Wednesday Whisper ~ What the Earl Desires

 

Her lashes settled upon her cheeks and by all appearances she had succumbed to sleep. He knew without a doubt short of having numerous men along with him it would have ended in another disaster for him. Najja…had been incredible. He didn’t doubt that those who had yet to fall under her weapons had been just as mesmerized as he’d been.

That reminds me, I want to take a better look at what she used.

Brushing his lips over her forehead, he gathered her close, grateful for the opportunity to at least hold her in his arms. The bouncing and jarring of the wagon, the cold, and the continued vigilance for and the actual attack had worn him out so he willingly went into the land of dreams.

He woke up with a throbbing erection. Lush curves pressed against him, a small hand resting just above the waistband of his breeches. Each inhalation swamped him with the evocative scent of vanilla and spiced roses.

Najja was in his arms and his bed. Turning his head, he sought out her lips, not wishing to wake from the dream. She was hot. So was he. Moving his hand he frowned as he came into contact with clothing. Cracking his eyes, he noticed she lay almost totally on top of him, her leg lay wedged between his, her head buried against his shoulder. She was still asleep.

She moaned slightly and shifted against him. Wide awake now, Colin bit the inside of his cheek so he didn’t answer in kind. Her leg rubbed against his stiff length and he swallowed his groan. He flexed the fingers of his right hand which rested upon the firmness of her ass. An act which made her expel another sexy sound, almost like a purr.

Why not? They were rested now. Morning’s dim light struggled to penetrate the curtains over the window not that he cared. He was in no rush to leave this bed. Having her stripped bare…that was what he was after.

He moved his left hand over her side, seeking the bottom of her shirt. Once it was in his grasp he drew it up slowly, reveling in the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips. Such was it that he could feel his release rushing upon him, just from such a simple and intimate act.

Under his fingertips he could feel the change when he encountered some scars. But what halted him was when he felt a bandage. With a frown and a cooled ardor, he removed his hand and brought it out from the blankets. There upon his skin was the telltale sign of blood. Fear slammed into him. He yanked the blanket away and lifted her shirt. Sure enough, a blood-soaked bandage was in view.

Anger hit him hard. The fact she’d neglected to inform him she had been injured…made him see red. A deep powerful red.

“Najja,” he said, touching her shoulder.

Her eyes opened. For a moment he saw desire in them before it faded into awareness and calculating sharpness. “Time to go?” she asked, her voice weaker than he was used to.

“You are bleeding.”

“Sorry, I thought it would have stopped overnight.”

Her apology made him blink a few times. “Sorry? Why the hell did you not tell me you were wounded?”

She rolled away from him and got out of bed on the other side, the shirt dropping hiding the injury. He could see her wobble a bit. She was weakened.

“I am not used to telling.”

She crouched by her things and withdrew a pouch. He watched in amazement as she poured something into her hand, transferred it to her mouth only to remove it when it was the consistency of paste and slap it over the open wound which she’d uncovered while she moistened the stuff with her saliva.

A shadow of a grimace flitted over her face otherwise he would have never known of her discomfort. He sat on the bed, the coverlet around his waist and stared at the woman who’d just vacated it. Her hair unconfined fell to rest upon the small of her back. He blinked and looked again, noting how she only wore a shirt.

His.

It fell almost to her knees and lust was like a bolt of lightning through him at the realization. His white linen a stunning offset to the darkened hue of her skin. Her legs were long, toned and mouthwatering. His shaft stiffened in the confines of his own breeches.

As if she could feel his gaze upon her, she turned her head and met his stare over her shoulder. “I am sorry I took your shirt.”

“It looks better on you, luv,” he said climbing out and moving to her side. One fingertip under her chin, he sank down until they were face to face. “Are you okay?”

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