Cree smiled and stretched his arms out to her, and she hurried into them. He felt her sigh against him and his shaft that had gone limp sprung to life once again. She ached to be in his arms as much as he ached to have her there. She had not been as distracted as he had thought and that stirred him even more.
She looked up at him and he smiled when she mouthed, impatient.
“I thought you were tired.”
She shook her head and patted his chest.
“Aye, and I am never too tired to make love to you.”
He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, though this time he joined her there.
Cree lay on his side, Dawn on her back, so he could explore her body with gentle caresses. “I love touching you. Your skin is so soft.”
Dawn tapped his chest then his hand and smiled, not that she needed to tell him how much she loved his touch, since she had told him time and again. For a man with such powerful hands, he had the gentlest touch that always fired her passion. Though she wondered if their passion always hovered near the surface and the simplest touch was all that was needed to ignite it.
She smiled again and pressed her finger to his lips.
“You know my thoughts, wife,” he whispered and leaned down to taste where his hand had touched.
Dawn cherished the way he lavished her body with kisses, nibbles, and nips. And as her body sparked and fired with passion, she turned slightly so that she could slip her hand down between his legs and caress him.
They took their time with each other until neither could stand it any longer and Cree slipped into her gently, ever mindful of the bairn nestled in her stomach.
Dawn gripped his arms tight, and it wasn’t long before her finger was tapping his arm incessantly and Cree watched as she squeezed her eyes tight and her mouth opened in a silent scream of pleasure, and he joined her.
They lay snuggled together afterwards, content and happy… until.
“You need to slip your nightdress on,” he whispered in her ear.
She shook her head and cuddled tighter against him.
“Dawn,” he said as if commanding her, and she shook her head again.
She drew her head back, tapped her chest then tapped his and stuck her chin up.
“Are you telling me that if you have to wear something to bed then I must as well?”
She nodded.
He grinned, thinking he had bested her. “Fine. I will wear my shirt.”
She nodded again and it wasn’t long before they both were back in bed cuddled together—garments separating them.
Dawn kept herself cuddled close to her husband. She knew it would not take long and she kept her devious smile to herself.
It was a slight shift that alerted her to his discomfort, then another, then a longer one, then an irritated one, then…
“Bloody hell! Take that garment off,” Cree ordered, springing up in bed and yanking his shirt off and tossing it away, then he turned to help Dawn. He stopped when he saw the smug smile on her face. “You may have won this one, wife, but you won’t win the next one,” he warned and yanked her into his arms once she tossed her garment aside.
Dawn settled against his naked body smiling, thinking he might not want to wager on that.
Cree and Dawn were already seated at a table in the Great Hall the next morning when Torin entered, rubbing his hands together after tossing his cloak on the bench.
“Getting the lay of the land for Lord Bhric?” Cree asked, having already been made aware that Lord Torin was out sniffing about, asking questions, the young lasses eagerly talking with him. Torin’s brow went up a fraction, unnoticeable to most but not to Cree. He was either impressed or annoyed that Cree knew what he’d been doing.
“Lord Bhric asked me to look over the area and see what is needed,” Torin said about to join them at the table when Tavia entered.
She walked toward him, her father not far behind her. “My apologizes for not being able to meet you yesterday but—”
“You have been hurt,” Torin said and looked past her to Newlin. “Why didn’t you tell me Lord Bhric’s bride had suffered an injury? He will want to know about this immediately.”
Lord Torin’s reaction was what she had feared from her new husband. Her da had been insistent about not informing Lord Bhric of her limp. She had argued strenuously against his decision but in the end he had his way.
Newlin hurried around his daughter, brushing Torin’s concern aside. “It is nothing. Tavia is fine.”
“She limps. She is not fine,” Torin argued. “Lord Bhric needs to be informed about this.”
“And he will be when he arrives,” Newlin said.