Scandalous Desires (Maiden Lane #3)(83)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

The words made him tighten his hands on her waist and pull her closer. “Silence, me love. When I knew ye’d left me it felt as if a chunk o’ me heart had been torn from me body. Only yer presence here can stop the bleedin’.”

His mouth opened over hers and he took control of the kiss, biting at her lips, impatient and savage. She was aware that a dozen men stood only yards away, but she shoved the thought from her mind. She wouldn’t let modesty keep her from showing her husband how much she loved him.

How much she would always love him.

So she took her mouth from his and skimmed it over his strong neck, tasting the salt of his skin. His hands rose to her shoulders, but he made no move to stop her. She tongued the V of his chest, revealed by his shirt, and as she did so she slid her hands to the front of his breeches where his erection was trapped. Feeling, learning in the dark she began unbuttoning his fall.

“Silence?” he whispered.

“Shh,” she admonished as he had once done to her. “You mustn’t say a thing.”

And then she dropped to her knees.

She heard the harsh intake of his breath. He stood very still as she finished unbuttoning him and pulled his breeches and smallclothes open. She leaned forward, blind in the darkness, but she could scent his male musk. Her hands found his cock, stiff and ready, and so beautiful that she wished she could see it. She didn’t have time for modesty or shyness. For slow learning. This would be the last time—

But no, she would not think about that. Instead, she explored the man before her. She slid the fingers of her left hand down his shaft, memorizing each veined ridge until she reached the spot where his penis met his body. His sack was drawn up tight under his cock and she fondled it gently, feeling the stones within.

He made a muffled sound above her and she thought that perhaps he liked to be touched there. Or perhaps it was what she did with her right hand. She was squeezing gently on his thick shaft. In any case, she certainly wasn’t done. If this were to be their—

No, don’t think about it.

She swayed forward and licked the head of his cock.

Michael went absolutely still.

His hands dropped to her hair and for a moment rested there as if stunned. Then she opened her mouth and took him inside. When she began sucking gently, his hands clenched. He tugged her hair as if to pull her away from himself. But since he was only tugging carefully, she stayed just where she was. She drew back and licked around the head of his cock. Without sight her other senses were heightened. She could taste him—man and musk—and beneath her tongue his skin felt warm and soft and pliable.

She kissed him and then thought to scrape her teeth gently over the tip of his penis. It jumped and he hissed softly. She smiled and took him into her mouth again. There was something terribly enticing about having such a strong man at her mercy. She was in a position of servitude, but she didn’t feel servile. She felt very feminine, very sensuous as she stroked around the flange of his cock with her tongue. His hands had stopped pulling on her hair. Instead he gripped her as if unsure whether to push her away—or pull her closer.

She let go of his cock head to lick leisurely along the underside of his shaft and something seemed to snap in him. He bent and picked her up by the waist. He pivoted, his chains scraping and clinking, and placed her flat on the pallet, following her down to lie on top of her. She gasped and then felt cool air on her thighs. His hands were under her skirts, caressing her thighs, trailing up until he touched her wet center. He stroked her there once and then his hand was replaced with his cock.

Someone coughed and she was suddenly aware that only a door separated them from a roomful of soldiers. He swirled the head of his cock in her moisture even as she had the thought.

She bit her lip and he began to push his way into her. It had only been a matter of a month, but she seemed to have forgotten how large he was. She held her breath as he shoved again. The sensation was so lovely, so perfect, that she was afraid she’d make some betraying sound.

He paused, half in her, and adjusted her position, burrowing his arms under her legs, prying them wider.

He withdrew a tiny bit and then very deliberately pushed again with constant, relentless pressure. He breached the muscles at the entrance to her sheath and, suddenly, he was all the way inside. She felt his breath against her cheek. Felt as his chest expanded as he inhaled. She wanted this moment to stop so she could live it forever. Here, now, there was only the two of them, occupying a wonderful island apart from the rest of the world.

Then he was withdrawing, slowly, steadily. Without a sound.

She gripped his shoulders and his mouth came down on hers. His tongue swept in and he kissed her so gently she wanted to cry. How would she live without him? Without ever again feeling this intense closeness to another human being?

She’d found paradise only to lose it.

Well, then she’d enjoy it while she could. She wrapped her arms around him, wishing they could both be nude, but glad of what contact they had. She tasted salt tears, seeping into both their mouths, and wondered if they were hers or his. Had she brought the great Michael O’Connor to tears? She bit down gently on his tongue, suckling it, holding it within herself. Perhaps if she held him hard enough he would stay with her forever.

Perhaps with this act they created eternity.

She could feel his shoulders bunch as he controlled himself, each thrust exquisitely slow and even. It was as if she’d been primed just for him. Only for him. Each inch of his hard flesh burrowing into hers, each drag against her folds as he withdrew oh, so slowly, built a fire within her, burning, burning, ever hotter.

But more, he was forging a bond between them, an unbreakable iron chain that would link them together forever. This was their true marriage ceremony, more solemn, more holy than the words said over them by an old man.

She held him and breathed with him and waited for the flames to climb higher, to burn white hot. And when he reached between them and thumbed her little nub they did. They flared together. She arched into him as her core melted. The flames seemed to sear her with ecstasy, bonding them together as if they were fired within a crucible. He thrust hard, burying himself and at the same time he covered her mouth and inhaled her moan and his own.

And as her crisis took her, she saw a rainbow form from the ashes of their combined heat. A rainbow so fragile, so fine that she thought it must be real. That their lovemaking had shattered the prisons of mortal men and that they were free.

Together and free.

But all things must end eventually and so, too, did the rainbow. Silence opened her eyes, her husband still atop her, his beloved weight heavy and comforting in the dim cell.