Forever in Your Embrace (40 page)

Choking back the sobs as she heard him coming down the stairs, Synnovea snatched up her cloak and fled to the door. In her panic, she seized the latch, ready to fly, but the handle broke off in her hand in her haste, frustrating her efforts to leave before she had to face her suitor.

“Synnovea…”

She whirled at the sound of her name and stared at him with tears blurring her vision. He stood on the bottom step with a hand braced on the low beam above his head, just watching her. She could see the pain in his face, feel it in her heart. She ached for him and for herself, but there was no help for it. She must flee!

“Don’t go,” he rasped. “Don’t leave me….”

Synnovea tried to find the strength of a denial within her, but her voice was gone. She could only open and close her mouth as she struggled in mute agony to deliver the words that would bring about her escape.

“Stay with me…please….”

His appeal tore through her, and her heart crumpled within her. The cloak slid from her fingers as she took several faltering steps toward him. “We must hurry! ’Tis urgent that I leave—”

Suddenly Synnovea found him standing before her, sweeping her up into his arms. It seemed in no more than a thrice of steps he was up the stairs, following the beacon of light that came from the open doorway at the far end of a dark, narrow hallway. Her eyes swept the bedchamber as they entered. A large, rough-hewn four-poster stood in the middle of the room, its bedding turned down to reveal sheets that were clean but rather coarse. Skimpy draperies, effective enough in providing privacy, had been drawn over a pair of windows on the far side of the bed. A rather stark armoire, a chair, and a shaving stand with a simple pitcher and basin completed the furnishings.

Synnovea’s feet had barely touched the floor beside the bed when Tyrone’s lips came crushing down upon hers in a fiercely possessive kiss that shattered any lingering notion that she might have had of absconding with her virtue intact. As their mouths and tongues merged in a wildly frantic search, his fingers tore the lacings loose at the back of her gown, and then he was tugging down the bodice, following its descent with hotly flaming kisses.

Synnovea’s breath hissed inward through her teeth as his tongue licked greedily over the mounds and valley of her bosom. A soft moan readily evidenced her heightening involvement, as she arched her back, willingly offering him the lush fruit. Tyrone eagerly devoured the fare, clasping the fullness of one ripe orb within his hand while drawing the other into the sultry heat of his mouth. A flicking flame torched a sensitive pinnacle, fanning the hotly glowing coals burning within her womanly loins. It was a scintillating attack on her senses, a sweet undermining of her goals, and a succulent plum she could no longer resist.

Tyrone left the blushing pinnacles throbbing for want of more as he freed her arms from her sleeves and, with ravenous kisses, followed the descent of her clothes. The gown and chemise caught on her hips, where they lay bunched in a confused tangle, and he went down on a knee, working feverishly to free the snag. By now Synnovea had caught the heat of his zeal and leaned over him to drag the shirt from his shoulders, bringing her lustrous bosom temptingly close to his face.

Yanking his arms free of the garment, Tyrone tossed it aside and, with a muted groan, seized the womanly fullness and plied the pale peaks with the greedy warmth of his tongue. The ecstasy that shot through Synnovea was like a blazing arrow, with vanes ignited, coursing through her senses, setting her whole being aflame with a heightening desire. There was no halting the flight of the invisible shaft now, for it soared swiftly to its mark, sinking deeply within her heart and awakening a hungering need to savor the delights to be found with a lover.

Of a sudden, Synnovea knew not where to put her hands, and in an anxious frenzy she rubbed them over the sinews rippling across Tyrone’s back and shoulders. She could feel the muscles knotting beneath her palms and swept a hand to the back of his corded neck, pressing his head forward until his face was resting within the cleavage between her breasts. With a subtle twisting of her shoulders and upper torso, the soft, ripe melons caressed the manly visage, drawing a muted moan of pleasure from Tyrone. Greedily he caught a nipple, nearly devouring the whole of it within his mouth as he suckled her. Synnovea felt as if she were being drawn inside out and could only stand transfixed at the delectable sensations that pulsed with quickening fervor through her womanly being.

His hand wandered past the small of her back and slid downward beneath her clothes to clasp a round buttock. Lifting her with him, he rose to his feet and began to drag the garments from her hips. He whisked her free of the restricting clothes, leaving them to fall in a puffy mound upon the floor. When he resettled her to her stockinged feet, he began ridding himself of his own garments as his eyes feasted upon the perfection that had held his mind solidly entrapped for some weeks now.

Synnovea perched timidly upon the edge of the bed, where she stripped off her stockings and surreptitiously witnessed his disrobing. The broad shoulders, tautly muscled ribs, and flat, hard belly were just as she had remembered them, but it was the proud fullness evidencing his manly desires that brought a heated blush to her cheeks.

Becoming aware of her flitting glances, Tyrone stepped near, forcing her to meet his smiling gaze. The flush of color imbuing her creamy skin was unmistakable. “No need to feel embarrassed, my sweet,” he whispered cajolingly. “I give you leave to look at me as much as you desire. In truth, it pleasures me to have you do so. You may even touch me if you’d like.”

Synnovea stared up at him in painful chagrin, unable to understand his cavalier attitude. She certainly couldn’t imagine herself accepting his invitation.

His hungering eyes swept over the length of her as he sought to put her at ease. “I’m not ashamed that I’m a man and that I want you, Synnovea. I yield you everything, my body, my mind, my regard….”

Even as he reached out and captured her fingers, she remained motionless. Holding both her gaze and her hand firmly entrapped, he slid her palm down the length of him, over the muscular bulges and taut ridges, past a furred chest and hardened ribs, along a line of hair traversing his flat belly, on downward to the bold, manly heat of him.

A shocked gasp escaped Synnovea as he closed her fingers around the steely shaft and held them in an unrelenting grasp. She could hardly draw breath for the heat infusing her, extending upward from the hot, fleshly hardness throbbing within her grasp. Though she averted her face, she could not banish the realization of what she held.

“Look at me,” he commanded gently.

“I can’t,” Synnovea whispered, unwilling to obey, yet every instinct she was capable of acknowledging rallied in curiosity.

Capturing her chin within the palm of his free hand, Tyrone lifted it until he could meet her gaze. “Do you hate touching me so much, my sweet?”

Synnovea bit her lip in discomfiture, but honesty prevailed as she shook her head. Never had she experienced anything that thrilled
or
embarrassed her more.

“If we’re to be lovers, my sweet, you must know how to please me,” he reasoned softly. “Will you not lend yourself to my instructions?”

Reluctantly Synnovea yielded a cautious peek and then squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Yet the impression of his maleness was now forever branded upon her memory; there was no banishing it to the four corners of the universe. If she lived a thousand years, she’d never forget his bold display.

It took a full moment before Synnovea calmed herself enough to open her eyes again. She stared fixedly at him, and gradually Tyrone loosened his tenacious hold, sensing her growing willingness to yield herself to his guidance. He began to move her fingers in a tutorial tour, halting his own breath more than once by the secret places he encouraged her to titillate.

“Enough of this,” he rasped hoarsely, aware of the hazards of submitting himself too long to such rousing stimulation.

His mouth descended, greedily devouring her breasts and snatching her breath with each voluptuous stroke of his tongue. The rapturous delights intensified rapidly until Synnovea forgot everything but the need to satisfy the fermenting hunger in the pit of her being. Seeking some relief for that indescribable void which now craved to be sated, she pressed close against him. Tyrone readily accommodated her, lifting her up against him until the moist inner haven of her womanly softness was snuggled against the warmth of him. The pulsing heat of his manhood inflamed the greedy fires burning within her, and she sought instinctively to quench them, moving against the forging iron in a quest as old as time itself. She was unprepared for the sizzling pleasure that began to surge upward through her, though she knew that there was more to come than just this teasing enticement, for they had not yet merged together.

“Hurry,” she begged in an urgent whisper, snatching Tyrone’s breath as her fingers closed around the hard shaft again. What propelled her now had nothing to do with a fear that Aleksei would discover them. It was a desire for appeasement, pure and simple.

“Have a care, Synnovea,” Tyrone cautioned, knowing he was being dragged too close to the brink of expulsion as she drew him back with her to the bed. “The pleasure is too sweet.”

Synnovea couldn’t think of anything but the bedlam that had been created within her loins. Relinquishing her claim on him, she sank back upon the bed and wriggled across the freshly scented sheet until she reached the pillows near the headboard. Tyrone followed and, bracing on a knee beside her, slipped an arm beneath her waist and lifted her across the feather ticking to the middle of the bed. Caressing her cheek and lips with wanton kisses, he lowered his loins between her eagerly parting thighs and reached down a hand to gently part the silken folds. Synnovea turned her face aside and bit her lip as the unyielding hardness intruded, gently testing the delicate shield. Her breath was snatched from her as the long saber surged forward, piercing her with a pain that made her pitch upward. Tyrone lost whatever ground he had gained, and though it took every speck of willpower he was capable of gathering to maintain a gentlemanly forbearance, he drew back, allowing Synnovea a moment to calm herself as he kissed and caressed her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered tearfully beneath his lingering kisses. “I didn’t think I was such a coward.”

“Shhh, love,” Tyrone soothed, stroking her womanly softness.

This time Synnovea surrendered herself completely to him, totally abashed that she had acted like a spineless chit when she had desired the consummation as feverishly as he. Her hand came up to rest tentatively upon his chest. “May I touch you again?”

“Not yet, love,” Tyrone answered, too shaken by the pain of his mounting desires to accept such sweet, excruciating enticements. “Let me pleasure you; then I’ll seek mine.”

It seemed only a passing of a moment before Synnovea found her embarrassment eclipsed by new, rapidly expanding sensations. Overwhelmed by the waves of effervescent bliss that began washing over her in crescendoing rapture, she began to twist and writhe beneath his persuasive fondling. Arching her hips upward against him in an invitation he could not resist, she was soon leading the stirring hardness to the tender breach.

Tyrone was shaking nearly as much as she as his hands clasped her buttocks for the final thrust. The hardened shaft plunged inward, drawing a sharp gasp from her as the membrane split. Just as quickly, Synnovea was searching out his mouth, seeking the sultry kisses that would sweep her beyond the pain. He indulged her with tantalizing exchanges of lips and tongues, yet he was now sheathed in her warmth, and a spiraling ecstasy began to goad him. His thrusts were long and sure, stirring her ardor until she began to rise up to meet him. Beneath his kisses, soft mewls were transformed into astonished gasps as she soared ever higher toward that delectable culmination of their union. Tyrone was not far behind. His breath rasped harshly in her ear when the first, thrilling fruits of ecstasy began to wash over him. Then suddenly a rapidly approaching sound intruded, wrenching his mind clear with a brutal abruptness.

“What is it?” Synnovea whispered as he lifted his head to listen. Her eyes widened when she heard the clattering hooves of many riders thundering toward the house.

“Someone’s coming!” Tyrone muttered.

Synnovea moaned in despair as he snatched away and rolled to the edge of the bed. Grabbing up his clothes, he thrust his feet through a pair of chausses and, jerking the close-fitting hosiery up over his narrow hips, hurriedly knotted them at his waist.

“Get your clothes on, Synnovea!” he bade anxiously as the hoofbeats came to a halt before his quarters. “Hurry!”

She just stared at him, frozen by the realization of what she had done. Despite her change of heart, everything was occurring just as she had planned. In another moment Aleksei would be ordering his men to break down the door, and Tyrone would be caught in the middle, exactly where she had contrived to place him.

Seeing her horrified stare, Tyrone seized her by the arms and gave her a shake. “Good Lord, woman, what ails you? Do you not ken? There are men outside the house, and in all likelihood they’ll be coming in here! I cannot defend the two of us with you stark naked! They’ll likely kill me to get to you.”

Sweeping her off the bed, he set her on her feet and then gathered up her clothes. He dumped them on the bed near at hand and shook out her chemise just as a heavy fist pounded on the front portal and a mumbled voice called through the barrier.