Comanche Moon (18 page)

Writhing, Deborah pushed weakly at him until he lifted his head to stare at her with burning eyes. Slowly, he laced his fingers in hers and drew her arms up and over her head, pressing her hands into the downy softness of the furs. His action served to thrust her breasts upward in an inviting appeal, and she saw his gaze shift from her face to her breasts.

“Hawk . . .”

The single word drowned in the back of her throat as his mouth covered her nipple again, and she felt him transfer her wrists to one hand as he began to tease the still-damp peak of her other breast. His body fit her from knee to waist, and she could feel his hard maleness against her.

Her breath came in short, tortured gasps for air, and the heat that he’d begun coiled downward, converging on the burning ache between her legs.

She felt the roll of her hips almost as if someone else was rocking her, and knew that she had lost control of her own body. Hawk’s caresses and kisses were working a strange magic that made her thighs part when he nudged between them, made her hips arch upward and her body strain toward an unknown release. She was on fire with it, aflame with need.

Uttering a low, harsh sound, Hawk lifted his body from hers for a moment, and jerked loose the string holding the brief garment around his waist. Deborah froze. The memory of his hard body had not faded with time, and the fear she’d felt at her last sight of him returned full-force.

His dark, hard-muscled body held no secrets from her. His desire was plainly revealed in the light of the fire, rising thick and erect from a dusky nest of curls at his groin. He looked formidable, too large, too—male.

“Dear God,” she whispered, “I can’t do this. I just can’t.” A brief smile touched one corner of his mouth. “It won’t be as bad as you think. It might hurt this first time, but only for a moment.” Hurt? Her eyes shifted from his face back to his body, then closed. He was wrong. This would kill her.

“Remember,” she said tonelessly, “that you promised to take Judith back.”

A husky laugh drifted between them, and Hawk lowered his lean frame back over her, nestling between her thighs. She could feel the hot nudge of him against that soft, damp place.

“You’ll go with her, I promise.”

“Remember,” was all she said. She knew that she could not survive the night. “Ah,
notsa?ka
—sweetheart,” he muttered thickly. “By the time we come together as meant to be, you’ll be ready for me.” She didn’t bother arguing with him. It didn’t matter. He would do what he wanted, what she’d given him permission to do, whether she agreed or not. He coaxed her thighs wide for him, his hands gentle and disturbing against the hidden folds of flesh. Deborah tried not to think about what he was doing, but when he began to caress her there, his hands stroking the highly sensitized spot that made her catch her breath, she forgot her fear.

Tension built up as he rubbed his thumb against a small nub, making her bite her lip to keep from screaming. He seemed to know it. She could hear his labored breathing, as if it excited him to touch her there.

Caught up in the waves of sensation he created with his hands and his mouth and the husky words he whispered to her as she writhed beneath him, Deborah heard her own moans fill the close air of the tipi. Her thighs fell apart and her hips undulated, and she began to thrash restlessly, seeking an end to the fiery torment he was creating.

Someone was calling his name, and she realized it was her voice, her cries. Her eyes opened, and she saw the hot, glittering fire of his gaze on her, the sensual slant of his mouth. To her utter bewilderment, the tension inside her grew hotter and higher, almost painfully so, and she struggled to keep from exploding with it.

“No, no,” she moaned, her head rolling on the cushion of furs, but Hawk paid no attention to her. His hand moved, and his mouth sought her breast, and she shattered as if made of glass, fracturing into a thousand tiny pieces. The explosion made her cry out in shock and delicious ecstasy, and for a long moment, she felt suspended in time and place.

Hawk was panting as if he’d been running. Turning her head, Deborah buried her face against the slick skin of his shoulder. She could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek, smell the musky male scent of him. He turned her head back and kissed her again, his mouth coaxing a response from her stiff lips.

When he settled closer between her thighs, replacing his hand with the rigid thrust of his body, Deborah could not help the small moan that escaped her. “Shhh,” he said, stroking her hair back from her eyes with a gentle hand.

“Sua yurahpitu.”

“Which means?” she mumbled.

“Relax.”

“That’s easy for
you
to say.”

“Have I hurt you yet,
nu tue?tu?”
Deborah met his eyes. She recognized the last as an endearment, and was strangely comforted. “No.”

“Then give me a chance. I don’t want to hurt you. I want you to enjoy this.” She didn’t reply. Her breasts tingled, and the strange ache between her legs returned while he caressed her. When he began kissing her again, deeply, his tongue teasing a reluctant response from her, Deborah again felt the rise of heat.

In spite of his words, she couldn’t relax. Her body felt limp and uncontrollable, opening for him of its own volition. Her breath caught in the back of her throat when he lowered his body on her and held her with his weight, his hand reaching between her legs again to guide himself into her.

Hawk’s breath feathered over her cheek in quick pants. A gut-deep groan burst from him, and he muttered. “You’re so tight, so very tight.” He kissed the curve of her cheek, then her mouth. “You feel so good, so good.” Deborah heard him as if from a distance, heard his soft words turn into groans, then felt him go deep inside her with a single, fierce thrust. She stiffened in surprise, her breath exhaling in a rush.

“That’s it, sweetheart. It’s over now,” he said against her lips. “Only pleasure now, with no surprises. You’re so small . . . are you all right?” 

Because he sounded so worried, Deborah nodded. “Yes, of course I am.” Resting his weight on his elbows, Hawk levered his body up to look down at her. A frown creased his brow, and he brushed aside damp tendrils of her hair with a fingertip.

Without speaking, he comforted her, his hands soft and gentle and his kisses tender. He kissed the corners of her mouth, the arch of her eyebrow and the tip of her nose.

And as she grew accustomed to the heavy weight of his body impaling her, Deborah’s tension eased. He held himself still for a time, but when he finally moved, withdrawing the slightest bit, then thrusting forward again, it was easier. His penetration and withdrawal began slowly, then grew to a faster, fiercer pace, igniting the slow heat into a fire again.

Her response was slow, her body still numbed by the shock of his invasion, but it finally grew inside her, that heat, that thrilling pleasure. The quickening made her hips move under him, actually meeting his thrusts, opening wider for him.

Everything was heightened, his harsh, rasping breaths as he moved inside her, the searing stab of his body, and the friction as he withdrew, the pop of the fire and the smell of his heat, the new scents of their lovemaking.

The mystery was solved for Deborah, that question of
why.
Hawk’s possession of her answered her puzzled pondering. Now she knew what made men and women seek each other out for this act, for this ultimate surrender of the body.

With the increase of his movements, the faster, harder tempo of his body slamming into the cradle of her thighs, she felt the increase of tension.

It grew, higher and hotter than before, threatening to consume her. She began to whimper, and her eyes opened to see him looking down at her, his features drawn and sharp, intense with passion.

His gaze held hers as he rocked against her, his hard belly scraping against the softer mound of her stomach, his strong arms planted on each side of her, his thighs holding her legs apart as his body moved in that tantalizing rhythm.

“Hawk,” she whimpered, not quite knowing what she wanted and hoping he would understand. “Hawk . . . oh Hawk . . .” His eyes were a blue so dark as to be almost black, his mouth stretched in a taut line, and his throat corded with strain. The powerful flex of his muscles gleamed in the soft firelight, and she heard him groan.

Then, her eyes widening with shock, she felt the waves of release sweep through her in a shattering rush that made her hips arch and her legs lift to lock around his lean waist. His hard, driving thrusts splintered any control she had left, and she cried out again, a high, husky sound that echoed in the night. With a last, fierce lunge, Hawk thrust forward and went still and taut, his sturdy body arching backward as Deborah dissolved in a convulsing climax.

Seconds later, she heard the harsh, guttural groan that signaled his own release.

Chapter 13

It was getting close to sunrise. The interior of the tipi was the smallest bit lighter. Soon, the sun would break over the ridge of the eastern mountains.

Deborah blinked at the gray slits of light filtering through the lowered flap of the tipi. It faced east, as all the lodges did, to greet the rising sun. Part of their religion, she supposed.

Her glance drifted to the man at her side. He lay beneath the robes with her, one muscled arm flung carelessly across her, his thigh wedged between her legs in a still-possessive hold. There was a slight, raw ache down there, and her mouth and breasts felt swollen and tender to the touch.

A faint flush suffused her face as she recalled the things he’d said, and the things she’d done. She wished that he were not beside her, and wondered how she would face him in light of what they’d done.

Did all men and women mate so fiercely? Were the things they’d done—unusual? She wished she knew someone to ask. It didn’t seem possible that some of the women she knew had acted with the same wild abandon she had done, giving herself to Hawk so completely.

And worse—if she admitted the truth, she had not done it only to free herself and her cousin. There had been an underlying attraction to Hawk since that first day, since he’d stared at her so boldly and ignited some response in her. His attempts to seduce her later had only added to the attraction, and she had refused to see it. Now it had been brought forcibly home to her.

Her chest constricted. She’d lain with Hawk, had taken him into her body—and her heart. She loved him.

The realization seared her to the soul, and she quivered at the knowledge. What would she do? She couldn’t remain here, not in a Comanche camp. Yet she didn’t want to leave him. God help her, she did not want to be free of him after all. Judith would never understand.

She must have made some sound or movement, because when she glanced toward Hawk, she felt him watching her. Pale fingers of light made his eyes glitter; the thick brush of his lashes shuttered them briefly.

“You’re awake.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Are you—did I hurt you?” 

“Not badly.” Her flush felt hot, heating her cheeks so that she couldn’t look at him.

His hand drifted from her bare shoulder in a gentle glide, gaining purchase on the rise of her breast and making her breath come faster. His thumb rotated gently on the rapidly puckering bead of her nipple, and Deborah bit back a moan. He stopped immediately.

“Does that hurt,
nu tue?tu?
”

“Hurt?” Her voice came out in a croak, and she cleared her throat. “No.

I’m just . . . sensitive.”

“Ah.”

That one syllable denoted satisfaction, and Deborah lay still as Hawk began to explore her body again. She felt his heavy arousal against her thigh.

His body was hot, a mixture of heat and iron-hard muscle as he began kissing her, taking her hands and dragging them over the ridges of his chest.

“Stop!” she hissed when he began drawing her hand toward his groin.

Her face flamed. The intimacy was bad enough, but to actually be expected to
touch
him—the searing memory of how he’d washed her the night before, dragging a wet cloth over the most private, intimate areas of her body, was torture enough.

Hawk’s hand stilled, folded over her own. She could feel him breathe, the even rise and fall of his chest beneath her palm. He nuzzled her cheek, kissing her.

“Aren’t you curious about me?” he asked huskily, his breath tickling her ear. When she didn’t reply, he laughed. “I know you are. You’re just too much of a proper lady to admit it. It’s all right, Deborah. Don’t you think we’ve gone past that by now?”

“Yes,” she admitted honestly.

“I agree. Here. Let me. I assure you it will cause me more trouble than it will you.” He took her hand from the flat, ridged plane of his belly and moved it lower, catching his breath as her fingers found him. “See,” he muttered hoarsely, “you can make me squirm if you want.”

“That sounds fair.” Her awkward movements became more deft as she stroked him, his hand teaching her the rhythm. It seemed impossible, but he grew larger, his tumescent body straining against the prison of her palm.

Deborah’s face flushed even hotter, and she felt a strange, unfamiliar breathlessness.

“Enough,” Hawk said after a few moments, his voice a harsh croak. His steely grip on her wrist drew her hand away. He was panting for breath, his belly moving in and out with rapid movements.

In the growing light, Deborah could see the sculpted angles and planes of his body, the masculine beauty that had teased her since that first day. He was beautiful, truly magnificent. Why had she not seen that before? Oh, she’d acknowledged his superb body and muscled power, but not the pure line of leonine grace and splendor that was truly Hawk.

Was it because she’d discovered she loved him? Maybe.

She opened for him, her arms accepting when he lay over her and blanketed her body with kisses. His mouth seared across her face, shoulders, breasts, and belly, tasting, teasing, his tongue rasping against her flesh and eliciting moans of delight. He lavished her nipples with hot, wet kisses, lashing them with his tongue until they were tight, rigid peaks. Deborah moved restlessly beneath him, her breath coming in short gasps for air.