She sighed deeply, and he sucked her harder between his lips. “I want to feel you inside me.”
He had her on her back before she even finished speaking.
Every part of him burned for her. He hovered over her, bending to capture her mouth as he pushed inside her.
And then the world stopped. Complete and utter standstill.
He was damn sure he stopped breathing, knew he couldn’t string together a coherent sentence even if his life depended on it.
Sweet Avalon.
He told himself to go slow, every flex of his hips, every thrust, every single moment that he held still, a part of her, the pleasure deliciously excruciating.
“Luc.” Her back bowed, her hands going over her head to snare the blankets beneath them.
Slipping from her body, he gently bit on her nipple, letting the seeking pressure drag another cry from her lips. Thighs parted, a sexy flush darkening her skin, her dark hair spread out beneath her, she was still every bit the wild thing who had crept into his life with the same unexpected intensity that had her clinging to him.
And it had all started when she held that wooden sword at his throat, taunting him about embarrassing him further.
“Luc, please.”
She didn’t need to tell him what she wanted. He wanted it too. Wanted to dive off the edge, crash into the pleasure that would snatch the breath from his lungs as she caught him all over again.
He couldn’t have stopped it any more than he’d been able to prevent the one thing he’d sworn he wouldn’t do that night—fall in love with her.
Impatient, she shifted beneath him, letting him slide even deeper. It couldn’t have been more than a millimeter, maybe two, and he shot to a whole new level of scorching need that stunned him.
He pumped his hips, letting the need for release dictate the mindless rhythm that consumed him. He slipped a hand beneath her hips, holding her above the mattress and making them both moan at the exquisite friction.
“Harder,” she breathed.
More than willing to accommodate, Lucan drove into her, and felt his control start to slip.
He fought the instinct, not wanting to drink from her so soon and risk the fragile bond—
Briana sank her teeth into the curve between his neck and shoulder, the bite hard and savage enough to make him clench his jaw, but it didn’t slow him down for even a second.
Every part of him roared in acceptance of the predatory brand that marked him as hers in every way, and he thrust inside her again. One more hot, slick glide that rocketed him to a mind-blowing release.
By the gods.
“Lucan?”
He opened his eyes, not sure how long he’d been lost to the almost violent orgasm. Briana cupped his cheek, and he turned his face into her palm. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Probably not,” she sighed, grinning.
Growling, he bit her hand in mock punishment, letting her teasing keep him from backsliding to a dark place. He’d lived in the shadows long enough. “I love you, Briana.”
“How did you get the nickname Lancelot?” she asked sometime later, her voice sleepy, content.
Drawing circles across her hip, he shrugged. “I was good with a spear?”
Briana arched a brow, not buying the easy answer. “Is that so?” She slipped a hand under the sheet, feeling her way up the inside of his thigh. Right when he thought she’d purposely misunderstood what he meant by spear, her fingers wiggled across his skin.
Laughing, he trapped her hand in his. “What are you doing?”
There wasn’t a trace of innocence on her face. “Looking for a ticklish spot.”
“What makes you think I’m ticklish?”
The adorable frown he loved creased her brows, then she attacked with her other hand, and he sat up, scrambling across the mattress. “Don’t.”
Eyes narrowing in playful challenge, she cocked her head, her feline half emerging. “What did you say?”
“Briana,” he cautioned.
She pounced, finding the only ticklish spot on his body. He hadn’t remembered it even existed until the tips of her fingers added just the right amount of pressure to make him squirm.
Laughing, he trapped her hands behind her back. He couldn’t have planned the move better if he’d tried when she ended up tucked against his chest, every gorgeous inch back in his personal space.
Kissing him, a fun, flirty pass of her lips across his, she then drew back, a sexy smile on her face. Every single accomplishment he’d achieved paled in comparison to knowing he’d inspired the infectious grin.
“Seriously,” she added. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around your friendship with Arthur.” And Gwen. She didn’t say it, but he heard the curiosity in her tone.
“I should have gone looking for you that night. I wanted to.” Wanted so much more than to just apologize for the way he’d let the evening end.
“It’s done now.”
He shook his head. Part of him wanted to take the free pass she offered, but she deserved an explanation. “I was barely ten years old when my parents decided they wanted a permanent tie to Gwen’s family. They’d been friends for years, so to them a marriage uniting their lands made sense.”
“But it wasn’t what you wanted.”
“Not what either of us wanted.” Only a few years later Gwen had met Arthur, and though he’d excelled at finding trouble then more than steering clear of it at the time, Gwen had fallen hard.
“That night in your tent,” she began.
“Gwen was there in hopes of seeing Arthur.”
Briana nodded thoughtfully. “But you never married her.”
“It was bad enough I’d chosen to turn away from the one who held my heart in her hands, I couldn’t sit and watch Gwen do the same. So I broke the betrothal.” And broke his parents’ hearts in the process. Morgana’s armies had invaded and killed them before he’d been able to set things right.
Fate had given him a chance to make things right with Briana, and there wasn’t a moment he’d let pass without making sure she knew how grateful he was for each and every opportunity.
“Were you the one to tell Gwen about Arthur?”
He shook his head, the past reaching out to drag him back into darkness. “By the time I’d returned to Camelot with Arthur’s body, she’d already heard and locked herself away, refusing to talk to anyone. Then she disappeared, and soon after Morgana claimed responsibility for killing her.” Not everyone believed that, some insisting Gwen had taken her own life, unable to live without Arthur.
“And Lancelot?” Briana brought the topic back to her original question as she settled next to him. The soothing comfort of her fingers tracing a path down the middle of his chest made his eyes grow heavy. “Kel mentioned there was heavy drinking involved when Arthur came up with it.”
“Kel?”
“When we were trapped in the catacombs.” Her gaze turned pensive, like she was trying hard to think about what he’d said. When she didn’t add anything else, he continued.
“It was a few months after Arthur pulled Excalibur from the stone. We’d stumbled across a group of men raiding a small farm. The two of us were out-numbered by over a dozen, and seeing as we’d just been kicked out of an inn for causing a disturbance, we were both feeling too good to care.”
“So you were drunk.” Briana grinned. “And you won?”
“Fuck no.” He laughed, his ribs tensing as though they remembered every bruise he’d taken in that fight. “Excalibur or not, we weren’t standing when they finished with us.”
“And they didn’t try to take Arthur’s sword?”