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“What . . . purpose . . . ?” Kaylene managed to ask, sucking in a breath of rapture as his other hand smoothed its way up the inside of her skirt.
When he cupped the soft furry patch at the juncture of her thighs, she closed her eyes and threw her head back in a guttural sigh.
“Moon Glow absorbs the sins of others so that respectability can be returned to them. Mainly the young, who have a lifetime ahead of them that could be useful to my people,” Fire Thunder said huskily.
“That is a strange belief,” Kaylene said, then recalled the elderly woman’s many cats. “Would having so many cats be looked on as something unnatural?”
“Yes, to some; no to others,” Fire Thunder said. “You see, cats are kept by some as pets, partly because of the belief that mice chew off human hair to build their nests, causing the victim to lose his mind. Moon Glow keeps the cats to prove that her mind is still vital, although knowing that most think her crazed. Let us speak no more of her,” Fire Thunder whispered.
He kissed Kaylene’s passion-moist lips. He found her mouth hot and sweet as she responded to his kiss.
He teased and stroked the satiny skin of her inner thighs, and then thrust a finger inside her.
She arched her hips as he moved his finger slowly in and out of her, his thumb grazing the core of her womanhood each time he withdrew his finger.
“I love you,” she whispered as he kissed his way up her cheek and kissed her closed eyelids.
“Say you want me,” Fire Thunder whispered, already pulling her skirt off.
“I want you,” Kaylene whispered, opening her eyes to see the passion in his. “I need you.”
Then she recalled what he had said earlier about her soon living the rest of her life with him as his wife.
She trembled with wondrous joy at the thought of being able to share these moments they were sharing now whenever they pleased, as often as they pleased, forever.
“I need you,” Fire Thunder said, shoving his breeches down to his ankles. “I love you.”
“Take me, for I am yours to love,” Kaylene whispered, her face hot with a feverish fire of hungry need of him.
She lifted her blouse over her head. She reached for his hands and placed them on her breasts.
She closed her eyes and slowly tossed her head back and forth as he cupped her breasts and his tongue flicked from nipple to nipple.
She opened herself more fully to him when she felt the heat of his passion probing between her thighs.
She arched her hips upward and received him, softly crying out with ecstasy as he began his rhythmic strokes within her.
He lay his cheek on hers. “I did not plan to do this,” he said huskily, sweat pearling his brow as he did not miss a beat inside her. “We must leave soon to collect Solomon’s seal for use in the New Year festival of my people.”
“Solomon’s . . . seal . . . ?” Kaylene faintly heard herself saying, yet truly unconcerned. She was only aware of the wonderful sensations floating through her like warm waves of sunshine.
She was only aware of her body responding to his, the pleasure building . . . building . . . building....
White Wolf and Dawnmarie rode into San Carlos, glad to finally have reached the town where General Rocendo lived. If anyone could give them answers as to the whereabouts of the Kickapoo village, he could. He was in charge of this area of Mexico.
White Wolf and Dawnmarie had been told that he was fair to the Kickapoo, yet hated the Comanches.
They had been told that it was because of General Rocendo that the Kickapoo were in Mexico, under the best living conditions. He had been generous to them.
Perhaps he would be as generous to Dawnmarie and White Wolf when they asked him about Dawnmarie’s kin, the Kickapoo.
White Wolf helped Dawnmarie down from her horse when they reached General Rocendo’s villa on the outskirts of the city. They were in awe of his wealth. His villa spread out far on each side. There were many outbuildings. Cattle grazed in faraway pastures.
When a large, imposing man, dressed in brightly colored casual clothes, came outside and stood on the porch, Dawnmarie smiled up at him.
White Wolf stepped forward and offered a hand of friendship. “Are you General Rocendo?” he inquired, as he stepped up on the porch.
General Rocendo, his large mustache covering his upper lip, his dark eyes beady as they stared from White Wolf to Dawnmarie, accepted White Wolf’s handshake. “Sí, sí, señor,” he said, nodding. “And you must be White Wolf? Your wife is Señora Dawnmarie?”
