The Tears of the Rose (21 page)

With an incoherent groan, he cupped them in his big hands, the calluses rough on my tender skin. He handled me with rough strength, as I'd somehow known he would, the pleasure nearly painful, except that it transported me so. Unable to stay still, I clutched his shoulders, my fingers curling into the light shirt he'd worn under the leathers. He didn't object, just slid his hands under my back to lift my breasts to his mouth. With hot swipes of his tongue and nipping bites, he covered every inch, as if starving for the taste of my skin.

I reveled in it. My breasts had grown so taut, so sensitive and full to bursting lately, that this teasing torment only served to ease that tension. When his avid mouth fastened on my nipple and sucked hard, the lightning bolt bifurcated, shooting to my groin and mind at once, pouring out of my mouth in a scream of ecstasy.

His hands dug into the muscles of my back, holding me while I thrashed in his arms, his lips and teeth clamped on my breast. The intense wave left me and he resumed licking and kissing, transferring attentions between my breasts, while my head draped down and the world turned upside down.

“I need you naked,” he muttered, standing and drawing me to my feet. I stood on the velvet, lust-filled grass, swaying and bemused, while he stripped the silks from my body. The moon, nearly full, rose high and platinum bright. With greater care, Ash unwound the bandages from my thighs, then tossed those on top of the pile of my discarded, shredded clothing.

Kneeling before me, he sat on his heels, eyes a dark gleam in the night, staring at me like a predator stalking a deer. Even with Hugh, I'd never stood fully naked this way. Self-conscious, I shrugged the cape of my long hair around me, the silky ends tickling my bottom and upper thighs.

“No.” His tone crawled harsh over my skin, making the fine hairs stand on end. “I may have only this one chance. You gave yourself to me and I want it all. Gather your hair and hold it on top of your head so I can see you.”

A fine trembling took me, my skin both hot and chilled. Winding my hair into a loose bundle, I raised it the way he wanted, needing both hands to hold all of it. His breath shuddered in and out, in satisfaction and a kind of physical torment. He stood and walked around me, trailing a hand down my spine and then drifting over one globe of my bottom. I waited in a state of mindless anticipation, my skin singing to his least caress, the hot, aching flesh between my legs craving more, more, more.

He dropped down in front of me again, knees wide, still fully dressed. Grasping my ankles, he moved my feet a little apart. Then he slid one hand up my calf, over the inside of my knee and up to my inner thigh. My breath came in little pants and I watched, riveted by the sight.

Caressing the newly healed skin there, he flicked a sly glance up at me, teeth showing in a rare open grin that nevertheless looked more feral than joyful, he drew his finger higher, stopping only where my thighs met.

“Is your skin sensitive here?” he asked in that gravelly whisper.

I nodded, biting back a moan at his feathery strokes.

“Maybe I should check. Spread your legs more, so I can see.”

My face hot and nipples aching ferociously, I eased my thighs apart a bit more. He followed the gap with only the one finger, leaning in close, his breath hot on my skin.

“More,” he demanded.

Biting my lip against the terrible tension, I gave him what he wanted, the night air cool on the hot tissues of my sex. With excruciating slowness, he dragged the tip of his finger over the round of my thigh, skidding on the slick moisture that had wicked down.

“What's this?” Adding more fingers, he dabbled in the wetness. “Are you so hot for me, then? Already primed and ready for fucking, Ami?”

Wildly embarrassed, I tried to close my thighs and pull away, dropping my hair.

The hand between my legs clamped onto my slick thigh, preventing me, and his other hand held me from behind, a vise on my bottom. Rocking on my feet, I grabbed his shoulders to steady myself, to find him staring up at me, harsh face fierce in the moonlight.

“No, you don't. There's no escaping me.” He flattened the hand between my thighs, using my own moisture to glide it back and forth, inching it up so the edge of his knuckle just brushed my slick nether lips. I moaned at the aching pleasure. “That's it, my treasure, never be ashamed. This is a gift. No one else will see. I'll protect you and pleasure you and it will be our secret. You can be anyone with me.”

20

T
he murmuring words flooded through me, opening doors I hadn't known were closed. Or maybe I had known—and knowing it led me here. His hard hand pushed higher and I opened for him again, longing for more than the brushing, teasing tickles on my lips. I wanted—no,
needed
—more.

“Harder,” I whispered, and he laughed that soundless, dry laugh.

“It will be, Princess. Don't you worry.” But his fingertips barely parted the lips of my womanhood, taunting me. I pushed down into his hand and he drew the touch away, tsking at me. “So impatient. All right, then. Lie back on the blanket.”

With relief I did, holding up my arms to receive him. At last.

He stood over me, looking and thinking. Or just looking. Then he kneeled down and straddled me on all fours, his loose shirttail brushing my belly, hands on either side of my head. With a sweetness he hadn't shown before, he kissed me, slow and gentle, laving the sensitive insides of my lips with his tongue. I held on to his shirt, then tried to push it open, to feel his skin beneath. With an iron grip, he clamped my wrist and drew my hand away.

“No.”

“I want to touch you,” I protested.

“Not a subject for debate. Stretch your arms over your head and keep them there or I'll tie them that way.”

Breathless, I obeyed, my blood hot, staring up at the sky, dense with stars except for the bright hole made by the moon. He crawled down my body, dropping kisses and little bites here and there, humming when I leapt to the caress. Reaching my feet, he took my ankles in his hands again.

“Do you remember what I said to you in the stable?”

I nodded, unable to speak.

“I've thought of doing nothing else since then.” He pushed my ankles apart, opening me to his gaze. I squirmed, vividly aware that he saw everything of me. More than even I had. He placed my feet on his shoulders, the muscles there firm against my arches. My breath nearly sobbed out of me.

He feathered his fingers down my inner thighs and then cupped my bottom, lifting me to his mouth as he'd done with my breasts.

Tension racked me, making me shudder. “I'm afraid,” I whimpered, though that wasn't the right word.

“Never be afraid of me.” The breath carrying his words fluttered over my exposed and sensitive flesh, and I clutched the grass above my head for some kind of anchor. He waited for me to calm myself. “Tell me you want this.”

I nodded, only it was more of a thrashing of my head from side to side. My world was coming apart.

“Not enough, Ami.” His bruising grip dug into my bottom, and he sounded angry. I knew, though, by the ravenous energy prickling up from the ground, that it was something else. “Tell me yes or I stop.”

I was a glass vessel, overfull and ready to shatter. There was only one answer to give.

“Yes.”

And his mouth was on me. Hot. Hungry. Full of teeth and lips, tongue penetrating me. My hips bucked wildly and he held me tight, growling in his throat as he devoured me. The sky broke into kaleidoscoping colors, whirling and flashing in the backs of my eyes. My heart pounded, rattling against my ribs, and I cried out, a long wailing song of something beyond pleasure. Mind shattering, I broke apart, suspended in space, tethered to the world only by his hands and mouth.

I didn't think I'd fainted, but I became aware of him licking me, not ferocious as before, but with a gentleness that roused me, desire prickling up from my toes. My knees were draped over his shoulders, my hips pressed to the blanket as he pressed me down. He took the kernel of keenest pleasure between his teeth, flicking with his tongue, then sucking hard.

Moaning a protest, I pushed against his head. He ignored me. The tension mounted more, making me shift restlessly. I wound my fingers in his curly hair, pulling. No longer sure which way I wanted to move him.

“Hands,” he growled, “or I will tie them. Don't think I won't.”

Chastened, I dropped my hands to my sides, clawing my fingers into the blanket. “Ash . . .” My throat scratched, swallowing his name. I cleared it and tried again, trying to keep the thought as his mouth worked me, driving me to that mindless plain. “Ash—I don't think I can do any more.”

He laughed, dry and breathless, and pressed a sloppy kiss on my inner thigh. “Oh, yes, you can. I'm not done with you, yet. Not by a long stretch.”

Pushing my knees apart, he stared down at me, then slid a long, coarse finger inside, curling it up, so I convulsed, gasping. “Oh, yes,” he said, all smug male, “you have plenty left.” He added another finger, pumping them in and out of me, gaze on my face as the deeper pleasure took over. His thumb pressed down on the upper kernel and I thrashed at the double-layered sensation.

I whimpered again, this time when he withdrew his hand, and he patted my flank. “Shh . . . only for a moment.” His clothing rustled; then he settled himself between my thighs, his manhood pressing against my opening. Bracing myself, I waited for him to thrust in. But he stopped there, just barely inside me, arms straight, holding himself above me. Unbidden, I remembered Hugh, how he'd done this, his skin warm against mine. With a pang of guilt, I missed him.

“Look at me,” Ash urged.

I opened my eyes, his face close above mine. He kissed me. Withdrew.

“Is this how you did it before?” he asked.

I nodded, uncertain what he meant. This wasn't going how I'd expected. He still waited. “Isn't there pretty much just one way to do it?” I whispered, utterly self-conscious to be discussing it. How horribly naïve was I? I turned my face to the side, waiting for his laughter.

Instead, he took my earlobe in his teeth and stroked the hard ridge of manhood against me, gliding easily against my slickness—and I moaned at the dual sensations, losing my embarrassment immediately.

“I mean,” he murmured into my ear, “face to face this way.”

“Oh!” The heat burned in my face. “Yes. Like this—Glorianna's way.”

Now he did laugh, a huff of breath across my cheek. “I have to know what you were thinking.”

“Oh, no. I was only confused a little.”

He settled his hips deeper, pressing barely into me and stopping, sweeping a long line of kisses down my throat. I lifted my hips, beseeching. But no.

“I must know, Ami. You had such an odd look on your face. What did you think I meant?”

“It doesn't matter,” I urged him. “Just do it.”

“Like this?” He pressed into me and I caught my breath, waiting for the stroke inside me, but he pulled out again.

“Oh, please!” I cried out before I knew it.

“Then tell me.”

“I can't.”

“You trust me with this, but not your thoughts?”

“I don't have the words.”

“Try,” he coaxed, sounding ever so amused. The playfulness, so unlike his usual demeanor, curlicued through his thick passion, shimmering streams of bubbles in wine.

“After. Afterwards I'll tell you.”

“Now. Or you'll try to squirm out of it.” He lowered his weight, pinning me down as if to illustrate. “Tell me, sweet Ami.”

I closed my eyes, glad of the shadows that should hide my red face. “I thought that there was another way than the man putting his . . . part inside of my . . . area.”

To his credit, he didn't laugh. “Ah, I see.” He pushed his manhood into me and I whimpered. “This part?”

“Yes.”

“And this area?”

“Ash!” I let go of the blanket and seized his hips, trying to pull him inside of me. “Yes, already! I
told
you I didn't have the words.”

“I know. I'm sorry for teasing you. I only . . .”

He trailed off and I paid attention to his expression, wondering why his mood changed, a whiff of desolation creeping through. I lifted my hands and framed his face. Turnabout.

“Tell me.”

He sighed and leaned his forehead against mine. “I realize this is only for tonight, but . . . I have to know that you remember this is me. That you're not . . . dreaming of a ghost.”

He'd known somehow, that I'd drifted, before. The expression on his pitted face seemed stark, the naked hope and fear of the wounded animal. His skin, all the uneven lines and scars, made me realize, more than anything, that this was
him
. And I knew what to do.

“Then take off your shirt. Get as naked as I am.” I told him. “Let me see and touch
you
.”

Sitting up, he looked at me, splayed before him, and hesitated. “I have scars. Lots of them.”

“I've seen—remember?”

“Touching is different. Most girls—other women, I mean—are repelled. It's not pretty.”

“I've had pretty. Now I want you.”

He stilled at that, fingers flexing on his shirt, and for a moment I thought I'd blurted out the wrong thing again. But no—he laughed, soundlessly, and shrugged out of the shirt. Tossing it aside, he pulled off his boots, stood, and pushed the narrow black pants down his legs. His manhood stood out straight from his body and I found myself staring, aware I'd never seen Hugh this way either.

So much we hadn't done with each other. But, though the thought made me sad, no ball of iron thorns followed it; my throat didn't seize with grief. We'd thought we'd have all our lives and lost all those years in an instant. Over time, we would have come to know each other better. Maybe Hugh had treated me as he thought I wanted him to. Glorianna knew that I'd never said otherwise. I'd been delighted to be petted and cosseted. It wasn't his fault that we hadn't had the chance to grow up some. If I had learned nothing else, I knew that—time could be cut short.

“Show me one of the other ways,” I told Ash, standing up and boldly putting my hand on his . . . what? “And what do I call this?”

“Cock,” he answered. “There are as many names as stars in the sky, but that will do.”

Keep your head with your big sword, not the little one, young cock.
The drill instructor had said that to the soldier in the yard and now I understood her subsequent apology.

Ash's hands settled on my hips, under the fall of my hair, and he pushed his cock through the circle of my hand so the furry hairs of his chest tickled my nipples. That part of him, his cock, wasn't rough or scarred, but felt smooth and velvety. Tender, even.

“You can do it harder than that.”

I liked harder. I tightened my grip and he gasped, the cock flexing in my hand. He pulled away from me and took my hands in his. Lying back on the blanket, he drew me over him, positioning me so I straddled him. Lifting his cock in one hand, he pointed it up and moved me by the hips so the tip was just inside me.

“I want to do it,” I said.

“Then do it,” he nearly growled.

Wrapping my fingers around it again, I savored the sweet texture of his skin there, so hot, with muscular hardness beneath.

“Can I put my mouth on you, as you did to me?” I was more wondering out loud, but he clapped his hands over his eyes, grinding the heels into the sockets, making a horrible groaning noise.

“You will be the death of me.”

“I just wondered.”

“No.” He dropped his hands to my hips and sank clawed fingers in. “Not now.”

“Why not?”

“Because you look like the goddess of sex sitting over me, your juices dripping down my cock, and I can't hold off a moment more.” With a burst of speed and strength, he pulled my hips down and flexed his body, driving up and into me.

I rode him like a steed, plunging up and down, the excruciating pleasure arrowing through my pelvis and up through the top of my head.

Throwing back my head, I laughed, straight to the moon. I felt like the goddess of sex. Ash sat up, following the arch of my body and winding his hands in the length of my streaming hair, making me bend backward while his mouth plundered my breasts and that fierce
cock
drove up, pinioning me with such sharp thrusts that I convulsed.

Over and over, my whole body spasmed and I dug my nails into the wiry muscles of his shoulders, the ridges left by the lash like a puzzle to be reassembled. With a last cry, I collapsed, falling backward into the pull of his grip on my hair.

He followed me, barely allowing a breath of distance between our slick skins. My knees bent under me, my spine still arched by his merciless grip, I became the horse he rode, pounding into me with all the ferocity I'd fantasized about. My body screamed with it.

I did, too. Lost in a world of such extremity that I knew nothing but his flesh in mine.

With a final shout of what sounded like victory, he slammed home, grinding hard and pushing my straining hips wide. I split apart, sundered by him.

Lost to the night.