Part 32 (1/2)
”Wh.o.r.e, traitor, I do not care,” snapped their leader. ”Rardove wants to pay twenty French livres livres to anyone who brings them in before battle? I bring them in.” to anyone who brings them in before battle? I bring them in.”
Finian heard the word battle, battle, but he didn't need words at all to understand what he was seeing. This was not a scouting party, not a group of loosely aligned riders on a treasure hunt for outlaws. This was the contingent of an army on the muster, and there was only one man powerful enough to summon it: Rardove. but he didn't need words at all to understand what he was seeing. This was not a scouting party, not a group of loosely aligned riders on a treasure hunt for outlaws. This was the contingent of an army on the muster, and there was only one man powerful enough to summon it: Rardove.
He was also fairly certain Senna would not be unaware of any of this.
The riders reined their horses away. The sounds of a small army were louder now, bootheels and muttering. The scouts met up with someone halfway down the hill.
”The river,” Senna chanted against his mouth, willing them to choose away.
”Here in the clearing,” the chestnut rider called out.
”Mother Mary,” she exhaled.
Within fifteen minutes, the small army had tromped up the hill and encamped themselves on a meadowlike clearing just outside the treeline, eighty feet from where Senna and Finian sat frozen, mid-coitus.
She pulled back an inch and stared into his eyes. Hers were terrified.
”They'll be gone with the dawn, Senna,” he said quietly, ”and never even think to look up. We're safe up here.”
”I know,” she replied, and the sadness in her voice came from the kind of deep reservoir only very old women should have had the time to dig. ”Up here, I am safe.”
He tightened his hold on the knot of hair in his fist. ”With me, ye are safe.”
Her thighs were trembling. ”With you, I am safe.”
He dipped his head. Their foreheads touched. Just outside the line of trees, the army camped, coa.r.s.e voices and weapons everywhere, like a foul river murmuring. The moon rose.
She finally moved, lowering her body, which of course she had to do. She could not hold herself up all night.
She slid her hips forward and back, rocking on him. That, she did not have to do.
His fingers tightened on her hips to stop her. ”Senna-”
”I'm afraid.” Her voice was so low it was almost breath.
”I know,” he whispered back, running his hands over her cheeks, cupping her face.
”I do not like being afraid.”
Her hips rocked again and slowly, Finian became aware tears were slipping over his fingers, down her cheeks.
”s.h.i.+te,” he rasped, and pulled her to him.
Slow and almost motionless, they rocked together, very slow. For a long time she just rested her forehead on his, and he kept his hands on her spine, and they moved, not wanting anything more than to just hold and be held.
But as the length of him was deep inside her, sliding over slippery, sensitive flesh, she started pressing down in harder thrusts, pus.h.i.+ng for more. She didn't move faster-they dare not-just harder, more desperately, pus.h.i.+ng with more force. She spread her legs as far as she could, pressed down as hard as she could, and it was not enough.
He lifted his hips ever so slightly, trying to meet her obvious, desperate need, but they couldn't risk any more movement than that.
”More,” she whimpered.
He gave a ragged, whispered laugh. ”Jesu, Senna, my hands are tied here.” A tiny but vicious pump of his hip only made her writhe more.
”More.” She bent to his ear and begged, ”I need more.”
His wide palm suddenly pushed her back a few inches. Dark and moonlit, his face looked dangerous as he met her eyes, his gaze predatory and appraising. He grabbed both her wrists and pulled them behind her back, held them locked in his grip.
The other hand he closed around her throat very gently but very powerfully, exerting just enough pressure for her to feel his restraint. Dangerous and erotic. Then he leaned forward and sucked her breast into his hot mouth.
She dropped her head back and moaned silently. Her hips slid on him, and with another small, violent shove up, he jammed himself farther up inside.
It was like he knew her body from the inside out, because the changed angle increased the feel of him, touching her high inside. He was pus.h.i.+ng against shuddering, trembling flesh, a slow, torturous slide. Each small plunge tightened some silken cord that ran from her womb to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, down the back of her legs and up her spine. It connected her to his pleasure.
He tightened his hold on her wrists and on her throat, his eyes never looking away, pressuring her, pus.h.i.+ng her. Hot, flat jolts of energy shot though her. She whimpered and arched her back. He closed his teeth around her nipple and flicked his tongue, hard touches just shy of pain.
She leapt in his arms, quivering.
”Is this good to ye?” he growled.
”Aye,” she whispered. ”More.”
”How much more?” he rasped.
”Don't stop. Much more.”
She heard a low growl, as if he'd turned animal, then, releasing her wrists, he sat up a little straighter and slid his hand down the sweaty curve of her back, over her bottom. Every movement was slow, torture slow, painful slow, safe, undetectable movements. He slipped his hand between her thighs, between his, to where they were joined. His fingertips circled through the slippery wetness, then he trailed them back and nestled them between the seam of her b.u.t.tocks. Slow, never-stopping.
She whimpered, her forehead rolling on his shoulder. He nuzzled the tip of a finger between her smooth rounded cheeks and pressed up.
”Oh, sweet Lord,” she exhaled in a hot rush, so he did it again, slid his finger up a little farther. she exhaled in a hot rush, so he did it again, slid his finger up a little farther.
”Ohh,” she whispered in a choked voice, and Finian didn't know if it was pain or pleasure, or both.
”More, Senna?” he grated, and he almost didn't recognize his own voice, it was so clouded with violent pa.s.sion. ”Do ye want more?”
Her breath exploded out of her and her teeth closed on his shoulder as her hips slammed against him very, very slowly. His head was spinning now.
She leapt in his arms, quivering. Her knees pushed out, so she was sprawled against his chest. Her b.u.t.tocks, soft and yielding, gripped his finger tightly as her body trembled and rocked.
”Do ye like this?” he growled.
She was sobbing against his shoulder, biting him, quivering, tiny, frantic shoves of her hips, opening her to him.
”Feel all of me inside ye,” he rasped.