Dark of the Moon (30 page)

"Are you asking me to marry you?" Excitement shot through her, sparkled in her eyes, colored her voice. His grin broadened.

"I must be. What do you say?"

"Oh, Connor!" She threw herself on top of him, hugging him with such force that he all but choked. But he hugged her back, kissing the side of her neck, before rolling with her so that her back was on the bed and he was looming over her. The coverlets were a wild tangle between and around them.

"I take it that means yes."

"Yes!"

"Then since we are affianced, I need have no more scruples and can properly teach you all you need to know about lovemaking." The suggestion of a teasing smile curled the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, yes. . . . You mean there's more?" Her response shifted from joyous excitement to dismay as the import of his words sank in. She regarded him with a slight frown of consternation. He grinned.

"You are a constant source of delight to me, my own. Yes, there's more. You've hardly got started."

"Oh."

His grin widened until he was actually laughing. "Don't sound so worried. Lovemaking's fun. You'll like it, once you get used to it. You have my word on it."

His laughter ignited sparks of suspicion in her. "Connor d'Arcy, are you making sport of me?"

"Now what makes you think that?"

"A man can't—you can't—we already m-made love for tonight."

"Very true." His tone was solemn, but something about his eyes made her suspect that he was still laughing at her. "That being the case, you've nothing to worry about, have you?

Instead, you might want to think about giving me a kiss to seal our betrothal. Kissing is nothing to be frightened of, is it? You've always seemed particularly partial to it."

Caitlyn looked at the handsome face with its aquiline nose and strong jaw, at the hard mouth that was quirked just now with humor and something that looked very much like tenderness, at the aqua eyes that were so strangely light against his dark skin, and felt a rush of love so strong that it shook her. He was hers, now and forever. She would be his wife. Connor's wife. It was her dream, and it was coming true. She lifted a hand to stroke his bristly jaw.

"I'll be a good wife to you," she said, as if she were making a vow. The laughter in his eyes died and he looked down at her intently. Then, without waiting for her to kiss him, he was lowering his head and taking her mouth, kissing her hard and fiercely as if to seal his possession of her, and her arms were going around his neck and she was kissing him back. With an inarticulate murmur of impatience at the quilts that bound them both, he freed her from them with scarcely a pause in the intense possession of her mouth. Then he gathered her to him, skin to skin under the sheltering warmth of the covers.

He held her close, pressing soft little kisses from one corner of her lips to the other, nibbling at her lips, tantalizing her with quick forays of his tongue against her teeth until she was clutching his hair and holding his head still so that she could kiss him properly, as he had taught her. Then he kissed her deep and long until her head was spinning and that now-familiar tightening was coiling deep in her belly and her breasts were swelling and aching against his chest despite what she now knew the ending to this feeling would be. But for the rest of the night she was safe, safe to indulge these wonderful sensations without fear of the ultimate man-woman thing, safe to revel in possessing Connor and having him possess her.

When his mouth left hers to trail kisses across her cheek to her ear, which he nuzzled and tickled with his tongue, she smiled and squirmed and returned the compliment with his ear until he was shaking his head to free it from her encroaching tongue and then moving his head lower, out of her reach. With infinite delicacy he traced a path across her throat, all the while holding her close against his body so that the heat and size and strength of him intoxicated her every cell. She clung closer as he ran his tongue around the hollow of her throat, pressing his mouth to the fast-beating pulse and resting there for a moment while his hands stroked down her spine to her buttocks and then stroked them too, with silky soft caresses over the rounded flesh. The quickening inside her speeded up, and Caitlyn remembered how wonderful it had been, how magical were the feelings Connor had aroused in her body before he had hurt her so unexpectedly in the end. But since she no longer had to fear that, not tonight, she could relax and enjoy the caresses, enjoy the feelings that he was stirring in her, enjoy him. For months now she had longed to have him kiss her, longed to have him make her his, longed to kiss him and make him hers. Now, tonight, with the worst behind her, was her chance to do what she wanted.

Her hands began to explore him, timidly at first and then with increasing boldness, stroking over his chest, discovering the crisp silky mat of hairs over steely muscles for herself, rubbing his nipples until she found to her surprise that they came erect just like her own, trailing her fingers down over his taut belly to find his belly button and meander inside. He permitted her exploration to this point, busying himself with watching her face while she familiarized herself with his body. But then, when she dared a glance down at the man part of him that seemed suddenly much larger and more menacing than it had when she had started, he flipped her onto her back with a shake of his head.

"Turnabout's fair play, you know," he said in a voice that might almost have been teasing except for the husky note that lay under the words. Caitlyn looked up at him wide-eyed, watching as he bent to kiss her, but when his mouth was on hers, her head started to swim and all rational thought fled beneath the intoxicating onslaught of his mouth. His hands slid from behind her to cup her breasts, caress them, hold them captive for his mouth. Her eyes fluttered shut as he slid his lips over the swelling globes, kissing them so thoroughly that by the time he had taken the first nipple in his mouth, she was gasping at the wonder of it. With the part of her mind that was still capable of coherent thought, she wondered how these preliminaries could give her body such pleasure when the ultimate man-woman thing caused pain, but then his hand slid down between her thighs and she ceased thinking at all.

"Part your legs for me, cuilin," he whispered in her ear when she, partly out of instinct and partly out of fear, kept her legs resolutely clamped together in the teeth of that seeking hand.

His fingers moved persuasively in the silken nest at the apex of her thighs as he spoke, insin-uating themselves deeper, touching and stroking until with a gasp and a sigh she obeyed him, spreading her legs convulsively until he had full access to the deepest secrets of her body. Her eyes were closed tight, her body and legs stiff, her nails digging deep into his shoulders as his fingers searched, explored, and at last found her. They slid inside that place where he had hurt her so short a time before, and she gasped. But not with pain. There was no pain, just a glorious aching that cried out for relief.

She was on the verge of something momentous when he withdrew his hand.

"Gently now," he soothed her as she protested with a wild little whimper. And then, while her senses were disordered with longing and her defenses were breached, he quickly positioned himself over her and slid that man part of him inside her. A single thrust and he was buried deep, stretching her to the ultimate, impaling her. Shocked at the suddenness of it, the unexpectedness of it, she cried out, stiffening with remembered pain. Her eyes flew open. He was enormous again, hot and throbbing, and it wasn't possible, he could not . . .

"Connor!" His name was both protest and plea. Her eyes were huge kerry blue pools as they met his. He was holding himself above her, his weight braced on his elbows, their flesh joined as before. But this time there was a keen awareness of her in his eyes. The corners of his mouth curved tenderly as he looked down at her, slender and naked beneath him, her mouth swollen with his kisses, her midnight hair flowing in silken tangles across the white pillow.

"I thought you loved me." His voice had grown noticeably huskier.

"I d-do, you know I do, but . . ."

"Then won't you trust me, cuilin?"

Caitlyn stared up at him, near despairing. She did trust him, she aid; he wouldn't lie to her deliberately, but perhaps he didn't know how it was for a woman. Or maybe she wasn't like most women. Maybe she was too small to accommodate him; maybe—maybe she was deformed. She didn't know; all she was sure of was that it had hurt before and she feared the pain again. But he was already inside her without causing her pain, and perhaps, just perhaps, this time it wouldn't hurt quite so much. Besides, this was the price she had to pay for belonging to Connor. If she had to endure this five times a night for the rest of her life, she would.

"All right." She closed her eyes tightly, her teeth sinking into her lower lip in unconscious preparation for the onslaught she feared. Her body went rigid. Her hands slid down from his shoulders to close over the hard muscles of his upper arms, her nails digging in. He looked down at her for just a moment, his eyes both rueful and tender. Then, without moving the lower part of his body more than he had to, he bent his head to press a trio of tiny sweet kisses on her mouth.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at him in some trepidation.

"I'm ready. Go a-ahead," she said bravely. His lips curved up in that tender almost-smile again, and again he bent to kiss her. That part of him that was joined to her burned and throbbed and seemed to swell deep inside her, but he was not moving and there was no pain.

"Don't look so terrified, my own. I'll do no more than this, I swear. Unless and until you want me to. So you can feel quite safe. This isn't hurting, is it?"

"N-no."

"Well, then. Just relax."

Beneath her clutching hands she could feel the tremors that coursed through the arms that held his weight from her, while in his eyes she could see the effort that restraint was costing him. Her heart swelled with love for him. She told him so, and in response he grimaced and sweat popped out on his brow. Still he didn't move his lower body, just kept himself deep inside her, letting her get used to the feel of him. That part of him that so thoroughly possessed her might swell and burn of its own volition, but he was not using it against her, and she realized that he would not. Gradually her body relaxed.

This motionless possession was not really unpleasant, she discovered now that her fear of imminent pain was in abeyance. His hips, cradled between her legs, pressed tightly against her.

Heat and friction combined to create a tension within her that wound gradually tighter, sending tiny quivers of awareness along her nerve endings.

The tips of her breasts just brushed the soft mat of hair on his chest. Her nipples hardened, puckered, ached. Against her belly she could feel the warmth of his flat abdomen. The soft insides of her legs were abraded by his rock-hard thighs. Beneath her hands the muscles of his arms were like iron. Almost unconsciously, Caitlyn's fingers flexed, began stroking the corded sinews.

He moved then, just a little, and a shaft of pure heat shot through her. She caught her breath, feeling her muscles clench around him. Her heartbeat quickened. Something of what she was feeling must have shown in her eyes, because he gritted his teeth. Caitlyn tensed. Still he made no move to find his own pleasure.

This time, he would do nothing to hurt her. He had given her his word, and Connor was ever a man of honor. Caitlyn's fear disappeared, and in its wake a myriad of sensations began to riot through her body. She drew in a soft breath, shifting her legs. The resulting stab of pleasure caught her by surprise. Her eyes widened, and she moved again, experimentally. His eyes were almost shut now, his breathing harsh. Sweat trickled from his forehead to slide down over his jaw. Still he held himself rigidly still, and Caitlyn knew that he was leaving it up to her to learn about lovemaking as she would. Reassured, she tilted her hips so that they pressed closer against him, then pulled them back again. Her eyes fluttered down, opened again to find that Connor's face was reddening. Tremors racked his arms, coursed through his legs. The knowledge that she could affect him so profoundly was intoxicating. She moved again, with more confidence this time, lifting her hips off the mattress to press boldly into him before allowing them to fall back. At the exquisite friction, she caught her breath.

"Sweet Jesus." He groaned the words under his breath. Caitlyn saw his eyes were closed and his lips grimly compressed. He looked as if he were in physical pain, and she knew a momentary flicker of concern. Then she realized that she was the cause of his discomfort, that he wanted her so badly that he was hurting with the effort of holding back, and a warm glow began to build inside her. Growing ever bolder, she moved her hips again, undulating back and forth, sliding up and down on him while her hands traced a slow path up his arms to lock around his neck.

"Oh, my God." Abruptly his face clenched and he started to withdraw. Caitlyn clutched his neck, her legs instinctively wrapping around his back to hold him in place.

"Caitlyn, let go. Let go, or I won't be responsible. . . ." He was sweating so profusely now that his back was slippery with it. He sounded desperate; his eyes as they opened to meet hers looked glazed. At this visible evidence of the strength of his passion she felt a tremor start deep within her loins. It spiraled outward, infusing her skin with heat.

"I'm not afraid any more. Teach me the rest." The words, barely whispered, had a galvanizing effect on him. He stiffened, shivered, then collapsed on top of her, his arms going around her, straining her to him so tightly that she could scarcely breathe. He buried his face in the hollow between her shoulder and neck, muttering endearments that she couldn't decipher against her skin. His hips ground into her violently, pumping in and out with a driving intensity that caught her up and sent her whirling away with it. She clung to him, back arching, face pressed to his shoulder while pinwheels of wildfire exploded through her veins. It lasted just a few minutes, but when it was over her whole world had changed.