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at they had shared only a few hours ago. He had introduced her into new ways of making love. Some had felt forbidden, yet deliciously wonderful in how they aroused the wild side of her nature.
“I do so love you,” she whispered, running a hand down the sleekness of his copper back.
She squeezed her eyes tightly closed and tried to block out the worry of her father and her fear of what would happen if he found her and White Fire together.
No. She would not think about it. She would only think about the wonders of being with White Fire after having thought about him, oh, so often through the years.
She recalled dreams that she had had, in which White Fire would be there, his arms outstretched, his hands beckoning her. She had tried so hard to go to him, yet there always seemed to be a barrier of sorts stopping her.
As she had grown older, the barrier had slowly faded until finally, when she had been seventeen, she had experienced her first sensual dream about her and White Fire together.
She opened her eyes and gazed over at him, smiling at how she had, at that time, felt so shocked at herself when she had awakened from that dream. She had actually slept with him in her dream. He had actually touched her breasts.
But they had not made love, for in her dream she had never seen him totally nude. While in bed with her, he had always worn fringed buckskin breeches.
“You have nothing on now,” she whispered, sliding her hand down and across his buttocks.
Daringly, she moved her hand on around and touched the part of his anatomy that could make her soar above the heavens.
Strange how it was so small now. . . .
“And what do you think you are doing?” White Fire suddenly said, flipping over to face her, causing her to jerk her hand away with a start. “My woman is not familiar enough yet with my body?” He laughed huskily. “You wished to explore while you thought I was asleep?”
An embarrassed, heated flush turned Flame’s face crimson. She giggled, then sighed with passion when White Fire guided her hand back to him and encouraged her to fill her fingers with his manhood as it began to grow in the anticipation of where this was leading them.
“It’s like magic,” Flame said, feeling the heat of his manhood as it grew tight and sleek amid her fingers.
“Move your hand on my . . . eh . . . magic,” White Fire said, chuckling. He stretched out on his back and spread his bronze, muscled legs apart. “Slowly . . . slowly . . .”
He closed his eyes and sighed as she did as he had suggested. And the more she moved her hand on him, the more the rapture built within him. It was rushing through him in hot waves of bliss, his head becoming dizzy from the intense pleasure.
“You seem so taut and tense all over,” Flame said, noticing how his toes were so tightly extended and how the muscles in his arms and legs were so corded. “Are you certain I am not hurting instead of pleasuring you?”
White Fire opened his eyes. He laughed softly. “If only you were inside my body and could feel what I am feeling, you would not question anything,” he said huskily. “You would feel as though you were floating above yourself, like an eagle soaring in the heavens.”
“I’m so glad that I am capable of giving you such pleasure,” Flame said, not feeling at all self-conscious about being there, totally nude with him, touching the part of his body that, until she had made love with him that first time, had been such a mystery to her.
Wanting not to feel selfish in receiving and not giving, he placed his hands around her waist and lowered her beside him on the rabbit-fur blankets.
As he gazed at her with his midnight dark eyes, and as his hands began to move tenderly, slowly, and caressingly over her body, Flame sighed with pleasure and closed her eyes.
She breathed heavily when she felt his fingers slide down to where she ached with need of him. She threw her head back and gasped with passion when she felt his fingers move slowly on her tight nub of womanhood.
Then she flinched with an even more intense pleasure when she felt his tongue flick over her woman’s center.
As he spread her tendrils of hair with his fingers, he licked her until she felt as though she might burst with the building rapture that was flooding her senses.
White Fire saw that she was perhaps getting too close to the brink of total ecstasy. Wanting to join her, he gave her one more long, wet, lick, then moved over her with his body. He paused long enough to take a lingering look at her.
As her eyes opened and she smiled sweetly up at him, he stared at her face, at her perfect features that were crowned by the red flame of her hair beneath her.
Then he greedily absorbed the sight of her breasts. They were soft and pink crested, well-rounded, and heaving—ah, such an invitation for his hands, and for his lips to taste and suckle!
But he delayed his needs a while longer as his gaze swept down across her flat belly, stopping where her red curls framed her wet and warm place.
He could still taste her on his tongue. It was a bittersweet taste. It was her.
Then his gaze burned upon her bare skin as he moved to the curve of her thighs, and then the soft tapering of her ankles.
