22 Nights (12 page)

“You swear.” She took a step closer to the bed.

“On my honor.”

A man like Tearlach Merin didn’t swear on his honor lightly. “What am I supposed to do?”

He smiled at her. “Nothing.” He scooted over and made a place for her on the bed, beside him. She’d been attached to him for many days, and still it made her nervous to sit beside him now. They seemed so
close
.

“Lie back.”

“Turn out the lamp first,” she said. Their oil lamp didn’t cast a lot of light, but it would be enough for him to see her. Not that she was shy, but . . .

“No.” Merin hovered over her for a moment. She expected a kiss would come next, so she closed her eyes and puckered her lips a little. He lowered his mouth to her throat instead of her mouth, and lingered there.

Yes, it did feel good as his lips danced across her throat. Soft and warm and tingly good. She felt as if she were unraveling, as if she were melting beneath the attentions of those fine lips. Merin’s mouth dropped lower and he kissed the valley between her breasts, moving slowly, languidly. He stole her breath, and just like that it seemed her very blood changed. He raked his lips and his tongue there, seeming to be in no hurry. The tip of his tongue touched the swell of one breast and then slipped just inside the fabric to taste skin which had been hidden from view.

Bela closed her eyes, as it seemed she could better enjoy the unexpected sensations this way, when all she had to do was feel.

Then Merin, stubborn Merin, lifted his head. “Tell me about the colors. His fingers raked down a length of gathered fabric that just happened to cover a sensitive nipple. She jumped when his fingers brushed over it and then came back again to test the shape and hardness. “Black?”

To refuse again would only delay his return to his proper work. “Dark times,” she said, surprised by how very dry her mouth was.

“The sort of dark times that might lead a woman and a man to think of ending their marriage?”

“Yes.”

Merin scooted her back on the bed and very gently pushed her onto her back with insistent but tender hands. When she was laid out on the bed like a goose at a family feast, he moved the black fabric aside to expose her nipple, and then he took that nipple into his warm mouth.

Shocked, Bela started to protest. She was no goose, and she would not be spread out as if she were General Merin’s own personal feast! But what he was doing to her felt too good, it felt wonderfully good in a way she had not expected. She was languid and edgy, both at once. Protest was unnecessary. Her body rose off the bed, ever so slightly, to move closer to his. He responded by sucking her nipple deeper into his mouth. She gasped, grabbing a handful of dark curls to pull him closer, tighter.

She had felt nothing like this before. The last time, she’d been in such a hurry to have the chore done and over with that she hadn’t allowed for such luxuries as touching and licking and sucking. And this was a luxury, a luxury of sensation and decadence. A moment ago she had felt as if she were unraveling, and now she felt as if everything in her body was growing tighter, more tightly wound.

Eventually Merin lifted his head from her breast. She was all but panting, and her body screamed for more. Between her legs she ached, and her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it.

“White,” Merin said, raking his fingers down a section of white fabric that draped across her hip.

“It’s silly . . . ,” Bela began, wishing he would simply get back to what he’d been doing. Why did he insist on speaking when he had more important things to do?

His hand became more urgent, his thumb traveling down her hip to her thigh. One caress of his hand and a new kind of sensation was set into play. “White,” he said again.

“Fine, if you insist on being difficult . . .”

“I do,” he said with a smile.

“Pure love,” she whispered, and the two words roused a wave of discomfort inside her. She should not be speaking of love with Tearlach Merin. He might get the wrong idea and think she believed in such fantasies. She tried to give her voice a practical tone. “Love given and blessed by the powers above, love precious and untainted, that sort of nonsense.”

Merin’s hand continued down her thigh, and then he began to pull her skirt up, exposing her legs. His fingers brushed her bare skin as he worked slowly, ever so slowly. Her mouth went dry again, and it seemed that her body wanted to seize and push him away. He’d said he would stop if she asked, and she decided to test that promise. “Stop,” she whispered.

He did. His hand stilled, but he did not rise up and leave her. It was as if he knew what she was doing, as if he knew she was testing him.

Bela relaxed, as much as relaxation was possible at this moment. Her wave of reservations receded. She was in control here; he would not hurt her. “Proceed,” she said softly, and with a smile he did.

“I’m not sure that I believe in pure love,” he said as he continued to push her skirt high. “Commitment to another, yes. Devotion and affection particular to two people who have been drawn to one another definitely exists. I have seen it with my own eyes. But nothing in life is entirely untainted. Nothing is pure.”

She would love to say that she agreed with him entirely, but damn if he hadn’t stolen her power of speech with his hands.

Again he kissed her throat, which she had found to be strangely sensitive and receptive to the attentions of his mouth. He even took her earlobe between his lips and sucked it. Bela closed her eyes and listened to the demands of her body. She’d been so sure when they’d begun this exercise that she’d make him stop long before this, as soon as she found his attentions unpleasant. But now she wanted more. In the past there had been nothing but pain and disappointment, and still she wanted more.

Hope was a frightening and debilitating thing.

“Red.” His fingers crawled up a section of crimson fabric which draped from just beneath her breasts to midbelly. His hand started low and traveled under the rope that circled her waist, the rope that bound them. She felt the warmth of that hand to her very core.

“P-p-p-passion,” she said, embarrassed that she couldn’t say the word without stuttering.

“I suspect you are more afraid of the passion than you are of the dark times,” he said as he continued to caress her body.

“I am,” she whispered.

“You should not be afraid of passion,” he said. “It’s a beautiful and natural thing.”

“Not in my experience,” she said, even though at the moment she did feel beautiful and natural.

His hand found her bare thigh again and began to caress there. “We’re going to forget that one bad night and start over. No lies, no manipulations, and no desperation. Just touch and pleasure, Bela. Just passion.”

Once again he took her nipple in his mouth. His hand climbed higher, and in response her center grew damp and anxious. There was an insistent tugging sensation there. She wanted him to touch her. She wanted him to keep going. She wanted him to
hurry up!
A part of her wanted to tell him again to stop, but she didn’t.

Merin touched her in a place so sensitive, so intimate, she gasped. She hadn’t known her body was capable of producing these sensations, of jerking and writhing as she tried to bring him closer. He massaged the nub at her entrance, and she held on to him as new sensations were born. He sucked her nipple deeper, and she balled her hands into fists as she gasped loudly.

She was hot and so was he; she was washed in a new and unusual type of desperation. She wanted something, but she didn’t know exactly what. Just more. More Merin, more of this delicious marvel. She made a funny sound. She didn’t mean to, it just happened. How embarrassing! She didn’t care, as she made another sound and rocked her hips.

Merin slipped a finger inside her, and she shattered. Ribbons of pleasure so intense they made her weep whipped through her. She gasped and cried out sharply. She came up off the bed, holding on to Merin tightly so the sensations wouldn’t carry her away. Her head fell back and her thighs parted, and she was aware of nothing but the pleasure whipping through her body.

Too soon it was done. Bela collapsed to the mattress, boneless and breathless, completely unwound. Her mouth was dry, she could not breathe, her heart was pounding, and oh, she wanted to do that again. Why did married women ever leave their beds?

When her brain began to function once more, she raised her head and looked at Merin, who still had on his trousers, trousers which were mightily strained at the moment.

She was not a complete fool, in spite of the mistakes which had led them to this point. He was hurting; he had not shared any of the pleasure he had given her. “What about you?” she asked. She still did not wish a repeat of their first encounter, but she had jumped on him without preparation at that time, and apparently preparation was a large part of the act.

He shook his head. “Much as it pains me, this is as far as we can go. No babies, remember?”

“I remember.” If there was a baby, they would never be able to undo the deceitful marriage. She fell back against the bed and smiled. “That was fun. When can we do it again?”

Merin laughed hoarsely. “When you want me to die. I wanted to do this for you, I truly did, but I can’t continue to pleasure you and stop.”

“You made this wonderful sacrifice for me, and all along I thought you didn’t even like me much.”

“I don’t,” he said.

That hurt more than it should’ve, but she shouldn’t be surprised.

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you.” Once again Merin’s hands moved to her dress and his fingers danced. “We’ve had the black, and I suspect we could handle the red quite well. It’s the white we lack, Bela.”

“You don’t believe in pure love.”

“No, but red and black alone would make for a sad marriage, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” Bela said thoughtfully. “If there was enough of the red . . .” She stopped speaking before her rambling led them to a place they wouldn’t be able to escape. At this moment she was warm and satisfied and oddly happy, but Merin was right, and that knowledge stole some of her happiness.

 

MERIN
wasn’t at all surprised when the following day’s chore was to dig a big hole and then fill it again. That’s what he deserved for mentioning the senseless chore to Bela’s mother. They didn’t get started until after they’d cleaned up the mess the villagers had made at their celebration, which took some time.

He and Bela had hardly spoken all day. Instead of making things better between them, last night he’d apparently made them worse. There was a new tension in the air.

The area where they’d been told to dig was beyond the edge of town. It was a warm day, and soon they were both sweating from their labors. What a contrast they were to the washed and well-dressed couple they had been last night. What a contrast to the man and woman—man and wife—who had tumbled about in their bed after all their guests had left.

He should’ve allowed her to suffer delusions about sex and remain unattached for the rest of her days. Perhaps it was harsh punishment for the mistakes of a mere child, but could he bear to remain bound to her for the next fourteen days and not touch her again? And if he touched her again . . .

“I’ve been thinking,” Bela began.

“Don’t,” Merin said brusquely. “No good can come of it.”

She actually laughed. “Your mood is obviously not as bright as mine is on this fine spring day.”

He might’ve laughed, but was in too much pain.

“You’re grouchy. Perhaps we should talk later,” she said sensibly.

“Perhaps we should.” He threw himself into the job of digging, glad for the aching muscles and the sweat and the exertion that helped him to forget he was not in this hole in the ground alone. A short while later he and Bela climbed out of the hole and began to fill it in, one shovel of dirt at a time.

They were alone, and yet not entirely unsupervised. Now and then someone would show up to check on them, to make sure the senseless hole was sufficiently deep and wide to qualify for a chore, to make sure they did not attempt to undo their bonds.

More than once, Merin considered cutting the rope that bound him to Bela and riding away, conceding to a marriage that would never be a marriage, condemning them both to a life bound to a spouse they did not love, a spouse who lived a great distance away.

Maybe it would be a worthwhile sacrifice. This was torture.

When the hole was filled in, they decided to walk to the creek to bathe off the worst of the dirt before going home. They were so dirty a cloth, some soap, and a ewer of water would not suffice.

He hoped the water was cold.

They had become accustomed to the rope between them and no longer stumbled with it, as they had in early days. Neither of them could be called clumsy, and they’d adjusted to the restraint very well. Merin whipped off his shirt and kicked off his boots, and then he stepped into the creek with his trousers on. He did not want Bela to realize that he was aroused just because she was near.

Bela did the same—she took off her boots and her shirt, and gratefully splashed water onto her body. He tried not to look too closely, but he could not help but note, as he had last night, that she had nice breasts of just the right size. They were rounded and shapely and high, not too large and not too small. The nipples were dark and, as he remembered, responsive.

Apparently she had recovered from her extreme shyness which required a door between them when she bared her womanly attributes.

“Is it all right to tell you now what I’ve been thinking?” she asked.

“I suppose.” Anything to take his mind in a different direction.

“Last night . . .”

“Let’s not talk about last night,” he said harshly.

She grinned widely, and wearing that smile, she was fetching, pretty even with the smudges of dirt on her face. No simpering maid could compare. No traditional beauty could hold a candle to this woman.