Charlotte Boyett-Compo- WIND VERSE- Prisoners of the Wind (12 page)

He dragged his hand around her side and slid it up to cup
her breast, his thumb pressed against her nipple. The action pooled heat low in
her belly and her womb did an odd little tremor. Her hands tightened against
his cheeks. Their eyes were locked on each other—his filled with heat, hers
with trust.

“Do you want to suckle me?” she asked so softly he had to
strain to hear her words.

“With all my heart and soul and body,” he stated.

She pulled his head to her and when his lips closed around
one turgid nipple, she let her head fall back, her eyes closed, her arms glided
around his shoulders to mold him to her.

Taegin had known many women in his thirty-five years. He had
slept with more than he cared to remember. Not a one of them had come to his
bed—or to hers—a virgin, and he had to remember to go slowly with Marin, to
court
her as she deserved to be courted. Although every manly instinct in him
screamed for him to throw her down and thrust into her so deeply, so fully, he
kept a tight rein on his passion, suckling her gently, reverently, his tongue
swirling patterns over the erect little bud. When he moved to her other breast,
he laved it with moist heat, his tongue stabbing quickly at the engorged point.

With her fingers threaded through his hair, Marin could feel
the dampness of his forehead, his scalp on her flesh as she laid her cheek on
the top of his head. He was a heated missile prepared to be let loose, and she
was the engineer readying him for blast off. The wayward thought made her
giggle.

The Tiogar released her nipple and looked up at her. “You
find this amusing, milady?” he asked, then dipped lightly into her mind to see
what she’d found funny. He grinned. “A guided muscle, wench. Not a guided
missile.”

Marin threw her head back and laughed. She realized he had
read her thoughts and started to protest, but he had returned his lips to her
flesh—this time between the valley of her breasts and was trailing light kisses
down her chest to her navel. When his tongue spiraled into and around the
concavity of her bellybutton before going lower, she tensed, her fingers in his
hair tightening as his hot breath washed over the triangle of hair at her thighs.

Simone’s eldest sister Niane had made sure her youngest
sibling and Simone’s friends knew what went on between a man and woman. Not
having been told herself and having to discover the wonders of sex on her own,
Niane had set out to make sure the girls of her acquaintance were prepared for
what would happen to them. Since she had found the act intriguing, fulfilling
and totally pleasurable, she wanted to see to it that there were no strange
notions that would inhibit her sisters and friends from enjoying sex as much as
she did. Niane had left nothing out during her lectures on what occurred during
sex.

So it was, that despite the fact Marin was a virgin, when
Taegin’s tongue flicked at her core, she did not clamp her thighs shut with
outrage and gasp in indignation. Between his sublims and Niane, she knew what
to expect and she wanted to show him she’d learned her lessons well.

“Relax your legs and open them fully to give him free
access to you. I promise you the sensation will be one you will want again and
again,”
Niane had instructed.

Taegin intercepted the thought that rippled through his
lady’s mind and smiled.
Thank you, Niane
, he thought, and dragged the
flat of his tongue over as much of Marin’s sex as he could reach with her
sitting there on the edge of the cot. He wanted more—a fuller taste of her
sweetness—and leaned back, sitting down on his haunches. Looking up at her, he
told her to lie down.

A shiver trilled through Marin and she lay back, staring up
at the ceiling of the runabout, drawing in her breath when the Tiogar lifted
her legs and put them over his shoulders. As his lips closed over her clitoris,
she whimpered and grabbed handfuls of the cot’s thin cover, dragging it toward
her. Every nerve ending in her body was firing pulses of heat, tingling,
itching, demanding attention. Her breath came in soft little pants, her toes
curling. His mouth, his tongue, his teeth! By the gods, his teeth! He was
grazing her with his teeth, nibbling, sending chills spreading through her body
and down her extremities. His tongue, his glorious tongue, was doing things to
her she had no idea could be done! Her entire body was quivering, her legs as
weak as a newborn colt’s. She could feel the sweat gathering between her
breasts, on her upper lips, at her temples. When that delicious, wicked muscle
drove into her, she yelped as though she’d been singed by a fireball.

Taegin raised his head and before his lady could deny him,
inserted a finger into her hot, dripping slit. He had to force himself not to
grin when she nearly levitated her body from the cot.

“Milord!” she gasped, and wriggled against him, needing
release from the building pressure that was burning her loins.

He inserted a second finger to join the first, and this time
he could not stop the smile that broke upon his face when Marin slapped both
her hands on his wrist to hold him where he was.

“Uh-huh,” he denied. “Put your hands down, wench.”

Groaning, Marin did as he told her and grabbed the cover
again, twisting it as he rotated his fingers inside her. She was dragging
breath into her lungs, panting as though she’d just run a marathon. Chill bumps
covered her flesh yet she was hot—so hot her flesh glistened with sweat. His
fingers eased out of her and she moaned with denial. Those wicked appendages
eased into her again—twisted gently from side to side—and Marin oozed with
readiness.

Taegin pulled his fingers from her and placed them in his
mouth, tasting her juices, making sure she watched what he did.

“W-what,” she asked, “does it taste like?”

With a cocky grin he thrust his fingers slowly into her once
more, his grin widening at her indrawn breath, then he withdrew, offering her
an answer to her question, but she shook her head, shivering as she did so. She
could smell the essence of her body and it seemed to stimulate the flow of her
juices.

“I can’t describe the taste,” he said. He stroked her,
rubbing his palm up and down between her legs. “All I know is your taste does
things to me I’ve never felt before.” He eased her legs from his shoulders and
stood up.

“No,” she pleaded, her legs returning to the edge of the
cot.

He simply smiled and hooked an arm under her legs and lifted
them to the bed, turning her body as he did. He eased his arm out from under
her legs and pushed her knees down so that now she was lying full-length upon
the cot.

Marin could not take her eyes from the steely erection that
jutted from between his muscular thighs. She stared at the head of his penis,
her lips parting. He looked entirely too large for her to accommodate. Niane
had made sure her pupils knew that the act of sex—at the first try—would be
uncomfortable, though not necessarily painful.

“It depends on the woman, the way her body is built,”
Niane had lectured,
“but if you relax, any actual pain is usually minimal
and quickly forgotten in the heat of passion.”

“It will fit,” Taegin assured her, and when her eyes lifted
to his, he reached out to cup her chin in his palm. “You will stretch around me
like a tight sheath and when your maidenhead is breached, there will be a twinge
of discomfort, nothing more.” His thumb moved over her lips. “I would not cause
you undue pain for all the universe and its riches.”

Marin relaxed beneath the seductive softness of his words.
He was staring into her eyes—gentleness in the amber depths—and she could read
his heart if not his mind. She nodded, prepared for his possession.

“Open your legs for me, Marin,” he said softly.

Doing as he bid, Marin instinctively held her arms up for
him, ready to cradle him to her.

The Tiogar put one knee on the cot and straddled her, easing
himself down, and wedged his lower body between her parted thighs. He braced
himself on his elbows to keep from allowing his full body weight to descend
upon her. For a moment he knew true contentment as her arms enclosed him in a
light embrace and he laid his cheek between her breasts.

Marin felt the thick steel of his manhood pressing upon her,
its throbbing length oozing in the pelt of her nether curls. His heart was
beating so fiercely, so fast she could feel it against her belly. She caressed
him, running her hand along his broad back.

“I don’t know how much longer I can wait, wench,” he said,
and she heard the strain in his voice.

“I am ready, milord,” she whispered.

He pushed himself up and looked down at her. “Are you sure?”

“Aye,” she replied in a shy voice. “I’m sure.”

He shifted his body so that his weight was on his left arm,
reaching down between them with his right to grip his cock. Gently he pushed it
down until it was at the threshold of her womanliness. She could see the vein
in the side of his neck pulsing furiously. The suprasternal notch—that sweet
indention at the base of his throat—was throbbing as well and that fascinated
her as she watched it. She ached to place her lips in the slight hollow.

“You can place your lips anywhere on my body you wish once
I’ve claimed you as mine,” he said, interrupting her absorption in his pulsing
veins.

“Stop doing that,” she said. “Don’t read my thoughts.”

He made no comment to her order. To distract her from
dwelling on his ability to net her feelings from the ether, he pressed the tip
of his cock to her entrance and entered her. He drew his hand up to cup her
cheek, staring down into her eyes as he pushed inside her.

Marin ceased to breathe. There was a slight pressure, a silken
assault that stretched her and stopped. A bit more pressure and a building
sensation began deep within her as he moved further into her sweet channel. The
tip of him was just beyond the entrance of her vagina and it had met the flimsy
obstruction of her maidenhead.

Gently he invaded her mind, careful not to allow her to know
he was there. He wanted to know what it felt like for her—this first time, this
initiation into womanhood. He needed to know. He
had
to know. He could
experience a portion of it if only through her impressions. Her nervousness,
her tension, the way she stiffened beneath him told him more than words ever
could have. He could sense her wariness, the apprehension and anxiety building
in her mind and along her nerve endings. She was a solid mass of tension.

“Relax and breathe, wench,” he cooed to her, feathering the
pad of his thumb along her lower lip. “I will be as gentle as I can with you.”

Her breath came out in a rush. “I know,” she whispered, and
slowly relaxed, his heavy weight within stretching her, filling her.

He poised above her, drawing her eyes to his, then he slowly
lowered his mouth to hers and with a gentle kiss, pushed himself fully inside
her.

A slight sting, the awareness of an enormous organ sheathed
inside her, a flood of juices that lubricated that weighty tool and set Marin’s
hips to grinding filled Taegin’s mind. There was no real pain she was
experiencing—only a building tension that helped to ease his own fears that he
might inadvertently hurt her.

His stroke was sure and slow. His arms braced his full
weight from crushing her while his hips worked like slow pistons in and out of
her cunt. The heat was building and the itch had started along Marina’s folds.
She clung to him, arching her hips up to meet his thrusts, encouraging him to
go deeper, faster, harder into her.

His mouth was still locked to hers, his tongue dueling with
hers. She could feel him straining and knew he was valiantly trying to keep his
climax at bay until he satisfied her.

As the ripples started deep within her and the flow of her
juices washed over his burgeoning staff, as her clitoris swelled against the
base of his shaft and she dug her fingernails into his back, the Tiogar threw
back his head and howled.

Marin’s climax was shattering and far more intense than any
she had ever experienced in the dreams he had sent her. His naked body was
pressed to hers. The wiry hair of his chest was prickling her sensitive
nipples. His weight was glorious and the feel of his knees pushing her legs
aside, a pleasure unto itself. The feel of him inside her, the pulsing of his
cock, the smell of his juice as he came, the slickness of the sweat on his back
and the heat of his mouth upon hers, all combined to send her careening into a
limbless, weightless state of ecstasy.

He shuddered then lay still for a moment—limp and exhausted,
though trying to keep the fullness of his weight from crushing her. Her arms
were around him, her face was in the hollow of his shoulder, her lips pressing
gentle kisses there. As his breath slowed, he eased off her to lie beside her
and pulled her into his arms, wrapping them protectively around her.

For a long while they lay there in silence, each lost in
thought. His hand stroked her arm—her fingers swirled and plucked at the hairs
on his chest.

“How many women have you had?” she asked.

Taegin smiled to himself, for it was a question it seemed
every woman had to ask.

“I don’t keep count, wench,” he told her.

“A dozen?”

“More.”

“Three dozen?” Marin asked. That seemed a fair amount.

“More,” he replied.

She lifted her head. “A hundred?”

He shrugged. “The tally no longer matters to me, Marin. You
will be all I will ever have from this day forward.”

His words shocked her, driving her to silence once again.
She lowered her head to his shoulder and thought about what he had just told
her. It warmed her heart and she felt a melting sensation within her.

After a while—as she wound a lock of his chest hair around
her finger, she asked if there had ever been a woman he had considered
marrying.