Page 112 of Mark of Love (Love Mark 3)

“Good.” As his low voice vibrated through me, I sighed.

Why was I doing this?

I wasn’t sure, but cuddling felt good, anyway. And even though we we

re literally pressed against each other in order to fit into the bedroll, I wasn’t squished. He was just so warm and big and safe. And he smelled good. I wanted to be as close to him as was humanly possible.

I turned my nose toward his throat, where his smell lingered the strongest, and he kissed my cheek in return.

Then his hand moved up the outside of my arm, stroking flesh. When he reached my shoulder, he gave a soft squeeze, gently kneading muscle.

I shuddered, coming more awake and not at all getting sleepier as he had promised I would. But the massage felt so good I didn’t even care.

Releasing a breath, I began to breathe a little faster. Under my clothes, my body strained, my breasts tightened, and the insides of my thighs tingled.

“You like that?” he asked, his fingers working their way to the side of my throat before he cupped my jaw.

Groaning a little, I mumbled, “Yes.” And my eyes slid closed.

His lips pressed against my neck. “I’m going to give you a little massage with nothing but this one hand. And when I’m done, you’re going to sleep harder than you’ve ever slept before. Okay?”

My head bobbed in answer. “Okay.”

He kissed my neck again, a little higher this time, almost behind my ear. Toes curling as a heated current moved through me, I found myself arching toward him. My breathing could no longer resemble anything steady or regular now.

And all the while, the only thing he moved was that one hand, a thumb shifting briefly over my lips, just enough to make them tingle before the other four fingers slid up my jaw, around my ear and into my hair where he scraped short, blunt fingernails over my scalp. I shivered at the intense reaction my body had to him.

His breath hissed against my neck, coming a little shallower as well, but he didn’t kiss me, since he’d promised to touch me with only one hand. His rough fingers moved with gentle dexterity through the long locks, combing with a relaxing quality that about made my bones go liquid.

I sighed, enjoying the attention, and only whimpered a little in protest when his hand moved out of my hair and flitted down my throat again, because the new place he explored felt just as sensitive to his touch. His palm pressed flat against my left clavicle, then it slid down, directly over my breast.

Even through the cloth of the tunic, corset, and chemise I wore, his hand felt scorching hot. It felt good. But I grabbed his wrist, anyway, not expecting that kind of contact.

“What’re you doing?”

“Just this one hand,” he swore to me, not removing his grip but not pressing anymore of an advance, either. Merely waiting for me to respond. “It’s a massage. Nothing else.”

I wasn’t sure how to answer. One half of me was tempted, the other half told me to cut his damn fingers off.

“This is only about you, Quilla,” he assured me quietly. “Making you feel good. Making you feel relaxed. So you can sleep afterward. It’s not for my pleasure. Just yours.”

“Liar,” I rasped, because relaxed was the very opposite of what I felt right now. “Why do you have to touch me there, then?”

“You mean, your breasts?” he asked, as if surprised to realize that’s where his hand was. “Because I’m trying to give you a complete massage. And I have a feeling you don’t give them enough attention yourself. You can’t tell me they’ve never been sore. Or ached.” He kissed my throat and whispered in my ear, “Let me rub the ache away, empress.”

My brow knit. He did have a point. Sometimes they were extra sensitive. Maybe massaging them would feel nice. But still… “Why does it feel like you’re totally feeding me a bullshit line right now because you want to feel up my tits?”

He chuckled. “Oh, I definitely want to feel up your tits, but the main goal is still your pleasure.”

My grip on his wrist loosened even as I said, “You’ll understand if I have my doubts, though, right?”

His fingers took this as a green light, and he began to knead the tissue around the outer edges of one breast. His touch was gentle and intoxicating, and I found myself straining against it, wanting more.

“Think about it this way,” he murmured in my ear as he worked over one, then the other. “You agree that I believe you’re my true love whole-heartedly, right?”

I nodded, wishing he’d oh-so-accidentally brush a finger over one of my throbbing nipples that were growing frustrated and even more aroused because he hadn’t touched either of them yet.

“Then you should also agree that I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you or anything that would blatantly cause you to lose all trust for me, am I correct?”

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