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Her virginal shield resisted him and he pulled back slightly. Jordan relaxed as he stopped his onslaught, thinking it was over and she smiled weakly at him. He returned her smile as her body loosened and was deeply sorry he was about to deceive her, he kissed her hard and drove home, breaking through the tissue and burying himself his entire hard length.
She gasped in surprise at the initial sting of pain and he stopped immediately.
“Is that all?” she grunted, tasting blood and realizing she had bit her own lip.
He saw the tiny points of blood and licked them hungrily. “Nay, love,” he murmured. “We have just yet begun. I promise, you will not be disappointed.”
She trusted him, feeling the raw sting as he began to move gently within her. Her legs wrapped themselves around his hard thighs, the discomfort soon giving way to an awakening pleasure.
His measured strokes were driving her to the brink of madness and back again. She had no way of knowing how unusually large his organ was, only knowing that it filled something in her she never knew needed to be filled. There was fullness and there was pressure, but it was a joyful soreness and it only seemed to add to the erotic pleasures that were rippling through her body.
She watched him move through half-closed eyes, relishing the way the sweat glistened on his dark skin in the candlelight and loving the feel of his body next to hers every time they came together. Her hips were instinctively moving with him, meeting him firmly, and melding to him as if they were two pieces of a puzzle that had finally come together. But her eyes closed as her new passion overtook her and she became oblivious to all but the building pressure in her loins and the friction he was creating.
His climax came as a low groan in his throat and she felt his organ shudder and spasm deep inside her. When he collapsed forward and enveloped her in his arms, she felt wonderful and at peace but disappointed that it had ended so suddenly. She was still very much in her passion and it only increased when his hand found her breast and began to massage it slowly.
“Ye are driving me mad, English,” she whispered. “I need ye still. Why have ye stopped?”
He lifted his head and smiled seductively at her. “I know what ye need,” he imitated her burr exactly.
Before she could ask him what he meant, he moved down on the bed and put her legs over his shoulders. She was about to ask him what in the world he was doing when his mouth suddenly descended on the mound of curls between her legs and she stiffened like a corpse.
William would finish now what he had started before his lust got the better of him. Her pants of pleasure were furious and loud and it took virtually no time at all before she was spiraling with pleasure, her muscles contracting with sweet torment. He heard her cry, pleased that she had experienced the pinnacle of pleasure such as he had. It was like a powerful drug; once sampled, it would be craved. And they would crave it together.
“What sort of devilment is that ye done to me?” she demanded weakly as he loomed over her once again.
He grinned wolfishly. “Exquisite, is it not?”
She wrapped her arms around his neck as they rolled to their sides, loving the feel and smell of him against her. He stroked her hair, her back, and his thoughts still warm and languid. It was the most intimate, magnificent expression either one of them had ever beheld.
William knew that whatever happened from now on, she was his and he would never let her go. He could not even fathom that she would be married to de Longley soon, probably within the month. He could not think of that now and spoil the mood. He shifted her in his arms, pulling her closer as if she truly belonged to him in every sense of the word. As if she were not another man’s betrothed.
“Let’s run away,” she said, muffled, into his shoulder.
He pulled back a little to look at her. “Run away?”
She looked up at him, half-teasing. “Aye. We could flee to Ireland or Scotland. They need good knights such as ye and we could live together, forever.”
He looked thoughtful. “If we were to flee, it would be to Flanders or Normandy. They appreciate a fine knight and we could live as royalty.”
She propped herself up on her elbow with a smile. “A wonderful dream, is it not?”
He suddenly looked serious and she studied the ripple of his usually emotionless features.
“ ’Tis not such a dream, mayhap,” he murmured faintly.
Her eyes narrowed. “What do ye mean, English? I wasna serious.”
He looked serious a split second longer before smiling weakly at her. “Nor was I, love. England is my home. My fealty is sworn to Lord de Longley.”
She sat up when he did, watching him as he dressed again. He moved so beautifully, so gracefully, that she was entranced by every movement.
“So ye know the story of Tristan and Isolde?” she asked softly.
He gave her a sharp look. “Are you going to compare us to them?”
“Nay,” she smiled. “ ’Tis an ironic parallel, though.”
He fastened the belt at his waist. “Only in that I love you and you love me.” Finished, he looked at her where she sat in the bed, hugging the covers around her knees. It struck him that he would not go through his life without her by his side. How a woman, any woman, could make him forget his lifelong loyalties was beyond his grasp. But he knew he would wither away and die without her.
