Forever His (46 page)

Her breath came out as a low sigh. Her tongue ran over her bottom lip.

He clenched his teeth to stop a groan, fighting all the instincts that urged him to take her in his arms and pin her beneath him; this new passiveness might prove more difficult than he had thought.

He managed to hold himself still for the moment, while she curled her fingers through the thatch of black hair covering the flat muscles of his chest, her eyes fascinated.

“My lion ... yet in some ways, you are a lamb.”

“Lamb?” He scowled with mock ire.

“Yes.” Her smile widened. “Would you like me to show you what I mean?”

Keeping a tight leash on his hunger, he granted her permission.

“Show me.”

Her fingers slid lightly over the bristly hair and muscles beneath her palm. “Here, you are most definitely lion. All strength and power.” She quieted when she came to his nipples, teased them with her fingertips.

 Then she bent her head and flicked them with her tongue.

He sucked in a breath, speared by a hot blade of pleasure that went straight to his groin. She nibbled at him, suckled, and the heat of her mouth, the wet brush of her tongue, drew a ravenous sound from his throat. He kept his hands at his sides only with fierce effort.

“You even sound like a lion,” she murmured approvingly, her warm, moist breath impossibly arousing over his heated flesh.

She stretched out more comfortably at his side, snuggling up against him. Gaston thought he would go mad at the feel of her pearl-tipped breasts pressing into his ribs, the triangle of curls below rubbing against his hip.

“Celine ...” he warned with a low, rumbling sound, deep in his chest.

“Mmm, I like to hear you roar,” she breathed, running her hand up over his shoulders, to his neck. She paused to trace the muscles there, as if she took deep pleasure in every inch of him. “No lamb to be found here. Very much a lion.” She caressed his bearded cheeks. “And here ... I love your mane, Gaston. So thick and dark, and very rough. And very handsome.”

He tried unsuccessfully to nip at her fingers. “You would not have me shave it?”

“No,” she said with a firm shake of her head. “I like how it feels when you kiss me.”

“When I kiss you ... where?”

Her eyes met his, smoldering. “Anywhere,” said softly. “Everywhere.”

The spear of pleasure went through him again, hot and sharp. Never had he encountered a woman who could blush with innocence, yet enjoy her own sensuality so fully, speak of it so openly. She was a maze of contrasts, his Celine. A jewel with a thousand precious facets. If he spent a lifetime with her, he would not discover every one.

But they did not have a lifetime.

He forced the thought away, remembering their promise to each other.

Her hands kept moving on their tantalizing path. “I believe I have found a lamb spot,” she said triumphantly, tickling the sensitive skin behind his ear.

He grinned, giving in to a small shudder of pleasure. “One,” to conceded. “No more.”

“No, two.” She lowered her head and kissed his other earlobe, nibbling.

He found it an incredibly arousing sensation, her small teeth sampling him. Without conscious thought, he touched her, unable to resist the urge to slide his arm around her back, pull her close.

“Aha, another lamb spot,” she declared, wiggling free of his hold. “Two, in fact ... here.” She ran her fingers down his arm until she touched the softer skin on the inside of his elbow, where the veins pulsed closest to the surface. She watched his lifeblood throbbing, then slanted him a sidelong glance, her eyes large and melting.

Taking his hand in both of hers, she kissed his callused palm. “And here. Here you are both lion and lamb. It’s here that you hold a sword or a lance ... yet it’s here that you’re so tender when you touch me. Fierce ... and gentle.”

Her words were like a warm rain that flooded his soul.
Fierce and gentle
. Warrior and loving husband. Two in one. He never would have believed it possible, that his softer side could exist at peace with his battle-skill. That he could give in to one without risking the other. But she had made it true.

When she released his hand and lowered her head to his, he met her lips in a ravenous, demanding kiss, but she barely allowed him a taste of her before she lifted her mouth.

And began to taste him.

“There is one part of you,” she whispered, leaving a path of wet, openmouthed kisses down his neck, his chest, “that is undeniably lion.”

His breath came in sharply. He grasped fistfuls of the wolf pelt beneath him, the only way he could prevent himself from pulling her astride him. He was rampantly hard by the time she followed the narrowed path of hair over his belly, teasing him with her lips and tongue. Her words and kisses left no doubt as to what she intended, and the thought alone almost brought a spasm of release.

His body went taut with strain beneath her. “Celine ...” he rasped on a dry throat. Control threatened to slip from him.

She  skipped over the bandage at his waist and followed the dark hair to the throbbing part of him that so ached for her sweet attentions. She lifted her mouth from him, not touching him, silent.

The waiting stretched out, racking him with fire-tipped needles of pleasure, on the very edge of pain.

Her hand found him first, gliding along the hard length of him, gently, tentatively.

A groan rent from deep in his chest. She stroked him with the lightest, petal-soft touch, and his hips thrust upward.

“Here,” she said reverently, wonderingly, “here you are very much lion.”

He could not reply. He had no voice, no mind, no breath. There was naught but the drumming of his heart and the explosive ecstasy of her touch as she rubbed the velvety tip, making a small, intrigued sound at the drop of moisture there. She explored him, tracing the veins, circling him with her fingers, so curious, so sensual and yet innocent. When her hand tightened, sliding slowly up and down, he knew he could bear no more.

But then she shifted beside him, turning.

And he knew there was more to bear. Too much more. He could feel her breath fanning over him, the heat more arousing than aught he had ever imagined in his life. He went rigid beneath her, dangerously close to release. “
Celine!
”

“Shh, my lion,” she urged. “I wish to know all of you.
All of you
.”

And then she kissed him.

A tentative kiss at first, a cautious brush of her lips, sampling the tip. A strangled oath tore from his throat.

Then she took him into her mouth. Drew him in to that hot, wet satin. Took him deep, sighing.

Gaston gasped for life, for air, unable to breathe in that intense, mindless, reckless moment. The sensations of her lips and tongue giving him such carnal pleasure ... so shamelessly, so fully, a giving that was simple and joyous ...

He felt the gathering forces within him tighten and rise. “
Nay
,” he choked out, trying to sit up, blindly reaching for her.

Too late. With a last, laving brush of her tongue, she lifted her head, eyes sparkling like smoky jewels, just as he felt his body jerk with an uncontrollable shudder. He fell back, letting the spasm take him, feeling the rush of heat and savage pleasure rip through his body, flowing outward in a wave of release that swept him almost to the edge of unconsciousness, his ecstasy doubled a hundredfold by the way his shameless lady sat watching him, her glistening lips parted and her voice a soft moan.

When he finally came back to himself, spent, gasping, she was beside him, smiling at him like a satisfied cat ... like a lioness.

“You  even taste like a lion,” she whispered wickedly. “All salty and hot and wild.”

His response was a low roar as he pinned her in the furs, his mouth ravishing hers, his hands hungrily grasping her fire-warmed curves while she shivered in pleasure. His fingers flicked over her breasts, tugging the tips to erect hardness. He kissed her ear, biting the tender lobe. His hand slid down her belly to the soft petals below, parting her, finding her wet and welcoming merely from having pleasured him.

“Aye, my lady lioness,” he growled. “And you are lamb as well.”

She made broken little cries as he touched her. “Isn’t it wonderful that ... I’m so very much lamb where ... you’re so very much lion?”

“We fit together perfectly.” He pressed his hips against her, already hard for her again.

“Yes, my lion.” She whimpered as he caressed her. “Yes, now, please.
Please
.”

He withdrew his hand, smiling at her hungrily. “Not so quickly, my demanding lady. I mean to enjoy every inch of you first.”

With a sound of disappointment, she arched her hips against his, her hands sliding down his back. He moved out of reach and sat up, kneeling on the furs.

“I want you on your knees,
ma chère
,” he ordered huskily.

Her heavy-lashed eyes were languid as she looked up at him, reaching for him, trying to draw him back down.

“On your knees. Now.”

She inhaled at the sudden command, eyes wide and dark. He could see the flush of excitement that went through her body at the way he took control so aggressively.

Shivering, she obeyed, rising to kneel before him.

He edged closer, leaving a scant space between them, his eyes never leaving hers.

Touching her with only one hand, he ran his fingers downward from her breast to her hip to her thigh, over her knee, back along her leg until he felt the round hardness of her heel, the sensitive sole of her foot. Her toes. She wiggled them and he subdued a smile.

“Be still,” he whispered, drawing his fingers along the return path.

When he reached her thigh, he let his hand rest there for a moment, his gaze dropping to the red curls that concealed her tender core. He looked up slowly, and drank in the storm of desire in her eyes, the glittering gray and blue. The anticipation.

He withdrew his hand, letting her wonder, for a moment, what he might do, how he might pleasure her. Letting the need coil tighter within her.

“Part your thighs,
ma chère
.”

With a breathy little moan, she obeyed, the color in her cheeks deepening. She separated her knees, spreading her legs just wide enough to admit his hand there, the rise and fall of her bosom quickening.

“More, my sweet lioness. Wider,” he ordered in a deep, quiet voice, not yet touching her. “Let me see all of you. Aye, like that.
Aye
. Now lean back. Lean back and open for me.”

She submitted to his every command, her pale body trembling; she moved her hands behind her in a way that thrust her breasts forward. Gaston felt a tremor deep inside him, felt his shaft swell with his lifeblood. She was a vision, kneeling before him, a smooth arch of ivory, head tilted back and eyes closed, thighs parted, The sight of her so vulnerable and trusting dazzled him, filled him with desire and love and sharp blades of need.

He reached for her with one hand, slowly slid his fingers into the rough silk of her soft mound, groaning even as she did. He gazed at his dark hand possessing her tender womanhood, and thought he had never seen anything more beautiful.

She gasped, a sharp little inhalation as he penetrated her dampness.

“Hold on to the furs,” he ordered in a low, deep voice. “Hold tight.”

She did as he bade, gripping the wolf pelt beneath her. He stroked into her deeply. Her tiny white teeth closed over her bottom lip, but she could not hold back a moan as he began exploring her at his leisure, sampling her depths with gentle care. He listened to her small cries, feeling each one all the way to his soul, experiencing as much bliss as he was bestowing.

He was patient and relentless, fondling and teasing until she writhed helplessly, her breath broken, her hands tearing at the furs beneath her. He felt his own muscles strain with longing, but he did not allow himself to touch her with aught but his hand, knowing he would be lost the moment their bodies came together.

All night.
It was a promise he meant to keep. He wanted to love her for hour after sweet hour. Wanted to watch every cherished inch of her catch fire as he lavished all his power and passion on her.

When she was panting with wanting, he found and captured her small, delicate bud between two fingers, urging it to fullness. She uttered what sounded like an oath, opening her eyes, gazing at him with a demanding, feminine look, her lashes half lowered, her lips parted. It was almost more than he could bear, that expression, the pleading, the scent of her desire, the musky feminine perfume of her that mingled with the woodsmoke from the fire.

He almost gave in to both of them, almost pressed her down into the furs and buried himself in her tight heat. His body shuddered, but he held himself back. He had known many pleasures in his life, but this feeling of desire mingled with love was still new to him, and he wanted to explore it fully, slowly, giving them both time.
Time
.

Her hips began to move, helpless little thrusting motions, as he delved lightly into her, the pad of his thumb gliding over her. He alternated his tender caresses with sudden, deep thrusts, echoing the joining that would soon take place.

Soon
. So very soon.

He plucked gently at the throbbing bud, drawing it forth from her curls, teasing it, stroking the tip with his slick fingers. She groaned his name, her body stretching taut. He released her but for the pad of his thumb, flicking at the swollen nub with a butterfly touch, fast and light.

She cried out, a sharp, short gasp. Another. Another. He watched, entranced, as a shudder of release went through her and a flush of heat swept her body, tremor after tremor cascading along her slender limbs as she gasped his name over and over. He caught her close, still kneeling.

She threaded her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and covered his mouth and cheeks and bearded chin and jaw with kisses. His hands slid down her back to her hips, pressing her against him as he whispered words of passion.

He lifted her, still kneeling but moving himself into position so that his hard shaft barely parted her soft heat. She uttered a low moan of longing.