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And when she did submit to him, her acquiescence would be far more noble than any conquest won by a charlatan peddling dragon horn.

      As long as he could continue to overlook the fact that there was a leather wedding band on her heart finger, Owain knew he would enjoy rutting with the redhead in any one of the hay-filled stalls.

      ‘I didn’t mean to upset you with my ignorant comment about dragon horn.’

      She didn’t look at him as she said the words. Instead they were spoken over her shoulder as she continued to pet Drusilla. The dragon continued to purr as she caressed its cheek and wings.

      ‘You weren’t to know,’ he assured her. He was thankful for the darkness of the stalls. It stopped her from seeing the solemnity of his features. ‘I once had a bad experience because of someone spinning lies about dragon horn,’ he explained. ‘I suppose I overreact whenever it’s mentioned nowadays.’

      He looked up to see she had stopped petting the dragon.

      Silently, she had moved to stand by his side. She stared up at him, her emerald eyes sparkling softly. Her chest seemed to rise and fall with a quickened pace. His gaze fell to the heave of her breasts. The thrust of her nipples jutted sharp against the light cotton of her kirtles.

      Unable to stop himself, Owain licked his lips.

      ‘Do you like what you see, sire?’ she asked coyly.

      The red and gold kirtles were laced with ribbon at the breast. She reached for the dangling thread of one ribbon and teased it so the binding began to unravel.

      ‘Would sire like to see more?’

      The coquettish lilt to her voice was thoroughly endearing.

      Owain dearly wanted to show decency and propriety. He wanted to mention the fact that she wore a leather band on her heart finger and was therefore either married or betrothed to another. But, whilst he wanted to act like a gallant knight or chivalrous suitor, his actions were dictated by the needs of his loins.

      ‘I’d like to do a lot more than see,’ he told her.

      He pulled her into his embrace, snaking one arm around her waist so that she was brought close to him. He lowered his face to her lips and then they were kissing with a passion that was as ferocious and fulfilling as he had expected.

      Her tongue explored his mouth. She curled one leg around his hip, pressing the centre of her sex against her thigh. A sob of raw desire whimpered from her throat as she ground herself against him. Her hands pushed at his chest, fumbling to remove his tunic and gain access to his bare flesh.

      With a moan of desperation she wrenched her mouth from his.

      ‘Take me,’ she pleaded.

      He couldn’t hide his smile.

      ‘If you insist.’ He lowered his face to the unfastened décolletage of her kirtles and pressed his nose between her breasts. Drinking in the dusky scent of her nearness he moved his mouth over one orb and suckled against the stiff, throbbing tip of her nipple.

      She groaned.

      He stiffened at the sound and cast a wary glance toward the doorway. When he realised that no one had been alerted by the cry of her pleasure he allowed himself to relax and enjoy the experience and stop worrying that she might have a husband or fiancé lurking in the shadows ready to accuse her of being adulterous or challenge him for being a swiver.

      When the redhead groaned again, Owain savoured the sound.

      He resisted the urge to buck his loins against her.

      Working with dragons fuelled him with a constant arousal but he was loathe to surrender himself so quickly to such a base response. Holding her in one arm, teasing the shape of her exposed breast with one hand as he suckled against the hard and unyielding tip of the other, Owain revelled in her heightened responses to his teasing.

      She was breathless and trembling and desperate for his cock.

      ‘Take me,’ she begged. ‘I’m so wet for you now.’

      She grabbed at his tunic with her left hand. It was the same hand that bore the leather band on her heart finger.

      ‘I’m so wet,’ she insisted.

      He refused to think about the fact that she was in a relationship with someone else. Instead he caught her nipple between his front teeth and pressed the tiniest nibble against her exposed flesh.

      ‘Yes!’ she breathed. ‘Oh! You can do that all season. Yes!’

      He could hear the tears of need being squeezed from her voice. He would have carried on alternating his kisses from one breast and then onto the other if she hadn’t managed to slip her fingers beneath his tunic.

      The sensation of her cool hand against his warm flesh was too much to resist.

      Her fingers stroked downwards, pushing beyond the drawstring waist that fastened his hosen. He knew she was reaching for the pulsing hardness at the centre of his loins.

      And then she had a fist encircled around him.

      ‘My goodness,’ she exclaimed. ‘I see you’re smuggling a longsword in your pants.’

      She squeezed her grip around him and he shivered.

      ‘I trust you know how to handle such a weapon,’ she teased.

      ‘I think you’re handling it just fine for me,’ he grinned.

      It wasn’t the first time he had enjoyed such banter. Lifting her in his arms, comforted that she didn’t remove her fingers from their hold around his shaft, he carried the redhead to one of the hay-filled stalls. They lay down slowly together, their bodies buoyed by a mattress of prickly hay.

      As he moved his head back toward her breasts, anxious to suckle again against her stiff nipple, she pulled herself away.

      He frowned, concerned that he had done something to dampen her ardour.

      ‘Please don’t tease me,’ she insisted. ‘I want you now. I need to feel you inside me.’ The hand around his erection gripped tight as she added, ‘I need to feel you inside me right now.’

      He laughed and nodded.

      The nearness of dragons had that affect. Aside from the pleasure of working with the beasts themselves, it was one of the main benefits of being responsible for the husbandry of the dragons. Every man or woman who petted a dragon was filled by the immediate urge to rut.

      He pushed the redhead’s legs apart and knelt between them.

      She shifted the hem of her kirtles upwards and lay back for him.

      In better light he would have been able to appraise the sight she revealed. He would have been able to admire her moonlight-pale thighs and the sight of her exposed sex. He could imagine that the curls around her labia would be as rich and vibrant a red as the russet-red curls at her head.

      But the light in the stalls transformed every sight into shadows and shapes and every colour was simply saturated in darkness. He could make out pale skin touched by shards of moonlight, and dark curls that glistened sharply with dewy wetness at their centre.

      Then he realised the urgency of her need matched the strength of his own arousal and he tried to understand why he was wasting time admiring the woman when he could be rutting with her and satisfying both their appetites.

      The redhead tugged at his erection, urging him toward her.

      As eager to be inside her as she was to accept him, Owain made no attempt to deny what she wanted. She fumbled to release his shaft from his hosen and then she was guiding him toward her sex. Her left hand was cool against the super-heated ferocity of his hardness. He was gratified to note that she held her fingers so he couldn’t feel the unwelcome weight of that wedding band on her heart finger.

      She had been right to describe herself as wet.

      The

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