The Virgin Huntress (12 page)

“Believe me, Vesta, there is nothing closer to my own desire, but I don’t think you truly are ready to obey my wishes. We will
not
rush this just because you desire it so. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Hew. I’ll do as you ask.” She felt close to tears in her frustration. Her body positively cried out for him.

He released her hands. “You will keep your arms where they are,” he commanded. “And you will not move until I give you leave to do so.” He waited for her acknowledgment that came as a tearful nod, and then he was skirting down her belly with whisper soft caresses, kisses, and little nips of her flesh that made her shiver with delight. When he lingered to lap at her navel, the empty pang in her belly only increased. She wanted to writhe against him, every instinct called for her to do so, but she tamped it down. Still, he was growing ever closer to...
oh my!

***

Hew cast his gaze up at her pink flushed face where she lay still, arms overhead just as he had commanded. Her eyes were closed, but her rosy lips were softly parted as if awaiting another kiss. Her breasts rose and fell in an erratic rhythm with her breathing. He grazed his fingers through the soft mass of hair, and she trembled.

He knew she was more than ready for him. Even with his dearth of first-hand experience, he recognized the intensity of her arousal. It was present in every soft sound of pleasure she made, the way her body responded under the lightest touch and—
God help him
—the essence of her sex. His hands stroked her smooth thighs, moving steadily upward, while his mouth made its own stealthy descent. He wanted to bury his face in her mons and drink in the downy texture and tangy scent of aroused woman. The thought alone nearly undid him, so overwhelming was the realization of his erotic dreams to his deprived senses.

But Hew was supremely self-possessed, and this was, indeed, an exercise in discipline. Experience had already taught him the futility of trying to rein Vesta in by any conventional means, for she was governed only by her passions. Thus, he would use passion to govern her.

“Spread your legs for me, Vesta” he commanded.

“But—”

“Do you wish me to touch you again?”

“Yes, I do. Truly!” She gasped.

“Then do what I ask of you.”

“But, Hew! You mustn’t!” She cried out when he nuzzled her nest of curls, inhaling deeply of her heady perfume. “It’s...indecent!”

“Says who?” He chuckled. “Have you not read the Scriptures, Vesta? ‘Awake, O north wind, and come, wind of the south, Make my garden breathe out fragrance, let its spices be wafted abroad. May my beloved come into his garden and eat its choice fruits.’”

“You can’t possible think that means...”

He cocked a brow at her. “After extensive meditation on it, indeed, I do, my dearest.”

He parted her quivering thighs, allowing himself to finally gaze upon the exotic vision he had hitherto only imagined. “And what a lovely and fragrant garden you have.”

She made a halfhearted sound of protest as he gently parted her nether lips for more intimate exploration. Unfurled before his eyes like a hothouse flower, she resembled an orchid in truth, all delicate folds, so pink and slick and soft against his tongue. He took his initial taste of her desire, and Hew felt something akin to drunkenness, intoxication by lust. It was sheer agony to his throbbing cock to touch her, to kiss her so intimately, knowing she wanted him, writhed for him.

Yet he gently licked and kissed each part of her, watching, listening to her sultry sounds, learning her body and responding to her cues, resolved to bring her into submission if it killed him. “You may lower your arms now,” he instructed, “for I wish to see you touch your breasts.”

“You want me to...”

“You heard me,” he said. “I want you to fondle your breasts while I kiss your sex. Your obedience is wanting, Vesta. Perhaps I should desist?”

***

“No!” she whimpered and readily complied. “What you did— it’s so...so...sublime, Hew. Please don’t stop. Don’t
ever
stop!” She cried out, and her entire body shuddered with each decadent kiss and probing stroke of his tongue. His mouth was magical, creating warm, wickedly wanton waves of pleasure that rippled deep inside her, but at the same time, making her passage pulse with empty yearning. She squirmed against him. “I can’t bear the torture anymore! I am so
very
ready for you, Hew. I feel so empty, I ache. Please! Please make it go away.”

“Be patient, my sweet, for I intend to make it very much better...for both of us.”

His tongue located her secret hidden place, the sensitive bud of her clitoris, and he kissed her again. This time, his tongue swirled in deliberate circles, and his fingers traced and gently probed the opening to her body, the place where he would enter her. Her pulsing blood roared in her ears as the throbbing tension pulsed frenetically, mounting and coiling up inside her. It was too much!

Her breath seized, her mind blurred, and then her body racked with convulsive waves as if nothing existed outside the black void of sensation. When the rapturous aftershocks had subsided, she lay quietly, gazing into his face with wonderment. He looked down upon her as well, his expression tender and a small smile hovering over his perfect lips, but then something different flared in his eyes, and Hew was over her, claiming her mouth in a hungry kiss as the heavy weight of his body pressed her thighs wider.

He slid his sex into her wetness with a groan. She felt the head of his phallus seeking and probing her entrance. Instinctively, she raised her hips to meet his thrust, and swallowed her gasp as he plunged into her, breaching the maidenhead that barred the entrance to her womb. At first, Vesta recoiled from the burning sensation that ensued, expecting more pain to follow, but then he didn’t move. His eyes were closed, and his face was drawn taught as if in intense pain. His entire body trembled, and his chest heaved as if he were short of breath.

“Did it hurt you?” she whispered.

He opened his eyes with a look of surprise, and then she felt a low rumble of mirth emanating from his belly to his chest. “I believe that was supposed to be my question.”

“But you look...”

“Just give me just a moment,” he begged. “And please, Vesta, for God’s sake, be very still.”

His face was strained with concentration, and then realization struck. Hew was inside her. The burning had ceased, now replaced by an ineffable feeling of fullness that suffused her entire being. They were joined together in as intimate a fashion as man and woman can be, and it was breathtaking.

***

Hew had imagined this moment, had fantasized about it and played it out in a surprising amount of variations, in both his waking and unconscious thoughts thousands of times over the years, but no amount of imagery and manual stimulation could ever have prepared him for the mind-altering reality of being buried to the bollocks in warm, wet woman.

When he finally thrust into her hot, tight sheath, his eyes nearly rolled back in his head in pure, agonizing rapture. It felt like all the blood had drained from his body to engorge his pulsing staff. The moment he’d breached her maidenhead, his bollocks had tightened fiercely, and he feared that brief moment of initial penetration would be the end of him.
Dear God,
he prayed,
don’t let me embarrass myself now.

For once Vesta obeyed, lying still beneath him while his breathing regulated and her body relaxed around him. He braced himself on his elbows, holding himself at a slight distance for fear that even an inch more exposure to her sweet, welcoming flesh would put him over the edge. Hew closed his eyes, sweat beading his brow, as he forced his mind to master his body, concentrating on breathing and trying to recite Latin conjugations through his clenched teeth, but the only verbs that sprung to mind were unhelpful variations of coitus. Somehow, he still managed to keep his impending release at bay.

Another moment passed, and he had himself back in check. With a last ragged breath, he allowed his mouth to descend upon hers. He focused on the kiss, rather than on his cock, as he withdrew slightly and then flexed his hips, thrusting back in again, and then once more, beginning a slow, rhythmic repetition of the movement. He continued kissing her deeply, probing with his tongue in synchrony with the action of his hips, slow and languorous, creating a blessed, slick friction, the most sublime sensation he had ever known.

She undulated beneath him, and he drove into her harder, deeper, and with greater urgency, which she met and matched with her own. The air about them grew thicker still with a heady and musky mix of sex and sounds of mutual pleasure. She moaned into his mouth and without coaxing, wrapped her legs about his flanks, urging him deeper into her wetness. He lost himself in silky, sultry heat, and the white-hot jolts of sensation that fired every nerve fiber, until his release came upon him, hitting him with a blinding fury. Hew emptied his lungs in a ferocious cry as hot spurts of his seed pumped from his body.

He hovered over her, spent and quivering, until Vesta pulled his head back down to hers, seeking his lips with a misty smile and a sigh. “My own magnificent Hew. Now you are mine, and I am yours utterly and completely.”

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

Vesta had never known such a powerful connection could exist between two human beings as that forged during the act of love. Hew had been gentle, tender, and passionate too, everything she had imagined and so very much more. She thought her heart would burst with the joy and adulation she felt during their lovemaking. Now she lay dreamily encircled in his arms, her cheek resting on his chest, listening to the low and mesmerizing drumbeat of his heart as he slept. She gazed lovingly at his face, high cheekbones shadowed by thick lashes, a strong, masculine nose, lovely, sensuous lips parted softly in slumber, a small dimple punctuating his chin. An altogether beautiful face. She studied the scar that blemished him but decided it wasn’t really a blemish at all, but a mark of distinction that only made him look manlier.

Not satisfied with only a lengthy survey of his face, she decided to continue her detailed inventory of Hew, the man she vowed to love passionately and faithfully for the rest of her days. Stealing another peek to ensure he slept, she peeled the covers back to his waist for her first good, long look at him, and her mouth went dry; for Hew, even in repose, was a sculpture of lean, hard muscle. Worshipping his body would be no hardship at all. Indeed, she was already filled with the compulsive desire to lick and kiss every magnificent inch of him.

Having never practiced much self-restraint, Vesta saw no reason to start now.

She kissed, first the puckered scar at his right shoulder and then ran her palms over the pectoral muscles of his chest, relishing the slightly abrasive feeling of the little swirls of hair. She dipped her head and kissed his nipples. When he didn’t stir, she darted out her tongue. He tasted slightly salty. She tried to suckle him as he had her but to little effect. Hew slept on.

Growing frustrated with his lack of response to her efforts to rouse him, she grew bolder yet. With her mouth and tongue, she kissed his neck and chest and then worked her way lower, following the erotic trail of dark hair to where it disappeared beneath the bed linens, the slightly tented bed linens, she observed with a smile. Although she had earlier held him briefly in her hand, she had not had a good look before. Vesta moved lower yet, exposing him to the knees and looked her fill at the wondrous instrument that had wrought so much pleasure. Her efforts had not been in vain after all, for he was aroused now. The sight of him, large and thick and erect, sent a flood of liquid heat straight to her sex. Utterly fascinated, she itched to hold it in her hand. She reached out a finger and tentatively stroked the underside. The skin was smooth and surprisingly soft to the touch.

“I thought you weren’t afraid of it.” Hew looked down at her with a mocking smile.

She startled and regarded him guiltily, as if she’d been caught doing something she oughtn’t. “I’m not afraid, but you said you didn’t like to be touched.”

“On the contrary.” He took her hand in his. “I said I was
unaccustomed
to another’s touch, but that does not mean I don’t desire it,” he said. “I have given myself to you, Vesta. My body is now yours, to do with as you will.”

“Is it really?” By way of answer, he wrapped her hand around his staff. She closed her eyes to relish the sensation. Vesta felt a faint quivering of anticipation now that she understood precisely what he meant. He was made just for her.

She tightened her grip and slid her hand slowly along his length and glanced up at his sharp intake of breath. She continued to stroke him, loving the feel of him, hot and pulsing and altogether wonderful. She bit her lips with a mischievous look. “Hew,” she asked in a deceptively casual tone. “Are there
other
scriptures you have meditated on?”

“I’m not a particularly religious man, if that is what you ask.”

“No, I don’t speak of the Ten Commandments, for surely we have just broken one of them—”