...“Rodick…Rodick.”

He opened his eyes. She lay facing him. “Yes?” He shook sleep from his mind.

“That was wonderful.” She trailed a finger down the side of his face. “Did we mate?”

He laughed, but stopped at the embarrassment he read on her face. “No, we didn’t mate, love. Although that was close. I’m glad you liked what we did.”

“Of course I did.” She screwed her face up. “I still don’t understand what this mating is.” She sat up, her face serious. “I need to know. Soon.”

Later—much later and much too late—he wondered why he hadn’t asked her then exactly why she needed to know. And soon. But he hadn’t asked, and maybe it wouldn’t have made any difference had he asked and heard her answer. He’d loved her too much already.

“Next time I’ll explain.” That was all he’d said.

At the time, he remembered thinking she’d probably never seen a man naked or a cock, even a relaxed one. Right then his cock was so satisfied it wasn’t in any condition to stiffen again to demonstrate what had to happen for mating.

“For now, give me your beautiful hand.” He kissed it, rolling it over and licking her palm.

She shivered. “I like it when you do that.”

Her rumpled tunic was now riding her hips. He took her hand and slid it under the silk garment to the damp spot between her thighs, asking her what she’d felt when he’d touched her there, explaining the meaning of the wetness.

“Oh,” she said, her eyes wide. “I see.”

Her naïveté was so endearing that he laughed and wrapped her in his arms again.

He hated letting her go, but someone had to be in command of their situation. If her father found out where she’d been, she might not be able to return tomorrow, and he couldn’t risk losing her.

Finally, he rose and, patting her tush, urged her to get ready to leave.

He accompanied her to the base of the mountain and watched her guide her mount up the mountain trail until she was out of sight. Then he turned his horse back toward the faire. After walking a few steps, he tossed his head back, threw his arms wide and laughed as joy rushed through him. Kicking his mount into a run, he returned, not to the faire, but to his rooms to dream about this puzzling yet exquisite woman. He sat with a flask of fermented golanberry wine and drank until he tumbled to his bed and fell asleep in his clothes.

His dreams were filled with her…her body naked, warm thighs spread invitingly beneath him, arms reaching for him as his engorged cock teased her pussy and his balls brushed her hot slit. She lay with her golden hair spread out across the pillow on his bed, and a swirling collage of gold, purple, red and emerald colored the room.

He took the purple satin ribbons she’d presented to him and tied her hands to the wooden bedstead as she lifted her hips to him in invitation. He heard her pant as he tied her legs apart. Her gasp turned to hoarse moans as his mouth plundered her with a kiss in that most intimate part of her body.

Before he could slide through that golden nest of tight curls into her slick slit, he wakened, hot and sweaty, just as a dream king wearing a gigantic, jeweled crown and flailing a burnished sword the size of a castle had borne down on him. The king rode the back of a drang, its sharp talons heading straight for Rodick’s throat.

Rodick pulled himself out of the nightmare and sat on the bed’s edge with his head in his hands, experiencing again the reality that too much wine was a nasty thing.

He thought of the vision of her in his dream. He rose, his cock hard, his need to empty his bladder strong.

Thighs spread wide and tied with purple ribbons, huh? Don’t you wish?