Page 91 of Echo in the Wind

She raised her arms to his shoulders, threaded her fingers through his long hair and returned his kiss with all the love she possessed. His mouth blazed a trail of heated kisses down the side of her throat to the tender place at the base of her neck. “Jean,” she rasped as an ache grew between her thighs.

He raised his head. “You have never spoken my Christian name before.”

She lifted her eyes to his. “Would you prefer I call you Donet? I often think of you by that name. But it seems rather formal given where we are and what we are doing.”

He chuckled. “I like that you call me Jean when we are alone. No one else does.” He pressed his warm lips to her forehead and captured one breast in his hand, his rough palm sending shivers up her spine and causing her nipple to harden. “Let me undress you. I want to feel your skin next to mine. I want to touch your soft rounded places.”

Swiftly, he rid her of her gown, petticoats and stays and then shed his robe and breeches. He backed her to the bed and they tumbled onto the blue cover.

He gazed into her eyes. “Do you like my new bed?”

“’Tis nearly the size of the one in Saintonge.” She nuzzled his stubbled cheek and inhaled his scent that always reminded her of the sea. “Did you have us in mind?”

“How did you guess?” In a swift movement that spoke his impatience, he lifted her chemise to her waist and then above her head. “I only left this strip of silk for your modesty. I can see ’twas a mistake.”

She slipped her hands free of the chemise and tugged up his shirt. She wanted nothing between them. He pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. Then he set about kissing her mouth, her breasts, her belly, all the while moving his hands over her.

Her skin burned with heat under his deft touch.

“You’re like satin, Joanna, softer than a baby’s skin. And so warm. You are not afraid this time, are you?”

“No, not afraid.” She was hungry for him. She opened her thighs to welcome him and he slipped his hands beneath her thighs, lifting them, separating them to rub his hard flesh against her womb, wet from want of him. “Now, Jean, oh now.”

He eased himself into her, filling her. “Joanna,” he murmured against her neck. “You are like silk inside.”

It felt glorious to be one with him again. She gripped his shoulders and raised her hips to meet his slow thrusts, panting out her breath as their bodies grew slick moving together.

With every thrust, his furred chest met her breasts, the sensation lifting her higher and higher.

The first tremor came, causing her to try and hold him inside her. He wouldn’t allow it, becoming fierce as he took her. The tremors increased, becoming a spasm of intense pleasure, sending her into a sublime ecstasy.

As Donet neared the end, he shook with the violence of his passion. His heart pounded so hard, she could feel it against her chest.

Breathing heavy, he sank against her, his mouth against her neck. “Joanna,” he whispered, “making love to you is like riding a storm to a haven I never want to leave.”

What could she say to that? Like a storm, he had taken over her life. So she spoke the words in her heart in the way she knew best, kissing him and holding him as his heart calmed, loving the feel of him still inside her. Loving the man who had taken her.

Beyond all else, she wanted Jean Donet for her own.

Jean came awake to Joanna’s soft breathing against his neck. They lay entwined, one of her legs captured between his and her breasts softly pressing into his chest. He savored the moment, for he knew it would soon end.

Dawn crept into his cabin as the ship’s bell sounded the beginning of the morning watch. Soon there would be many feet scurrying to and from the weather deck. He’d wait till they quieted before scouting the passageway to let her slip back into her cabin. He had time to make love to her one last time.

He pulled his head back on the pillow to look at her. Auburn hair cascaded over her ivory shoulder. Her hand, flat on his chest, was the color of fresh cream on his olive skin.

Unable to resist her, he had taken her innocence. Yet he believed she had more of him than he had intended to give.

In sleep, she appeared very young. Was he too old for her? Perhaps she should have a younger man, someone closer to her own age. And yet the thought of another man having her was unthinkable. When it came to Joanna, his thoughts were all selfish. She would belong to no one but him.

He kissed the top of her head. When she titled her head up, eyes still closed, he pressed a kiss to her lips and drew her into his arms, letting her feel how she affected him.

“You’re awake,” she muttered, drowsy but stirring.

“I am, sleepyhead. And I want you.”

She opened her eyes, mischief in their cognac depths. “Who am I to deny a pirate?”

He chuckled. “Wise woman.”