Authors: Sarah McCarty
“Easy, Gypsy.”
To give herself something to do besides focus on the way he was handling her, she asked, “Why do you call me that?”
He tucked his fingers on the back of her knee. “Because you’re wild and sweet, and no matter what those SOBs did to you, you’re still fiery and proud.”
“Oh.” It was so different than what she’d expected, so different than how she saw herself that she didn’t know what else to say.
“That’s all you’ve got to say?”
“Pretty much.”
His chuckle wafted over her cheek. His breath smelled of coffee, without the rancid undertones of rotted teeth she’d gotten accustomed to. Her husband really was a different breed of man. And he was still holding her intimately, waiting for…permission? “What do you want me to do?”
“Try to relax and let me learn you.”
“Learn me?”
The question ended on a gasp as his finger glided down the seam of her pussy to dip into the well of her vagina.
“Yes.”
Her breath stuttered out as he pressed.
His sigh first lifted and then dropped her. “You’re a small-built woman, Desi.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Nope. Just a useful fact for a husband to know.”
He was still whispering, the dark still encased them in privacy, but she couldn’t forget the men just across the fire. His hand moved, his fingers worked lower, sliding down the not-so-dry slit to the apex of her mound. They wiggled and probed, searching for something. She bit her lip and glanced across the way.
“Desi?”
“What?”
“They don’t matter.”
“They know.”
“They can’t hear or see, and if they’re imagining anything, it’s what a damn lucky man I was to see you first.”
She did her best to disregard his intimate touch. “You make me sound like a prize.”
He grunted and shifted beneath her, gaining a bit more reach. “Just goes to show how unbalanced your view is if you can’t see that you are.”
His middle finger stretched and touched a spot that made her flinch. He stilled. “You felt that?”
Her face bloomed with heat. Even if she hadn’t been choking on embarrassment, she wouldn’t have answered him.
He did it again. This time the sensation was sharper. Not pain, but definitely sensitive. She couldn’t control her twitch.
“So, that’s your sweet spot.” He started circling his finger over the area, the callus dragging and bunching her flesh. Flashes of sensation came at odd moments, not unpleasant, not really anything, just ethereal streaks that made her shift and anticipate something more. She took a stab at suppressing the next one. A soft rustle indicated the shake of his head. “No, just relax and sort out how it feels.”
She didn’t want to.
As she curled her hips away on the next one, he whispered in her ear, “Son of a bitch, my hands are too rough.”
“You’re not hurting me.”
“I’m not pleasuring you, either.”
That was what he was looking for? Her pleasure. “My mother said relations are for a man’s pleasure.”
“That it is.” He narrowed the circles of that finger, rasping it delicately over her moist flesh. “But I bet if I put my tongue here, you’d be screaming yours.”
Oh, God, she didn’t want his mouth, his teeth, there. “I don’t like that.”
The tension from her body communicated itself to his. His hand stilled. His other opened over her back and patted her comfortingly “I don’t imagine there’s any chance you can forget, but I would appreciate it if you hold the thought that every man loves a woman differently.”
“I know that.”
“I don’t think you do.” The tug on her braid had her tilting her head back again. “No matter how scared you get, remember this one thing, the only way you’ll scream in my bed is from pleasure.” Another tug kept her looking toward the faint outline of his face. “Your pleasure.”
“Thank you.” What else could she say? Whether she believed him or not was immaterial. The thing was, he believed it.
“I can hear the doubt in your voice.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to be sorry. I don’t mind a challenge.”
But she minded disappointing him. He seemed willing to let their marriage start on equal ground, but sex was important to a man. If she failed him there, it would show in the relationship. She knew enough about men to know that.
His finger was back to brushing and probing, lingering longer with every flinch of her flesh, lingering so long she felt herself swell, even though she didn’t feel irritation.
“Oh, yeah, that’s my girl.” His hand left the space between her legs. “No, don’t close them.”
She lay there, sprawled on his chest, her legs splayed on either side of his hips, trying to assimilate the warm, tingly sensation his touch left behind and what it meant. A scandalous woman ruining her only chance left at respectability.
The parting of his lips was audible. The gleam of his teeth barely visible as he put his finger in his mouth. The same finger that had been between her legs.
She blinked. He wouldn’t. He did. His tongue curled around the digit.
“You didn’t just—” She bit off the stupid question and dropped her head to his chest. When was she going to learn to keep her mouth shut?
He hummed in his throat. “I definitely did.” His hand worked back under the blankets, letting in cold air as they blossomed up. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything as sweet as you.”
“Have you no shame?”
“Not much.” She could hear the smile in his voice.
“Men don’t do that to women.”
“Who the hell told you that?”
Sheer frustration had her swatting his shoulder. “Everyone knows that.”
His thumb grazed her buttock through the cotton of her pantaloons, riding the seam to the gaping slit. “Then you and everyone are going to have to swap out your ideas because after that little taste I promise I’m going to be spending a lot of time with my mouth between your legs.”
Her “Oh, God” ended on a high squeak as his finger returned with unerring accuracy. Smoothed by the wetness of his saliva, it drifted over that spot, finding the tingling that had died, sparking it into something she didn’t recognize. Something that tightened her breath, her nipples, her fear. Leather creaked from across the fire. Dried leaves rustled as someone changed positions. Were the other men listening? Thinking of coming over?
Caine’s fingers spread out over her back. Holding her to him. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Desi.”
“I’m not afraid.”
His fingers stilled but the feeling continued to hum, almost seemed to build. “Now, that I won’t tolerate.”
“What?”
“You’re lying to me.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Unless you want me turning you over my knee right now, you won’t finish that sentence.”
The threat snuffed out the tingling as if it had never been.
“Ah, hell.”
Three fingers joined the one pressing so intimately, cupping her mound almost protectively. “I ruined it, didn’t I?”
“There wasn’t anything to ruin.”
She could feel him staring at her. “You’re joshing, right?”
Vividly aware of his strength and his threat, she forced the truth from her throat. “I think I’ve forgotten how to joke.”
There was a long pause and then the tension dissolved from his muscles. “Now, that’s a damn shame.”
Yes, it was. And the fact that he understood cracked the wall of her defenses. He wasn’t supposed to notice things like that. Tears burned.
“My father always said women were made for laughter and pleasure,” Caine offered as his free hand rubbed her back.
She blinked faster. “Your father said that?”
“Yup, and he apparently meant it because I never saw him smile bigger than when my mom was happy.”
She couldn’t imagine that. In her family, and the families of her friends, the men and women lived in different circles, coming together for meals and an occasional outing, but she couldn’t remember a sense of togetherness. “That must be a nice memory.”
His fingertips pressed into her spine. “It is.”
The tears disappeared as she imagined a home life like that. “Do you miss them?”
It was an intimate question, but surely not too intimate to ask a man with his hands cupping her privates on her wedding night.
“Yeah.” His hand slid free of her privates to spread over her buttocks. “You warm enough?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He turned them, his hands holding her as he settled her carefully beneath him, taking the bumps of the maneuver on his elbows and forearms so she felt more levitated than moved. His weight came over her in a fresh blast of heat. She braced for the crush. His thighs aligned between hers. She moved them as far as she could to the side until the material of her skirt pulled her up short. His cock touched her first—it was solid, big, uncompromising in its demand, a bit painful in its pressure against her pubic bone. He shifted down so it notched between her thighs. His pants and her skirts did nothing to diminish the blunt impact. She sucked in her breath. The past blurred into the present. Faces flashed before her mind’s eye. So many faces, the features interchanging until they became a visual cacophony, swallowing reason, feeding the memories of pain…
Caine’s stomach lowered to hers, and then his chest. Lastly his head. The brush of his lips made her whimper.
No. No. No.
“What’s wrong, Gypsy?”
She couldn’t answer. Her breaths were coming too hard, but she couldn’t get enough air. She closed her eyes. Her breath came faster, shorter.
“Gypsy?”
Desi shook her head, her nose bumping his. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the panic. The press of his weight, the force of his male parts pushing into her, she couldn’t stand it. He caught her face in his hands. Holding her still. “Breathe, Desi.”
She couldn’t. No matter how hard she tried, nothing was coming in. She couldn’t focus on anything beyond the weight of his body and the howl of memories.
“Tracker!”
“Coming.”
She tried to shake her head. She didn’t want anyone seeing her like this, didn’t want Tracker seeing her lying under Caine. She didn’t need another man with ideas.
The crunch of moccasined feet across the dried grass sounded like thunder. Caine’s body slid from hers. The blankets whipped down.
“What’s the matter?”
“She can’t breathe.”
Other hands joined Caine’s. There were always more hands. More demands. More humiliation.
“What brought this on?” she heard Tracker say in a voice that sounded hollow and distant.
“I did.” Caine’s answer wasn’t any clearer.
“Figured that, but how?”
“I didn’t hurt her.”
Two hands lifted her arms, felt along the contracted muscle, while others held her down, defying her struggle for air. Just like before.
“You’re sure?”
Caine was absolutely sure. He lifted Desi as she wheezed for air, her face pale in the faint light, eyes squeezed shut, hands pulled back against her chest, so terrified she couldn’t breathe. “Not physically.”
“Then it’s fear stealing her air.”
“Know anything to do about it?”
Caine propped Desi’s back against his thigh. High-pitched squeaks punctuated every jerk of her ribs against his thigh.
Tracker sat back on his heels. “I might. Cup your hands over her nose and mouth like a tent.”
“Hell, she needs more air not less.”
“So it would seem, but I saw a kid with this issue once and the healer put a sack over her face.”
“We don’t have a sack.”
“So maybe your hands will do.”
“They’d better.” He couldn’t take her gasping for each breath and getting nowhere. He cupped his hands over her face. They covered the whole thing, reminding him what a little bit of a woman she was. He tucked his thumbs down out of her eyes. “Breathe, Desi. Just relax and breathe.”
If anything she seemed to tense up more.
“Nothing’s going to happen, sweetheart,” he said. “You’re just going to relax and breathe and then we’re going to sleep.” The whites of her eyes flashed as she looked at him. “I swear.”
She arched her neck so hard the muscles in her neck trembled. “Just sleep, sweetheart.”
“Tracker?” he asked as her next two breaths seemed deeper.
The big man pushed her hair off her cheek. His lips quirked in a faint smile. “She’s getting her breath back now.”
She tried to turn her head. Caine shook his. “Just hold still and breathe.” Her fingers caught at his forearms. “Don’t waste your strength giving orders. Until Tracker says my hands come off your face, they’re staying put.”
Tracker leaned over into her field of vision. “Just relax and let Caine do all the work, Mrs. Allen. That’s what husbands are for, and I know for a fact Caine’s been storing up a lifetime of pampering to wrap around his woman, so there’s not much sense trying to talk him out of it.”