White Shadows (15 page)

Winona felt alive as never before. The air, cool and moist, sharpened each of her senses as she watched ribbons of pink and yellow unfurl across the sky, spreading, twisting and weaving soft, dreamy pastel shades into a morning blanket.

Behind her, warm puffs of air warmed her cheek, her jaw and the back of her neck. Turning her head slightly so she could breathe in his scent, she sighed. “I think the sun has risen.”

“So has something else,” Clay murmured in her ear. His tongue swirled around the inside of her ear.

“Hmm, is it as pretty as the sun rising in the east?”

Clay chuckled. “Better, Golden Eyes. Much nicer.” His hands, cupping her breasts, closed tight. He squeezed her gently.

“That feels nice,” she said. She loved the sound of his endearment. It meant he had feelings for her. She ran her palms up and down Clay’s thighs.

“Yes.” He lightly ran his palms over the tips of her breasts, then took each one between his thumb and forefinger and rolled the firm flesh.

Winona arched her back. Inside she felt as though there were a connection between what he was doing and the ache spreading deep inside her. With each squeeze she felt the throbbing grow between her legs. And sitting on top of him she felt his hardness. “I want to see you.”

“You saw me.” His hands went back to caressing and palming her breasts. He couldn’t take his eyes off them. They were a perfect fit for his hands—molding nicely to his cupped palms as though his hands had been made just for her.

Fated.

Clay shoved the word from his mind. He did not believe in gods or spirits or fate. Life happened, the good, the bad. The beauty and the ugliness of life just happened.

So why could he not accept the bad in his life?

“Clay?” Her soft voice drew him out of his thoughts.

“I’m here, Golden Eyes.”

“No, you were elsewhere.” She turned slightly to stare up at him.

Clay buried his lips in the hollow of her neck. “Keep me here with you, Golden Eyes, if only for a little while.”

“For as long as you want,” Winona promised, strangely teary-eyed at his request. To herself she vowed to keep him forever. She already had his soul; they were two hearts, one soul. Now she just had to convince him to take her heart and give his in return.

Clay’s arms tightened around her. “I want. See how much I want.” He shifted, pulled her harder against him, then ran his palms along the outside of her thighs. When he reached her knees, he nudged them apart.

Winona closed her eyes when she felt her legs fall open like the wings of a butterfly. She felt open. Exposed. And embarrassed because she knew Clay was staring down at her.

Before, she’d been mostly concealed by the way she sat, his arms across her chest to block his view. And in the water he couldn’t have seen her clearly.

“Open your eyes.” Clay blew a breath of air into her ear.

“Why?” Her voice broke when she felt his hands moving along the inside of her thigh. His hands stopped just below the heart of her, as though framing that part of her.

“So you can watch.” He slid his hands around and lifted her up slightly.

Winona felt his hardness spring up between her thighs and move gently against her throbbing center. She drew in a shaky breath and gripped his outer thighs with her hands. “I do not think I can do that,” she whispered.

“Coward.”

Her eyes flew open at the soft taunt. “I am no coward.”

The sight of him proudly against her, with her soft, black hair spread out in front of him, brought forth waves of heat. He pulsed against her, and Winona could not have torn her gaze from him for any reason.

Lifting one hand, she hesitated. Was he hard or soft? She stared at a small bead of moisture forming at his very tip.

“Do it,” he said softly in her ear. “Touch me. See what you do to me. Know that I want you.”

Winona needed no further encouragement. She stroked one finger up the side of him. His skin felt hard and hot. Using two fingers, one on either side of him, she repeated her stroke. The skin moved with her fingers, up, then down. Against her back she felt Clay shudder.

She smiled and closed her hand over him and stroked, holding him firmly. Hard and soft. The feel of him thrilled her. She ran her thumb over his tip and sighed with pleasure. “So soft,” she said. “So hard.”

Another shudder came from Clay, followed by a moan. Winona didn’t have to ask if she was hurting him. She knew he hurt in the same way she hurt: deep inside where only they could ease each other’s pain with the same pleasure as before.

“I think you have learned the feel of me well.” Clay tried to get her to turn around.

Winona wasn’t finished. “Not all of you.” This time she stroked all the way up and over the tip of him, smoothing his moisture across him with her thumb. “I like the feel of you,” she said.

Clay stopped her. “Yes, I like it too, and if you do not stop you will see how much I love your touch.”

Winona wasn’t sure what he meant.

“Should I show you what happens when you don’t stop?” he added.

Winona’s eyes widened. “Yes,” she said hoarsely.

To her surprise Clay slid his fingers into her soft curls. She jerked. “You said you’d show me.” Not that she minded whatever his fingers were doing—but she felt as though she should glance away and not watch his fingers part her and reveal a part of her she never looked at.

Clay nibbled the flesh along her neck. “What better way to show you than with your own body?” Slowly his middle finger moved over her. “Watch. See how much I love to touch you.”

Enthralled, Winona watched his finger move in a slow circle. Her fingers dug into his thighs and her own legs trembled. “Clay,” she moaned. She tried to rotate with him but their positions made it hard for her to move.

“Remember how I felt?” He pushed his finger down deeper into her folds, then returned to his stroking. This time she saw moisture on his finger—her moisture. Wonder kept her eyes glued to his slow, knowing strokes, and the breath of cold air against her throbbing heat heightened the sensations he was arousing deep inside her.

“I remember.” She gasped. “I will show you how much I like this if you do not stop,” she said, panting.

Clay chuckled. “Don’t stop. Show me how much you like this. Let me hear how much you like it.” Without warning he increased the pressure and moved his finger in a fast, tight circle.

Winona pressed the backs of her thighs hard against the front of his, seeking, needing, wanting. Desperately needing what his fingers were giving, she tried to lift herself to increase the hard feel of him as he stroked her.

Clay shifted his finger slightly, sliding down just a bit. Winona cried out as her hips jerked. She hadn’t thought he could increase the pleasure, but he had, and now something inside of her tightened. His left hand fondled her breasts, rubbing and squeezing and palming.

Faster Clay went. Harder and faster and tighter, drawing the throbbing need from deep inside her out to the center he controlled with one finger. She rolled her head back and forth, panted, bit her lip.

“Don’t hold back.” He groaned. “I want to hear you.”

Winona opened her mouth and cried out as her head went back, her hips jerked up and she felt herself shatter skyward, leaving her body convulsing far beneath her.

Clay slid his hands beneath Winona and rearranged her, turning her over, lifting her hips up, bringing her throbbing, wet heat hard against the part of him that burned for release. He moaned, his breathing ragged, his pulse pounding.

She surrounded him with heat and softness. His sensitive head found her swollen heart. Moisture leaked as he jerked with an uncontrollable urge to rub himself over her. He slid between her slick folds and shuddered at the incredible feel of her softness cupping his hardness.

He pulsed, and slid up and down over her slick heat. He wanted to pull back and drive himself deep inside her. He desperately needed to feel her around him, have her body grasp him, but he fought his need, tried to slow his heart, his pulse. His fingers convulsed, biting into her soft buttocks. She whimpered and moved against his sensitive tip.

“Ah…” He gasped for breath. The swollen heart of her desire brushed against him, making him tremble uncontrollably. “Don’t move.” He released his hold on her, pulling his body away from hers as he lowered her back the ground.

“No!” In one quick movement she grabbed him and brought him hard against her. “More,” she said in a gasp, “like before.”

Clay glanced down at their nearly joined bodies. Watching, he pushed himself down her moist folds until the very tip of him rested in the hollow of her core. One push. One hard thrust and he’d find heaven. Paradise. He’d find the very essence of his soul.

“Clay!”

The soft whimper had him drawing in a deep, shaky breath. His gaze traveled up and over the soft mounds of her breasts to the wild desire in her eyes. “I need to feel your heat, and the way your body clings to mine. I want to feel you tighten around me, and pull from me all I have to give.” He pulled back slightly, lowered her hips and spread her knees.

Winona shifted her hips and held out her hands. “Now, Clay.”

Clay leaned forward and took her lips in a hard, drugging kiss that left them both breathless. “I need all that and more,” he whispered against the corner of her mouth. Trailing his lips across her flesh, he felt her shudder with each nip, each lick, as he followed the line of her jaw, the curve of her throat and the gentle rise of her breast until he found her nipple with the tip of his tongue.

He closed his lips over the hard bud and suckled, nipped and soothed with his tongue and lips. Beneath him Winona grew frantic. Her hands dug into his shoulders and pulled at his hair in an effort to bring him hard against her. Her hips lifted; her legs sought his hips. She pulled, begged, but Clay refused to stop until he’d paid the same tribute to her other straining breast.

Then he stared down at her with wonder as he moved until he was poised to enter her soft, moist sheath. The tip of his manhood pulsed with hunger and need, and his heart nearly burst with emotions he’d long thought dead. For so long he’d needed no one. But all that had changed—all because of a spirited, courageous woman.

Winona wrapped her hands into his hair and pulled hard. “You are taking too long,” she said in a gasp. “Let me feel you inside me. I want to join with you, be one with you—”

Clay needed no further invitation, couldn’t wait any longer, but still he retained control. He needed to feel, to remember each moment of this joining. He entered slowly, one inch at a time, feeling her tight sheath close around him. Once fully inside, he held himself still, enthralled.

Lowering his head, he found her mouth and kissed her slowly, deeply. Winona moaned beneath him and bucked her hips to bring him into her deeper, harder. She pulled back, trying to start the rhythm that would bring them both release. But Clay stopped her frantic movements by pressing his pelvis down harder onto hers, pinning her to the soft mat of grass beneath them.

The slower he went, the more she squirmed and rocked against him. She nipped at his lips, pulled her nails down his back and bucked hard against him until finally he could not stop himself from pulling out in one long movement and thrusting back inside in one long, powerful stroke.

Winona cried out and lifted her legs, wrapping them around Clay’s waist to hold him to her. “No more games,” she said, pulling his mouth back to hers.

“No more games,” he said in a gasp, merging his mouth with hers. Tongues dueled and vied for dominance. Hips rose and fell and came together with soft sounds that drove Winona higher and higher.

“C-Clay,” she moaned, digging her fingers hard into his buttocks.

“Now, Golden Eyes.”

Winona arched her hips at the same time as Clay, felt his shuddering release all the way into her soul as she burst into tiny sparkles—a rainbow of color that greeted the dawn.

Winona should have been exhausted after their last bout of lovemaking. She sighed. Then smiled. After two days and three nights in Clay’s arms learning the difference between mating and loving, it was a wonder she could move, let alone remain awake while the rest of the world slept.

Rolling out of Clay’s arms onto her stomach, she stretched out her arms and legs. There wasn’t much room in the small space to stretch sideways. If she tried, she’d end up jamming her elbow into Clay’s nose. In this tiny tipi above the world there was barely enough room for two to sleep—and only if one person slept on his or her side.

She turned her head. Clay slept soundly on his side, his back to the slanted wall, which was actually a rock that was wide at the bottom and tapered at the top with a hollowed-out bottom. It sat on top of the center tower. Beneath her the rock sloped gently, forming a natural bed.

There were other groupings of boulders, but none formed a miniature home so far above the world below.

Winona didn’t think there would ever be such a magnificent place on earth. She could lie here all night and never feel as though she’d absorbed all the beauty spread out below her.

The large lake rippled gently in the silvery moonlight, and stars blinked brilliantly across a sky of velvet that stretched as far as she could see. She sighed with contentment.

Turning onto her back, she gave another stretch. The fur beneath her cushioned her from the hard, cold surface of the stone and warmed her with her own body heat. Between her and the wall, the fur that she’d used as a blanket lay discarded. Her head fell to the side. Clay had proven himself to be a very nice, very warm blanket.

Lifting one hand Winona ran her finger across the ceiling, then giggled. The amount of room between floor and ceiling was not much, and their first time making love in this cozy nest, Clay, lost in the throes of passion, had raised himself up and thrown his head back—and nearly banged himself unconscious.

Winona turned back over and laughed into the pile of furs beneath her. She’d laughed so hard—until Clay recovered and renewed his thrusting with vigor.

Her shoulders slumped. Just the memory of his sending her from a fit of laughter to a writhing mass of screaming need made her go weak.

“Go to sleep or I will force you back below,” Clay grumbled beside her. He sounded cranky, amused, exasperated.

Raising herself up on one elbow Winona trailed her fingers down the light dusting of hair covering his chest. “How can you sleep?” She leaned forward and followed her fingers with her mouth.

Growling, Clay rolled on top of her and bit her playfully on the back of her neck. “You have the eyes of a cat, claws like a cat, and you stay awake all night. You, I fear, have been misnamed.”

Winona rested her forehead on the fur, arching her neck up to allow Clay easier access. She shivered. The contrast of his soft mouth, moist tongue and rough skin moving over her extra-sensitive flesh made her groan and shift her hips.

Her breathing sped up. “Clay…” She tried to turn over so she could touch him, see him and feel him hard against her and, ultimately, deep inside her.

“Not this time, my wildcat.”

Winona moaned. “You are teasing me. I will never sleep if you stop.”

Clay bit down on one earlobe, then suckled the pink flesh. “Who said anything about stopping?” He slid one hand beneath her.

Feeling two of his fingers sliding into the moist folds that concealed her tiny bud, Winona gripped the furs with her hands and lifted her head in anticipation.

Clay dropped his head so that they were cheek-to-cheek. His fingers squeezed, then stopped, over and over. “See all those stars in the sky, my golden-eyed wildcat?”

Panting, trying to move her hips and set the pace, Winona groaned. “Yes. No more talk.” She desperately needed him, so she tried to turn over. “I want you. Inside. Hard and fast. Like last time.”

Warm breath slid over her mouth. “Not yet. Not this time. First you are going to soar alone and I’m going to watch.” One finger began a slow, leisurely circuit around the swollen heart of her.

Winona contracted her buttocks tightly together, then released the muscles. Over and over she tried to get him to move faster. But the more she demanded, the slower he went.

“Clay…”

“Slow, Golden Eyes. Slow. Make it last. Feel each pulse of your heart. Feel the need rushing through you. Feel me touching you.” The rough pad of his finger slid across her swollen bud.

Winona bucked and bit down on her fist to keep from screaming.

“Do you feel me?”

“Yes,” she whimpered. She felt. She needed. She hurt, and only he could provide the release she needed.

“Inside,” she begged. “Let me feel you too. I need to feel you,” she moaned.

Clay slid his hard length over her.

“Do you feel that?”

“Y-yes.” She gasped. She felt him—all of him—sliding in and out between her twin cheeks. She lifted her bottom, trying to entice him into entering her from behind like a male cat mated with a female. “You feel good.” She gasped. “Very good.”

“Good. Know what I feel?” His fingers stopped their dance.

“N-no.”

He slid one finger lower, deeper, until he sat poised at her entrance. “Hot. Soft. Slick. Ready for me.”

“Yes. Yes. Yes.” She wanted to scream that she was ready. Past ready. She was desperate. She needed him to release the flood of passion pounding deep inside her.

Clay dragged his finger back and pressed up and down, following the rhythm of her frantic movements. She felt herself tightening, building. But the soaring release stayed just out of reach.

“Lift your head. Let me see you.”

Winona did as he instructed. She stretched her hands out, searching for something to hold on to. Clay rose up slightly to allow her more freedom of movement and slipped his other arm beneath her chest, just above her breasts.

Then his finger spread her slick moisture over and around her. “Move. Hard and fast. Let me see you fly. Let me hear your pleasure.”

Winona took all that he offered and more. She moved herself over him, controlled the pressure. Clay’s tongue trailed down her body, tracing the curved line of her spine.

Pulling back his other arm, he slipped his other hand between her legs. Two fingers entered her deeply.

It was all Winona needed. She tightened. Another hard stroke across her sensitive flesh followed by the sinking of his fingers deep inside her sent her shattering across the night sky like a star traveling from one side of the heavens to the other.

Clay had never seen or felt anything as beautiful as this woman coming apart in his arms. Winona responded to his every touch with a wild abandon that enticed him. Ensnared him.

Each shudder, each muffled cry of pleasure, each gasp and plea and each tremor that rocked through her increased his own joy. The greater her response, the more he gave. And the more he gave, the more she returned.

Their loving was a circle. A flexible, ever-widening circle. Whether they took it slow and tender or hard, fast and wild, their circle matched their needs. Watching and feeling her respond not only to his hands, but his voice, had brought him to a stronger, harder and more desperate need for her.

His need for this woman threatened to consume him. Rolling over onto his back, he pulled her on top of him. Her back lay against his chest; the back of her head rested on his shoulder.

Bringing up his knees, and hers with his, he allowed his legs to fall open. His knees almost touched each side of their private little haven. Hers rested along the inside of his, leaving her wide-open to the soft, cool breeze that swept over them.

Using both hands to separate her, he gave one hard upward thrust. Her heat surrounded him. Tiny convulsions gripped him and urged him to move and find his own release.

She arched her back and tightened her sheath. Silently she urged him to stroke and find his release, but he held himself still. While he wanted nothing more than to thrust mindlessly, he also wanted to savor the slick heat, the throbbing in and around him.

He reached up to cup her breasts. Pulling in a deep breath, he drew her closer. She moved with each breath. Her hips ground into his pelvis. He suckled at her neck and slid his hands down to hold her still. He throbbed and pulsed. Without even moving he was close to release.

“Clay, you are not being nice,” she moaned.

He laughed softly in her ear. Pulling out until only the tip of him remained inside, he thrust slowly back into her.

“Slow, remember?” He repeated his leisurely stroke.

“Have I told you that you are a
heya?
”

Unable to help himself, Clay laughed. “A louse, am I?” He pushed himself in as far as he could, satisfied with her gasp of pleasure. Then he pulled all the way out.

Winona protested. “I meant
pejiwabluska
.”

A walking stick! Clay thrust hard back inside, cutting off her amused giggle. “Save it for morning, my little
kimimila
. My sweet little butterfly.” With that he stroked until, once again, they soared across the heavens, flying high and slowly sinking back to earth.

Clay woke past dawn and grinned. For the first time since he’d known Winona, he’d woken first. Normally she woke before the sun.

Her arms were draped over his body, her legs tangled with his. He shifted. She rolled onto her back but did not wake. Though they’d spent much of the night making love, he couldn’t think of a better way to start the new day.