Conquering Passion (19 page)

“
Non, merci
,” she murmured. The mead was still lukewarm and she could feel it trickling down her throat.

He smiled, took another sip, then leaned over to replace the goblet on the table, licking the stickiness off his fingers. Her mouth fell open.

Turning on his side, with his head propped up on his muscular arm, he looked at her and said seductively, “Well,
ma belle,
will you let me see that irresistible body without my begging?”

“You weren’t going to beg at the lake.” As soon as she uttered the words, she regretted them.

He bristled. “
Non
, you’re right. Would I have had to beg? I got the feeling you were ready to give yourself up without much protest.”

His words cut into her heart.

But my dream was of you—of your kiss.

“What trick do you have in mind to hide your lost virginity?”

Anger swept over her. “You think I’m not a maid?” she murmured, her eyes filling with tears. She wished he’d choked on his mead.

“Maids don’t lie half-naked in meadows, covered with flowers. But I don’t care. You’ve cast a spell on me, and you’re the one I must have.”

Despite his cruel words, the smoldering need in his ice blue eyes made her heart race. She looked away, afraid her heart might break.

Wiping away a tear with his fingers, he admitted, “My male needs threatened to control me, Mabelle, and I’m not proud of it. That’s what passion seems to do. I’m a Montbryce, an honourable Norman noble. I was tired after my journey. I thought you were a vision.”

As he spoke, he gently tugged away the bed robe and looked at her body, visible through the diaphanous fabric of the nightgown.

“Two perfect circles on two perfect globes,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He lowered his head and twirled his tongue lightly over each hard nipple. It sent molten waves to the core of her being.

She could feel her heart pounding and couldn’t swallow. He kissed her softly, then, as the kiss lengthened and deepened in intensity, she parted her lips and welcomed his tantalizing tongue, warmed by the mead. His lips were sticky and he tasted of honey. He wrapped his powerful arms around her, accepting the silent invitation, licking the corners of her mouth. He groaned.

Sucking on her lower lip, he trailed one hand down her throat and cupped her breast. It filled his hand and he stroked slowly and rhythmically, his fingers straying closer and closer to the expectant nipple. His scorching touch through the silken fabric aroused feelings unknown to her before, and when he finally pinched the pert point between his thumb and forefinger, a spasm tore through her, and she arched up off the bed, wet heat flooding between her legs.

What is happening to me?

With his other hand, he carefully peeled the nightgown from her trembling body. “I’ve longed to see your glorious body,” he whispered, “And to lose myself in you. You are as lovely as I imagined.”

She moaned softly as his big hands cupped both breasts. He lowered his warm lips to them, suckling and licking as he tenderly squeezed the other needy nipple. She arched her mons and felt his arousal throb against her thigh. She dared not look.

His kiss then was slow and deep. She sucked his tongue into her mouth. Surrendering to an instinct that overcame the inner voice urging modesty, she opened her legs. With a deep grunt she felt in her toes, he used his hand on the top of her thigh to open her wider, pulling her leg over his. She felt the silken tickle of the hair on his legs, and the hardness of his manhood pressing against her thigh. His fingers stroked her most intimate place. The sensations were overwhelming, but she didn’t want him to stop. She couldn’t breathe and had to break away from his kiss. She looked into his eyes, expecting to see censure at her wantonness, but instead saw deep need.

He smiled at her and whispered, “Don’t forget to breathe, Mabelle. Don’t be afraid. Breathe.”

The sound of his seductive voice calmed her. He kissed her again, continuing to stroke her, harder and faster now, the other hand squeezing a nipple. Intense heat coursed through her belly, shooting down her inner thighs. She dug her heels into the bed, wanting the sensations to go on—and on.

“Come for me, my lovely,” he whispered. “Come for me.”

She didn’t understand his words, only half heard them, totally rapt in scaling a mountain of exquisite pleasure, and wanted to scream as her body cascaded from the top of it and fell into bliss.

“Your screams excite me,” he said huskily. “I want to thrust into you, but I want to see your face again when you reach ecstasy.”

No man had ever spoken such words to her. She’d entered a world she’d never known. She wanted to laugh and cry. She wanted all of him.

Where have these thoughts come from?

He bent his head to suckle her, then ran his fingers lightly across her belly and slid one finger further inside her, then another, curling them against the tender flesh, his palm pressed against her mons. She’d never known such sensations and fulfillment came again quickly. But she was so wet. Ram held her tightly as her body convulsed.

Is that me screaming?

She opened her eyes and plumbed his blue depths again. He smiled and whispered, “It’s time. You’re ready now.”

He rose above her on his knees, and spread her legs wider. She summoned the courage to look at his male part and gasped.

He chuckled and whispered, “I know. I’ll go slowly—if I can.”

His hand guided the tip of his manhood into her throbbing folds.

“I’m wet,” she stammered, in whispered apology.

He groaned. “Put your hand on me.”

He took her hand and curled it around his shaft.

“Like silk,” she murmured.

The memory flashed into her mind of how magnificent he’d looked at the lake—a beautiful aroused male, his excitement barely concealed by his braies—ever since that moment she’d longed for him to join his body to hers. Surely he must see the lust on her face?

“You’re beautiful, Mabelle,” he groaned. “I’ve ached to make you mine.”

“Please—Ram—please,” she murmured, awash with desire, “Possess me—take me.”

He took hold of her hands and held them over her head, his fingers entwined with hers, bracing himself. He breathed in deeply as he pushed in. She cried out when he breached her maiden’s gate. He stopped and looked into her eyes.

“
Dieu!
I’m the
first
,” he choked. “You’re truly mine.”

She should have been affronted at the tone of surprise in his voice but was too enthralled with the sensations building inside her. She tore her hands from his and grasped his hips, pulling him towards her, then reached up and brushed his nipples with her thumbs. Her eyes glazed over when he gasped at her touch.

He withdrew almost completely and plunged in again, then thrust deeply, over and over, faster and faster. She’d never experienced such a feeling of possession.

This man is mine.

Deep within, exquisite pleasure blossomed. She raised her arms above her head, and he entwined their fingers again. The overwhelming sensations Ram had brought to her body earlier were nothing to what surged through her now, an inexorably intoxicating bliss. Ram’s skin sheened with perspiration. She wanted to tear her hands from his grasp and run them across his gleaming shoulders.

She felt his essence burst from his body and rush into hers. He reared his head back and a strangled gasp emerged from deep in his throat. Euphoria filled her. A shudder went through them both, and she screamed out her amazement with a sound she’d never made before. He collapsed onto her, his breathing laboured.

“Sorry,” he gasped after a minute or two. “Too heavy—can’t move.”

“You’re not heavy,” she whispered, her fingers lazily caressing the back of his neck. His shoulders twitched. She loved the feel of his weight on her, his warm body covering hers completely, his rapid heartbeat reverberating through her.

Rolling away several minutes later, he saw the tracks of tears on her face. “I’m truly sorry. I thought you were not a maiden. You should have told me,” he said softly. “Though you were a virgin, that was the most exhilarating—”

Mabelle blushed, elated she’d pleased him, that he too seemed to have been moved by the experience.

“—you took all of me. You were tight, my lovely, but you were wet and welcoming. I could feel you throbbing around my shaft, and I wanted to stay inside you as long as I could.”

How to respond? This man she barely knew, who’d preoccupied her thoughts constantly, was saying intimate things that inflamed her. She wanted to arch her body to his, wrap her legs around him, rake her fingers through his hair—but then he would again judge her a wanton.

He has eyes that can make women do foolish things.

He went to the basin, poured water from the ewer on to a cloth. “Would you like me to cleanse you, Mabelle?”

The deep tenderness in his voice brought tears to her eyes, and despite her discomfort at having a man, a warrior, wash her most intimate parts, she nodded. He smiled at her embarrassment over the bloodstained sheets.

“It wasn’t a trick,” she murmured, not knowing what else to say.

He kissed her nose. “I could tell.”

She wanted to offer to cleanse him but was too shy to ask, and before she knew it, he’d left the bed to take care of his own needs. She couldn’t take her eyes off him as he walked around confidently and without embarrassment. He was so male, so muscled, so big, so dark, so naked, and so comfortable in this masculine room.

“Do you like what you see,
Comtesse
?”

She felt her face redden.

“
Oui, milord
. I confess to being the wanton you already know me to be. It’s a weakness I didn’t know I possessed. You’ve unleashed something I’ve never experienced before. Despite my anger at you, I can’t say no to your passionate embraces.”

He sat beside her on the bed and took hold of her hand. “First of all, never call me
milord
. I’m your husband and my name is Ram. Secondly, I’m conflicted. The irony of our predicament strikes me. You did indeed behave like a wanton, but that aroused me. Your actions were inappropriate, but I wasn’t blameless. At least we have passion, if we don’t have trust. I’m elated no other man has possessed you. I’m also overjoyed to have been the man to bring you to your first experience of ecstasy.”

She blushed. “How did you know that?”

He traced a finger down her nose and laughed as she blushed even more deeply. “A man can sense these things. It was the look of utter surprise on your face. Mabelle, you’re not a wanton, just a warm, passionate woman. We’ll make beautiful children. I’m happy to have a wife who is passionate and lusty in bed. Passion isn’t a weakness.”

“But I don’t know how to be lusty—Ram.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll teach you.
Je serai ton maître
.”

His being her master thrilled and dismayed her.

“Let’s sleep now and perhaps in a while—”

He turned her, encircled her with his arms and cupped her breasts in his big hands, nuzzling the back of her neck. They fell asleep quickly.

***

Ram woke before dawn filled with an intense feeling of well-being, and slowly became aware of the naked woman sleeping beside him. His wife! Her back was to him, her breasts and belly pressed to the bed, one long leg straight beneath her, the other bent. One hand rested on the pillow next to her face. Her tangled hair lay like a coverlet over her back and shoulders. He had an urge to put his hands on her lovely round
derrière
but resisted. He wanted to watch her breathe for a few more minutes. They would have to rise soon to prepare for their journey, and he’d already hardened at the sight of her.

He’d longed to possess Mabelle from the moment he’d first seen her, and yet the intensity of the passion they’d shared had taken him by surprise. He was usually a man of few words when he bedded a woman but recalled sharing intimacies with Mabelle he’d never uttered before. What he’d experienced with her was more than a bedding. She’d claimed him, possessed him, just as much as he’d possessed her. It elated him he was the first man to penetrate her. He’d never made love to a virgin. Why had he been sure she wasn’t a maid? Would she ever forgive his cruel words?

And he’d cleansed her, something he’d never done for a woman before. He’d done it without thinking. As he looked at her now in the early light of dawn, sleeping peacefully, he tried to imagine what life must have been like for her before they met. It felt good to have her here, beside him, in the chamber he loved but had never shared with anyone. “I swear to you, Mabelle,” he whispered, “You’ll never want for a safe place to sleep ever again.”

She stirred, and he reached over to fondle her hair. She turned lazily and stretched. His arousal intensified and he gathered her into his arms, feathering kisses along her neck. She blinked, seemingly disoriented for a few moments. Then she smiled. “Do we have time to do it again?” she asked.

“We have time.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE