I push against her hand, hips thrusting, because it feels so fucking divine.

Then I’m skimming her sleeping pants down her shapely legs and throwing them over my shoulder. And Sarah lies beneath me, in a simple pair of white cotton knickers . . . and nothing else. Her chest rising and falling, her lips swollen from my rough kisses, her breasts high, nipples tight.

Without taking my eyes from hers, I move on top of her, spreading her legs wider, looking deep into her eyes, gazing at her beautiful face. I line my cock up against her, right against her clit, and I can feel how hot and wet she is, even through the cotton.

And then I thrust slow and long.

“Henry,” she whimpers from deep in her throat. “Henry.”

And nothing has ever sounded sweeter.

I pull my hips back and thrust again.

She whimpers and her head lolls to the side.

“Like this?” I rasp.

Sarah’s head bounces in a jerky nod and her hands knead my arms. She lifts her hips up to meet mine and then I’m bending, pressing her into the bed. Kissing her rough and wild, claiming her plump mouth as surely as she fucking owns me.

“Henry, Henry, Henry,” she chants against my lips, in time with the movement of my cock against her. The pressure is perfect, the pleasure racing up my spine and down my legs, settling in my pelvis and tightening balls.

Sarah screams when she comes, scratching and wild and beautiful. With an arched back she raises her hips and stiffens—everything tight and clenching. I pump harder and then I’m with her, coming in a hot, pulsing stream that makes my mind go white with bliss.

And after, we kiss and touch and giggle—both of us a sweaty, sticky mess and too damn happy to move.

Later, after I’ve gotten a cloth from the bathroom and cleaned both of us up, I lie on my back with Sarah cuddled against me.

“We should talk.”

She turns on her side to face me, even while her eyes scrunch closed.

“Talking isn’t my strong suit.”

I trace the bridge of her nose with the tip of my finger.

“That’s not true. You’re getting better at it.”

My instinct tells me that with Sarah, simple and direct is the best way to go.

“I like you,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose, her chin, her smooth brow. “I like you so much.”

She cups my jaw, caresses my neck and shoulder.

“I like you too. So much.”

I’ve had sex with hundreds of women, some whom I actually cared for . . . but this right here, is one of the most intimate moments of my life.

“I want to take you out. Take you everywhere. I want to show you everything. Now that I know what’s underneath your clothes,” I run my hand up her stomach, kneading her breast, and she moans sweetly, “you can wear all the black you want and I won’t tease you a bit.”

She smiles and I feel invincible.

“I like it when you tease me.”

I nibble on her lip, her chin. “Have you ever seen the library at the palace?”

“No.”

“You’ll love it. Two floors, more books than you could read in three lifetimes. And I want you to meet my grandmother.”

“All right, Henry.”

“I want to buy you things. Everything.”

I want to drape her in jewels and silks . . . and crowns.

“I don’t need things,” she says softly, eyes beautiful and dark.

I pull her closer, my hard, demanding cock pressed against her pelvis.

“Which makes me want to buy them for you even more.”

Sarah wraps her arms around my neck, toying with my hair. And before she speaks it, I feel the word—the world—trying to rise up between us, wedge us apart.

“But . . .”

But the show—this damned show that I don’t even care about—that I never did. But the crew that fills the castle at this very moment and the contracts I’ve signed. But the other women—including her own sister—who I’m still expected to entertain and engage for the next two weeks.

Fuck me.

I think of all the times Granny’s lectured me about my responsibilities, about duty and honor and the importance of following through with my commitments.

Christ, this sucks.

But I want to do the right thing. I don’t want to be that stupid boy anymore—the one who ditches and makes excuses and mucks it all up.

Honor means something different to me now. Something more. Because Sarah deserves a good man, an honorable man. Steady and reliable and true.

And I want to be that man for her.

“But, I’m bound to two more weeks of filming. I’ve given them my word and I speak for the House of Pembrook.”

I feel her nod. “That’s not a small thing.”

I look into her eyes. “I don’t want to keep filming. You know that, don’t you?”

Sarah sighs, and her expression is so open, so damn trusting. It humbles me.

“I do, yes.”

“If I could, I’d stay right here in this bed with you. Do you believe that?”

“Yes. But you can’t.”

“No. I can’t.”

What a shit-show. And it’s all my own stupid doing.

Where the fuck is that mace?

“The other girls, Henry . . . you won’t touch them?” she stiffens against me. “Not like this. I won’t put up with that.”

“No, of course not. I’ll barely look at them, I swear. All my touches—my hands, my lips, my cock—they all belong to you now, sweet Sarah.”