Timeless Desire (33 page)

“At last I can hold you,” he said.

She shivered, not from cold but from the knowledge of the journey on which they were embarking. It had been a long time since she had taken a man into her arms.

He picked her up and laid her down on the bed, fire flickering in those clear eyes. Then he sat next to her, kicked off his boots and breeks, turned, and lowered himself over her. He entered her without preliminaries, sighing as he brought his entire length inside.

“I just had to feel you,” he said.

She’d been more than ready for him. He held his hips still and brought his mouth back and forth across the tight flesh of her nipple. Then he took it gently between his teeth.

“Ooh.”

He tugged at the other nipple, watching her from beneath his long lashes as she stretched and moaned.

“Tis torture to be inside you,” he said.

He slipped free and turned her to her side. With a single movement, he reburied his cock and brought himself against her back. “Let your hair down.”

She pulled out the pins, arching for a moment as he made a few deep thrusts, and allowed her hair to fall over her back and on his chest. He brought a handful of tresses to his cheek and rubbed it there. “Tis like rays of silken sunshine.”

The mirror on the wardrobe captured them in full, and the blood pounded in her chest as she saw herself stretched out so brazenly. He had found a thin braid and was unraveling the strands, thrusting his hips slowly as he worked. Her body responded to each movement, breasts swaying, hips moving to meet his, fingers stretching.

He caught their reflection in the mirror and chuckled, drawing a thumb from the pale curls of her pubic hair to the white mounds of her breasts.

“Oh, aye,” he whispered. “I shall like to watch this.”

Slowly he plucked her nipples, pulling each just enough to send a shock wave through her. She writhed against him, bringing his thickness tighter against her swelling bud.

She could feel him watching her, and she rubbed against him like a cat. Her nipples, always rosy, had become dark red blossoms.

He gathered her chin in his fist and turned her head to kiss him. She wove her fingers into his hair, enjoying the prickly stubble of his face on her cheek.

His breath was more labored now, though he barely moved inside her, and she could feel the sheen of perspiration on her skin as she moved up and down his length.

In the mirror, his fingers played in the curls between her legs, twirling the locks there. Then he let a thick finger dance over the tender flesh where their bodies met.

“Oh, yes.”

He brought a second hand to meet the first and slipped both forefingers into her slit.

“Oh, Jamie.”

He thrust his hips, thumping his cock against her bud as his fingers plucked and tugged. Every movement drew her deeper and deeper into the rising storm of pleasure. She clasped her hands behind his neck, spread her legs, and let him ravish her.

“I will never forget this,” he said into her ear, “or you.”

She felt the wave of pleasure begin to break and rode it hard, crying shamelessly. He moaned himself, uncoupling from her and lowering his head to her thighs.

“The pain from my wounds may kill me, but I’ll be damned if I’ll miss the opportunity to know the taste of you.” He brought his mouth to her bud, and the wave rose again, slowly at first, and then harder and higher, until it hit the shore so fiercely and relentlessly that she buried her mouth in the sheets to drown out the choking cry.

When she relaxed, he flopped onto his back and curled an arm around her thigh. She was too limp to move, but their fingers met and laced, and he made a deep groan followed by a long, happy sigh.

“That was nice,” she said.

He squeezed her hand. “There’s more to come. If I can get these old bones moving, that is.”

“Your bones seem perfectly fine.” She traced the sturdy rib cage and iron-tight forearms. “Aching they might be. Old they are not. And as far as moving . . .”

Her eyes strayed to the blunt instrument swaying ever so slightly between his legs.

“Oh, that,” he said.

She had been right: Any familial resemblance between Jamie and his half-brother ended here. Jamie was long and thick, a pale pink spear towering over compact testes and a thick carpet of golden-brown fur. She wondered what it might be like to take his length in her hand and feel his desire strain against her.

Their eyes met, and his dared her to do what he knew she was thinking.

With a flush, she took hold of him, amazed as always at the silk in which such a steely surface was wrapped.

She caressed him and he thickened.

“I want you like a whore,” he said breathlessly, “riding me shamelessly, your breasts bouncing as I watch.”

A torrent of heat scorched her belly.

“And I want you on your knees, showing me the tricks that mouth has learned. But for now,” he said, “I want you just like this.”

He pulled himself on top of her, his body a shield from the cares of the world, and entered her slowly. The green in his eyes sparked like lakes in the summer sun. How she would welcome mornings if each one began like this, she thought. He held her gingerly, moving with care as if she might break, which made her smile, for she knew he was the one in pain.

She laid a hand on his cheek, lost in a joy so deep the chirps of the sparrows outside seemed as if they might be from another time. His hips, ropey with muscle, moved hesitantly, finding the rhythm at which he might labor unpained. The lush warmth he stirred in her made her sigh. She ran a hand over the wounds in his back, hoping her touch might give some comfort. He smiled.

“Do you want to finish now?” she asked. “There are things I could do . . .”

“I shall finish soon in any case. God help me, I am nearly undone by the look on your face and the sounds of your pleasure.”

She provided more of the latter, groaning happily a few moments later at a particularly deep thrust, and he pulled himself free, spilling his seed over her with a husky sigh.

He gathered her in his arms and closed his eyes. “That,” he said simply, “is an argument for heaven.”

She laughed, taking in the soft soapy smell of his hair and the fragrant musk that permeated their bed. That
had
been different from the trysts she remembered. Perhaps it was because she was older now—or perhaps the knowledge that their time together was short had made her conscious of the emotion beneath the physicality—but her heart told her it was something else.

When she lifted her hand and gazed at the ring on her finger, the certainty suffused through her.

Admit it, Panna: The lovemaking was different because of the vow you made.

Her more pragmatic self was quick to disagree.
You know that’s ridiculous. Even if you were foolish enough to have meant it, a vow like that means nothing unless each person has pledged it from his heart.

And yet, even her more pragmatic self could not deny the singular magic that had just transpired. While her experience with lovers was far from extensive, she had bedded enough men to know the difference between bone-rattling sex and soul-quenching love.

Seeing her hand extended, he lifted his as well, and she brought her palm to his, enjoying the way his fingers dwarfed hers. The gash left by his grandfather’s knife was a dark, crusty red.

“Do you still long for your husband?”

She was startled from her thoughts but smiled. “Charlie? I shall always miss him. He was a good man. Does it hurt?” She ducked her head toward Jamie’s hand.

“I hurt in so many places I can hardly feel it. Should I assume by your changing of the subject you do not wish to speak of him?”

“No, it’s all right. He died two years ago after a yearlong illness. We’d been married eight years.”

“Do you have children?”

“No. I guess it was something we thought we’d always have time for. And then suddenly the time was gone.” She realized that in Jamie’s world there was no reliable way to plan when to have children, and that even the act of pulling out prior to ejaculation was like some sort of casino game in which every player eventually loses.

“What was he like?”

“Strong. Funny. Smart. And so determined to help other people. He really taught me a lot about generosity of spirit.”

Jamie stroked her hair. “Were you in love?”

It dawned on her that a marriage based on love might be an exception in this age.

“In my time, people almost always marry for love.”

He lifted his head. “In truth?”

“Yes.”

He leaned back on the pillow, making a noise of surprise. “Marriage must be a joyous place there.”

She chuckled. “You’d be surprised. While people marry for love, the same willingness to let emotion rule means marriages end in bitter fights, infidelity, and even boredom.”

“But not yours?”

He had asked without judgment, only curiosity.

“No. We loved each other till the end.” She choked on the last words, reliving the terrible despair.

He squeezed her shoulders. “Tis a cruel thing that a marriage born of love would end so unhappily. I am very sorry.”

“I never thought I would love another man—” She froze. Good God, what had she said? Had he caught it? His arms hadn’t moved, but she was certain his breathing had changed.

He rose to an elbow and lifted her chin. “What did you mean when you said that?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry.”

“If you love me, lass, I need to know.”

She dared not say it, but he saw the truth in her eyes.

He jumped from the bed and ran a hand wildly through his hair. She felt as if she’d been kicked and struggled for a breath.

He caught her hand and tugged the ring free.

“Sit,” he commanded.

She got up blindly, hardly aware of anything but the roar of embarrassment in her head.

“Did you make your vow to me?”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that before we stood before the priest we agreed that our words carried no weight. Did your words carry weight?” he said, face flushed with emotion.

“Not in the way you mean.” She sat up.

“You did not pledge your body to me? You did not pledge your heart?”

“No.”

“Do you pledge them now? To me? Forever?”

She wasn’t sure what he was asking, and his agitation was upsetting her. “‘Forever’ has no meaning to us, Jamie. You’re sending me back to my world, and you’ll stay in yours.”

“Take this ring,” he said, “and make your pledge. I swear I will keep you at my side. If I have to burn down what’s left of MacIver Castle to put a cork in that execrable hole, I will do it. Pledge your troth, and I swear to you we will never be parted.”

“Jamie—”

“I know my mind, lass. Do you know yours?”

“If you know your mind,” she said sharply, “speak it. You have not shared it with me.”

A crimson stain spread across his cheeks, and he dropped to one knee. Given that he was naked and half erect, this made for a very engaging picture.

“My heart yearns for your heart, just as my body yearns for your body. And if you cannot see both plainly, then I have failed you. I cannot say I loved you from the moment I saw you. I’m afraid I had other designs on you then. Despite my words, I admit my appetite was carnal at our first meeting. And then when you spoke . . . God, what a wicked tongue you possess! All I could think about was getting myself between those thighs and hammering the insolence out of you.”

Her heart thumped, but Jamie’s excitement had stirred something more than passion in her. She felt as if she were standing at the edge of a cliff, her back to the abyss, and Jamie was telling her to let go and that he would catch her before she fell. She so wanted to believe. Her heart rose in her throat.

“You have professed your lust,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady, “but that I could have apprehended without a word. I’ve heard nothing from you that suggests your feeling for me rises any higher than that absurd signal flag between your legs.”

He stood, and Panna saw the absurdity being replaced by something more dangerous. Jamie sat down and looked her in the eye.

“I love you, Panna. I thought I would die when I believed Adderly had hurt you. I have no family and few friends. You have made me feel whole, as if I had been given a reason to live and a reason to die, all at the same time. And that terrifies me. But now that I’ve had it, I can’t let go. Please, Panna, please, do not break the man you have made.”

She touched his cheek. “I will not. Oh, Jamie, I will not.”

He swept her into his arms and kissed her, a long, lingering kiss that tasted of ancient hurt and new beginnings. She didn’t know what her declaration meant for them beyond this hour, but she didn’t care. She knew it was right.

He took her left hand and held the ring beyond her finger. “Make your vow to me, Panna.”

“I make my vow.”

“And I to you.”

He slid the ring on her finger and threw his arms around her. Then he lowered her onto the pillows again. “Absurd, is it?”

With a casual thrust, he entered her again, and she gasped.

“I shall make you eat your words,” he said. “Or worse.”

This time his lovemaking was not so gentle, and Panna’s flesh, already tender, burned with his fervor. His own moans made his choice of desire over comfort plain, and in a minute or two, through sheer force of flint on steel, the mound of tinder in her belly exploded a second time.

With a deep grunt, he spilled his desire between her scorched thighs in grinding thrusts that fed the fireball between her legs like blasts of oxygen. She cried out as he drew her closer, jerking her hips, until the only sound she could form was a hoarse moan. Her arms fell limp to her sides.

“God help me.”

Eyes gleaming, he said, “I like the flavor marriage imparts to this.” Then he flicked the tip of his tongue over his finger. “And this as well.”

He stretched out beside her and for a long moment neither said anything. Panna felt as if she were being borne along on the warm waves of a tropical sea, sun on her back, buoyed by happiness that lifted her like a life preserver. For the first time in three years, everything seemed effortless.