Anne loved how Charles looked at her. She loved seeing his hungry gaze - and how when he wanted her, he took her. So long as she obliged. No games, no political chess matches. Just the two of them. It was a kind of primal claiming that made her feel wanted and warm.

He was strong in a way Henry wasn't. He was crafty, he was... He was Charles Vane.

When he ducked beneath her skirts and licked along her soft, wet entrance, Anne gasped sharply. Her fingers stroked over his dreadlock mane and gripped slightly, though not enough to inhibit him in any way. The lapping of his tongue over her lower lips had her trembling. So when his one finger penetrated her, Anne gasped again in arousal and her back arched in pleasure.