Her head came up at that, as if she would argue, but apparently giving consideration to his condition, she spared him that aggravation. “Yes, Dunstan,” she said, looking him right in the eye.
He laughed until his chest hurt with it, snorting soundly when she watched him, as wide-eyed and innocent as a babe. “Liar,” he said softly.
“What?” She tried to look affronted.
“My dear Marion,” he said. “I discovered not long into our acquaintance exactly when you are lying and when you are not.”
That surprised her. “I do not believe you,” she said, shaking her head with a teasing smile. “You only caught me now because you know I shall never cease coddling you.”
Dunstan felt the low rumble of laughter gathering again, and it felt good. “Why, ‘tis easy enough to see. When you lie, you look me directly in the eye in a most earnest fashion.”
“Humph.” She made a sound not unlike his own grunts and seemed disgusted.
“Do not be so stricken, wren. Perhaps others cannot tell as easily, for as your husband I am wont to know you well,” he said. The words came out low and rough, for he hoped to soon show her just how well he knew her, every inch of her skin, every sensitive spot that made her tremble for him.
“Dunstan.” She looked down at his chest, a slight frown marring her sweet face. Had he ever thought her plain? He had been mad, for she was utterly beautiful, from the widow’s peak at the top of her dark head to the tips of the small toes that he liked to feel curling into his calves.
“Aye? What is it?”
She peeked up at him, her lashes so thick and inviting he wanted to touch them with his mouth until they closed and she moaned his name. “You are not angry over what my uncle said, are you? All those awful things he said about you dancing attendance upon me. ‘Tis not true, of course. Everyone knows you do not want Baddersly or any wealth that I might have. I would not have you…avoid me because of what he said.”
“Avoid you?” Dunstan felt a rush of hatred for the dead man. “Peasely was a fool, and I care not what he said.” He regarded her, breathlessly waiting, her great eyes full of worry, and he felt his annoyance with her kin slip away, to be replaced by the kind of peace it seemed he had spent his life seeking. “If you have tamed me, then so be it.”
She smiled then, her wide mouth parting, her dimples peeking out merrily, and slowly he lifted a hand to her cheek, touching the crease brought on by her happiness. And he was awed by the depth of his feelings for her.
“Such dimples…” Dunstan whispered. Then he reached up to curl his hand behind her neck, underneath her thick hair, and pulled her toward him. He claimed her, possessing her with his mouth, and in turn, he became possessed. It was as if he had never beheld her before, never really madeloveto her….
“Your wound,” Marion said, breaking the kiss. Ignoring her concern, Dunstan muttered a dismissive oath as his hands slid down to her shoulders. “You are to lie still and rest,” she added more forcefully.
His answer was another grunt, and he dragged down her gown, letting her generous breasts spill into his hands. Her skin was creamy and silken, her nipples large and dark, and so enticing he was straining against the sheet. The familiar heat sparked between them, and he drew her near to suckle. She shivered. By faith, how her pleasure worked on his own!
“Tremble for me, wren,” he urged hoarsely. She did, her nails digging into his shoulders as she arched toward him, gasping in abandon while his tongue tasted her, his teeth tugged gently, his hand cupping her to his eager mouth.
She smelled of wildflowers and fresh fields, and Dunstan drew in a long draft, filling his lungs and his head with her scent as he filled his hands with her ripe curves. Lifting her easily, he swept the sheet aside and moved her over him until she was straddling his naked body. He raised his knees behind her to cradle her in his lap, and she braced her hands on his chest, her fingers delving into the hair below his wrappings.
He had swelled beneath her, and she glanced at him out of doe eyes dazed with passion. “Dunstan,” she murmured breathlessly. “You must not strain yourself.”
He grunted in disagreement, his need for her too strong to deny, now or ever. Normally, he would roll her under him and pour himself into her, but not this night. He had no desire to set his chest to bleeding again. It might upset Marion, and besides, he was getting too old to play the invincible knight.
“Take me inside you, wren,” he whispered.
If possible, her eyes grew even more huge. She needed no further encouragement but rose and fumbled with her skirts, her fingers shaking in eager anticipation. When she could not arrange them to her satisfaction, she reached up, tugged the gown and shift over her head and tossed them aside.
Dunstan’s gaze swept her, and just the sight of her, naked and straddling him, was enough to set him afire. Her pale body was lush and quivering, and he felt his own shudder in response. “Now, Marion,” he urged in a strangled voice, and when she did not move, he closed his hands around her hips and pulled her down upon him, impaling her in one swift gesture.
He growled low and heard her release an answering cry of pleasure. Then she threw her head back, her hair spilling over his knees, and he groaned again. She was a fever in his blood, and he had to have her, needed her, wanted her—each time more powerfully than before.
Buried full inside her, he did not stir, but grabbed a fistful of her dark mane and bade her look at him, made her see the promise implicit in his gaze, along with the yielding of his heart.
“Ride me, wren,” he whispered, and she trembled in reply. His eyes were still locked with hers, his fingers dragging through her tumbling locks, when she began to rock in a gentle rhythm wholly unlike his usual fierce possession.
Although he found the difference exotic, he was soon frantic for a fiercer union, and even the wren could not keep to such a timid pace. As she began to move faster, Dunstan grunted and ground her hips to his furiously until his hoarse shout and her wild cries blended together in perfect harmony.
* * *
Marion lay across her husband’s chest, thoroughly content and bemused. She should have known that despite his injury, Dunstan would find a way to join with her, for he would never be denied. As his wife, she might as well accept that truth. He might make her angry or exasperate her; he might frown and shout and argue, and sometimes he might even give in. But he would never be denied.
When she found the strength, Marion slid from his lap and fussed over him, checking his bindings and removing some of the pillows that had propped his back. She made sure he was comfortable before she blew out the candles and curled up beside him. Then she laid a hand over his heart, thankful to feel its strong beats, and closed her eyes.
