Authors: Sarah McKerrigan
She
ruefully quirked up one corner of her mouth. " 'Tis all you'll allow, it
seems."
"Are
you ready for me?"
'Twas
an absurd question. Her mouth had gone dry with thirst for him, and her heart
fluttered madly against her ribs. "You know I am," she whispered.
"I
don't want to hurt you, my love," he said, coming near, reaching out for
her ankle and sliding his hand slowly upward, making heavenly friction against
her leg. "Make me a vow. Promise me you'll let me take the reins this
once."
She
closed her eyes in bliss and nodded, willing to promise him anything if he'd
continue touching her like that.
************************************
Rand
swallowed hard. Despite his considerate words, the wolf within him longed to
give Miriel what she thought she desired, to throw caution aside, to dive atop
her delectable body and sink into her welcoming softness.
As
he stretched out beside her on the pallet, though they didn't touch, he felt
the heat flowing between their naked bodies like liquid lightning.
Though
he'd bedded his share of wenches—innkeepers' lusty daughters, saucy harlots,
curious noblewomen— Rand had never lain with a virgin before, nor had he lain
with a woman for whom he cared so much. He didn't want to make a single
mistake.
He
wove his fingers through her hair and pulled her close enough to kiss her. But
the mischievous lass wasn't content with a simple kiss. She slung her arm about
his neck and insinuated herself into his embrace.
Where
they touched, a delicious warmth spread, and when she pressed the soft pillows
of her breasts against him, 'twas as if their flesh melted together. 'Twas an
utterly blissful sensation, one in which he mustn't lose himself if he was to
remain gentle.
He
rocked them both over until he loomed above her. He could see by the lusty
glaze of her eyes 'twould not take long to ready her for his penetration.
Already her pulse throbbed, and her breath came rapidly. Already her nipples
awakened under the light rasping of his chest. Already her plump lips grew
moist with yearning.
He reached
down between them, parting the dewy petals of her woman's flower, to ease the
way for his passage.
In
spite of her promise, Miriel clutched at his shoulders, thrusting upward with
her hips, trying to speed his trespass.
"Aye,"
she groaned, her voice throaty with longing.
"Not
yet," he whispered.
He
began to rub slowly at the swollen bud of her need, his fingers made slick by
the juices of her desire, and she arched up in invitation.
Sweet
Lord, 'twas an invitation he longed to answer. Soon, he promised himself, soon.
Gradually,
he increased the speed of his fondling, relentlessly urging her to higher and
higher planes of passion, until she began to take the shallow, expectant
breaths of impending release.
Only
then did Rand finally place his aching staff against her yielding flesh,
nudging inward against her maidenhead.
She
was on the verge of climax when Rand breathed into her ear. "Forgive
me."
The
moment she shuddered under the distraction of the initial spasms of release, he
plunged into her all at once. She stiffened, but never cried out, still caught
up in the throes of climax.
'Twas
a mercy to take her thus, and yet Rand couldn't help but regret tearing her
frail flesh. While he shivered at the sheer bliss of being surrounded by all
that softness, he was careful to remain still to let her body adjust to his
invasion. 'Twas not an easy thing, when every instinct told him to strive
against the slick, warm sheath of her enveloping womb.
In
the end, despite vowing to let him lead her in the dance of love, 'twas Miriel
who instinctively initiated the slow withdrawal and penetration that began the
most joyous coupling of Rand's life.
Never
had he felt so tender, yet so fierce. He surrendered to Miriel's rhythm,
though she was like a novice rider, not yet used to walking, but determined to
take off at a gallop across the undiscovered landscape.
There
would be time later to teach her the leisure of lovemaking. For now, he would
knot his fingers in the mane of that wild mount called lust and hold on for the
ride.
Their
passions rose so swiftly and with such force that their mating soon began to
take on an animal ferocity. The pallet groaned with every thrust of their hips,
as if echoing their savage cries. And when they began to ascend together the
last steep hill of their sensuous journey, Rand felt the world around him fade
and disappear. Now there were only his sharpening thirst, demanding to be
slaked, and sweet Miriel, the beautiful woman who could quench the fire raging
inside him.
When
the lass spontaneously threw her legs around him, digging her heels into his
buttocks, his loins tightened in reaction, and for one desperate moment, he
feared his passions might bolt, that he might leave her behind.
But
in the next magical instant, she arched upward, gasping in wonder, and the two
of them crested desire's peak as one.
************************************
An
intense bolt of lightning seemed to sear Miriel's body as she found her
pinnacle. Her body shook with thunderous tremors of release. She cried out with
the sheer ecstasy of requited desire, while Rand's bellow echoed her own
satisfaction.
She
collapsed then—boneless, spent, and completely vulnerable. She couldn't even
muster the strength to lift her eyelids. Yet despite the weakness that afflicted
her every muscle, she felt curiously safe in Rand's arms, protected and
precious. He might dominate her physically, looming over her with superior
strength and weight; but he, too, had surrendered in her embrace.
As
she lay panting afterward, her nerves still buzzing with sexual energy, she
realized she'd never felt more alive, more vital. This was perfect balance,
perfect
yin
and
yang.
Not
only of her body, but of her soul as well. Where they were joined, she still
throbbed with the thrill of his invasion. Pressed chest to chest and hip to
hip, it almost seemed they were one being.
"Did
I hurt you?" he breathed against her ear.
"Nay."
It had been only a small sting, like the nick of a
woo diep do.
Forsooth,
'twas the unfamiliar intrusion into her most private place that shocked her
more. She'd not expected to feel so.... possessed.
He
pulled away slightly, easing out a fraction of an inch. But now that she was
accustomed to the feel of him, she was reluctant to have him leave. With the
little strength she had left, she hooked her heel over his backside and held
him close.
"Stay,"
she bade him softly, and he complied.
When
she lazily opened her eyes, he was staring down at her with some inexplicable
expression. Wonder. Or joy. Or surprise. Whatever 'twas, it pleased her, and
she smiled up at him.
His
face slowly bloomed into a grin, and Miriel, suddenly in a playful mood,
reached up to touch one of his dimples.
He
must have been in a playful mood as well, for he furrowed his brow in mock seriousness,
and told her, "I got that in a knife fight with the Devil."
"Oh,
aye?" Her lips twitched as she moved her finger to the other dimple.
"And this one?"
"He's
very fast, the Devil is."
"And
fond of symmetry, 'twould seem." There was a real scar, a small notch,
along his jaw. She touched it with a fingertip. "What about this
one?" Then she added, "The truth."
"The
truth?"
"Aye."
"I
fell off a horse and hit a
fence."
"You
fell off a horse?"
"I
was three winters old," he explained.
She nodded.
Now that she'd shared her battle scars with him, it seemed only right that she
learn his as well. As he'd done, she lifted her head and placed a kiss upon the
healed wound.
High
on the opposite brow, just beneath the hairline, was a thin white mark.
"And here?"
"A
robber split my brow."
She
winced, bending his head down to kiss the scar. Then she searched his face with
her fingers, pushing back his hair, rubbing over his lightly stubbled chin,
while he patiently suffered her attentions. She found a long, shallow slash at
the side of his neck.
"This?"
His
eyes turned grave, and she almost wished she hadn't asked him.
"My...
father."
"Your
father?"
He
seemed suddenly uncomfortable, and again she wished she'd bitten her tongue.
The last thing she wanted to do was spoil the carefree mood. But he answered
her anyway.
"
'Twas an accident. He... he slipped with his sword when we were sparring."
She
sensed there was more to the story than that, but perchance 'twas for another
time. Hoping to distract him from his solemnity, she nuzzled his neck, tickling
him with her hair, and planted a kiss on the old injury.
Lying
back, she let her fingers spread across the lovely expanse of his chest,
searching for flaws. There were none. But the cap of his shoulder bore a jagged
scar a few inches long. "Here?"
"Arrow
wound."
She
frowned. That seemed unlikely. A blade wound might be thus gnarled if 'twas
inflicted with a cruel twist of the wrist, but arrow wounds were generally
clean.
As
if he perceived her thoughts, he added, "The point had to be dug
out."
A
strange unexpected surge of protectiveness rose in her as she imagined someone
gouging into Rand's flesh.
She muttered,
"The physician must have been a butcher."
He
gave her a rueful smile. "I was the physician."
She
looked into his beautiful brown eyes. Surely he wasn't serious. But as she
stared at him, he gave her a sheepish shrug.
She
shook her head in amazement. What a remarkable man he was. Miriel prided
herself on having a high threshold of pain, but she couldn't imagine digging
an arrow point out of her own shoulder. With renewed respect, she pressed a
reverent kiss upon his damaged skin.
He
lifted himself higher on his arms, allowing her access to his belly. At his
lowermost rib was a dark bruise. She slid her thumb lightly across the place.
"This is new."
"Ah,"
he said, glancing down at it. "That's from my battle with The Shadow. 'Tis
naught."
A
secret smile curved her lips. Naturally he'd say that. He'd never admit The
Shadow had bested him.
She
glanced again at the black bruise. She wasn't about to disengage from her
enjoyable position to kiss him there. His loins were warm upon her, and every
time he shifted, his prickly hair brushed tantalizingly against her sensitive
woman's mound, arousing her. Instead, she pressed a kiss to her fingertips and
touched the bruise.
Before
she could withdraw her hand, he took hold of it, guiding her down his belly.
There was smoky mischief in his eyes as he pressed her fingers against the
verge of his curly thatch where his inner thigh met his loins. She was
surprised to discover a small ridged scar there.
She
didn't hear his convoluted explanation for that injury, for she was too
distracted by what lay just a few inches away, the place where their two bodies
converged. Joined together there, they seemed one creature, and the sight
excited her. Her muscles tensed around him as she began, incredibly, to crave
him once again.
Ignoring
his chatter, she boldly moved her hand inward until she touched the place where
they were united, the velvety flesh of his cock and her own soft, womanly
folds. He shivered once at her touch, and she felt his staff stir inside her.
"Lady,
you sore tempt me," he whispered, "to embark on another ride."
"Mm.
This time, I'll hold the reins."