Dream of Me/Believe in Me

little sounds of pleasure escaped her, surprised exclamations of delight that filled him with bemused pride and mocked the control he maintained by no more than the most slender of threads.
    Beads of sweat shone on his forehead when she rose above him, a sweetly seductive smile curving her lush mouth and a shy question in her eyes. He saw it, clasped her hips, and gently guided her onto him. Her stunned surprise gave way to a moan of delight. Slowly, tantaliz-ingly, she drew him within her. When he was fully seated, his fingers entwined with hers as with innate grace she began to move. He watched, enthralled, as her skin flushed with the intensity of her arousal, her nipples firm buds beckoning to his mouth.
    To her pleasure-drenched senses, this was almost too much. Krysta cried out as he suckled her, waves of ecstasy coiling within her, tighter and tighter still until they exploded suddenly in an incandescent burst that seemed tolast forever. She fell against him, limp and gasping. The world revolved suddenly and she found herself beneath him. His chiseled features were tautly drawn, his eyes shining as he loomed above her. He drove himself within her harder and faster, over and over. Without reprieve, she was hurled again into dark, swirling release. A moment later, he joined her, clasping her tightly to him as though he meant never to let her go.
    It was not enough. They woke again before dawn already entwined, hands and lips seeking, and made love more slowly this time, drawing out their pleasure. Afterward, they fell into sleep so deep that not even the usual morning noises of the royal residence bestirred them. Only when the full din of the busy town, all the clatter and creaking, calling and haggling, the sharp-barked orders of guardsmen and the merry song of minstrels floated through their windows did they finally return groggily and reluctantly to the world.
    Even then only the sternest discipline enabled them to rise without yielding to the temptation of scattered touches and long looks. Even as Krysta stumbled into her own room, wrapped in a sheet, the maid who had served her the night before knocked once perfunctorily, then entered. Her eyes widened and her cheeks were suddenly rosier than they had been a moment before, but she said nothing. Setting down the tray she had brought, she bobbed a curtsy and swiftly drew out garments appropriate for the day. When a shirtless Hawk, his jaw festooned with soap and a shaving blade in his hand, stuck his head in a few minutes later to remind Krysta they were going with the king, the maid turned a fiery red and so over-poured the milk that it flowed right out of the bowl, across the table, and down onto the floor. Krysta sighed and knelt to help her clean it up despite her protests, knowing all too well how easy it was to be utterly unsettled by the Hawk of Essex.
    For certain, she had been, and worse yet, she could not find it in herself to mind. Indeed, it was proving most difficult not to smile at every moment. She was giddily happy, beyond care, and quite besotted with the world and the man.
    She was dressed and had even managed to eat a little before it occurred to her to wonder what Alfred had planned. That the great king was no more than an afterthought made her all the more mindful of her precarious state, and caused her to resolve that come what may, she must find some way to conceal it. She was still mulling over how that might be accomplished when Hawk came to get her. He swept a quick, all-encompassing glance over her, the look of a man well pleased with what he sees, and combined it with the heart-stopping grin of a boy.
    “We're shamefully late,” he said, with a quick nod to the flustered maid. “Fortunately, there's always something for Alfred to do so I doubt he'll mind.”
    He swept her out of the room and down the stairs before she could even begin to gather her thoughts. The great hall was empty save for a few servants, reminding her again that much of the morning was already gone. Outside, the day was brilliant, a fresh breeze swaying the branches of the young trees within the royal compound. Hawk led her briskly to a stone building set a little apart, surrounded by a pleasant garden that bestowed an air of serenity unusual in bustling Winchester. A quick glance through the open double doors confirmed Krysta's guess that this was a church. They followed a path around a corner of the building and the scene changed suddenly. Where there had