Dragon Desire. Lisette Ashton

not to think about the fact that it was her left hand that guided him into her sex. He had tried to stop himself from dwelling on the fact that she had caressed his length with the same hand that bore the leather band on her heart finger.

      ‘I’d noticed your ring,’ he admitted. ‘But I’d figured it wasn’t troubling you.’

      ‘My husband is a captain in the Order of the Dark Knights,’ she explained. ‘He spends many months on foreign shores. Currently he’s away leading the Blackheath Cavalry to quell an uprising on the Silver Sands. I know he spends many nights with other women. He knows I spend many nights with other men.’

      Owain didn’t know what to say.

      He thought it safest to say nothing. Her words weren’t exactly souring his arousal. But they were adding nothing to it either. He figured that as long as she spoke about the arrangement she had with her husband he could prolong both their pleasures.

      ‘We have a relationship where we try not to embarrass each other,’ she explained. ‘I take visitors to Blackheath between my legs when the mood strikes me. He takes foreign women when the mood strikes him. As long as neither of us does something as embarrassing as being publicly exposed as a swiver, it’s a relationship that we both find convenient and satisfying.’

      ‘And is there a reason why you’re telling me this?’

      ‘So that you know there is nothing more between us, just sex.’

      He nodded. As he continued to ride in and out of her, he said, ‘Not that I could tell anyone about you, or what we’ve done. I don’t even know your name.’

      She gripped him tight with her inner muscles.

      He came close to climaxing in response. She giggled as she saw the frown of concentrated consternation that wrinkled his brow.

      ‘You’ve got no need to know my name either,’ she laughed. ‘I can call you Owain the fucker and you can call me the apprentice to your longsword.’

      He laughed at that and found himself gliding into her with increased passion. She wasn’t Carys. But she was pleasurable company and skilled in the art of sex.

      This time, when they hurried toward their respective climaxes, he was struck by the stronger focus they each seemed to have on ensuring that the other was properly sated.

      His length teetered on the brink of explosion for an age.

      She sighed and moaned and clutched at him with brittle ferocity. Her inner muscles convulsed wetly around him as she shivered to the point of explosion. And then they were holding each other tight as the ripples of blistering satisfaction bound them together.