Three Heroes (47 page)

“True, though I didn’t have a very dangerous war.”

“What was this, then?” she asked, still touching the scar.

“A chance to swing over the wilderness. If staff duties were light, we were sometimes given permission to join the fighting forces.”

She looked up. “And I suppose you leaped at it.”

He seemed surprised by her tone. “Of course. Can’t you imagine how frustrating it is to be surrounded by the fever of battle—the electricity—and not be caught up in it?” He ran a hand up her side to stroke the curve of her breast. “Rather as if we were to be suspended like this for the rest of our lives, never to fall fully into the madness of desire.”

At the look in his eyes, and the tantalizing touch, a shudder passed through her, a shudder of pleasure and pain such as she had never even imagined. She felt as if she contained seething power between her two hands. His heat, his breathing, his controlled patience…

She leaned closer to press her cheek against his hot, smooth skin. He sucked in a deep breath, moving against her like a wave, and she let her hands slide around him, encircle him, pressing to him so only the fine cotton of her shift lay between their bodies.

“What would I have done if you had died?” she murmured.

His arms came around her. “Found some other man to love.”

“It doesn’t seem possible.”

“It doesn’t, does it?” His head rested against hers. “When I watched you at the manor house today, standing near the sundial, surrounded by roses, it was as if a missing piece had fallen into my life. I give you fair warning, Falcon. You will have to fight to be free of my hood and jesses.”

She smiled into his skin. “As will you. And a falcon, remember, is a superior bird to a hawk.”

She heard a hum, presumably of pleasure. “The thought of you hunting me down,” he said, “almost tempts me to fly.”

“I have claws to catch you with.” She lightly pressed her nails into his back.

His inhaled breath swayed her again. “Have you any idea,” he said, “how perfectly happy I am at this moment? Or, come to think of it, it’s more a state of perfectly happy anticipation.”

Understanding, she moved back, though she would willingly have stood like that, so intimately close, for hours longer.

He sat on the bed and urgently pulled off his boots. She went to help, tossing first one, then the other aside. She put hands to his right stocking, but he seized her, swinging her onto the bed, and falling on her with a ravishing kiss.

At last!

She wrapped her arms and legs around him, kissing him back, pressing a burning, aching need against him. Then he broke contact, freed himself to pull off her shift.

Thus, finally, she was naked, and fear hit her. Not fear of joining, but fear of disappointing.

He put a hand to her breast, slid it down over her ribs, her hip, her thigh, then back up again. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured.

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

He looked up at her. “I’m not lying, love. Don’t you know? Your legs, your hips, your breasts… You’re cream and gold and honey. A perfect, delicious sweetmeat.”

He suddenly swooped down and licked, licked up her belly, around her breast.

She had a beautiful body? She’d never thought beyond her plain face, but the way he was cherishing her with touch and gaze, the hunger she sensed in every touch, tempted her to believe. The perfect jewel in a perfect day. He was taking pleasure, true pleasure, in her body.

He tongued her nipple, making her catch her breath, mostly in anticipation. This she already knew, and she remembered the way he’d been swept beyond sense in the wilderness.

She wanted to do that to him again.

Again and again.

Forever…

He suckled her, first gently, then more deeply, and she arched. “Hurry,” she said. “Hurry.”

“Patience,” he murmured. “Patience.”

“I don’t want to be patient!”

“Trust me.”

He slipped away from her breast and began to lick slowly toward the other one.

She punched at his shoulders with both fists.

He laughed.

Loving the feel of his broad shoulders, she began to knead them. She loved the feel of his tongue, too, though not as much as the suckling.

He hummed again, approvingly, so she kneaded him some more, more deeply as he suckled, kneading her need into his deep muscles again and again.

Her leg was rubbing against his and his breeches bothered her. “Undress,” she commanded.

He pushed away from her, and she grabbed for him. “No, don’t stop.”

“Patience,” he said, laughing and escaping. “A little waiting will definitely do you good.”

She sat up, hands on hips, pretending annoyance, not having to pretend frustration at their separation. But it was almost worth it to watch as he stripped off his remaining clothes.

He stepped out of his drawers and looked at her, and suddenly his jutting manly part grew larger, rising.

“Oh, my,” she said. “I thought the pictures exaggerated.”

“Pictures?” He climbed back on the bed and gently pushed her down.

“Men have books, and women steal them.” She was still looking at his Rod of Rapture, wondering if the book was right, and he would like her Felicitous Fingers. “Some of the girls brought interesting treasures back to school.”

“But you didn’t quite believe them? From what I’ve seen of such books, you were very wise.” He captured her face and looked into her eyes. “Are you frightened, love?”

She thought about it. Something was beating in her, but she didn’t think it was fear. She certainly didn’t want to stop. “What I’m feeling is nothing I’ve ever experienced before.”

He kissed her, laughing. “Still analyzing.”

Despite the fluttering inside and outside of her skin, she chuckled. “Of course. I don’t want to miss or forget any of this. Perhaps I should keep a diary.”

“Now that would shock our grandchildren.” His hand had found her breast again.

Grandchildren. An astonishingly beautiful thought.

Grandchildren at Hawkinville.

“I’d write it in code,” she murmured, dazed by his touch. “The first sight of you. The first feel of your skin. The special smell of your body. My own strange state. Your every touch…”

His hand stilled. “It is somewhat disconcerting, you know, to think of you taking notes.”

She looked at him. “Hawk, are you nervous?”

“You think I’m not?” When she just looked at him, he said, “I want this to be perfect for you, my heart.

But perfection really isn’t possible.”

She smiled and ran her hand through his hair. “Whatever it is, it will be perfect.”

He kissed her quickly. “Continue to take notes, then,” he said, and turned his attention to her breasts.

“I like that,” she said. “Oh! I feel as if I’m coming down with a fever. But not at all ill. Uncomfortable, though. Inside.”

His hand slid down. “Perhaps I can heal that.” He paused to circle her navel; then his fingers pushed into the hair between her thighs, close to the tingling ache.

She followed every touch and sensation in her mind, marveling.

“Open for me, sweetheart.”

When had she pushed her thighs so tightly together? She hastily spread them, breath held, and his fingers slid deeper.

Slid. She could feel moisture there. “The Delectable Dew of Deliquescent Desire…”

“What?”

She hadn’t realized that she’d spoken aloud. “A book called it that.”

“A bedazzling book of bridal bemusement?”

Laughing, she said, “The Annals of Aphrodite. It was rather alliterative.”

“So I hear. You are Definitely Delectable.”

“Impossibly Impatient?”

“Dauntingly Demanding.”

They collapsed into laughter, but he looked at her. “Don’t you think perhaps we could take this seriously?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m becoming Desperately Desirous.”

He was ruffled and rosy. She laughed again at all the r’s, but said, “Then I am Wonderfully Willing.”

He pressed his hand back between her thighs. “But not Rapturously Ready, my Pulchritudinous Pleasure.

”

Beautiful pleasure. She didn’t know if she was truly beautiful, but he was, and this was, made more so by the blessing of laughter. She would never have imagined being in a bed with a naked man entwined in laughter.

Her hips rose of their own accord to greet his fingers, and an ache intensified. Passion’s Penultimate Pang. They were near the end?

It was deep, deep inside her. Where he would go.

Soon, she prayed. Soon.

“Does that feel good?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. But…”

He began to circle his hand. “Better?”

All the feelings seemed to rush to the place he pressed on, and her hips pushed up again. “Oh! The Precious Pearl of Eden’s Ecstasy.”

“Probably.” He laughed into her dazed eyes. “By all means, tell me what else you recognize as we go.”

“The Wanton Wave of Womanly Welcome,” she gasped as her body rose up and fell of its own accord.

“I tried it. Stroking the Precious Pearl… It was pleasant, but not like this!”

Her body seemed to clench itself painfully, but she wanted more.

“Books for men tend to emphasize the delicacy of the pearl,” he murmured into her ear. “Those for women should doubtless emphasize firmness. Tell me if I hurt you.”

His hand pressed harder, and his mouth settled hot against her breast. Something shot between his mouth and his hand, and Clarissa let out a little shriek. “The Searing Spear of Sensual Sublimation!”

Her senses were firing off into sparks and sparkles, but she tried to comment as he’d asked, “And… the Final Fragrant Fragmentation. Oh, my! Don’t stop!”

“I won’t.”

She wanted to push back, so she did, again and again, desperately seeking something that wasn’t alliterative at all.

And then she died.

She felt it. That sudden, perfect stop, then the torrent of sensation that left her shaking and breathless.

Then he moved over her, and as her mind came together she realized that it wasn’t his hand anymore.

It was him against her.

She was still quivering and aching, and she caught back a cry, not sure if it was of need or protest. Her body seethed with sensitivity, but he was forcing her hips wide, forcing her open in a way his fingers had not. She felt impaled—

She stifled the shriek, but then said, “That hurt!” and was shocked back to the real and awkward world.

He stilled. “Are you all right?”

She wanted to say no, that she needed time to get used to this, that perhaps they should try again another day. But she could sense his tense desperation, and could imagine what he might be feeling.

“Of course,” she said, trying for laughter again. “The… Perfumed Portal has been Pierced.” Oh, but she was invaded. “So it’s time for the… Masculine Mastery of Maidenly Mysteries.”

“Not maidenly anymore,” he said, but she was rewarded by his abrupt surrender to his needs.

The Fearful Phallic Ferocity. She knew just what the Annals had meant.

Again, and again, and again.

She could bear it, she could bear it, she could bear it.

But then pain faded and other feelings flowed back. Fierce, thunderous feelings, shared with him. She found she was meeting his movements, harder and harder, thrust for thrust.

The Joyous Joust!

Then he froze. She could feel the rigid tension in every inch of his muscular body. She opened her eyes to revel in the sight of him, beautiful in the light and shadow of this perfect room, lost in the little death.

Oh, yes, making love was a very dangerous thing. They were more than naked here. They were naked to the soul.

He relaxed as if the Wave of Womanly Welcome had rolled over him, and collapsed to kiss her in the way she needed to be kissed. In the way that expressed the shattering experienced.

Then he rolled to the side, still tangled with her, to hold her close. They were plastered together at every possible point, sealed by sweat, and she found it impossible to imagine ever being separated again, even by clothes.

They were one. Forever. Indivisible.

She kissed his chest, then wriggled up to kiss his mouth, then looked into his sated eyes. “That was perfect.”

“Perfectly Perfect? That’s as close to alliteration as I can come at the moment.”

His eyes were amused, but above all they were deeply content and centered on her. “Perfection will come, and we’ll enjoy the practice.” He closed his eyes and laughed. “Is it possible to say a sentence without two words starting with the same sound? After this, I’m going to embarrass myself every time I open my mouth.”

She sprawled on his chest, looking at him. “Persistent Practice?”

His eyes opened. “You want to fly higher and higher?”

“Why not? Why stay close to ground?”

“For safety?”

“Do we care about safety?”

“Yes,” he said, smile fading, “I rather think we do. I intend to keep you safe, love, even if it does mean staying in the nest.”

She snuggled even closer. “That won’t be too bad if the nest has a bed. When can we do it again?”

He looked at her. “I had the impression it hurt you quite a bit.”

When she thought about it, she could feel soreness. “The design of the female body is very inconvenient.”

“Most parts of it are thoroughly delightful,” he said, cradling a breast and kissing it. “Especially yours.”

She dared to ask. “Do you like my breasts?”

“I adore your breasts.”

“More than other women’s breasts?”

He looked up. “Don’t. That’s a game that no one wins. You are you. I love you. I have never loved a woman as I love you. As it happens, you have very beautiful breasts, full and pale, with generous, rosy nipples. But it wouldn’t matter if they were otherwise. They would still be the breasts of the woman I love.”

She put wondering hands to her body, to her breasts. “It’s hard for me to think of myself that way.”

“As beautiful?”

“And loved.” She felt tears threaten, and she didn’t want to spoil this with tears. She smiled and put one hand on his chest. “You have a beautiful body, too.”

“Is that all I am to you? A beautiful body?”