Lord of a Thousand Nights (22 page)

Morvan and David planned to depart for Harclow in the morning, and so the evening meal lasted longer than normal. Everyone seemed prepared to sit at the table talking over wine, even after the food was gone. And so it startled Reyna when Ian's hand slid up her back.

“We will take our leave now,” he said.

She glanced up and down the long table. “Everyone will know.”

“They already know, Reyna. We are newly married. In fact, Morvan has given me several peculiar looks, as if he
finds it extremely odd that we left the bedchamber at all today.”

“I'm sure he does, considering how little he has been out of his since he came.”

He rose and took her hand and led her toward the stairs. Reyna tried to retreat like a worldly widow.

As soon as they were out of sight, the hand resting on her waist suddenly pulled her close and a scorching mouth found her neck. With a gasp she found herself pressed against the stairwell wall, looking up into a severe face and fiery eyes. He held her head and claimed her mouth with a searing kiss that made the earlier one in the garden seem tame. It was wonderful. And terrifying.

“I thought the day would never end,” he muttered, pressing a possessive caress down her back and hips. “I should be canonized for the restraint I have shown with you.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She scampered to keep from being dragged, worrying that his impatience meant he would just throw her on the bed and do this thing. She had rather counted on things building more slowly, as at the river.

He pulled her into the solar, kicked the door shut behind him, and turned her into his arms. She was awestruck by how dangerous he looked. She instinctively pushed against him a little.

He noticed. “I have frightened you.”

“A little,” she mumbled, feeling absurdly foolish. “Not much.”

“Too much.”

He walked away, toward the table. Some wine had been placed there, and he poured a cup. It took him too long to do so, and she wondered if her failure to match
his passion annoyed him. He came back looking much less threatening, and offered the wine to her. She shook her head.

“I think maybe you should.” He drew her to the chair, onto his lap, and offered her the cup again. She took dutiful little sips. He watched her while he stroked her back in a comforting way.

“How do you feel now?” he asked.

“Stupid.”

He laughed. “Stupid? So much for my reputation.”

She bit her lower lip. “Nay, not just stupid, as you well know, but stupid enough. I am twenty-four years old, Ian, and here we sit with you calming me as though I were some girl.”

He took the cup and set it on the floor. “I should have been more careful with you. You did say that you had worried about it more than most.”

“Aye. When I was younger I convinced myself that I was very fortunate to have a husband like Robert, and to have never had a proper wedding night.”

He stroked her arm. “And when you were older?”

She looked at the fingers caressing her through the silk sleeve of her cote-hardie. The warm, light lines of pressure felt incredibly soothing and compelling.

“And when you were older?” he asked again.

She was embarrassed that he had guessed about that. But then he understood the world of the senses far better than she.

“And when I was older my mind held to that notion. But sometimes—at night—”

“Who was in your dreams at night? Robert? One of his knights?” he asked softly, moving his hand to her hair and face. Gentle touches. Subtle and exciting.

“No one I knew. A presence more than a person.” She
had become very conscious of sitting on his lap, of his arm around her and that other hand lightly stroking her cheek and shoulders, artfully summoning again the anticipation of the day, which her fear had temporarily suppressed. Sparkling sensations dripped through her. Talking about those nights of dreaded, compelling discomfort only made the titillating expectation worse.

“And did you prefer that phantom's kiss to mine, Reyna?”

“Will you be jealous of a specter now?”

“Perhaps.”

The mood had subtly changed. She sat in a heavy silence, watching his hand caress her arm more firmly and then move to her thigh and leg. That sensual power flowed from him, surrounding her, invisibly reminding her of the pleasure she had felt with him before.

“I almost went mad with you lying beside me last night,” he said, kissing her cheek, keeping his face next to hers, inhaling and closing his eyes as if to savor what he smelled and felt.

“You should have let me leave.”

“I could not. I could tell from the way you undressed that you had never done that before. You lay so rigidly I knew you had never shared a bed with a man. That is how I knew your secret for sure. It should not matter that I am the first with you in all these things, but it does, and I kept you with me so I could savor my pleasure in it. You looked so beautiful while you slept, I could not take my eyes off you.”

His soft words pulled at her heart. They vaguely alluded to emotions other than lust. She straightened and looked at him.

Eyes full of warmth met hers. His hand stroked into her hair and cradled her head. “Kiss me, Reyna.”

She leaned forward hesitantly and pressed her mouth to his, awkwardly aware that her lips trembled. He responded gently, carefully drawing her into it. When his tongue joined them together her own met it, the touch a poignant connection.

He embraced her tighter, making her feel very small within his enclosing strength. No longer impatient, he led her slowly into her passion this time, seducing her toward the yearning pleasure with languid kisses on her mouth and neck and slow caresses on her thighs and stomach. Quickly she became the one who grew impatient as her breasts longed for his touch. She plunged her tongue into his mouth boldly and pressed his head close and knew a special exhilaration when he kissed her harder.

She felt a glorious freedom as the dizzying sensations took control of her. They were wonderful and marvelous when there was no worry, no guilt, no shame. He skimmed up the skirt of her gown, and then that tantalizing stroke was one of skin on skin. Something inside her sang with euphoria and relief. Her body came alive in an unearthly way, as if it possessed a separate consciousness that awoke beneath the intimacy of the strong hand on her body. She emerged breathless from his kisses, her arms tight around his neck, and looked into knowing eyes that absorbed her into him.

She touched that sensual mouth, caressing the lips with her fingertips. She kissed them softly, bit delicately, imitating him, trying to give him the sweet pleasure he had given her. His jaw tightened and his arms tensed and he accepted her small seduction for a while. Then something broke loose in him and he leaned her back into a dominating kiss of primitive possession.

Never breaking or loosening the bond, he eased them
both to their feet and cupped her bottom with his hands and pulled her up against the length of his body. Stretched and bowed into his support, her yearning breasts pressed against his chest, and her womanhood throbbed with a hollow ache.

How did he manage sanity when she knew only mindlessness? How could he separate when their heartbeats, their breath, and every inch of them both yelled for continuation, for completion? When he eased her away she almost cursed him, but then she felt his fingers working the lacing on her gown.

“You do not make it easy to go slowly, Reyna,” he said, smiling his devastating smile while he slid the gown off her shoulders. He knelt on one knee to untie the garters at her knees and slip the hose off her legs.

“I am not afraid anymore,” she said, looking down at him, stretching her fingers through his hair. “I don't want to go slowly.”

He lifted each of her feet and swept the gown away. “But I do,” he said. “I want to look at you while the pleasure builds. I want to watch your body tremble at my touch and beg for relief. I want to hear your cries when the madness makes you offer yourself to me.” He rose and glanced down her body. “Remove your shift, Reyna.”

His words sent a streak of lightning through her body, straight to that pulsing hollow. The shift slid down her arms, off her breasts, past her legs.

He reached for her breasts, caressing them lightly, and they swelled even more in that craving way. She soon knew what he meant about her body trembling at his touch and begging for relief.

“You are so beautiful. Perfect.” His thumbs grazed the tight peaks. She lowered her eyes to the tanned hands holding her, teasing her, arousing incredible sensations.

She did not doubt that in the end it would be as he said, but she would not have it all one way. She began unfastening the closures to his pourpoint.

Her boldness pleased him. He continued caressing her, pulling her closer, moving his hands over her nakedness while she undressed him. That inflaming touch distracted her so it was slow, clumsy going, but finally she had his shirt off. He pulled her up against him, and she reveled in the heady intimacy of embracing his naked back and chest.

He lifted her up and laid her on the bed, and then sat to pull off his boots and lower garments. She watched the muscles of his back and shoulders move, and could not look away when he rose and slid the clothing down his hard hips. He turned, magnificently naked. She examined his sculpted chest and torso and phallus, astonished by the new heat that the sight of him brought.

He came down beside her. Resting on his forearm, he traced her lips with his finger and watched the path with a thoughtful expression.

“You have had little choice in this,” he said. “I would know your will now. Do you want this?”

The question stunned her. Surely he could tell that she already almost cried for him as he had said she would.

He read her expression and shook his head. “I do not mean that. I have known from the first that I could make your body want me.”

He was asking a harder question. She was surprised that he sought this knowledge, astounded that it even mattered to him. “Aye. I want this.”

“With me?” The two words spoke volumes that included all of her references to his brigandry and dishonor, all of her curses. But her mind did not settle on
those defensive denials now. Instead she remembered his swift justice for the poor tenant farmer, the strong arm saving her from the blackness at the motte, and his decision to continue a marriage that was her only chance for a decent future.

“With you.”

He leaned down and kissed her so gently that she thought her heart would break. “Then let us see what is possible between us, Reyna.” He pulled her against him until he molded her to his flesh, every inch of her skin connected to his.

He made love to her as if his own control were limitless. The kisses and caresses alone left her breathless and sightless, and her body stretched into his while her fingers explored the taut skin and muscles on his back and shoulders. He played at her breasts, creating a delicious anguish, brushing with a light touch and teasing with his tongue until she gasped again and again and arched her back, begging for more.

He gave it to her after a long while, sucking on her harder while his tongue continued its devastating torment, sending her into a frenzy. His thigh came between hers and she pressed down on its hardness, trying to relieve the need becoming the source and destination of all of the exquisite pleasure. All the while his hands explored, excited, and found unexpected spots of bliss.

His leg moved, and he eased her flat on her back. He palmed up between her thighs and she arched off the bed. He spread her legs and she arched again and cried out when he stroked gently. The finger touching her probed. She felt an invasive stretching, shocking but oddly welcome, at the site of her distracting need.

It hurt. He sucked her breasts and it hurt a little less. He withdrew his hand and caressed her thighs. “You are
very small, Reyna.” He carefully untangled himself from her arms and rolled away.

He pushed back, sitting up against the headboard, then lifted her, turning her toward him. “Sit here,” he said, moving her knees to straddle his hips. “It will make it easier for you.”

Blinking away the blurring passion, she settled herself, facing him close, her warm moisture sliding over his prodding hardness. The sensation was incredibly erotic, and she squirmed a little, making his whole body tense. He leaned her forward into a kiss while his hands took her breasts.

She went completely mad. He could caress her freely in this position, and she could touch and kiss him too. She reveled in his sighs when she moved her mouth over his chest, and in the scorching kiss he gave her when she drew her hands down his length from his shoulder to his hips. Deliberately now, while his hands moved over her body, grasping her bottom at times to lift her so her breasts reached his mouth, he pushed her farther and farther out of control. Low yearning sounds echoed around them, coming from her as the pleasure became increasingly desperate.

“Up,” he said, raising her again, sliding his hand high between her thighs, stroking and touching her, provoking a series of mindless cries. Enthralling, demanding streaks shot through her loins. It was glorious, wonderful, exhilarating. She felt her body reaching for the flood of sensation she had felt by the river, and nothing else but that impending release mattered.

He moved her knees farther apart. Grasping her hips, he eased her down.

Pain split through her madness. Her breath caught sharply. She opened her eyes and saw the stern expression of his strained control.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Nay,” she whispered, lowering her forehead to his tense shoulder, digging her fingers into his arms.

He did anyway, briefly, caressing her until the initial shock passed and the pain dulled a little and pleasure reemerged. His hand drifted to where they were joined, and she jolted when he found a spot of intense sensation. He rubbed gently and her delirium returned, pitching higher and higher, making her want this joining despite the pain, forcing begging cries that mingled with her gasps of shock when he penetrated further. The heaven of sensation peaked and broke and spread, splitting her essence, and she screamed from its power. She was dimly aware of an agony submerged under the euphoria.