The Touch of Fire

by Linda Howard

  “Rafe,” she said in a small, scared voice, “would you please make love to me?”

  CHAPTER

  8

  She could see his pupils expand until the black nearly eclipsed the pale crystal irises. His mouth tightened and for a moment she thought he was going to refuse. Then he put his hands on her shoulders and gently forced her to lie down on the tangled blankets. Her heart was pounding 90 forcefully against her ribs that she found it difficult to breathe. Even though she had given him permission, indeed, had asked him to do this, she found that it wasn’t easy to relinquish the control over and privacy of her body. Moreover, from the size of his sexual organ as she had seen it earlier, she expected the denouement to be uncomfortable at the least. She didn’t think she could gladly embrace pain.

  Rafe saw the tension in her white face, but he wasn’t capable of doing anything to relieve it. From the moment she had spoken his attention had focused on possessing her. He was painfully hard, his loins heavy and tight. If it hadn’t been for the earlier episode outside he thought he would probably climax even before entering her, and even so his sexual control, so customary that he took it for granted, felt almost nonexistent.

  He forced himself to concentrate on not ripping her clothes off, and that was all he was capable of doing. Just one thing at a time. If he tried to do more, it would shatter the precarious control he maintained on his body. He focused in turn on each button on her blouse, the waistband of her skirt, the tapes of her petticoat.

  By the time he had stripped her down to her drawers and white cotton stockings, his hands were shaking and it was all he could do to keep from groaning out loud. He removed the drawers and did make a low, animal sound. Her narrow body was soft and white, her breasts so pretty and round he almost couldn’t stand it, her slim thighs curving upward in sleek columns to a neat little patch of light brown hair. He stood up and threw off his own clothing, his eyes never leaving the apex of her tightly clenched legs.

  Even though she had asked him for this he knew she had to be frightened, never having done it before, but he couldn’t find either the words or the patience to reassure her. He pried her knees apart and mounted her, using his muscled thighs to force her legs wide open. She gave a thin, startled cry as his shaft butted hard against her tender cleft.

  Rafe felt her trembling beneath him. It cost him pain, effort, and sweat to refrain from shoving himself into her, but he held on. He touched her chin, and her fearful dark gaze met his. “It’s going to hurt,” he said grimly.

  “I know.” Her voice was a mere thread of sound.

  “I won’t be able to stop.”

  She knew that, could feel the straining desperation of his body, see it in his eyes. “I .. . I don’t want you to.”

  He was lost, drowning, as the last shred of control unraveled. The wonderful, heated energy of her was pouring into him all along their naked bodies and he couldn’t think, couldn’t talk. He thought he heard her say, “Rafe?” but there was a roaring in his ears that was growing louder and almost blocked out everything else, and he wasn’t certain she had spoken. He was gripped by the primitive need to possess, to brand her as his with the seal of flesh. He couldn’t wait a second longer. He reached between her legs and opened the soft folds, then guided the head of his shaft to the exposed little opening and pushed inward, squeezing himself inside. He was aware of the resistance of her small virginal channel as he stretched it, felt the fragile barrier of her maidenhead as it gave way beneath his onslaught, then he was lodged deep inside her and the ecstasy was as strong and strangely wonderful as he had known it would be, a tingling heat that spread throughout his genitals like wildfire and made him feel as if he would explode, before traveling on to every nerve ending in his body.

  He slid his hands undo: her buttocks and lifted her up as he began thrusting. He clenched his teeth at the difficulty of it, for she was very tight, her flesh resisting him. Oh, damn, damn, it was over too soon, but he couldn’t stop it. His lower spine prickled and his testicles tightened almost unbearably, and with a gutteral cry he arched back as his seed erupted into her in an explosive climax that left him hollowed out and empty, sprawled on top of her without the strength to move.

  Maybe he immediately drifted into an exhausted doze, or maybe he was dazed, but reality lost its sharp edge. He was acutely aware of Annie, of the female scent, texture, and shape of her soft body beneath him, while everything else around him lost its focus and meaning. Eventually he realized that he was crushing her, that the small, jerky movements of her chest meant she was struggling to breathe, and he managed to ease his weight onto his elbows. Sweat ran into his eyes, stinging them, and he became aware then of the burning wood snapping in the fireplace, of the heat on his naked skin. He became aware, also, of her desperate silence and the stark pain mirrored in her eyes as she stared, unblinking, at the ceiling.

  He didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that he had hurt her, and that she would resist going through the experience again. Regretfully he eased out of her body with a comforting murmur which she appeared not to hear. Since she had been a virgin, she had no idea of the pleasure the act could give, but thank God he was far more experienced and knew how to both reassure her and give her the delight she deserved.

  He washed himself, a pang hitting his heart when he saw her blood on his flesh. Damn, why couldn’t he have controlled himself better? He’d never been that aroused before, so frenzied that he couldn’t stop. It embarrassed him, and at the same time the excitement of it made his heart thunder in his chest. He was already impatient to take her again, to feel the ecstasy of her heat tingling all through him. He wet the cloth again and went back to go down on one knee beside her.

  Annie had flinched when he had withdrawn from her, part of her had simply been grateful that it was over, but part of her wanted to scream and beat him with her fists. She felt battered and too weak to move. The private area between her legs throbbed, and she ached inside. She didn’t want him to ever touch her again.

  Had the promise of physical pleasure been nothing more than a chimera designed by nature to draw women into the mating process? She felt cheated and ashamed. She didn’t think she would ever forget the shock of nakedness, both hers and his, or the way her entire body had jolted when she had felt his shaft pressing inexorably into her. The pain had been acute, jabbing deep within; the sense of invasion had been almost unbearable. Yet she hadn’t tried to push him away, because he had said he might do this; some dim sense of honor had made her endure in silence, with her teeth clenched against the pain and her hands gripping the blanket.

  She felt his hands on her legs and instinctively closed them together, protecting herself from another invasion.

  “I’m just going to clean you up, honey,” he said in a soothing tone. “C’mon, darlin’, let me take care of you.”

  She bit her lip, oddly disturbed by some other note she could hear in his voice. The “darlin’” had been more pronouncedly southern than his usual accent, and underlaid with a possessiveness that hadn’t been there before.

  His strong hands were opening her legs and she tried to bolt upright, flushing with shame at her exposure. She saw the streaks of blood and semen on her thighs and thought she would die of mortification.” I’ll do it,” she said hoarsely, reaching for the cloth.

  He caught her shoulders and forced her down on the blankets. “Lie still. This is one case, Doc, that I know more about than you do.”

  She closed her eyes, resigned to having to endure yet again. He spread her legs and gently but thoroughly washed between them. “Do you have any slippery-elm ointment?”

  Her eyes sprang open as she realized he had opened her medical bag and was rummaging through it. “What?”

  “Slippery-elm ointment. We used it during the war,” he said.

  She had to struggle to keep from slapping his hands away from her precious bag. “In the dark blue jar, in the bottom of the bag, right corner.”

  He brought out
the small jar, opened it, and sniffed. “That’s it.” He dipped his finger into it and came out with a liberal amount. Before she knew what he was about he slid his hand between her legs and his finger slipped into her sore passageway, eased by the slickness of the ointment. Her body jerked and she grabbed his wrist with both hands, trying to force his hand away from her body. Her face burned with embarrassment.

  “Easy,” he murmured, ignoring her ineffectual struggles. He put his other arm around her and held her against him while his finger worked deep in her tender body. “Stop fighting, honey; you know this’ll make you feel better.”

  She did, but she didn’t want his attention, or his concern. She wanted to nurse her bitter anger. Annie had never felt petty before, but she did now and was loath to relinquish her grudge.

  Finally he withdrew his hand and once more eased her down and drew the blanket up over her. She drew a shaky breath at the relief of having her nakedness shielded, and closed her eyes rather than watch him as he moved around the cabin. Why didn’t he put on some clothes? she wondered violently, and thought about putting on her own clothing. Only the idea of leaving the protection of the blanket to do it kept her where she was.

  She stiffened when he got under the blanket with her but left her protest unspoken. The only alternative to sharing their body heat was for each to take a blanket and roll up in it, which wasn’t as efficient. Remembering how cold it had been outside, she knew that the cabin was going to be much colder than usual in the morning and they would need all the heat they could muster. That didn’t, however, mean that she liked it.

  Rafe put his arm under her head and rolled her into his embrace. She resisted, her hands pushing against him. He nuzzled his lips against her hair. “Would you like to slap me?”

  She swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “Would you feel better if you did?”

  She thought about it, and finally said, “No. I just want you to leave me alone.”

  The despair in her voice made his heart catch a little, even though he knew the remedy. “It won’t hurt like that again, darlin’.”

  She didn’t answer, and with sudden intuition he knew she was thinking that she wouldn’t take the chance, that as far as she was concerned her first time had been her last. Very gently, because gentleness was what she needed now, he cupped her chin and turned her face up, and his kiss on her mouth was as light as a breeze.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should have gone a lot slower, but I lost control.” He should have had plenty of control, but almost from the first he had known that making love to Annie wouldn’t be like having any other woman. She was unique, and so was his response to her. There wasn’t any way he could explain it to her without sounding crazy, because he would swear she didn’t know about or would understand the strange, heated ecstasy of her touch. When he had entered her, the sensation had been so intense that he had thought his entire body would explode. Just the memory of it now was enough to make his loins tighten with beginning arousal.

  “So did I,” she replied dully. “I lost control of my common sense.”

  “Annie, darlin’,” he began, then paused, for he couldn’t think of any words that would comfort her. She had been both hurt and disappointed; he couldn’t demonstrate to her just yet that it wouldn’t be painful again, but it was time to take care of that disappointment rather than try to soothe her first.

  He kissed her again, keeping the contact warm and gentle. She didn’t open her mouth to him, but he hadn’t expected her to yet and he wasn’t ready to force her response. He kissed her again and again, not just on the lips but on her cheeks, her temples, her eyes, the tender underside of her chin. He whispered how pretty he thought she was, how he loved to take her hair down, how soft and silky her skin was. Despite herself she listened, and he felt some of the tension ease out of her body.

  Very gently he slid his hand over her breast, kneading with a slow, hypnotic motion. She tensed again, but he kept up the tender, distracting kisses and lover’s whispers until she softened against him once more. Only then did he rasp his callused thumb over and around her exquisitely sensitive little nipple, feeling it instantly tighten and thrust upward. She shivered, then went very still in his arms. Was it fear, he wondered, or was she feeling the first lash of arousal? He fondled the satiny mound, then slid his hand to her other breast and caressed it to the same ripe turgidity. Annie was still holding herself almost motionless, but he was so attuned to her that he heard her breathing change to swift, shallow little gasps.

  Now he set his mouth on hers with sensual determination, and after a moment’s hesitation she yielded, her lips softly parting and allowing him entry. He took it with discretion; rather than simply thrusting his tongue inside her mouth he used light caressing strokes that gradually penetrated until he was taking her mouth with the deep, arousing kisses that both of them needed. His own breathing grew ragged but he firmly clamped down on his response. No matter what it cost him, this time was purely hers. He was abruptly terrified that if he wasn’t able to show her the pleasure she might turn away from him forever, and he didn’t think he could bear it.

  The changes in her body were small but delicious. He felt the increased pliancy of her flesh, the way her skin grew warmer and more moist. Her heart was beating a light tattoo that throbbed against his palm as he continued to stroke her breasts. Her nipples felt like ripe berries rolling between his fingers, and suddenly he was overwhelmed by the need to taste her, to draw her nipple deep into his mouth. He had taken her, but he hadn’t made love to her, and he wanted all of the intimacies there could be between a man and his woman. And she was his, he thought fiercely. Every soft inch of her.

  Her arms curled around his shoulders, and her fingers stroked his neck before sliding into his hair. Heat flowed through him and his shaft hardened into a full erection. If her hesitant response had that kind of effect on him, he wondered if he’d be able to survive if she were fully aroused. He couldn’t think of a better way to die.

  He arched her back across his arm and trailed his kisses down her throat. He paused to feel the wild flutter of her pulse in the small hollow at the base, pressing his tongue against the translucent skin. From there his mouth followed the fragile arch of her collarbone, which led him to the sensitive joining of shoulder and neck. He heard the low, vibrant murmur she made and a thrill ran over his skin, roughening it.

  He couldn’t deny the temptation any longer. He tossed the blanket back and bent his head to her breast, circling her nipple with his tongue, making it tightly bud, before drawing it into his mouth with a strong, uncomplicated suckling. The taste of her was intoxicating, as hot and sweet as wild honey, and she was crying out, sharp, breathless sounds or pleasure. Her slender body twisted against him, and he slid his hand between her legs.

  Annie cried out again, a sound of helpless desire. A small voice of reason wailed in despair, but the inner protest was useless against the whirlpool of desire he had set spinning inside her, drawing her further and further into the dark vortex. She felt on fire, her entire body flushed, her breasts aching from his gentle torture. It was torture, she was sure of it, for why else would he be driving her, under the fierce lash of increasing pleasure, to the point of madness where she begged him to take her again in an act that had given her only pain and remorse? The worst of it was that she had no defense, no weapons with which to fight him. He had lulled her with gentle kisses, tamed her to accept his touch on her breast, and then used the pleasures of her own body against her. She had dimly realized it when he had begun kissing her with those deep, drugging, violently possessive kisses, but already it had been too late for her. When his mouth had closed on her breast in that shocking way she hadn’t been able to resist, had even reveled in the heated intimacy of it.

  He was touching her private flesh now in a way he hadn’t done before, slowly circling his rough fingertip around the small nub at the top of her sex, and she would have screamed if she’d had enough breath. Wild
fire leaped through her as her entire being seemed to focus in that single spot. She could feel her legs stretching indecently wide, feel the tiny nubbin throb and strain as if begging for each touch. It was agony, and his finger circled maddeningly, both easing the tension and making it worse. Then he pressed his thumb down on her, almost roughly, while with a butterfly touch of his middle finger he rimmed the soft, sore entrance to her body. She flinched, but felt her hips begin to slowly rock, and she couldn’t stop the motion or the wild sounds coming from her throat. It was too much, with his mouth on her breast and his hand between her legs and a river of heated sensation flooding through her.

  Then his mouth left her breast and slid slowly, maddeningly down her belly. His hand shifted to her thigh and opened her legs even more, and before she even had an inkling about his intentions his mouth was hot on her exposed female flesh. She went rigid from an unbearable surge of pleasure, her mind emptied of thought or reason, or even shock. He put his hand under her buttocks and lifted her up to give himself better access, and his tongue swirled and licked and stabbed her with fire.

  She heard herself sobbing. She felt his warm hair brush against her thighs in a silky caress. She felt the rough texture of the blanket beneath her, the heat from the fireplace dancing on her bare skin. She still tasted his lips. She existed only through her senses, a purely physical being, and he controlled her.

  She was dying. She felt her consciousness fading until the only awareness left to her was of his ravaging mouth, lips and teeth and tongue killing her with such sweet torment. Her entire body clenched unbearably, the tension coiling tighter and tighter, the heat engulfing her. She couldn’t breathe, and her heart was pounding so fast it was sure to explode. A high, thin cry pierced the silence, a cry for mercy, but he had none. Deliberately he pushed one of his big fingers into her, and the nerve endings in her painfully sensitive opening rioted at the sensation of being invaded. The hot coil of tension pulled even tighter and abruptly snapped. She heard herself screaming, but those hoarse cries didn’t sound like her voice. Great waves of sensation flooded through her, wiping out everything in their path and totally consuming her. He held her surging body down and his mouth pressed hard to her, and gradually the tidal waves subsided into gently swirling eddies that caught her unawares with an occasional throb of pleasure.