Rexanne Becnel (39 page)

Her legs wound about him, locking around his body so that he might never leave her. Her arms, too, held tight, clasping him as if in a mortal confrontation. And on and on he thrust, until they were both sinking into the plain mattress, oblivious to all but the dark, spiraling magic they’d created.

Then the magic burst through, higher and farther than even magic was meant to go, and Wynne cried out in a mindless frenzy. “I love you,” she sobbed as his mouth ground against hers. His tongue surged into her mouth, mirroring the rhythm of below, and she felt as if she were truly bursting from the very intensity of it. Her entire body reverberated with a nearly painful power. On and on it went, like a tidal wave that crashed endlessly upon her, beating her senseless with its exhilarating strength.

Then he groaned against her mouth and moved even harder and faster than before. “Wynne, Wynne!” he cried her name over and over as he spilled his precious seed within her.

She squeezed her eyes closed, suppressing tears of joy and wonder as she held him urgently to her. He thrust again, but slower now. Then once more. In a rush the tide receded, leaving them gasping and exhausted, yet replete in a way that was beyond explanation.

Without thinking she kept her long legs wrapped about his hips, holding him within her. She did not wonder about the results of this fiery union of theirs. In her heart she already knew. This perfection could only breed perfection. She would have her child of Cleve. Though she would gladly have him as well, she would take whatever she could with her when she left.

He raised his head and sought her mouth for a warm and weary kiss. “I meant to please you first, before I took my own selfish pleasure, but—”

Wynne kissed him back, slipping her tongue within his lips to silence him. Only when she felt him flicker to life deep within her did she breathlessly break the kiss.

“Yes, I well note your selfishness.” She smiled up into his dark eyes. “I am so undone by your selfishness that I shall demand that you pay better attention to me next time.”

“Next time?” He moved within her, slowly at first, then a little faster until she gasped with reviving pleasure. “You mean this time,” he said with a grin of his own. “Only I shall control myself a little better.”

“ ‘Control,’ ” Wynne murmured the word drowsily as she concentrated on the exquisite feelings building within her. “That seems the wrong word for what we practice here.”

“Do you think so? Well, we shall soon see.” He pulled out of her, but silenced her groan of dismay with a finger to her lips. “There are pleasures—extreme pleasures—to be had from the exercise of just a little control. Shall I demonstrate?”

Without waiting for an answer from her, he reached over the side of the bed to find his leather belt. Then he looped it somewhere above her, around a supporting board of the bed. “Hold the ends,” he instructed her, tightening her fingers around the two ends of the belt. “Hold on and do not for any reason let go.”

Wynne stared warily up at him as he knelt over her, but he only raised a warning brow. “Don’t let go, Wynne. You may cry out, try to twist away, or anything else. But don’t let go.” Then he grasped her hips and slid her toward the foot of the bed so that her arms stretched straight above her head.

At once she understood. She was at his mercy. He knelt at the foot of the bed, proud and virile, his arousal standing before him, both threatening and promising. And she lay pale and vulnerable to him, her breasts thrust high, her nipples erect with desire. How very like a pagan sacrifice she must appear, waiting to be devoured by her wonderful, omnipotent God.

And she was willing. Oh, but she was too, too willing.

“Talk to me, Wynne. Tell me what you want.”

“Everything,” she admitted. She swallowed as he smiled, and her hands tightened around the leather straps.

“Everything?” His eyes roamed her body, and something leaped in her belly. This time she could only nod her answer, her throat was too constricted with desire.

“Then it shall be as you ask, sweet witch. I shall do everything to you until you scream and pant and faint from the pure pleasure of it.”

Wynne closed her eyes when his hands stretched her legs apart, but Cleve kept his eyes open. He was too racked with longing for the woman before him to relinquish even one moment staring at her sweet and delectable body. But it was more than the body he desired. Edeline was as lovely. Other women he’d known had been as beautiful. But Wynne …

He ran his hands lightly up each of her legs, stroking his thumbs along the soft inside curves of her calves, then up her knees and thighs until she quivered helplessly beneath him. She was his now, his to possess in every way possible. His to enjoy. His to bring infinite pleasure to.

His to love.

And love her he did, he realized, letting his fingers pause in their torturous exploration. She’d spoken words of love to him, but though he’d not said as much to her, he knew now that his feelings were true. So why did he feel so unsure of her—of what she might do and whether she would long stay with him? She loved him. That should mean she would stay.

He slid his fingers higher, parting the raven-dark curls that protected her sweetest spot. She was so wet and pink, ready for him, demanding his attention, he thought as he slid his body down between her widespread legs.

“You’re a feast for the senses, my delicious witch.” He dipped his head for a taste, then delved deeper when she gasped and arched in response. “God, but you taste sweet,” he murmured as he rubbed the little nub that he knew would bring her even greater pleasure.

“Cleve … oh, you must … must stop. No.”

One of her hands caught in his hair, and he raised his head from its lovely task. “Hold on to the belt, Wynne. Hold on,” he ordered.

“Why?” she moaned. “Oh, just come into me.”

Cleve fought the desire to do that very thing. He was so hard it hurt. Only by once again plumbing the heated depths of her would he find the relief he sought. But he would give her more first.

“There are pleasures of all sorts, my bewitching girl. Some of possession; some of being possessed. You shall know them all—”He broke off when one of her feet slid up the back of his thigh to rub his buttocks. “Damn,” he swore. Then he pressed a hungry kiss to the soft flesh of her belly. She would have him exploding with desire if he couldn’t get himself under control.

His lips slid down to her secret place once more, aided this time by his hand. He slipped one finger up into her, eliciting another gasp as she twisted in tortured pleasure. His tongue worked swiftly, stroking and rubbing until she was mindless with excitement, while his finger sought her magic place. She was so moist … so ready.

Then she arched against him with a convulsive cry, and he felt her explosion against his lips. She quivered in helpless spasms, squeezing around his finger as she peaked over and over again.

His woman, he thought as he pressed the side of his face to her concave belly. His woman now.

When she was still he lifted his head, then slowly slid himself up the damp and slippery length of her. “There is so much to be had between us,” he whispered, between kisses along her cheek and temple. Beneath him she felt so warm and alive, though she was well and truly spent and drained. Still, he knew there was more to come.

“Let go of the belt.” He stroked his hands up her arms, then twined his fingers in her slackened ones. Her palms fit so easily within his, he marveled. Her body fit so well with his, so perfectly. Then her hands tightened around his, and her eyes opened to meet his gaze.

“Control is a truly wondrous thing,” she admitted in a throaty whisper. “Shall I … shall I try as much on you?”

He smiled indulgently, but to his surprise she brought his hands to the leather belt. “Hold on. Tight,” she ordered. Then she pushed against his chest until he rolled over. In a moment she lay over him, and he became her captive.

“You are my sacrificial virgin,” she stated. “Well, perhaps not a virgin.” She grinned and forced herself upright, straddling his lean hips. “Now, we shall see just how good
your
control is.” So saying, she began to explore his chest with feather-light touches.

Though he willingly submitted to her gentle explorations, Cleve found himself squirming beneath the heady caresses. When had his ribs become so sensitive a place? How could the hard muscles of his waist leap to fire merely at the rake of her nails?

Then she scooted down to straddle his thighs, revealing the growing length of his manhood. He watched with bated breath as she stared at it, and if anything, he became even more rigid under her perusal. Then she innocently licked her bottom lip, and he groaned out loud.

Wynne smiled at that. “So, you can be teased and tortured as easily as I.” She watched his face as her hands slid over his belly to the springing mass of dark hair at his groin. When she grasped him in her warm hand, however, Cleve’s eyes clenched shut.

“Damn you, Wynne. Do not prolong this—”

“Why? Can’t you bear it?” She slid her hand, slowly, deliberately, up the demanding length of him, paying curious attention to the ridged end. “The skin is amazingly soft and silky here,” she murmured.

Cleve had such a tense grip on the belt that he feared he would never be able to release it. He had ceased breathing even. Only when she leaned low to kiss and then taste him did a rush of air burst from his lungs.

“Don’t, Wynne. There’s no time left—” He broke off with an oath and in an instant released the belt ends, grabbed her hips, and pulled her up to straddle his groin.

“What of your control?” she laughed as she braced her hands upon his shoulders and her hair spilled forward around them both.

“Control bedamned,” he answered. Then he raised her hips above his erect manhood and with one movement joined them again.

Wynne gasped, and he groaned. But she understood her role, and in a moment they were moving in exquisite tandem.

The tangled richness of her hair caressed his shoulders and arms, curtaining them in a silken cocoon. Likewise did she sheath him in silken wonder, and as her rhythm quickened, he found her breasts.

She cried out, words meaning nothing yet conveying clearly the desire she felt. First one firm breast did he fondle, caressing its warm weight, sucking its jutting peak. Then the other he found, until her rocking movements grew frantic. His hands gripped her hips, urging her faster and faster, until she cried out in agonizing completion.

It was perfect. She was perfect, he thought amidst the mindless joy of it all. Then his fingers tightened, and he drove the final few thrusts into her, giving her the last of everything he possessed.

When she collapsed upon him, he held her close, so close, he feared to crush her. But she accepted it, and he breathed in the sweet aroma of clean hair, sweaty skin, and deep, lusty sex. If he could but preserve this moment, keep this feeling, then all would be right with his world. If he could but keep her forever … Perhaps a child of their own …

He smoothed a damp tendril of midnight-dark hair back from her temple. “I love you, Wynne,” he whispered, knowing he could never feel this way about anyone but her. Then they slept.

“W
HAT IF THERE IS A CHILD
?”

Wynne faced Cleve in the castle yard, her chin raised and her resolve firm. But inside, her heart shredded into a thousand bleeding pieces. “I am well able to ensure there will be no child,” she answered in a carefully controlled tone. That was not precisely a lie, she consoled herself as she stared up into his furious face. She was well able to ensure it. She simply had no intentions of doing so.

“Dammit, no!” He grabbed her by both shoulders and lowered his face to the level of hers. “You don’t have to do that. Don’t you see? If you stay, I’ll take care of everything.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t see.” She jerked out of his grasp, then faced him, fighting down that part of herself that needed so badly to stay with him. “You’re the one who doesn’t see,” she repeated quietly. “I don’t need to be taken care of. I’ve taken care of myself since I was a girl. I’ve taken care of five babies. Five children.” She shook her head. “I told you I was returning to my home. You cannot make me stay.”

But you could come with me.
Her silent plea begged to be spoken aloud, but she would not let it. It was clear what his choice was. As a wife Edeline brought her lands and a title, all those things a bastard-born child such as he had been could only dream of. But his dream was about to become reality now, and Wynne was a fool to hope he’d ever abandon it for her.

She took a deep breath, holding but tenuously to her shaky resolve. “I have already taken my leave of Lord William. If … if you would just say farewell to the children. To Arthur,” she added, unable now to disguise the pain in her voice.

He stared at her disbelievingly. Then his eyes grew cold as ice, and his jaw tightened. He turned his head to stare somewhere beyond her. “I suppose yesterday was your leave-taking of me?”

Wynne couldn’t answer, but he obviously took her silence to be an admission.

“Christ!” he exploded. “You could have had the decency to let me in on your little secret. Instead you led me on—” He broke off, then locked his piercing gaze with her miserable one. “Did my avowal of love come too late?”

Wynne sucked in her breath as the pain in her chest increased tenfold. She’d tried so hard to put those words of his out of her mind, and yet she’d clung to them ever since, wondering if they’d been said at all. Perhaps she’d only imagined them, so desperate had she been to hear such vows from him. Or perhaps, as was more likely, he’d been so consumed with their passion that they’d just slipped out, truthful at the time, but not meant to apply beyond the ecstasy of the moment.

Still, she’d clung to that “I love you,” hoping against hope. Not wanting to know the terrible truth and most certainly not wishing to discuss it with him. But here he was, in the watery morning light, dredging it up to be examined.

She swallowed, then cleared her throat. “That has nothing to do with anything. Rhys and Madoc are settled. I am reasonably content that their life here will be … good. It will be good for them. And Lord William has agreed to be most generous in allowing visits.”