This Man and Woman (8 page)

He turned around, and found her right behind him. Her gaze traveled up his nakedness, causing everywhere she looked to tighten as if preening just for her. Her eyes met his. Her epee hit the floor, followed by his.

“Oh my,” she said, and reached for him.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Takaiya melded to him, a lunge connecting their mouths. Her lips sucked at his, stirring and then igniting a cauldron of fire. She felt his teeth slide along her lower lip, a minute sting of pain as if he’d cut her, and then such a sensation of bliss her body vibrated to it. Joy filled her. Enticement owned her. Her hands sought his hair, pulled it loose from his queue, her fingers separating the silky strands before changing to a grip. That way she could hold him, keep him exactly where she needed so she could learn every bit of his kiss. Experience every nuance of this emotion. Revel in the fervor of passion with never before experienced openness and absolute freedom.

She heard ripping as her dress seam split, as she climbed to straddle his waist, gaining her a position to conquer and detain. Realms of fantasy and vision filled her mind, so bright it punished her eyes, causing her to scrunch them shut against the glory of it. Hammers of yearning throbbed into place within her, taking her pulse with them. It became her heartbeat, and then it transferred to him. Rivulets of liquid seemed to flow next, drowning her in the ecstasy of their passage, while everything about her quested for more.
More
. She had to have more. And she needed it hard, and fast, and powerful. And somehow he needed to understand that.

She felt his hands sliding down from entrapment of her waist to her thighs, gripping about them with bands of iron-like strength; holding her. Fastening her. Keeping her apex tightly affixed to his lower abdomen, while his growing and enlarging rod caressed lower still. Her palms slid from the wealth of muscle at his shoulders to his chest, before dropping to the rope-like texture of his abdomen, her finger pads gliding along the bumps of it. Takaiya’s moans filtered through the prolonged kiss, gaining volume and depth with the cadence of them. She’d never felt such abandonment. Such massive passion. Unadulterated need. It was heady, it was heated, and it was especially vivid.

The old Takaiya Silva shivered and collapsed, altered in the melding of their lips, the collusion of their spirits, the dizzying height of her hunger. Her history was just that: history. Gone. Muted. Filed away. Forgotten. The withdrawal to the Hisushu village. The loss of her childhood. Her orphan status. The shock. Shame. Her disdain of all things Western. The constant training. Pain from injury. Embarrassment at defeat. The capacity to stifle emotion.

The guilt at finding they’d used all of it to control her.

Takaiya received her mother’s journal when she turned twenty. That’s when she learned the truth. Her father hadn’t left. He’d died in the quake that shattered her life. That was the knowledge she hid from. The real shame she carried. And just like that, those emotions evaporated. Everything that had created her core seemed to scatter about her, annihilated by the feel of Jean-Pierre…

Against her.

And she needed
more
! Primal need overtook caution, yearning underscored carefulness, reckless abandon obliterated apprehension. Her entire being craved the completeness that would come from joining with him, and everything on her knew it.

“I want you,” she whimpered, squirming against him, reveling in the tremors scoring his frame, raising gooseflesh all along his nakedness.

“I know,
Mon Cherie.
I know.”

His voice was guttural. Rough. Belying the poetic cadence of the words with the coarse texture of the sound.

“I need you.” Her hands moved faster along him, creating friction beneath her palms.

“You’ve got me.”

“Now, Jean-Pierre. Please?”

“Ah…love. You have no—”

She caught the rest of his sentence against her mouth, sliding her teeth against his lip flesh as he’d done to her. She felt him shake, and then lean back, separating their mouths in order to send the deepest, most intense groan into the room about them. Reverberations throbbed out and went dead against the glass walls. Then he lowered his head and spoke, sending trills of shivers all over her with the words.

“I want you, my love…my one love. Only love. Want. Need. Desire. Crave. Beyond any measure of the words. Far more than I dreamt possible. But…it must be of your own volition.”

“It is.”

“Given freely.”

“It is.”

“Without any doubt.”

“It is!”

“Without reservations, recriminations, fear, and—”

“It is, damn it!”

Her back met the table, arriving there with a move too quick to comprehend. The lace tablecloth took the brunt of her arrival as it wadded beneath her, pillowing her. He slammed both hands to the sides of her head, rocking the structure, and then stopped; glaring at her with what she immediately assigned as a crazed combination of fire and ice. Dark and light. Liquid and rock. His entire body wavered and then went motionless. Amber eyes drilled into hers while everything on him went taut; pulled like a bowstring to the point of the arrow release. Striations formed in his pecs, vascular definition framed the sinew of his arms, shadows of dents and valleys caressed his abs. And yet nothing moved. He stayed poised, statue-still, unmoving. Waiting. Just waiting.

“Jean-Pierre…”

Her upper body heaved toward him, seeking a connection he denied. Her hands slid from everywhere she sent them. Sliding. Gripping. Begging. She arched in a soundless plea, and then added words to it. “Please? Jean-Pierre, please?”

“I have one chance,
Cherie
. One.”

“Okay.”

“It must be given of your free will. No coercion. No forfeit. Anything else, and—”

“Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes! How many times must I say it?”

He snarled, light glinted off sharp-looking fangs, and then he lowered his chin to glower at her, projecting a look that electrified, heat that burned, light that flared. That look did more than thrill. It consumed. Branded. Imprinted.

Her hands moved up her own body, sliding from her waist, over her breasts, causing his eyes to darken. She reached the neckline of her dress and scrambled to the back of her throat, searching for the buttons that fastened it. And then it was him, reaching to help her. He placing both hands at her throat and yanked the material apart, giving her more proof of his strength. Vitality. Prowess.

The silk split with a ripping sound, releasing her to his gaze. Takaiya shimmied in place before arching her back, assuming a seemingly impossible bowed form, everything on her silently begging for what only he could give. His eyes moved from hers, the amber darkened to the shade of old gold as he looked down at her breasts, and then he lowered his head to a nipple, licked, and then suckled.

Takaiya screamed, grabbed handfuls of his hair, wrapped tendrils about her fingers, and then screamed again. Intensity surged through her, sending pulse after pulse of wonderment. Ecstasy. Release. She was sobbing before he moved to the other breast, and then screaming again. This time with shock as he bit her nipple, wrapped his tongue about it, licked…and then sucked, his action sending absolute delight flooding through her.

Takaiya became a wild thing, thrashing about the table surface with each motion he made. She was in another world. One filled with endless horizons. Rushing water. She careened through it, cascaded over a fall. Landed beneath leagues of liquid with a surge of spray. Choked. Fought. Struggled. Broke the surface. Filled her lungs with the sweetness of air. Her back pounded against the table, keeping time with the throes of ecstasy. And once it dissipated, she immediately began begging for more.

“Jean-Pierre…”

“Easy,
Mon Cherie
.”

Easy? She didn’t want to go easy! She needed to go massive, and huge, and hard. And
now
.

Takaiya’s arms went around his neck, lifting her from the table, matching her nakedness against his, glorying in the chill of his flesh to her heat. He wouldn’t leave her…would he? He couldn’t. The hands at her thighs tightened, pulling them apart, releasing him from the constriction she placed about him.
No!
Her hands locked together behind his neck, gluing her to him. Still, he backed a fraction, his motion lifting her.

“Don’t leave me! Please?”

“Leave you? Ah
Cherie
. Please. I’d as soon cleave my own heart out. I just—. If you’ll grant me a moment.
Non.
A mere span of time. For unfastening—. Trousers must be the bane of existence, I swear. Oh for the love of—.”

Ripping noise accompanied him, trailed by a sigh of sound that must be satin-piped trousers dropping to the floor. And that was followed by what he wore beneath.

“
Merde!”

The curse came through set lips, spliced on both sides by the wicked glint of spiked teeth. Takaiya’s eyes narrowed as she saw them, factoring in what they might mean…evaluating the ramifications. And then ignored them. Her eyes were seeing things that weren’t; putting visions in place that didn’t exist. It was better to simply sense, and exist…and feel.

She closed her eyes, felt movement beneath her buttocks, and then the slow glide of his fingers along each leg, reaching behind him to unlatch her ankles, slipping each shoe off, before placing her feet solidly against his shoulders, bending her legs in the process. Takaiya didn’t dare open her eyes. She’d never felt so wanton. Vulnerable. Exposed. Nor as thrilled, excited, and aroused.

His weight descended onto one side, and then fingers touched her apex, stimulating and vibrating, turning her into a creature of such glory, it was impossible to contain. Takaiya stretched upward and back, her mouth open and wide, pushing a continual cry of pleasure and fulfillment into the room.

“Ah…love. Such loveliness! Such beauty! It’s almost too much. It’s—. Are you…a maid?”

Takaiya slit her eyes open. He’d turned his head, placing his nose against her knee, looking somewhere over his shoulder. At nothing.

“Would it matter so much?”

“
Non.
Oh…no. Never. It’s just—. It’s been so long and…I have not prepared—. There will be pain. It’s unavoidable. And, uh…I don’t think I am ready.”

His voice shook with the last words. It matched the trembling evident all along him as he moved to stand, showing perfectly toned male form, and complete readiness. Her heart palpitated at the sight. She moved a hand to contain it.

“Jean-Pierre. Please? I need you. I want you. Now, Jean. Now.”

Urgency colored her voice, transferring to him. It halted any shake and seemed to turn him into a solid block of strength, purpose, and intent. He lunged atop her, her legs flexing to allow it as both his hands wound beneath her shoulders, lifting her off the table. And then he just held her there. Hovering in place. Generating little surges of thrill. Adding to the craving. Inciting her to higher levels of anticipation. Desire. Yearning. And then he gave a sob sound before burying his head into the space below her chin, stabbing her flesh with the potency of his kiss.

Fire licked at her throat, obliterating any pain from his entrance into her. She felt fullness. Thickness. Intense pressure of their fusing. Takaiya flung her head back, giving vent to her cries. And she was grinding, thrashing, twisting and contorting, and with each movement, he reacted, tightening and enwrapping his arms about her, until it resembled an iron-wrapped cage. And then something changed.

Sparks of pleasure flickered from where he latched, whispering through her hair, teasing her ear as they traveled, sending something far removed from pain and nothing approaching agony. Heat still accompanied it, but this warmth radiated out in waves, moving until it met the sensations at her loins. The feeling warped the surroundings. The room spun. They rose as a unit, entwined. Fused. Euphoric. And her spirit flew right along with the motion.

He lifted from her throat, taking the ecstasy with him. Takaiya nearly sobbed at the loss, the instant chill. She felt weak. Dizzy. As if she’d suffered severe blood loss. Their spinning intensified, going to a blur of speed, and then Jean-Pierre slammed onto his back on the table, rocking the structure with the landing, as well as sending his rod deeper within her. The room still whirled madly, but it must be her mind. It was too unreal. Too fantastic. She shut her eyes tightly, not trusting sight. She clung to Jean-Pierre like a life-line. That’s what was real. Him. Large. Strong.

“Ah…my sweet! My love! You must ride me,
Mon Cherie
. Here.”

His hands wrapped about her thighs and he began working her back and forth, sending spears of intensity to her most sensitive tissues. His actions claiming her. Dominating her. Orchestrating a rhythm and making her follow it. His loins joined in, sending upward lunges that nearly unseated her.

Tendrils of warmth spiraled up from where they meshed, the heat wrapping about her like sinuous ribbons. A spark ignited, flared. Her motions grew more rapid. Frenzied. The table beneath them creaked and rocked with the increasing pace.

“That’s it, my love! That’s it! Right…there! Like that! Just…like that!”

His words galvanized her, adding to the friction. The glory within her built higher. Harder. Faster. More intense. Quicker. More strident. She caught a breath, held it…and then used it to scream her pleasure. Rapture overtook her, chased by pleasure. She was combusting. Erupting. Experiencing heaven as her spirit soared where her body could not. Takaiya’s legs locked as she shook in place, her entire being learning new horizons none had ever spoken of. It wasn’t possible to contain such a sensation.

Jean-Pierre grabbed her waist, and began lifting her with solid, powerful lunges, his body locked in an arch of taut, masculine perfection. Everything on him went rigid. Solid. Rock-hard. His fingers resembled iron bands, locking her to him, while his groan filled the room with deep throbs of sound that ended with a sob sound.