a faint bump through the thick fabric of her gown.
“Aye? And what did you think?”
“I wondered if you’d be gentle.” She leaned over him and watched, gratified, as he ogled her nearly spilling from the low-cut gown. She rubbed her thumb along his lower lip. “Or if you’d be rough.”
“Oh, aye?” His voice was hoarse, tight with lust. “And what did you decide?”
“I decided you’d be a little of both. A little gentle.” She leaned down further, taking his mouth in a tender kiss. “And”—Felicity pulled away and then dipped back in, nipping at his lower lip—“a little rough. Because, Will Rollo, I want you way too much not to get a little rough.”
“Och, woman.” He breathed deeply, tried to master himself. Despite what she said about gentleness, he wanted to tear the clothes from her body. Free his cock from the aggravation of all this wool that had been chafing him for so many weeks now, the coarse fabric abrading his flesh til it felt raw. His every nerve, strained and ready.
He sat up just enough to wrap his arms around her back. The movement burrowed him more snugly into her cleft, the drag of wool on his skin maddening. He needed to feel her, flesh on flesh.
He wanted to rip, but instead he carefully untied each lace. Many hours had he spent studying those intricate closures, imagining all the ways in which he could tear them from her.
The gown loosened and her breasts shifted lower, fuller. He needed to feel them, would finally feel them, against his skin.
His hands found her ankles. Stroking upward, he smoothed his palms up her calves, her thighs, dragging her gown up and over her head. Felicity, naked.
His heart stopped in his chest at the sight of her. This lovely, unexpected gift. She was so pale and perfect. The dappled sunlight fell on her yellow hair, stippling shadows across the delicate curve of her mouth, her cheekbones, her brows. He forced himself to breathe.
“You’re beautiful,” he told her quietly, simply. The smile she gave him in response was so soft, so dear, he thought that to feel this woman’s adoration was to know true joy.
“Felicity,” he said, savoring her name in his mouth, thinking how truly she’d been named. “Such a joy you are. Such a treasure.” He traced a tentative finger down her cheek, her throat. Brought his eyes once more to her breasts, and something stabbed at his heart. Surely he didn’t deserve this. Surely it would end. “Are you certain you want a man like me?”
Mesmerized he watched those expressive brown eyes, one moment raw with desire, the next serene and sure.
“I’ve never been more certain.”
And then something happened to those eyes. They darkened, raking over his body, avidly, hungrily.
She brought her hands to his plaid. Pushed it from his shoulder. Pulled his shirt over his head. Unbuckled his belt. Loosened the plaid at his waist.
Felicity shifted one hip up, and then the other, tugging the wool from his lap, freeing him, finally. “Oh, aye,” he heard himself groan.
Still on his lap, she scooted back, devouring him with her eyes. The vision of this beautiful, perfect woman ogling his erection made his cock twitch, and Rollo thought he’d never been so hard. The need to be in her was a torture now, urgent, consuming.
She brought her hand to him. Her grip was cool, and yet it didn’t soothe him. His body raged, hot and hungry for her. She brought her thumb to the tip of him, rubbed the thick bead of moisture there, his head slick and ready for her. “Och, Felicity, love,” he moaned.
Easing her weight onto one knee, she tried to tug the wool from where it was still draped over his thighs.
“No,” he rasped, stilling her hand with his. “The plaid stays.” He’d not ruin this moment by exposing his detested flaws to her.
She froze, pinning him with an unreadable gaze. “William Rollo,” Felicity said in a calm monotone. “You think too much.” Pushing at his shoulders, she guided him back onto the ground and straddled him once more. “I’m not doing my job very well,” she purred, crawling back down the length of him, “if you’re able to do all this thinking.”
He shut his eyes. He wanted to keep his legs hidden from her, and yet he was paralyzed, desperate to know what this strange and miraculous woman would do next.
He felt her hand on him again. Felt her stroke down, then up, the head of him tacky and slick with his want for her.
And then he felt her tongue, and the world as he knew it collapsed on itself. “Oh . . .” was all he could manage.
She sucked him slowly into her mouth, deeper and deeper. “Ohh,” he rasped again. He’d not have guessed such a thing could ever happen to him. “What are you . . . ?”
Felicity pulled back up and he felt a wet pop as he slid from between her lips. She stroked with both hands, all over and around him, and then spoke, her breath hot on his damp and sensitized skin. “You are still thinking too much,” she scolded in a whisper.
She took him into her mouth again, eagerly now. And this time, when she finally pulled away and he felt her pulling the plaid from over his legs, he couldn’t muster concern. Self-consciousness had been dissolved, relegated to some distant memory.
“You silly man,” she murmured. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”
It wasn’t until he felt her kisses trail up and down each leg that he knew what she referred to. He stilled, waiting. Holding himself frozen, wondering what she would think, what she would say. He felt her tongue graze his right knee.
His cursed knee. The last time he’d been able to stretch it, to straighten or bend it, had been the morning of his seventh birthday.
“I’ve told you before,” she scolded. “You’re hot.” She nibbled down the side of his leg. “Scars . . . are hot.”
He didn’t fully trust what he thought he was hearing.
Until she crawled back up the length of him. The way she stalked low along his body, desire smoking her eyes, stoked his body to a fever pitch. He thought he might climax from the feel of her skin on his alone.
He couldn’t bear it. Could wait no longer.
She’d reached just level to him when Rollo tangled his fingers in her hair, and took her mouth in a punishing kiss. He flipped Felicity onto her back, his mouth ravaging hers, her neck, her breasts.
He twined his fingers with hers, pinning her hands over her head, staring at her, his heart pounding. Her lips were reddened from his kisses, slightly parted, waiting for more. “I love you, Felicity. What may come, know that I love you.”
He dared not wait for her response. Couldn’t bear to know whether she loved him in return, and so stole the words from her mouth with a kiss.
And then, with a shift of his hips, he stole the breath from her lungs.
Will plunged into her, sinking slowly down to the root of him. She was so wet and so ready, the feel of her body gripping him shook him to the core.
He stilled, holding himself over her, in her, catching his breath. Their gazes caught. She was panting, her eyes half lidded, muzzy from desire.
He never knew it would be like this. Had never imagined.
They lost themselves then, bodies tangling on the forest floor. Hands, mouths, hips, frenzied and consuming each other until someone’s shout, someone’s moan, resounded through the trees.
And Will and Felicity lay entwined, their hard breathing the only human sound amidst the peaceful rustle and burble of the woods.
Chapter 19
Felicity grinned at the roses littering her bed. Their scent had greeted her first, the moment she’d walked into the room.
She took one of the voluptuous pink blooms and pressed it to her nose. The fragrance was lush, heady. A flower for lovers, Will had written in his note. He knew she didn’t consider herself a roses girl. Yet she was his, he wrote, his lover, like it or no.
And she was liking it. Very, very much.
Felicity sat on the edge of the bed, nose still nestled in the thick, velvety petals, looking around at this strange, new life of hers.
Her room was airy, with yellow wainscoting and quaint furniture like something from a doll’s house. Her favorite lavender dress rustled along the silk of the navy blue duvet.
She’d thought nothing could be more life- changing than getting transported into the past. But that was before she’d been with Will, rolling on the forest floor like some wild thing. Hearing his words of love. Giving herself, utterly. This losing herself in him, this was the real life-altering event, profound, unexpected.
