Part 12 (1/2)
He shook his head sadly and placed the leather bag on the end of the table. ”No dreams? But without your dreams, how will you know when you achieve them?”
”I don't know what you're talking about.” Truly, she didn't. Dreams wasted precious time. They were wanderings of a mind meant to be snared and trained.
”You don't even allow yourself to imagine?” Somehow he managed to gain possession of her other hand. He might have been talking to himself when he said, ”Perhaps I shouldn't have withheld my kisses. I've never seen a woman so in need of kisses.”
He stood, seeming ma.s.sive in the tiny room, and she shrank back as if he threatened her. He didn't, only she had the sensation of hearing something she'd known for a long time and steadfastly ignored.
He encouraged her to think beyond her earliest teachings, and she didn't want to. She wanted to cling to the safety of her prejudices. Yet when he bent over her, she felt the winds of temptation buffeting her.
”Don't be afraid,” His lips brushed her forehead, his hands enclosed her arms. ”This won't hurt.”
How could it not? She could have laughed at his conviction. He was dragging her from safety to peril, and he thought it wouldn't hurt? She ached, she couldn't catch her breath, and all he did was lift her to her feet and wrap his arms around her. The table between them cut into the flesh of her thighs, and probably his, too. She had to lean forward, her spine curved at an awkward angle, and her face pressed against his chest. She couldn't have been more stiff and uncomfortable, but for some reason, she didn't move. One of his hands ma.s.saged her neck, the other rubbed circles on her back, in a manner reminiscent of Philippa's comforting of her child. And why did he think she needed comforting? She'd been nothing but sensible this morning. Still, the ma.s.sage made her want to turn her head and close her eyes, and with a sigh so big it surprised even her, she did so.
”That's better,” he crooned. Slowly, rhythmically, he started rocking her sideways, back and forth, back and forth. The keys on her belt rattled against the wood and the motion hurt her thighs where they rested against the table, but she resisted the pain. The motion soothed her, and if she complained he would stop, she knew. After all, that would be the sensible thing to do.
But when she tried to s.h.i.+ft her legs, he noticed.
”What's wrong?” Then he recognized her dilemma. ”You should have said.”
She stepped back against the wall, relinquis.h.i.+ng the solace without outward sign. ”It was nothing. It's just that the rubbing felt so...well, that is, it seemed to...what are you doing?”
Stupid question. He vaulted the table. ”That's better,” he said.
But how he could think so, she didn't know. Between him, the wall, the stool, and the table, they barely had room to stand. He stood so close against her, she had to lift her head straight back to look in his face. ”We don't fit,” she said.
”But we do. Better than you think, sweetling.” He lightly kissed her.
”I'm going to fall.”
”You'll have to hold on to me, then.” He kissed her again.
Her palms itched to wrap around his waist. ”It's not proper.”
”Dreams are never proper.” In one slow, hot sweep, his mouth slid over her chin and across her throat.
She had to hold him or else totter backward over the stool, so she held him. For her dignity's sake, of course. And because he warmed like a brazier, giving off heat to toast her very bones.
Cupping her head in his hands, he pressed it sideways and explored under her ear. His breath and the touch of his tongue set off a shudder that rattled her spine.
”You're cold,” he whispered.
”Nay.” She whispered, too, although she didn't know why. Why did she suddenly wish she'd shut the door? Why did they always kiss in full view of anyone who chose to look in?
”Cold for far too long.”
She didn't know what he was talking about. With his lips, he followed the outline of her wimple around her cheek and over her forehead.
Then he tilted her even further and looked at her dazed face. ”Do you trust me enough to close your eyes?”
Did she?
”You trust me enough to have me care for your estate,” he reminded her. ”Have you made a mistake?”
She closed her eyes.
Chuckling, he kissed her lips again. She didn't know why it pleased her to make him smile; he was laughing at her, after all. But it was not in cruelty, and if he laughed at her, she knew without a doubt he laughed at himself just as often. Then he kissed her a little deeper, and she didn't notice when his laughter stopped. She noticed nothing but the care with which he handled her-the slow embrace, the gentle probing of his tongue, the frequent breaks for air and rea.s.surance.
This wasn't like the first kiss, all hunger and fire and sweeping resolution. This kiss gave comfort and rea.s.surance. It frustrated her that she did need comfort and rea.s.surance, that she liked this closeness, and the way he delicately tasted her. Yet she was a woman, too, who'd been given a sip of heady pa.s.sion and wanted another.
Working her arms free, she put her hands on either side of his face and held him until he opened his eyes. ”You're not doing it right.”
He mocked her gently. ”You would know.”
”I know more than you think.” Her own bravado shocked her. How could she imagine that she knew anything?
But he nodded amiably. ”In sooth, you know more of what pleasures you than I.”
”Women like-” she thought, then finished, ”-different things.”
”What do you like?”
Now that was an inquiry, asked by the devil for his own purposes. To discover what she liked, she would have to experiment, and no one in George's Cross was available for experiment-except David.
She should be dubious. She should know he did this to further his ridiculous suit of marriage, to gain custody of her twelve sacks of wool and all that went with it. But just moments ago she'd convinced herself he'd forgotten all about that, and the nurturing seemed so real. The comfort she drew from it was real, and her need now-that, too, was real.
Too many questions, and no answers she could accept.
Looking at him, his mouth pulled suspiciously straight, his brow set quizzically, she wondered what he thought and wondered why she cared.
Then his arms tightened and he took a short breath. ”Too much control isn't good for a man.”
Thinking that he meant her, that she suffered from too much control and that he displayed none whatsoever, she tried to correct him. But his hands ranged lower, onto her bottom, and he pulled her tighter against him and rubbed himself against her. She liked being rubbed, and she rubbed him back, undulating against him to increase sensation. From his low groan and the golden flames that lit his brown eyes, she supposed he enjoyed it, too.
He picked her up without respect for her person or status. Knocking her account book off, he deposited her on the table, and when she tried to object, he kissed her-correctly, this time. He took advantage of her open mouth and thrust his tongue inside, then pulled it out. She tried to speak again, and he did it again and again, until she comprehended.
He didn't want her to talk. He did want to kiss her, and possibly he wanted more. Her whole self rested along the length of the table, and he slid her along the smooth finish, then lowered her back until her head rested on the boards. ”You can't get away now,” he said, and she heard distinct satisfaction in his tone.
She felt sure she still had control. After all, she had only to shout and the serving women in the solar would come running. Still, the hard table chafed her back and David leaned over her, using his arms to trap her between them. And he kissed her with more than his mouth, teeth, and tongue now. Somehow his fervency had brought the weight of desire to bear. Her legs moved restlessly, the keys rattled on her hip, and he noticed. To placate her, he sank onto the table himself and laid his body against hers. One of his legs separated hers, and one of his hands stroked her thigh, creeping close to the place she really wanted stroked, then moving away.
His ignorance angered her-after all, he was the one with experience-and she freed herself from the kiss, grabbed his hand and put it where she wanted it. ”There!” She glared into his eyes. ”Do I have to do everything?”
His lids narrowed. He smiled. Not one of his pleasant, merry smiles, but more like the smile of a big, bad wolf about to eat an innocent girl.
Worse, that smile thrilled her. Thrilled her and frightened her, all at the same time. ”David?”
”A man could revel in you.”
She wanted to answer in a snap, but he pressed his palm firmly against the fork of her thighs, then released it, then pressed again. She grabbed his shoulders and arched her hips up, seeking more, and he obliged her. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s ached, her stomach jumped, her breath quickened. She closed her eyes, then opened them, then closed them again. He kissed her mouth, not deeply this time, and whispered, ”Who's doing this to you?”
Her hands clenched him, echoing his rhythm.