I dont
You do. His jaw tightened. The whole time. Its been there. In you.
For a moment, she hesitated, uncertain. It came to her: an image of herself this very night, crossing the floor of the assembly, her chin tipped up. She had been seen by everyone, and drew strength from it. It gathered in her now, her capability. Leo had shown her the path, and she walked it using the strength of her own legs.
Had he wanted to, he could have lain her down and taken her, controlling every movement and sensation. But he wanted more than that, more from her. A challenge. She would meet that challenge.
Settling her hands on his shoulders, Anne pulled her hips up, just a little. Again, that wondrous sliding within her. Then she sank down. As she did, her pearl rubbed against him.
Oh. She dragged in a breath. Thats ...
Yes. The cords of his neck stood out.
Anne moved again, and once again. She discovered angles, speeds. Her hands clutched him tightly, so tightly she feared she might tear his shirt and mark his skin. Part of her wanted to mark him, but she did not want to cause him pain. She grabbed the headboard, as well, and saw his knuckles whiten.
Rational thought slipped away. Anne rode him. He stretched beneath her, arching up. Her gasps joined with his groans, and the room resonated with the sounds of flesh meeting flesh.
This time, when her climax arrived, she could not be silent. At her scream, his hands released the headboard. He seized her hips, his head fell back, and his whole body went rigid.
He had never looked more beautiful, carved as a statue.
Finally, release faded, loosening its grip on both of them. They could only pant and stare at each other, sated and amazed.
Concepts, thoughts, wordsall vanished. She knew only the resonance of her body and the feel of him against, and within, her. Gradual as a feather drifting in circles to earth, she regained use of her mind.
She wondered: What was one supposed to say in a situation like this? Thank you? It seemed a paltry phrase to enclose a world far bigger than any atlas.
So she let actions and silence serve her better. Her fingers cramped as she released the headboard, but they relaxed as she cupped his face. His stubble prickled against her palms.
He stared at her, grave, marveling, yet when she lowered her mouth to his, his eyes drifted shut, and he took her kiss readily.
We are outcasts no longer.
He didnt want to, but Leo needed to get up from the bed. Reluctantly, he disentangled his limbs from Annes, and left her murmuring and drowsy as he padded into the closet. By the light of a single taper, he stripped off his shirt. He took a cloth and dipped it in the water-filled basin. With movements made hasty from eagerness to return to her, he cleaned himself off.
Blood streaked over his cock. Not much, but enough to prove that, for all her responsiveness and innate sensuality, he was Annes first lover.
First and only. For himself, he was glad of his experience, if only to have made it good for her. Thinking of her sighs and moans, the way she moved, the pleasure she took from him, his cock stirred. He wanted more.
A folded nightshirt awaited him on a small table. God, he hated having to wear it.
He walked to the glass on the table, adjusted it to get the right angle. Turning, he looked over his shoulder to see the reflection of his back.
Images of flames covered his skin there. They appeared to be drawn directly on his flesh with black ink, yet he knew that nothing could wash them away. The flames began just below his nape, spread across his shoulders, and twisted down along the length of his spine.
He did not regret his gifts from Mr. Holliday, but something about the image of flames writhing across his skin made him feel sick dread.
His resolve strengthened never to let Anne see the markings, nor understand their meaning.
Which meant he would be forced either to make love to her in utter darkness, or to wear a damned shirt when he did. And though he had always slept nude, he had to endure wearing this sodding nightshirt like some doddering old man.
He turned away from the mirror. Sleeping in a nightshirt was a small sacrifice if it meant having Anne beside him. He quickly
tugged the thing on, then took a fresh cloth and dampened it. After blowing out the candle, he returned to the bedchamber.
Anne stretched out atop the bedclothes, sleek and soft and delicious as she lay on her stomach. She had taken the last of the pins from her hair, and the mass of it spread around her in silken profusion. At his approach, she smiled. Something seized within him, something tight in his chest.
Wife. He felt he understood the meaning of the word now, its significance. By giving her his name, he had pledged to her his care, his protection. And he vowed it to himself now, more binding than any words spoken by a reverend.
Seeing the cloth in his hand, she reached for it, but he held it away.
Let me, he said.
As she turned over and leaned back on her elbows, the embers of desire roused. She was beautiful to look uponher lush breasts tipped with coral, the curve of her belly, her pretty little quim, the suppleness of her arms and legs. Her body held more strength than one would have guessed, for she had gripped him hard. He was glad of it. Rather than pliancy, he wanted strength to match his own.