Page 170 of Reign

“With you?” I questioned, flattered but confused.

“No, with Bash,” she giggled. “Fletcher was telling me about the soldiers’ sleeping arrangements—it doesn’t sound very private for lovers.”

My heart stammered at the mere thought of sharing a bedchamber with Bash, but the promises I’d made to Fitzroy loomed over me like a storm cloud, casting shadows upon this fleeting moment of light.

“I cannot,” I said, suppressing my own desires. I couldn’t let my liege down on the eve of war. “Once Margaret has finished reviewing Fitzroy’s plan, I must relay her counsel to him.”

“Leave it to me,” Fletcher interjected, appearing beside Emma. “I’ll wait until she’s finished and report her verdict.”

“Are you certain?” I asked, glancing between the pair. A smile appeared on my lips at the thought of spending a night alone with Bash.

They both nodded eagerly.

I abandoned my half-filled tankard upon the bar and crossed the chamber toward Bash, who lounged by the hearth, his eyes focused on the amber flames.

“I thought you were getting another ale,” he remarked, turning from the fire to meet my gaze.

I shook my head and extended my hand to him. Without hesitation, he took it.

“Where are you leading me?” he asked with a gentle chuckle as I guided him beneath the curtain.

I ushered him through the middle door into Emma’s chamber and swiftly closed it behind us. Bash’s gaze swept across the candlelit room, taking in the stale air, stained sheets, and bucket of murky brown water near the bedstead. Despite its dim state, I couldn’t help but feel gladsome—it was a place where, at last, we could be alone.

“Why have you trapped me in here?” Bash teased, his hands slipping softly around my waist.

“I’ve arranged for us to lodge at the finest inn Cambas has to offer,” I replied, a playful smile curling my lips.

“We’re staying here tonight?” he asked, his merry tone filling me with joy.

I nodded.

Bash released his hold on me and flopped onto the mattress with a delighted groan, as though this dingy hovel were grander than any royal palace.

“I cannot wait to rest on a proper bedstead,” he exclaimed, patting the space beside him.

I removed my cloak and crawled onto the sheets, lying down, my gaze fixed upon his kind gray eyes. He reached over, his fingertips brushing my heated cheek in a tender caress.

“I cannot wait to spend the night in your arms,” I murmured.

Bash rolled onto his side, and I followed suit, resting my hand gently upon his hip.

His eyes darted between mine as I held my breath, anticipation quickening my heartbeat, willing him to make the first move. Tentatively, he edged nearer, his fingers curling around the nape of my neck, drawing me in. Our lips met—each kiss tender and slow, but quickly, desire took over.

His hands drifted down my body, leaving tingles in their wake, until his grip settled firmly on my waist. With an effortless motion, he rolled me atop him, and I straddled a leg on either side of his torso. As I sank down, his stiffening manhood pressed against me, and I couldn’t stop myself from gently grinding against it. Bash groaned, reciprocating my movements as he pushed his hips upward to meet mine.

Then, his fingers fumbled with the string on the front of my tunic—impatience driving him to thrust them beneath the linen. I trembled as his warm hands traveled up my body, cupping my breasts in his palms. Softly, he squeezed them, his thumbs tenderly brushing over my stiff nipples.

A moment later, Bash moved on top, swiftly switching our positions. His hand reached inside my breeches, toward the part of my body that yearned for his touch.

Gently, his fingertips traced the contours of my passage, coaxing a whimper from me as his lips brushed against my ear.

“I’ve imagined the noises you’d make if I touched you between your legs on more occasions than I care to admit,” Bash murmured, his stroke growing more intense with each word.

I tilted my head, pressing my mouth to his ear. “And I’ve imagined how it would feel to have you inside of me countless times,” I confessed, my heart thumping with eager anticipation.

Bash licked his lips, leaning back as he hastily unbuckled my breeches. Once he pulled them off—I sat half exposed—I instinctively pressed my legs together, overcome with shyness. Bash had a way of stirring butterflies in my stomach unlike anyone else.

“Open them for me,” he said softly, his fingers delicately parting my knees.