Page 155 of Reign

He leaned in, and our lips met. Each kiss drawn out with desire, as though we were trying to hold on to every moment. I attempted to perch on the desk in a bid to pull him between my thighs, but in my clumsiness, I sent a pile of scrolls tumbling to the floor.

“Sorry,” I murmured, but Fitzroy didn’t care.

Without hesitation, he swept the remaining parchment aside to clear the desk. I hopped onto its surface as he positioned himself between my legs. A fleeting shiver skimmed the curve of my spine as his tongue met mine, coaxing us backward until he lay atop me.

“After you gave yourself to me last night,” Fitzroy purred into my ear, his hands heading beneath the layer of my gown, “I couldn’t stop wishing I’d taken a moment to taste you.”

He edged up my skirt as he sank to his knees, pulling me by the thighs to the edge of the desk until he was eye level with what he hungered for.

With passionate kisses, he traced my inner thighs—heat flushing the back of my neck as he met my gaze with his sultry look. His lips eventually reached the top as I rucked up the fabric, shifting the layers so I could behold him.

Between my trembling thighs, I was met with Fitzroy’s handsome face, and I doubted there was a more perfect sight.

At first, he kissed me tentatively, his lips circling my pulsating part, leaving me breathless.

Then he glided his tongue along my slit, groaning into me, savoring my taste.

Beneath my breath, I moaned, trying to hush my noises—aware of soldiers nearby.

But as he slipped his fingers inside me, tenderly stroking in time with the caress of his hot tongue, I couldn’t stifle my noises of passion any longer.

“Uh—hm—Fitzroy,” I moaned.

And my cries of pleasure compelled him to devour me.

Fitzroy reached upward—mouth still pressed to my mound—grabbing my hand and placing it on the back of his head.

I threaded my fingers through his hair, gripping tight and holding him close.

“Use me,” he panted, and I did—tightening my hold and grinding myself against his face.

Slowly, I edged toward the climax—adjusting my movements, learning what I liked.

Then, all of a sudden, it was coming on quick—legs shaking, breaths trembling, panting quick and heavy.

Seconds before I could come, a voice called out. “Excuse me, my liege,” it said, shattering the sensation building within and leaving me with no reward.

At the sound of the visitor, Fitzroy emerged from between my thighs, red-cheeked and chin glistening.

But the unwanted presence didn’t stop him from drawing me close and stealing a few more kisses before breaking away.

“I’m clearly busy,” Fitzroy remarked, a trace of irritation in his tone as he wiped the wet from his lips.

I glanced over my shoulder to see a knight lingering awkwardly at the tent entrance, and any remnants of arousal vanished in an instant.

“One of your soldiers requests a moment of your time,” he said, his gaze fixed on the floorboards.

Fitzroy pulled me upright, straightening his tunic and cloak as if preparing to impress his future subject.

His eagerness to please made me smile.

As I crouched to gather the scattered letters, a shadow fell across the planks—the visitor had stepped inside.

“Excuse me, my liege,” spoke a voice I knew well. “May I have a moment with Smith, alone?”

My heart sank as I looked up to see a head of white hair.

Bash avoided my gaze, his attention fixed on Fitzroy.