...He’d come for her, just as I’d thought he would. I’d expected a longer chase, but she played the coquette for only a few minutes before he kissed her.

She liked leather, did sweet Bella. Her hands went to those long boots time and again. They undressed each other turnabout. He untied her sash and tossed it aside before unlacing her. His forefinger tugged at the drawstring neck of her gown and his hands delved within, surfacing with those heavy, rich breasts cupped one in each palm. Her chest heaved as though she’d run all the way from the mountains, and when his thumbs rubbed back and forth over her peaking nipples, her eyes closed and she groaned aloud. My cock, already hard, pulsed to hear her voice thickened with passion.

They were too self-absorbed to hear me breathing heavily high in the shadowed rafters. I slipped to the center of the room, where I had a better view. I settled into the angle where a crossbeam met a pair of trusses, and opened my cod.

The gown was loose enough that, without its bindings, a simple shrug sent it puddling around her ankles where she stood in the pale gold of the straw.

Her skin was flawless, except for a small sprinkling of freckles on the angle of her shoulder blade. The silk of her hair, the color of rusty iron ore, hung loose down her back. He put his hands in it and lifted it forward, arranging it carefully over her breasts, only to explore their peaks through the long strands with his mouth. Bella caught hold of his shoulders as if his mouth on her nipples—the nipples that would have made warm, sweet milk for me, had she only agreed, the bitch—took the strength from her legs. I held fast to the nearest truss with one hand, while I wrapped the other around my rigid cock.

After a few moments of this nuzzling, she lifted his head from her breasts and began stripping the leather laces from the placket of his shirt. He laughed at her impatience, but did not help her. When the neck was loose enough to pass over his head, she knelt at his feet, rising slowly with the hem of his shirt in her hands, bundling the fabric as she rose. He obliged when she murmured, “Lift your arms.” His linen shirt joined the pile of clothes, and she kicked away her gown when it tangled around her feet. The whiteness of her pantalettes glowed, but against her skin the cloth looked harsh.

Her mouth followed her hands.

She kissed her way upward, from his navel along the furred furrow of his midline. She caught first one nipple in her mouth—biting, from the look of him as he gritted his teeth and clenched his hands in her hair—and then the other.

She was no innocent, was lovely Bella. She knew that a little sting made the wet heat of her mouth something dangerous but irresistible.

I slowly stroked my cock from base to leaking tip. Just one stroke. More, and my pleasure would not keep pace with theirs, and I could be discovered. It grew and firmed under that one touch, and I panted hard.

When his shirt was gone, she turned her attention to his codpiece. The closing was complicated, it seemed, but then I saw she was teasing him, brushing her hands over the fabric, scraping her nails around each button. His pelvis jerked toward her with every touch, and she laughed softly.

It was a wicked laugh.

A knowing laugh.