Margaret Moore - [Maiden & Her Knight 03] (36 page)

Wanting far more, she lay on her back and pulled him down with her, so that his body covered hers, his weight gloriously welcome, the pressure of his hips against hers astonishing and arousing.

Her swift and eager hands tore off his tunic and shoved it aside. She caressed his glorious skin and taut muscles, feeling the scars of old wounds and injuries that told her he was no callow youth, no young man full of silly ideals of love or seeking someone to guide him. He was a man, with a man’s desire and a man’s heat. Kissing him still, she pushed him up, then broke the kiss. Wrapping her arm around his neck, one hand free to stroke and touch as she would, she raised herself to kiss his chest, to let her lips play where her fingertips had been.

With a groan, he clenched his teeth.

Then she found his nipple. Remembering well how his light touch had inflamed her, she licked and flicked her tongue across it. His breath caught and he made a low sound in his throat that thrilled her.

And then he was pressing her down into the branches that made their bed, his lips hot on hers as his hands found the lacing that held her bodice closed. With impatient fingers he broke them and pulled her bodice lower, exposing her breasts. Then, with a sound like a cross between a growl and a purr, he began to stroke and kiss and lick, his tongue like the most sinuous fingertip playing upon her flesh.

Gasping, she gripped his upper arms, the muscles as hard as granite beneath her palm. What she had done for him was as nothing. His mouth and hands teased, enticed, aroused. The tension within her grew and grew, and she panted as if she had run for miles. Moving instinctively beneath him, she undulated with an anxious yearning that seemed limitless.

She bent her legs and pushed her feet against the ground, raising her hips as he moved, trying to do something about the throbbing need blossoming between them. He kissed her again, and his hand splayed upon her thigh, pushing up her skirt.

Their lips still joined, their tongues still dancing together, she clawed at his breeches. She wanted to make love with him. She wanted him to take her. Now!

When he was free, she fell back, breathing hard. He loomed above her, the Hades who aroused her, the warrior she desired, the man she loved.

Yet he hesitated.

She put her hand about his neck and pulled him close. “Love me, Alexander,” she whispered, taking him in her hand and guiding him to the place throbbing with excitement. “Please, Alexander, love me.”

His control snapped. Even as he had been swept up in the incredible rush of excitement and desire she inspired, a small part of his mind had still urged caution. He knew too well the price a woman could pay for loving unwisely, without marriage.

But when Isabelle had said she would try not to touch him, the first of many barriers had shattered. When she had pulled him down on top of her, the second had crashed.

Then, as she had used her tongue on his body, most of the remaining walls of his self-control had crumbled into dust. And when she’d encircled him with her hand and brought him to her, the last of the obstacles between them melted away.

She wanted this. She wanted
him
.

He pushed inside her, tearing her maidenhead.

He heard her gasp with the pain of it and, despairing and cursing himself anew, he prepared to withdraw. But in the next moment, she thrust her hips against him, with a power that shocked him. She grabbed his head and brought him to her for another mind-numbing kiss—and he thought no more. He controlled nothing more. He surrendered to their passion and rode upon the waves of ecstasy as she met him, thrust for thrust.

With every motion, the exquisite tension grew, propelling him into a realm of heated bliss such as he had never known. With every push of his hips and answering response of hers, his body seemed to tighten more and more.

He cupped her breasts, firm and round, and brushed her nipple with his fingertip. She murmured and moaned, the sounds enflaming his desire as much as her touch. He bent his head and sucked the pebbled nub into his mouth.

She cried out and bucked and her muscles clenched, then throbbed. His whole body seemed to clench, down to his toes, and then, like a rope snapping, he climaxed. Wave after wave of release surged through him, taking him and leaving him spent.

Still inside her, he rested his head between her breasts as his ragged breathing returned to normal. He could hear her heartbeat as it, too, slowed, and her breathing eased.

He raised himself to look down at her beautiful face. “Oh, God, Isabelle, I love you.”

“As I love you.” Even in the darkness, he could tell her eyes were gleaming with the bold, defiant spirit he knew so well. “And whatever happens, Alexander, I am not the least bit sorry for what we have done. I never will be.”

H
alf-awake, Isabelle snuggled closer to Alexander’s warm body. He had held her close all night, his arm about her, so although it had grown cool and the branches had not been the most comfortable of bedding, she had slept relatively well.

But now it was morning of their last day, and all the comfortable ease gave way to dismay.

A glance outside showed that although it was not night, the sun had not risen very high. The grass and rocks glittered with early morning dew, and at some time in the night, a spider had made a web between the V of the two sides of the shelter. Droplets of water hung on it, sparkling like diamonds.

Alexander stirred, and she looked up to find his blue eyes upon her. “Awake, my love?” he whispered as he brushed back a lock of her hair that had fallen across her cheek. A little wrinkle appeared between his dark brows. “One of the many things I’m sorry for is not stopping Osburn from cutting off your hair.”

Raising herself on her elbow, she brushed a lock of his black hair back in turn. “Well, it
is
a little disconcerting to have shorter hair than you.” She kissed the wrinkle. “Still, of all the things he might have done, that is not so bad.”

With a sigh, he took her face between his palms and brought her close to kiss her. If he intended it to be a playful kiss, that intention did not last beyond the first moment their lips touched. As always, the passion they shared kindled into vibrant, undeniable life. Isabelle gave in to it, leaning upon his powerful chest and sliding her mouth over his slowly.

His hot, strong hand splayed upon the skin of her back exposed by the torn lacing of her bodice, and the sensation sent excited thrills down her spine to other places. Reacting to the need burning within her, she put her leg over his hips, then inched closer until she was half over him.

Last night, she had meant what she’d said. She had no regrets about making love with him. She would have regretted it more if they had not, and so she still believed. So now, when he rolled her onto her back and looked at her, his blue eyes dark with desire, she smiled to show him she would not regret making love again.

He needed no more encouragement than that this time, yet he did not rush their loving. With exquisite leisure, he began to caress her body, creating that wondrous tension and anxious yearning. She took her own time to explore his magnificent flesh, to learn all she could of it, to remember forever.

As she arched against him, rubbing her pelvis against him in a shameless but necessary way, his lips left hers. Her eyes closed, she drew in a deep breath, then gasped as he sucked her earlobe between his teeth. His tongue toyed with it as if it were her tongue and they were kissing.

She had never guessed…

As he continued teasing her ear, his hand stroked her gown lower, his touch as light as a silken scarf passing over her skin.

Impatient for what she wanted next, she clutched his shoulders and ground her hips against him. “Please, Alexander,” she murmured, too excited to do much more as he continued to arouse her with his lips and his hands.

“Patience,” he whispered in response, sliding his hand from her breasts to her waist and lower as he turned, so that both were on their sides. “I have to make certain you are ready.”

He cupped her between her thighs, rubbing gently, sending the first ripples of release rushing through her. “Ready?” she said through clenched teeth. “I am more than ready, and I will not be patient.”

She pushed him back and hiked up her skirt to straddle him. His eyes widened even as they gleamed with anticipation, and his breathing grew ragged and hoarse. With slow deliberation, she raised herself and used one hand to position him. Then she lowered herself, groaning softly with the sheer pleasure of having him inside her.

Whispering his delight, he raised his hips in time with her as she rocked forward. Her breath caught, and it was not merely with the sensation of his power and strength filling her, although that was a part of it. It was knowing that in one way, she was the master here.

Elated and excited, she grabbed his wrists and held them above his head. His eyes flew open.

“Here you are mine, Alexander DeFrouchette, to do with as I will.” She leaned down to trail her lips along his cheek toward his mouth. “Until we must part, you are mine.”

She rocked again, raising herself until he was nearly free, then pushing down so that he was deep within. Closing his eyes, another groan burst from his throat. She moved again before bending down to suck his nipple, as he had done.

Alexander squirmed and moaned as she kept his wrists pinned. He could overpower her at any time, if he chose to, and the fact that he did not excited her even more, for it meant he enjoyed ceding his power to her. She could do what she wanted to arouse him, and herself.

Spurred by that, she quickened her rhythm. His hoarse breathing soon matched her own, and she had to stop kissing him to draw in air. Then, caught up in the passion, nearing completion, she dragged her hands from his wrists along his arms to stroke his chest. His hands now free, he lifted them to knead her breasts.

With increasing anticipation, she quickened her thrusts and pressed down with more urgency. The sounds of his own harsh breathing, the sensation of his rough hands on her skin, the feel of him inside her, overpowered her and finally the tension burst and pulsed through her.

Alexander arched and moaned, the tendons in his neck taut as he grabbed her hips and bucked with his own release.

She collapsed against his sweat-slicked body, gloriously tired, blissfully complete.

He held her gently and kissed her forehead. In her drowsy haze, Isabelle tried not to think of what lay ahead.
Enjoy this present
, she told herself, her cheek upon his chest.

All too soon, he shifted and parted from her. “Isabelle?”

She tried not to notice, even as he pushed her skirt back over her legs. “Mmmmm?”

“The sun is up. We must rise.”

“Not yet,” she murmured, although she felt the cold fingers of What Must Be creeping down her back. “A little longer.”

He cupped her chin so that she had to look at his sorrowful face. “I would have this moment last forever, but it will not. We knew last night that it must be so. We knew it this morning. Pretending otherwise will avail us nothing.”

“Are you so anxious to be rid of me?” She kissed him quickly when she saw his expression alter. “Forgive me, Alexander. I just want to stay with you for as long as I can.”

His face betrayed an anguish as deep and painful as her own. “I would be with you always, but we know that’s impossible. This night has been a dream far better than any I have ever had before, but it is time to wake and face the day.”

Reluctantly, she sat up and hugged her knees. “And then you must go with Ingar. To what kind of life have you consigned yourself for my sake, Alexander?”

He sat up and tied his breeches. “It is the life I consigned myself to when I agreed to abduct you. It is my fault, and my choice.” He darted her a questioning glance. “How did you learn of my bargain with Ingar? Denis?”

“No. Ingar told me.” She reached out to caress his cheek. “Although he’s not what I thought a Norseman would be like, it will be a brutal, lonely life.” Her chin began to tremble, but she could not find the strength to hide her sorrow. “Worst of all, I may never know what happens to you. I will never know if you are alive, or dead.”

Kneeling, he took her by the shoulders. His resolve had never been stronger. “When you are home again, Isabelle, you must forget me—”