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she knew, but she still could not maintain a grip on them. Her own face she recognized in her dreams, even rooms in a house, grand rooms with paintings on the walls. But returning to the images in her dreams made her entire body quake with fear and instinctively, she moved closer to the sleeping form of Thomas who laid sprawled on his back next to her. In his sleep, his arm wrapped around her shoulder, giving her an immediate sense of being protected. Within a minute or two, her shivering had stopped and in the gray of dawn she studied his face. He slept in innocence, no hidden demons beneath his peaceful countenance, a hardworking young man with ambitions of pure and simple origin. The swell of his muscular chest and arms came from honest labor, not from fighting or competitive sport. She reached over, ran a gentle finger across his shoulder, down his chest, softly teasing a sleeping nipple to life under her touch. It hardened, and he stirred. He had respected her, been kind and honorable about her state of mind, had restrained himself when she would have otherwise opened herself fully to him. And now she didn’t care. He had sheltered her, comforted her and healed her. She felt connected to him somehow, and her body wanted to share what her emotions had driven her to in her dreams. Since she’d laid eyes on him, she’d dreamt of his body against hers, the crushing weight of him, the thick invasion of being filled by him. Reaching to his breeches, she loosened the laces, where his sleeping manhood lay flaccid in a nest of dark blond curls. She pushed back the blanket and slid her body across his, bent her knee over his legs and rolled atop him. As he awoke, he shifted, then his eyes opened as he realized that she lay on top of him now, her chin resting on his chest.
    “My lady May,” he whispered. “What are you doing?”
    “What I’ve desired to do since I first saw you, Thomas. I don’t care that I don’t remember who I am. I know that right now I’m happy, and content. And I can start over here, with you. If I never remember my life before now, at least I have this.” She pushed his breeches down, hooking her foot on them as they slid off his hips and she pulled her gown up, allowing her thighs and hips to slide nakedly against him. “This seems good enough to me, for now.”
    Before he could speak or protest, she moved to kiss his lips, covered his mouth with hers. He allowed her, letting her tongue explore his mouth, lap delicately against his tongue, complete the kiss with a gentle, sucking sound, then begin the ritual again. His body had already responded, his hardness pressing into her hip, the rough hairs at the base scratching teasingly against her thigh as he wriggled free of the breeches. He anchored his hands into her lower back, pressing her into him as he ground his pelvis against her. A spurt of wetness came from her swollen folds, and she moved to rub against the length of his erection. He gathered her gown, and she arched her back so he could pull it over her shoulders. Before she could come back down on him, he bent up to her, capturing a breast between his lips, sucking insistently, hands on her back and guiding her against him. Her wetness covered his length, made for a slippery temptation against her as he slid back and forth, the mushroom tip of him butting up against her bursting nub of nerves on every stroke. Still, he didn’t enter her, continued kissing and caressing her breasts, sending a tingling rush of desire from nipple to navel, then further down. She moaned, tilting her head back, tried to catch him on an outstroke, but he skillfully avoided her clumsy attempts. Finally, he drew back, away from her zinging breasts, kissed her at the top of the belly, then repositioned her hips astride him. He looked up at her, golden hair falling about her body, reached to arrange her hair around her face and paused to look into her eyes.
    “Come here,” he whispered roughly, his hand on her