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That stopped
him. He frowned at her, tension in every line of him. “Are you wed, Lily?”
Reluctantly, the truth was forced out of her. “No. Not any longer. He is dead.”
A smile curled his lips once more. A victor’s smile. “Then come to me, mignonne,” he murmured, and drew her to him. Lily gasped as his hands smoothed over her back and hips, closing on her buttocks, pressing her firmly against him. She felt the hard length of him, and hot visions of her touching him, holding him, opening to him, took hold of her fevered mind. There was a terrible yearning ache in the pit of her stomach, and the need to satisfy it overshadowed all other considerations. If there had ever been a time to draw back, it was now gone.
“Radulf,” Lily gasped.
He was peeling off her red gown and then her chemise, his hands unintentionally rough against her bare, smooth skin. She was naked from the waist up. Lily cried out softly when he found her breasts and began to knead the full warm flesh. He made a low sound in his throat and bent his head, his mouth fastening on a swollen bud.
Lily’s head fell back, her long plait spearing over her arched spine. Only Radulf’s arm about her shoulders prevented her from falling. Her body had lost all strength, had turned molten. She groaned again, her hands creeping blindly beneath his shirt and running over the hard, curving muscles of his chest. There were scars there, too, and she smoothed them with her fingertips, as if her touch would heal all past hurts.
Perhaps, she thought dizzily, they could heal each other.
Radulf finished with one breast and turned his attention to the other. Lily swayed, offering her flesh to his hands and lips. Still it wasn’t enough. As if he sensed as much, Radulf swung her up into his arms and in one fluid movement laid her upon his bed. Lily opened her mouth to protest, dazed gray eyes turning to him, and stopped in wonder.
Radulf was stripping off his clothing, tearing at the cloth in his haste. Lily’s awestruck gaze wandered over his broad chest, down to his flat stomach and narrow hips and rampant masculinity. Vorgen had never been so…so big, so hard. Lily had not known that a man’s body could become so proudly arrogant, and yet so beautiful.
She reached out as if to touch, and then stopped as Vorgen’s words echoed in her mind. He had called her cold and unfeeling; he had said her flesh leaked poison and prevented him from being a man when he was with her. He boasted of his conquests with other women, swearing that his impotence was for Lily alone.
Radulf had seen her movement, and her withdrawal, but thought it only womanly modesty. He bent now and slipped her clothing from her hips, tossing it aside, and turned to gaze avidly upon her nakedness.
“Blond, like your hair,” he murmured, fingers grazing the curls at the juncture of her thighs. His gaze dropped to the jeweled dagger that was still strapped to her upper thigh. He ran his fingers over her creamy flesh, over the leather strap and sheath, until they rested on the green and red stones adorning the dagger’s hilt.
“What is this?” he asked her, his voice a husky rumble. “My Lily has a thorn?”
“’Tis…protection.”
Their eyes met, and for a moment Lily thought he would pull back from her. Instead he gave a reckless laugh, unbuckled the leather strap, and tossed the dagger to the floor, before burying his face in the fair curls between her thighs.
Lily gasped his name, clutching wildly at his hair as his tongue found her moist core. Never had she thought…never had she imagined…A desperate trembling seized her body; the beginnings of a hot and urgent need rose within her. Lily arched and pressed closer to that wonderful mouth and closed her eyes, climbing the wave, savoring these new sensations. But just as she was sure she was about to reach some strange and marvelous peak, Radulf moved away.
Lily cried out in dismay, and then her eyes opened wide as she felt Radulf’s big body sink down upon hers, all that hard flesh and sinew, all that power, completely covering her. His dark eyes were narrowed, gazing deep into hers, and she felt him reach his hand down between her legs, his fingers sliding into the slick heat he had stirred there. Lily moved against him, and he smiled with a slight, satisfied curve of his mouth. Gently he parted her thighs and settled between them. Radulf sighed with contentment, as if this was where he had wanted to be all his life.
“Are you ready for me?” His voice seared her. Lily had a frightening yet comforting sense of great strength held in check, awaiting her answer.
But what did he mean? She had not understood women, like men, could be prepared for the act of mating. She had believed it was a woman’s duty to endure, as she had endured Vorgen. Now, with her body hot and aching, she knew better.
She gasped, involuntarily lifting her hips against him, her body giving him her answer without words.
He entered her with a single deep thrust—he was so big, he had always found swiftness the best way. Time enough once he was inside to gentle matters. In a haze of pleasure he heard her soft scream, felt her body convulsing. There was an exquisitely tight, almost untried resistance. He checked, wishing he had not been so hasty. She was young; he had not realized she had been so long a widow.
But Lily was more than ready, her discomfort already fading. She moaned as her body stretched to take all of him, welcoming him. Radulf’s mouth closed on hers, his tongue diverting her while she adjusted to his size. His skin, beneath her palms, was as hot as fever.
“Are you ready for me, lady?” He asked it again, his breath against her ear making her shiver, and this time she understood his meaning.
“I am,” she panted, and then gasped as he began to move.
Long, slow thrusts at first, then quickly increasing in speed and strength, teaching her with his hands and body to match his rhythm. Lily learned quickly, eager to be the mistress of her own pleasure.
And then Radulf began to lose his control. His mighty arms shook, and he bent to suck on her breasts, groan her name. It didn’t matter. Lily was more than willing to follow him, wherever he was taking her.
In some far corner of his mind, where his wits were residing, Radulf remembered to see to Lily’s pleasure before he took his own. He slid his hand down between their slippery bodies, stroking firmly on that swollen nub. She went rigid with surprise—he almost laughed aloud at the amazement in her gray eyes—and then she was convulsing and crying out as if she had never reached that peak before. She was still gasping and clinging to him as he thrust deeply into her, once, twice, and with a harsh groan, followed her over the mountain.
Lily felt as if her soul had left her body and drifted away to some brighter place. She lay snug and warm in Radulf’s arms, her shoulder to his chest, her hip against his belly. What had passed between them was beyond words. She only knew that she had made a wondrous discovery, one she had every intention of revisiting with Radulf as soon and as often as possible.
Lily smiled at the pledge and opened her eyes. Radulf was looking down at her, his warrior’s face alert and watchful. Again the directness of his gaze startled her, but only momentarily, and then she reached up and stroked his cheek, gently tracing the puckered skin of the old scar.
