Comanche Moon (46 page)

‘‘Be easy,’’ he whispered. ‘‘It is well.’’ He dipped his tongue between her knuckles, searching for the sensitive, throbbing nubbin that she guarded so protectively. When his plunging tongue grazed what he sought, she snapped taut. He made another pass and another. A cry crawled up her throat. She couldn’t think when he did this.

‘‘It is mine,’’ he whispered raggedly. ‘‘Give it to me. No pain, little one. Trust me.’’

As if of their own volition, her fingers parted. Her rosy nipple popped through, its pebbled peak thrusting upward eagerly to meet him. Hunter seized it gently between his teeth and worried it until she began to shiver and moan. His uncertainty fled. No matter how odd her customs, her body, though more lovely than most, responded like any other.

With no further hesitancy, Hunter drew her aureole into his mouth and took a long, hard pull until it swelled against his tongue. Smiling, he lifted his head and blew softly. When the vulnerable nerve endings there responded to the wash of cool air and her flesh sprang taut, he once again teased her with his teeth, then pulled her into his mouth. He worked her until a glazed look crept into her eyes and she began to writhe against him.

Loretta turned toward him, lost in a swirling haze of indefinable yearnings. With feverish urgency, uncertain what it was she sought, she ran her hands over the bunched muscles in his shoulders, drawing him closer, needing him closer.
Hunter.
The fear was gone, replaced by a fiery heat, low in her belly, that radiated outward in shivering starbursts to ignite her every nerve ending, making her tremble.
Hunter.
Dizzy, her mind reeling . . . only he provided anchor, his hands and mouth lifting her on wave after wave of sensation.

Cautiously, gently, Hunter skimmed his hand down her belly to the golden apex of her thighs. Her abdomen spasmed under his arm when his fingertips dipped into the crevice of her womanhood. She leaped and stiffened, trying to sit up, but he rode her back down to the fur and carefully slid his finger into the throbbing, narrow passage. His guts knotted with urgent longing.

‘‘Toquet, mah-tao-yo.’’
Claiming her lips with his to muffle her protests, he reveled in the sweet taste of her breath, in the way she parted her thighs for him even though she was frightened. He trailed his mouth to her ear, whispering to keep her calm. A pounding began in his temples. He lost track of what he said, whether he spoke in English or Comanche. She seemed to be soothed by either, responding, not to the words, but to his tone. An aching tenderness welled inside him. Loretta, his bright one. She was as golden as sunshine, warming him, searing him wherever she touched.

Working his hand up to a steady rhythm, Hunter plied her, withdrawing, plunging deep. Her breathing became quick and shallow. Then he felt a spasm in the tight passage of muscle, and a hot rush of moisture welled up from within her. His own breathing ragged, he covered her lips with his. Eyes closed, face shimmering, she whimpered softly into his mouth as passion rocked her for the first time.

Drawing back, Hunter gazed down at her, wishing he could lose himself in mindless abandon as she was, knowing he couldn’t. Not this time. He wanted this first experience to be as painless as possible for her, as pleasurable as he could make it, total surrender, total giving. When he finished with her, there would be nothing left for her to fear.

Shifting his weight onto one elbow and knee, Hunter wedged a leg between hers and inched back, trailing kisses in his wake to keep her senses spinning so she wouldn’t surface to awareness and grow frightened. He had fear enough for both of them. He spread her thighs with the breadth of his chest, trailing his mouth lower . . . and lower, to the sweet place he had coveted for so long.

She cried out and bucked when his tongue found its mark. Not to be dissuaded, Hunter caught her wrists so she couldn’t hinder him. He found the vulnerable flange of flesh he sought and took it, ignoring her startled protests, using his greater weight to keep her hips anchored to the fur. Knowing what he wanted, he went after it with single-minded intensity, until a hoarse moan ripped from her and she arched toward him, her body jerking with every pass of his tongue. His, at last.

Hunter rose over her, his gaze riveted to her flushed face and dazed blue eyes. Skimming his breeches down his hips, he undressed quickly and took off his medicine pouch. Then, positioning himself over her, he seized her hips and drew her toward him. Carefully and with a slowness that was agonizing for him, he pressed himself into her. As he feared, the passage was tight, so tight that he nearly pulled back. His guts clenched, and a tremor crawled up his spine. There wasn’t any way he could spare her pain this first time. She was a slightly built woman, narrow of hip. He was not a small man. Sweat sprang to his brow.

She was as ready as he could get her. If he didn’t take her now, he never would. Setting his jaw, Hunter eased farther into her, filled with self-loathing because, even now, though he knew how much he was about to hurt her, fire flared in his belly and his body ached for release. Her eyes widened at the pain, and the color washed from her lips. When he met with the resistance of her maidenhead, he hesitated, then drove forward in one smooth thrust, sheathing himself in liquid heat.

She screamed—a shrill, broken cry that cut through him. The next instant she scrambled to escape. Hunter quickly blanketed her body with his and captured her flailing arms.

‘‘
Toquet,
it is well, little one. It is finished, eh?’’

She panted, tossing her head. ‘‘It h-hurts!’’

‘‘It will pass,’’ he assured her huskily. ‘‘It will pass. It is a promise I make for you.’’

She went rigid when he began to move within her, her small face drawing tight. Tears sprang to Hunter’s eyes when she reached up to hug his neck, clinging to him even though he was the one hurting her. He had asked her to trust him this one last time. And she had. What if the discomfort didn’t lessen, as he had promised her? She would never let him near her again.

Relief flooded through him when at last he felt her relax. Carefully he picked up momentum, nudging deeper and deeper. Only when Hunter heard her cry out in pleasure did he allow himself to seek pleasure as well.

They drifted back to reality slowly, limbs entwined, heartbeats erratic, bodies shimmering with sweat. Hunter drew her head onto his shoulder, unwilling to let her go. A half smile settled on his mouth. He knew this first coupling had fallen far short of what it could have been, what it would be the second time. He had been tense, and so had she, not to mention the pain he had inflicted. His smile broadened. This small woman filled the empty places inside him, made him feel whole again.

Gazing sightlessly across the lodge at the evening shadows, Loretta listened to the rapid tattoo of Hunter’s pulse. She felt boneless and completely exhausted. Her cheeks flamed when she thought of the things he had done to her and the shameless way she had responded. A wave of embarrassment washed over her.

As if he sensed her anguish, he slid his hand over her hip and upward to her ribs. ‘‘My heart is filled with great love for you,’’ he whispered.

Tears sprang to Loretta’s eyes. She couldn’t name the emotion that caused them, didn’t want to. Then, like projectiles from a cannon, the words shot from her mouth. ‘‘Oh, Hunter, I love you, too.’’

The moment she said it, she knew it was true. She loved him as she had never loved anyone, with an intensity that made her ache. Hunter, the fierce warrior, the culmination of all her nightmares, had become the most important person in her world.

Chapter 22

LORETTA DIDN’T REALIZE SHE HAD DRIFTED off to sleep until she awoke to the delicious warmth of Hunter’s lips on her throat. She opened her eyes slowly, registering his presence beside her. A shaft of moonlight coming through the smoke hole gilded the broad shoulders that canopied hers. His solid chest, warm and silken, pinned her against soft fur. A wonderfully hard arm encircled her, his broad wrist pressed against her spine, his long fingers fanning between her shoulder blades. She let her head fall back to accommodate his caressing mouth.

‘‘Hi, hites,’’
she whispered.

‘‘Hello,’’ he murmured against her ear, sending spirals of longing down her spine.

Coming aware by degrees, Loretta tucked in her chin to glance down, shocked to see her white skin glowing in the moonlight. It was shameless to be lying next to him like this. She tensed, but the brush of his lips along her throat robbed her of the will to move. Not that she could have if she tried. There was an urgency in the way he held her, a tautness in his body. His hips moved forward against hers, leaving her in no doubt that he wanted her, again.

‘‘Hunter . . . what about Amy? It’s dark outside.’’

‘‘I tied the flap closed. She will go to my mother.’’ His voice was husky, throbbing. He slid his hand down her back to her bottom and drew her firmly against him. His hardness jabbed her abdomen, and she flinched. He drew back and looked down at her, his eyes shot with silver in the moonlight. ‘‘You hurt?’’

Loretta knew he had gone to great lengths to be gentle with her earlier, but she was sore nonetheless. The ache was to be expected, she felt sure, and probably would disappear in a day or two. ‘‘I’m fine.’’

He slid his hand to her belly, his strong fingers probing carefully, his gaze alert on her face for telltale signs of pain. ‘‘Ah, Blue Eyes, I think you lie.’’

His gentleness and concern touched her. ‘‘It isn’t that bad, truly. If you want to—’’ Heat flooded her cheeks as the impropriety of what she had nearly said struck her.

His mouth quirked in a knowing grin. ‘‘This Comanche has much want, but I will wait.’’

That pronouncement was punctuated by a flurry of horses’ hooves outside. Hunter rose on an elbow and cocked his dark head to listen. The next instant, Red Buffalo’s voice rang out.

‘‘My cousin! I bring your yellow-hair a marriage gift.’’

An incredulous smile slanted across Hunter’s mouth, and upon seeing it, Loretta realized just how much it would mean to him if she and Red Buffalo could become friends.

Hunter slipped from the bed and grabbed his breeches to pull them on. Bathed in moonlight, the planes of his body were gilded with silver, its contours cast into delineative shadow. Clutching a fur to her chest, Loretta sat up, pretending not to notice. She did, though, and what she saw set her pulse to skittering. Perhaps beautiful wasn’t an appropriate adjective for a man, but it was the only word that came to her.

Watching him, she was, for the first time in her life, appreciative of the male form, the smooth play of muscle in motion, the subtle grace in strength. Lean tendons roped his buttocks and thighs. When he turned slightly she glimpsed his manhood, jutting forth, hard and proud, from a mahogany nest of short curly hair. Her throat tightened, and deep within her there welled feelings she could scarcely credit, longing, tenderness, delicious excitement—and fierce pride. That such a man loved her and wanted her was nothing short of incredible. He could have had any girl in the village, someone supple and dark with liquid brown eyes, a dozen such someones if he chose, but instead he had picked her, a skinny, pallid farm girl.

Cinching the drawstring of his pants, he tied a quick bowknot and extended a hand to her. For an instant Loretta was swept back in time to that first afternoon, when he had commanded she place her palm across his. She had been so terrified then, but no longer. His arm was her shield, just as he had promised.

‘‘Come, wife. My cousin brings a gift, eh?’’

‘‘Hunter, I’m not dressed!’’

Chuckling, he grabbed a buffalo robe and draped it around her shoulders. After enveloping her in the fur, he drew her from the bed and to the door, untying the flap to sweep it aside.

Next to Hunter’s tripod, Red Buffalo sat astride his horse. He leaned forward along his stallion’s neck, his teeth gleaming blue white against his dark skin, his ebony hair drifting in the night wind. ‘‘A gift for you, Yellow Hair. To sing the song in my heart of your marriage to my cousin.’’

Loretta’s gaze dropped to the leather-wrapped gift he held out to her. Clutching the buffalo robe together at her throat, she stepped forward. ‘‘Thank you, Red Buffalo.’’

As Loretta reached up to take the gift, she noted a glitter in Red Buffalo’s eyes. Though she assured herself it was only a reflection of the moonlight, she felt uneasy. Clasping the packet, she turned back toward the lodge and rejoined her husband in the doorway. Hunter said something to Red Buffalo in Comanche and then drew Loretta inside, reclosing the flap.

‘‘You will look, yes?’’

Loretta force a smile and stepped across the room to stand in the moonlight. She doubted Red Buffalo had brought her anything much, but she pretended to be excited for Hunter’s sake. Through the leather, the contents of the package felt soft. Cloth of some kind? It was too small to be an article of clothing. Ribbons for her hair, perhaps? After untying the rawhide strings, Loretta unfolded the leather wrapping and lifted the contents between thumb and forefinger. She felt a damp, tacky surface on the thumb side, thick softness on the other. Silken strands slid across the backs of her fingers. In the shadows, it took her a moment to identify what she held.
A scalp
.

Loretta stared down, her pulse resounding inside her head, the world tipping crazily around her. The unfolding hair was long, the color very like her own. She swayed, horror washing over her. The tacky moistness was blood,
fresh
blood. The scalp slid from her paralyzed fingers and plopped on the floor.

‘‘What is it?’’ Hunter asked.

He stepped closer, peering down at the indefinable shape at her feet. Loretta felt as if she might faint. She tried to speak and couldn’t. Hunter crouched and picked up the scalp, a low growl of rage rumbling from his chest. Before she could stop him, he shot to his feet and left the lodge, yelling Red Buffalo’s name.