Part 27 (2/2)

Something in his gaze softened, and he bent his head to kiss her gently. ”Oh, my love,” he whispered. ”You must get so very tired sometimes. Tired of being strong and in command. Tired of having no one with whom to be...just yourself.”

”You understand,” she whispered dreamily.

”Yes,” he murmured. ”I do.” Then his hands came up to cradle her face as he slanted his lips over hers in a kiss of exquisite tenderness. It was a caress of sensual promise, and of something else, too. Grat.i.tude, perhaps? But it was no less erotic for it. The kiss deepened, became something more. A bond. A promise. She felt her body melt and join to his. A rich sensual heat swirled about them, and it was just them. The two of them, sharing a oneness no one could understand.

They came apart gasping, holding one another's gaze as if wondering what they had wrought. At least she was wondering. It was the most bizarre thing imaginable: to be tied in such a way that one could not move; to be totally at the mercy of another-and to want it. He sat back on his heels and let his gaze trail over her nakedness again.

Do you trust me? he had whispered.

And that was the essence of it, was it not? As lovers, did they have trust? She looked at him, taking in the powerful, bulging thighs, and the broad shoulders, which were limned with light from the flickering hearth. At the thick, straight, too-long hair and harsh black brows. At the almost intimidating size of his erection. A strong man. Oh, yes. He was certainly that.

Nash reached past her and picked up his gla.s.s of port. Still watching her, he drank with relish, then banded one arm about her waist and kissed her deeply. Xanthia was amazed when her mouth flooded with the rich taste of wine. The sweet, heavy liquid swirled sensuously in her mouth as his tongue thrust deep. She swallowed, and it was a heady, purely erotic experience.

He drew back, his eyes burning with intensity. ”Good G.o.d, you are the most sensual creature I have ever known,” he rasped. To her shock, he lifted the gla.s.s and let just a little of the port drip down the valley between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her nipples puckered into impossibly tight buds as the port ran lower, down her belly, and farther still, teasing at her skin as it ran.

At the very last instant, Nash bent his head, thrust his tongue into her curls, and licked. Xanthia s.h.i.+vered at the sudden intrusion, and he made a soft sound of rea.s.surance. Again, he stroked, sliding deeper. And then the wet warmth of his tongue trailed up her belly. Delved into her navel. Stroked along her breastbone, lapping up every trace of the rich, red wine.

Trapped on her knees, her arms tied high, Xanthia could do nothing but tremble with the pleasure of it. Nash brushed his lips along her jaw. ”Do you wish me to stop, my love?”

”Nooo,” she whispered. ”Don't stop. Please. Go...back.”

He chuckled deep in his chest. ”Go back where, love?”

Xanthia swallowed hard. ”Back...down. Please.”

He stroked two fingers deep into her folds, just grazing her c.l.i.toris. ”Back...here?”

Eyes closed, she nodded.

”Tell me where,” he murmured. ”Be a good girl, and tell me just what you want.”

”Taste me,” she whispered, her words barely audible. ”Use your tongue-and-and your fingers. Touch me. Oh, please, Stefan. Touch me. You know how to do it. How I want it.”

For a moment, he hesitated, tormenting her instead with his hand. He watched her face-she knew it, though she did not open her eyes. The sound of her desire was wet and erotic. The scent of raw l.u.s.t was everywhere. Xanthia wondered how he maintained such restraint when she ached with the need to explode.

And then he bent lower, the soft, curling hair of his chest teasing at her thigh. When his tongue slid deep, she cried out, her eyes flying open. Xanthia could not move. The rope held her fast to his hot, ravening mouth. She was gasping. His finger slipped into her wet sheath, and on a sudden instinct, her every muscle seemed to contract. Nash played his tongue delicately, working her to the point of madness, until she was gasping, then fighting to suppress a cry of release. The waves of pleasure washed over her, making her jerk at the silken rope, which drew her body taut.

”Oh, let me down,” she whimpered as the heat of his body pressed against her, surrounded her. He was kissing her again-her throat, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her collarbones. It was not enough. ”Oh, Stefan. Please. Let me down. I want it-ah!”

The thrust was hard. Gloriously hard. Deep and sudden. He had lifted her with one arm about her waist and impaled her on the hot length of his c.o.c.k. He lifted her again, with a masculine grunt of satisfaction, and let her body slide down his own as he pushed himself deep inside her. He was so unyieldingly large, and she so slender, he held her weight easily and caught her nipple in his mouth as she descended. For a long, impossible moment, he held her there, bound by his arms and by the silk tie knotted about the canopy, a prisoner to his l.u.s.t.

”Again,” she whimpered. ”Stefan, again.”

Nash let his hands slide down her back, all the way down, until he cupped her b.u.t.tocks in his palms. Then he obliged her, lifting her just a few perfect inches as he spread her wide to take his thrust. ”Ah-!” she cried. ”Oh, G.o.d. So perfect.”

”Perfect,” he echoed. ”Yes, love. You are perfect.”

Xanthia let her head fall back. Felt him suckle her again. Felt him lift and drive deep again. And again. Their bodies grew damp as they slid and thrust. It was such a sensuously decadent sound, the sound of their flesh moving over one another. The sound of exquisite, perfect pleasure.

Their motions grew feverish. Urgent. Xanthia ached for him. A sob tore through her, deep and tremulous. A coal sheered off in the hearth, sending sparks into the air. She could hear his name, softly chanted in the gloom. Her voice. Her need. Again he lifted her. Opened her. Took her deeply. Over and over, until Xanthia was sobbing in earnest. Sobbing into his mouth, crying out his name. The waves of shuddering pa.s.sion rolled over her. Against her length, his body shook with such primal strength the bed and canopy trembled with the force of it.

Xanthia returned to the present, still shaking. Nash's head was tucked into the turn of her neck, and there was a warm wetness on her shoulder. She turned her head and kissed him, but for a time, he did not respond. When at last he lifted his face from her neck she saw his eyes were glistening.

”I am lost, Zee,” he whispered. ”Oh, G.o.d. I am in so deep. I...”

”What?” She held his gaze intently. ”Tell me. Trust me.”

”I love you.” He barely spoke the words. ”The awful, gut-wrenching, head-over-heels kind of love-may G.o.d help us both.”

She did not look away. ”You are not the only one,” she finally said. ”You are not the only one in this bed who is...well, just a little frightened, I daresay.”

He reached high and deftly freed the knotted silk. Xanthia's arms fell, and the silk slithered off her wrists. Wordlessly, he bore her down into the feathery softness of the bed. He set his lips to the warm turn of her neck and drew in her scent. It was as if they had mutually agreed not to speak of it; as if whatever it was that had sprung up between them was as yet too nascent. Too tender.

”Are you warm enough now, my love?” he murmured.

”Yes.” She breathed the word on a sign of exquisite pleasure. ”Wonderfully so.”

He smiled softly. ”You once said to me-it was the very night we met, in fact-that you hadn't been warm in an age,” he said. ”I thought-yes, in that very moment-how much I should like to make it my life's mission to change that.”

My life's mission...

Xanthia went very still beneath him. But Nash had resumed nuzzling her neck. He did not seem to be as deeply serious as he had been a few moments earlier. She relaxed and let her hands caress the taut, muscular swells of his b.u.t.tocks.

”You have accomplished your mission, sir,” she said lightly. ”Now kindly do not move. I shall go to sleep now, in utter warmth and comfort, and I shall try very hard not to snore.”

”Dear me,” he said. ”Do you snore?”

She giggled. ”Not usually,” she admitted. ”But you are squis.h.i.+ng me-albeit in a perfectly delicious way.”

He rolled to one side, and trailed his fingertip down her cheek. ”Do you like it here, Zee?” he asked. ”Do you like Hamps.h.i.+re? Brierwood?”

”It is a beautiful place,” she said, wondering at the question. ”And the estate itself-well, is there another so fine in all of England? I have not seen it.”

He twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. ”I wish it were just the two of us here, Zee,” he whispered. ”We have so much to learn about one another. I dislike having all these people around us.”

”They are your guests and your family, and they are all lovely,” she said. ”And as to the servants, I fear this house is too large for you to send them all on holiday.”

”Then there is but one solution.” He looked up at her mischievously. ”We must run away.”

She laughed. ”Where, pray, would we go?”

”To the Isles of Scilly,” he said.

”That sounds lovely,” she said. ”But...no, too near. They might find us there.”

”Morocco, perhaps?” he proposed. ”Or Crete?”

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