Page 52 of The Last Warrior

Like a blossom, her mouth opened to him, and his tongue delved into the inner recesses of its moist haven. In and out, over and over, he tasted the clean fragrance that was her. Her tongue met his, danced with his, and then she groaned.

At the sound, he died a little. He wanted her; he was ready for her. And she wanted him, no mistake. Yet, if he were to remain honorable, and he must, he knew he had to ignore the urgings of his body.

He ended the kiss, let out a sigh and sat up. She followed him into a sitting position. Leaning forward, she reached up to spread her arms around his neck.

He grasped hold of her arms, as though to remove them from around him, yet he couldn’t quite manage it. Instead, he turned his face in toward her, rubbing his head along the skin of her upper arms. After a while, he said, “You surely test me. But you know we cannot carry on in this manner much longer. Already I fear I will obtain little sleep this night.”

“Indeed?”

At this very moment, something in her abdomen moved. He felt it.

“Is this a movement of your child?” he asked.

She looked surprised, as well as he. “I think it was. It is the first movement I have felt.” She grinned up at him. “How delightful it happened now. I believe he might approve of what we are doing.”

Black Lion returned her smile and placed his hand over her stomach. “Maybe he will move again.”

As she eased her hand over his, Black Lion let his gaze wash over her, and he would have had to be a blind fool not to recognize the raw hunger illuminated within her eyes.

But he shut himself off from the sight. It did nothing to help his resolve. Delicately, she rubbed her hand over his, then smoothed the backs of her fingers over his cheek. He groaned, even while his stomach took a steep dive.

“Your cheekbones are high,” she commented, “and your skin is soft.”

“I am not soft.”

“Well, perhaps soft is the wrong word. What I mean is smooth-shaven. Have you a beard?”

“Not as the white man has,” he responded quietly. “There are a few whiskers which grow on my face, perhaps, but I, like my fathers before me, pluck these, and they are not many. I fear it would be a wasted effort for me to shave as does the white man. And if I let the hair grow on my face, I would still never have a full beard.”

“It is interesting, I think. You are so different from everything I am accustomed to. I wonder about your chest.”

He swallowed, holding himself rigidly back from her. “My chest?”

“Yes. Do you have hair on your chest, or do you shave it?”

“Shave it? I have no hair on my chest, nor do I have any on my arms or legs, as the white man does.”

Again, she traced her hand over the contours of his face. He grabbed hold of her hand, and then, without ceremony, she placed the fingers of her other hand over his lips, requiring him to, once again, keep control, not only over himself, but of their situation.

She said quietly, “I would like to see your chest.”

He almost lost it. “Do you try to seduce me, even after all I have said?”

“No, well…maybe. It is only that I am curious.”

“Curious? Perhaps I should also remind you I am doing all I can to keep your honor and mine close to my heart.”

“And you do it very well. I would still like to see it.”

“My chest? Now?”

“Now would, indeed, be a most fitting time.”

He smiled at her slightly. He could not very well help doing so, and he said, as though in challenge, “If I take off my shirt, will you lower your dress for me so I may also see your bosom?”

Her eyelids lifted to reveal the blue depths of her eyes, which stared up at him so innocently. She whispered, “Do you dare me to do it, then?”

“If you are to see me without my shirt, then I think it only fair.”