The Warrior (37 page)

His plan to make Ariane share his bed was foolish, perhaps. He needed to resist the temptation of her body, if only to prove that he was not reduced to submission by the gentleness in her gray eyes, by the warmth of her touch, to prove that he cared nothing for her. But he could not have denied himself tonight had his very life been at stake.

The evening’s planned entertainment was to be a troupe of jugglers, but Ranulf had no intention of remaining to watch. And when he caught her eye, Ariane knew it as well.

She felt her pulse quicken at the dark light in his eyes. She, too, had scarcely tasted the dishes, her mind on the night ahead. Her skin felt hot, and there was a curling sense of anticipation within her, a sensual arousal brought on by excitement and apprehension and the knowledge of what would happen between them.

“Go and order me a bath,” Ranulf murmured in her ear the moment the music began. When Ariane nodded and made to rise, he forestalled her with a hand on her arm. “You will remain there to attend me,” he added in a low voice, his intent clear. She would provide a service that entailed far more than merely washing his back.

The serfs Ariane called upon hastened to do her bidding, and in short order a steaming, perfumed bath stood in the solar, awaiting the lord. The last of the servants had just withdrawn when he arrived.

His eyes hot and lust-bright, Ranulf drew Ariane into his arms the moment the door had shut. His mouth covered hers in a fierce possession, tasting with the full measure of his need. Fire, hot and sweet, surged from him and through her, stealing both their breaths away. She could feel him thickening, swelling against her, and when at last he raised his head, she was trembling.

His smile was a trifle wolfish as his hand trespassed boldly beneath her skirts. “I have wanted to do that since this morning.”

To her surprise—and somewhat to her embarrassment—Ranulf undressed her first, showing as much deliberate care as any tirewoman. The difference was his use of mouth and hands—nuzzling the bare skin he exposed . . . stroking her body . . . smoothing her hair to a profusion of silken waves. By the time she stood naked before him, she was quivering with need.

“You tempt me unmercifully, witch,” he murmured in a rough voice as he bent to taste her budded nipple. “Your coolness makes a man burn for you, makes him hot to seek the hidden fire beneath.”

Coolness? How could she be cool with the scorching heat spiraling within her?

Choking back a whimper, Ariane nearly melted against him. It dismayed her, how little resistance she could summon against him. If she responded to Ranulf’s passion as she had all the times before, if she surrendered this easily, she would have no hope whatsoever of maintaining her defenses. Making a last desperate effort to stiffen her resolve, she pushed against his broad shoulders, trying to make him raise his head from her breast. “My lord . . . no . . .”

“Yes,” Ranulf insisted as his hand slid between her bare legs. He brushed his finger against her sweet, hot cleft, rimming the lips. “You want me. See, your honey flows for me.”

She did want him, Mary help her. He possessed the power to make her forget everything except his sensual touch. His fingers were slowly opening her, seeking entrance, finding it. Ariane’s breath caught in her throat and she shuddered as his finger thrust slowly inside her.

Ranulf’s eyes blazed in triumph as he felt her surrender. Catching her hand, he moved it beneath his tunic, covering the braies cupping his sex. “See how I want you, too? Undress me,” he commanded hoarsely.

With shaking hands, she obeyed. Ranulf aided her, too impatient to wait. In the time it took her to remove and fold both his tunics, he had stripped off his boots and chausses and braies. When she turned back to him, he stood magnificent before her, his nude, powerful body bulging with muscle.

Ariane could not take her eyes away, or keep her gaze from moving lower . . . over the thick pelt covering his wide chest, along the ebony trail that narrowed over his abdomen. His huge member thrust up from the curling black hair between his thighs, long and flushed and engorged with lust. It no longer frightened her, though, for she knew now what pleasure it could give her.

Ranulf was watching her, as well, Ariane realized dazedly. His eyes were fixed hungrily on the pale globes of her breasts.

Without a word, he stepped toward her and cupped them in his hands, whisking her nipples with the rough pads of his thumbs. She inhaled sharply as a tremulous wave of longing racked her body.

He smiled, a slow, carnal, male smile.

“Come, attend me.” Taking her hand, he led her to the bath. Alone, he stepped within the tub and sank to his knees in the steaming depths.

She would have knelt beside him, but Ranulf forestalled her by reaching out to grasp her bare hips. His amber eyes glittered as he gazed up at her, along the naked length of her body. Leaning forward, then, he pressed a hard, hot kiss to the soft mound between her thighs.

Ariane gasped in shock, her hands reaching out to grasp his shoulders for balance. “No . . . Ranulf . . . ’tis heathen . . .”

Ignoring her plea, he urged her legs to part for him, savoring the sweet scent of woman rising to his nostrils. The sight of her flushed sex drove him to the edge.

“I crave a sampling,” he muttered hoarsely as his tongue lapped her pink woman’s flesh.

She drew back with a jerk yet could not escape completely; Ranulf caught her wrist in a grasp of velvet and drew her down beside the tub. Weak-limbed and dazed, she sank to her knees.

“Show me how you can please me, vixen,” he ordered, pressing her palm to his breast so that she could feel his thundering heart.

He compelled her to wash him. Lathering her palm with soap, he guided it over his body, until her own primitive need to touch him took over. Her trembling fingers slid down over his hair-roughened chest, stroking lower, dipping below the warm water, gliding over the hard ridges of his stomach.

When she hesitated at his flat, hard-muscled belly, Ranulf leaned forward to brush his lips against her flushed face, her jutting breasts.

“All of me. My rod is stiff and aching. Hold me in your hand.”

Ariane obliged, finding his granite member slick and throbbing with heat that had nothing to do with the temperature of the water.

“Harder, tighter . . . you cannot hurt me.”

She squeezed gently, and the passion that blazed in his eyes shook her to the core.

“Ah . . . yes . . . please me . . .” With a low groan, Ranulf closed his eyes and let the male ache wash over him in ripples of pleasure-pain. His hips thrust upward into her hand, once, twice . . . and then suddenly he drew back, refusing to seek his ecstasy alone.

Rising half out of the water, Ranulf slid his powerful arms around her and lifted her into the tub to sit astride him, her knees on either side of his hips, her thighs open wide.

Ariane gasped in protest and struggled in his grasp, but Ranulf’s arms closed around her to hold her still. “Hush,” he rasped. “You have never ridden a man.”

“ ’Tis not natural . . .”

“Oh . . . but it is, sweeting.” His eyes smoldered with gold flame. “The most natural thing in the world.”

His hands closed over her buttocks and lifted her slightly, only to lower her deliberately onto his shaft. The rigid length of him filled her with tantalizing slowness, impaling her. Whimpering at the shocking fullness of him, Ariane arched her back and rocked against him, her ripe, wet breasts pressing against the hardness of his chest.

His response was a guttural sound and a deeper thrust. He could scarcely bear the delicious thrill such deep penetration sent through him. He shuddered convulsively, grinding his teeth to hold back the primal sound rumbling in his chest. The slow, instinctive undulation of her hips was driving him mad, as was the spasmic clasping of her inner muscles around him.

His neck corded with the force of his denial, Ranulf pressed deeper, burying his shaft to the hilt.

She gave an incoherent cry of pleasure, even as her slender body clenched, and then she startled him by sinking her teeth into his shoulder.

He laughed, a low, male sound of triumph, and gripped her buttocks harder, working her up and down in rhythm with his thrusts, until Ariane’s body caught fire, blazing out of control. Her gasping breaths sounded loud in his ears as she pumped her hips wildly and sent bathwater splashing over the tub’s edge. A dozen heartbeats later, she erupted, arching against him, her head thrown back in helpless surrender, her nails digging into his flesh.

At her low, keening, helpless cry, Ranulf abandoned his own rigid control and hauled her closer, his rough excitement matching her own frenzy as he surged deep inside her.

“Sweet God! . . .”

Through a heated haze of awareness, Ariane felt his lean, powerful body clench, heard the hoarse unintelligible groan Ranulf gave as the convulsions of passion claimed his control and he began the shuddering fall into ecstasy after her.

They clung to each other when it was over, breathing hard as the waves of savage, unrestrained pleasure washed over them and receded.

At last recovering her dazed senses, Ariane realized she was lying limply in Ranulf’s arms, her face buried in the wet curve of his shoulder. He was stroking her naked back, stroking her hair, his hands gentle and soothing. With a soft sigh of repletion, she nestled against him, never wanting to move again.

Thus it startled her when she felt Ranulf swelling and growing rigid inside her. Her sleepy eyes opened wide as he gathered her in his arms and stood up, water cascading from their bodies.

“The bath can wait,” he murmured. “I cannot.”

Stepping from the tub, he carried her to the bed and laid her upon the mattress in a single, sure motion, never breaking contact. Sinking deeper between her legs, he covered her wet, naked body, pressing her thighs wide apart with his. His urgent need to have her was like an unquenchable fever. His rod was engorged and aching again, even though it had only been moments since he had experienced the most exquisite pleasure of his life.

He gritted his teeth as he thrust upward into her hot, silky sweetness. She shuddered and arched her back in sensual response.

“No, open your eyes, sweeting,” Ranulf commanded. “Watch me when I take you.”

Ariane opened her eyes to stare at him. His own eyes were hot, his damp raven hair falling over his broad forehead, his dark-complected skin stretched taut over prominent cheekbones.

“Watch as I enter you.” Withdrawing his shaft most of the way, he raised up on his hands, forming a wide space between their bodies.

Her cheeks flushing, she let her gaze drift lower. Water glistened in the dark hair on his chest, but there her courage faltered.

“Ariane . . .” he said softly, coaxingly.

Forcing her gaze downward, she did as she was bid, looking at the sight of their joining. His organ was huge and red and slick as it sat poised at the threshold of her womanhood. The sight was erotic and incredibly arousing—yet not as arousing as the fiery feel of him as he slowly thrust inside her, penetrating deep.

She groaned, and clutched at his shoulders, ignoring his command to keep her eyes open as she gasped out his name. He was throbbing within her, demanding her sensual response. She heard herself whimpering and knew she was undulating her hips shamelessly.

“This is how I want you,” Ranulf muttered, raw desire darkening his husky voice. “Hot and wild beneath me.”

This was how
she
wanted to be, Ariane though dazedly: Ranulf claiming her, making her feel totally possessed, each slow plunge making her crave the next as she quivered beneath his sensual domination.

This was how she wanted
him,
she realized as she felt Ranulf’s body shudder. He was losing control, trembling with hunger. She had a blurred glimpse of his face, dark and strained, as he stroked powerfully into her, felt the muscles bunching and rippling in his broad, scarred back—but then she gave herself up to the fire that was building between them.

They were no longer bitter enemies. Merely two bodies straining to become one. Two hearts clashing in passionate need.

She took his weight, his raging desire, as they climbed to the verge of another shattering climax, and when the explosion came at last, neither of them knew who was the conqueror, who the vanquished.

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