“Here, let me help you with your sword and your mail,” she said when she found her voice. She sensed his eyes upon her in the darkness, questioning her, but Marion only stood and let memories of long-ago teachings help her as she laid aside his heavy war weaponry.
“Rest,” she advised, kneeling beside him and pushing him back upon the blanket. She heard the sharp hiss of his breath as she placed her hands upon his chest, then she could wait no longer. She leaned over and put her lips to his.
They were soft and warm. Already, she could feel the heat of him, seeping up through his clothing to envelop her, along with his unique scent, very male and very compelling. Her tongue darted out to run along the seam of his mouth and then inside where it was so hot and moist and…dizzying.
Twining her hands in his hair to anchor herself, Marion felt a heady sense of power as she knelt over his great knight’s body. She was naught but a portion of his size, and yet she knew she could make him groan and shudder. The knowledge made her bolder, and she thrust her tongue more forcefully over his.
One of his huge hands came up to grip her long locks and he groaned, making Marion become weak with her own strength. She trailed kisses along his jaw and down his throat as she moved lower and tugged at his tunic, anxious to bare his magnificent body to her questing touch.
He was so big and strong, a fearsome warrior, and yet he let her have her way, unresisting as she explored him. His acquiescence gave impetus to her passion, for the realization that the Wolf lay prone for her, his wildness momentarily leashed, gave the slow, easy meter of her love a new urgency.
Pushing up his tunic, Marion spread her palms across his massive chest and felt his heart pounding beneath her hand. It thrummed through her skin and into her blood like a drumbeat, primitive and wanton, urging her to its rhythms. Glancing at his face, she saw his eyes glinting in the faint light, and a rush of blood flooded her cheeks at her brazen behavior before she lowered her face and nuzzled the silky hair that covered him.
“Ah, wren…” Dunstan’s voice, the low drawl of a man drunk or fogged with sleep, brought a smile to her lips.
“I want to pleasure you,” she whispered, delight in the task making her words fierce. Then she bent over him again, and finding the hard nub of his nipple, took it into her mouth, as he had once done to her.
“Day of God!” he moaned, his hands reaching for her and roving over her with fevered urgency. But Marion would not let her attention be turned away. She was too intent upon the feel of him beneath her fingers, a wondrous combination of heat and texture and form that responded to her every touch. Pressing her mouth to his hot skin, she sent her tongue over thick muscles, across ribs and down to his taut stomach while he muttered low oaths in a harsh exhalation. The murmured curses became an endless chant as he strung one after another together so roughly that she could scarcely recognize a word.
Intoxicated by her discoveries and by her own burgeoning passions, Marion lost all modesty. Flinging her hair back over her shoulder, she tugged on his braies until his manhood sprang free, huge and erect, from the thicket of hair at his groin. A strangled sound escaped her throat as she stared, fresh exhilaration coursing through her at the sight.
A low growl of impatience told her that the Wolf was at the end of his tether, but she evaded his hands when he reached for her and moved to pull off his boots and his hose. Then she knelt between his legs, running her hands along his thick calves and upward to the steely muscles of his thighs. They were rock hard. Her fingers tingled at the touch, sending shivers all the way to the core of her and robbing her of breath. She was panting by the time she reached his manhood, her fingers trembling as they traced the smooth tip and the thick root with loving interest.
“Wren!” The harsh exhalation sounded like a warning.
“Hush,” she answered. “I wish to pleasure you.” Remembering the way he had kissed that most intimate part of her, she bent her head, letting her hair flow over his stomach and thighs as she touched her lips to the tip of him. With a low oath, he jerked upward, and Marion took him in her mouth. Then his hands wound in her hair, guiding her movements, until the Wolf was growling his pleasure and shuddering violently under her.
* * *
He took her swiftly and masterfully. One moment, Marion knelt between his legs, wide-eyed and breathless at his surrender, and then, with the speed of a predator, he had her on her back and was poised over her, covering her body with his massive one.
He consumed her mouth while his hands roamed her curves, stroking her through her clothes, then burrowing beneath her skirts to grip her buttocks. He bared her breasts and suckled them, and when Marion reached up to touch him, he pinned her hands to the ground, his eyes glittering, his white teeth a flash in the darkness.
Then, when she felt his manhood pressing hard against her once more, he knelt between her thighs and lifted her up to him, impaling her in one smooth motion. He thrust deeply and drew out slowly, again and again, until she writhed beneath him, sobbing.
“Hush, I would onlypleasureyou,” he whispered in a half-wicked, half-teasing tone, and Marion sensed that he must show her his own power. He had let her play with him, but he remained an untamed creature, full of fire and strength…. When she came, she cried out so loudly that he covered her mouth with his own, but still he moved within her, driving her to yet another peak. Only after she had again cried out in ecstasy did he empty himself in her, his great body shuddering before it fell upon her own.
* * *
Dunstan roused himself with difficulty, his eyes narrowing as he glimpsed the first light of dawn. By faith, Marion wrung him out! He had slept like the dead, and now they must make haste to be on their way. His annoyance vanished as he looked down at her, rosy-cheeked and soft and warm, and he had to fight the temptation to take her again.
Easing himself away from her body, Dunstan decided that a quick bath would both waken him and cool off his burgeoning ardor. Pulling a sliver of soap from his pouch, he waded knee-deep into the stream and proceeded to wash himself.
Even under the chilling effects of the water, Dunstan found his gaze returning to the bank where Marion lay, and while he watched, she awoke, rising to lean on one elbow in an innocently sensual pose. His groin hardened painfully as she sat up and stared at him, her hair a wildly tousled mane, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted. He made a sound. It was definitely not good-morning, but Marion understood clearly enough. She rose and walked toward him.
Would he ever get his fill of her? “If you want a bath, you must hurry, for I would be off at once,” Dunstan snapped, knowing full well that he should finish his own and get dressed instead of lingering in the stream like some randy peasant lad.
She took off her clothes.
“Marion! You rob me of my good sense!” he growled when she reached him. Instead of retreating, she gave him one of her glorious smiles, dimples and all, and he felt light-headed. “Quickly now, for we must go,” he murmured, before taking her mouth with his own. He lifted her up in his arms, wrapped her legs around his hips and entered her swiftly as he stood knee-deep in the stream, the sun rising around them.
After only a few deep thrusts, she was crying out with pleasure, her body milking his seed, and Dunstan was shuddering violently in a protracted release that made him want to stay buried inside her always.
It was a long time before he breathed evenly again. By faith, he had never known the like before. Dunstan had thought their first experience together unusually good—a product of her innocence and the startling attraction between them—but last night had been even better. And now, in what amounted to only several minutes, he found himself more satisfied than after spending hours with the most experienced of harlots.
He felt as if he had been wrung inside out. Without pausing to examine the why or wherefore or how, Dunstan knew he had to have this—whatever it was—between them, again and again. He wanted to rock some soft bed every night with the incredible passion they shared, but he realized that even that would not be enough. He wanted the same driving, hot ecstasy under a tree or in a stream in broad daylight whenever he might sneak away from his duties.
By faith, he wanted it forever, for the rest of his days and nights. It was overwhelming. It was unbelievable.
