Desert Sunrise

by Raine Cantrell

  He caught a handful of her hair, pulling the pins out, angling her head back to his shoulder, and felt the glide and bite of her fingers grabbing hold of his arms. He slid his tongue deep inside her mouth, mating with hers, only to withdraw so that his teeth nipped her bottom lip. Delaney lifted his head a fraction, drawing needed breath, and looked down into her dazed eyes.

  “More,” she whispered, licking her lips, tasting him. She felt every tremor of her body stroke the heat of his. His eyes, in the moonlight, were bright with passion, and she needed to taste the reckless slant of his mouth, wanted it now, more than she wanted anything else. The wild beating of her heart matched his, making Faith glory in being the woman who kindled such desire in him.

  His hand splayed over the slight curve of her hip to bring her closer to the blatant ridge of aroused flesh. She reached up to touch his mouth. “Kiss me,” she demanded, rubbing her finger across his bottom lip. “Kiss me like you did the first time, and I felt I was caught up in a wild, hot storm, all fire and lightning and—”

  The tip of his tongue stilled her. He bathed the curve of her lower lip, bringing a soft, exciting moan from her. “Soft.” He licked her again. “Are you as soft and sweet and hot—”

  “Del, please,” she implored, trying to capture his mouth.

  He drew his head back. He wanted to take her mouth fully, but watching her, seeing her flushed cheeks, fever-bright eyes and her lips glistening from the tiny licks of his tongue, sent ripples of emotion through his powerful body. He longed to give her what she asked for, what he wanted, too, all hot and wild, but he needed to pleasure her with the same depth of demand. Delaney tasted the curve of her mouth, drinking her breathless murmurs of his name over and over, feeling her sweet breath like a warm caress over his lips. Into his mind came the sight of her kneeling by the stream, silver drops gliding down her skin, and his own question of how she would come to a man.

  He had his answer. Sweet smiles, dark and light shadows, and nothing held back.

  He wanted her the same way. Against his chest the skystone warmed, and with every fleeting kiss that he brushed across her responsive lips, the stone grew hotter.

  Faith followed the retreat of his mouth. She didn’t want to be teased. She didn’t want him kissing her cheeks or her temples. She turned her face, her teeth catching his bottom lip, and she held it captive so her tongue could bathe its softness. And remembered again, this was the only place that Delaney was soft. She felt the tightening of his fingers in her hair and released him with a satisfied smile.

  “I’ve warned you time and again, duchess, if you bite me, I’ll bite back.” He dragged his mouth against hers in brief, searing kisses that aroused them both. His teeth raked over her bottom lip, the sweet sounds of need that she made driving him crazy. He couldn’t stand to be without the taste of her filling him. Repeatedly he dipped his tongue into her mouth, and she caressed him with hers, tasting him in turn, trembling.

  Her head tilted back even more, offering him her bare throat, and Delaney tested the smooth curve with kisses and gentle love bites that had her crying his name with husky sounds. Kneading her back and hips, he pressed her closer, then closer still, as if he wanted to draw her inside himself. The warm, hungry kisses she scattered wherever she could reach nearly sent him over the edge. The gentle rocking of her hips, cradling, then retreating from his violently aroused flesh brought his blood up in a rush that made him think he would explode if he couldn’t bury himself inside her soon.

  With a rough sound he claimed her mouth. Sanity intruded. He couldn’t take her here, standing in the open, but he couldn’t stop kissing her long enough to move. His fingers tightened on her waist, his thumbs brushing across the undersides of her breasts, and he felt the passion that fevered her, just as it spread through him.

  He pulled his head back with a wrenching groan, tucking her head beneath his chin to put temptation aside while he fought to draw breath and still the wildness that shook him.

  Faith cried in protest, feeling the world spin around her. She wanted the next touch, the next kiss that would send her into soft flames, with tongues of fire licking her everywhere his powerful body met with hers, proving she never knew how sensitive her skin could be. Showing her that she never knew herself at all.

  “Be sure, Faith,” he whispered after long moments had passed.

  “I don’t want to stop,” she said raggedly. “I want you to love me.” She raised her hands to the back of his neck, looking up at him, trembling with the desire he called from her. Her lips parted and her eyes met his. “I want you.”

  The blazing clarity of her eyes scored him to his soul. The hunger he had leashed flared up, shortening his breath, making his blood run heavily, hardening his body that was already rawhide taut.

  “Burned alive,” he groaned. His mouth was as hard and hungry, taking long, deep kisses that made her cling to him. His hand moved from her waist to close over her breast, and she offered him a low sound of pleasure, drawing tight to him.

  Her body ached, her nipples burned and throbbed, and she needed his touch to assuage it. She didn’t seem to have any strength of her own. Warmth coiled and unfurled in pulsing waves inside her, and she felt herself melt against him, twisting feverishly, needing something more, and unable to tell him.

  Delaney jerked his head up and pressed her face against his shoulder. “Woman, you’re burning me alive.” The words were groaned, and he was shaking.

  He looked around, weighing danger and distance, trying to clear his mind. He couldn’t take her back to camp. He couldn’t let her go. His gaze returned time and again to the outcrop of rocks, and without a word he clamped his hand over her wrist, striding toward them.

  Chapter 13

  Dragged behind him, Faith could hardly catch her breath. She wanted to ask him why he seemed angry, her senses bewildered by the cessation of pleasure. She ignored the low-growing bushes that caught at the hems of her gown and petticoats, but she stumbled, and he spun around, swinging her up into his arms.

  She pressed frantic kisses on his neck, holding him tight. Sliding one hand into the opening of his shirt, she rubbed against the damp heat of his skin, tangling her fingers in the soft mat of his hair, uncaring of anything but the violent need that ripped through her body.

  The first, exploring touch of Faith’s tongue made Delaney miss a step. His breath stuck in his throat. Neither of them had had a chance for a bath, and he expected her to withdraw from the musky scent of his skin. He hadn’t expected the purring sounds of pleasure to come with each hot foray of her mouth and tongue licking him. It took every bit of willpower not to take her where they were.

  He circled the outcrop of rocks, fighting to ignore her touches and kisses, measuring the height through heavy-lidded eyes. They would offer concealment should anyone from camp decide to look their way. He kicked repeatedly around a flat protruding slab until he was satisfied it hid nothing dangerous to them.

  Still holding her in his arms, he sat down and cupped her chin, dragging her lips across his flesh. “Look at me. No soft bed, duchess. Not even a quilt.”

  Faith couldn’t answer him. Moonlight spilled over the dark thickness of his hair, his face, and shoulders. He was silvered and shadowed, lean and dark, locking her breath in her throat. There was no sound but their ragged breathing.

  Unsure of what he wanted from her now, she raised her hands to the top button of her gown, her eyes holding his.

  Delaney watched her, watched as the moon bathed the tiny bit of skin the first open button revealed. He saw how her fingers shook, and his own clenched not to hurry her, not to tear away the cloth that hid her from his eyes. Faith lowered her head, opening another button, and he gazed at the lightened sheen of her hair spilling over her neck and shoulders. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to gather one long length of her hair.

  “Stop, Faith. Open my shirt.”

  She lifted trembling fingers to do as he
asked, her moves rough and jerky. The damp cloth fell away from his skin, but she stopped when she reached his belt buckle. Raising her head, she saw through the falling tangle of her hair that he was rubbing a lock of her hair over his skin. The need to see his face was intense. His eyes were closed. The dark, blunt lashes that shadowed his high cheekbones hid his gaze from her, but his lips were parted, and she could see that pleasure had flushed the one cheek that moonlight revealed. With a husky cry she united the ribbon that held her camisole closed.

  But just as the need to see him was intense, so was the desire to touch him. With one finger she traced over the hard muscles that rippled beneath the hot skin of his stomach. He made a low, groaning sound, and she looked at his face. The sudden change made him appear wild, primitive, bringing in turn a tiny whimper of need from her.

  Delaney lifted her hand to his mouth, biting the soft pad of flesh below her thumb and Faith shivered. Fire licked its way from that point being bathed by his tongue up her arm, and her body tautened.

  Releasing her, he speared both hands through her hair, lifting her mouth to his, capturing her lips to take them deep in seconds with a mating that barely hinted of the wildness surging inside him.

  He gave her his hunger with that kiss, and she returned its full measure to him with an explosion that rocked his body. His hands wouldn’t be denied the pleasure of touching her. She was half-lying across his hard thighs, and he swept up her gown and petticoats until the night breeze whispered against her thinly clad legs. He kneaded her thigh, driving his tongue deeper into her mouth, the way he wanted to drive into the sleek hot softness waiting for his throbbing flesh.

  Delaney tore his mouth free. “I can’t wait anymore.” One hard palm slid between her legs, cupping her, stroking her through the slit in cotton drawers, making her burn and him with her. Sweet cries ripped from her, and he stroked the sultry woman heat of her that he needed to touch as much as he needed water to live.

  His body strained as he took as much of her softness as he could, wanting more, much more.

  “Fire, Del,” she whispered, tugging at his shirt, trying to touch his skin.

  She melted around him. Her fingers awkwardly opened his belt buckle, and he had to let her go. He lifted her so she sat astride his lap, his belt whispering open, her fingers blindly unfastening metal buttons while her lips brushed like butterflies across his mouth.

  She wanted him inside her so deep they couldn’t tell where each one began and ended.

  His lips drank the sweetness from her mouth, freely given, and he wanted to slide deep inside her, but he had no control left and he was afraid of hurting her. “Help me, Faith,” he pleaded in a hoarse voice, pressing his lips to her shoulder.

  “If you make me wait, I’ll die.”

  “Faith, I…” His words were lost in an aching cry as her hands slid down to cup the hard, throbbing flesh between his legs. She freed him, caressing him, one fingertip catching up the tiny drop of moisture that escaped before it spilled against hot velvet and within her, tiny explosions built a tension that made her believe she really would die if she didn’t have him soon.

  He pushed the bunched cloth of her gown and petticoats up to her waist and gripped her hips, lifting her. She cried out, pleading want and need until he couldn’t hear anything else. She was poised over his rigid flesh, all heat and open fire for him.

  A moan built into a cry as Faith felt his hard flesh part her. She wanted him deep, fast and hard, but no matter how she twisted, how she implored, he took her by tiny increments. “Fire,” she whispered, closing her eyes, her lips caressing his shoulder.

  Passion’s ancient dance demanded that he seek the hot, soft sheath waiting. He stopped himself from driving into her, knowing that once he was fully gloved inside her, he might never withdraw. He had never felt so much a man, listening to the pleasure he brought to her. Her cries of release went through him like sweet lightning, and he couldn’t stop pressing deeper, then deeper still, for she was tight, and sleek, clinging to him, until time ceased. He felt her flesh pulse, tightening again, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and with a wrenching cry, he pulled her up and away, spilling in an endless release that shuddered through him, longing to share this with her.

  What should have been the aftermath of pleasure so intense that she could not measure it turned into a bittersweet silent war for Faith.

  “Why?” she begged him when she finally found her voice. “Damn you, Delaney! Tell me why?”

  “Babies, Faith,” he snapped with harsh, ragged-edged sounds. He held her still, ignoring her attempt to push him away. She made him feel raw, exposed, and vulnerable having to explain himself. “You were married, duchess. You know how babies happen.”

  Faith struggled to slide her hand between their bodies to touch her stomach. Her palm felt the warmth of her still-trembling body, but the back of her hand was seared by the fire that burned in his.

  Delaney clenched his jaw until his teeth ground together. He could still feel how tightly she had gloved him. He was angry and felt himself somehow cheated by his own act, yet, he had held on to the last shreds of his control to protect her.

  The desire to fight left her, and Faith rested her cheek against his shoulder, holding back the tears that stung her eyes.

  He gathered her closer to him, rocking her gently. The storm of emotion between them seethed like the coil of clouds that covered the moon, leaving them bathed in darkness. He stroked her slender back, feeling the tremors that rippled over her body, burying his own frustration. Nothing had ever felt as good as being locked inside her, feeling her slowly come apart around him, his every pore drinking up the heat of her pleasure like the desert earth soaked up life-giving rain.

  And he was still rigid, still hurting, still wanting her as if he had never had the smallest taste of heaven, only to lose it.

  Hating the tension that gripped his body, Faith kissed the side of his neck. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know you were right. But I still ache, Del. I thought it would stop hurting so, but it didn’t.”

  He closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead against her hair, his hands splayed over her back. “I told you we’d burn each other alive.” He cupped the back of her head to stop her from moving. “Don’t talk. Not one more word. I want you, and this time I won’t think about right and wrong. I won’t stop until I’m inside you so deep—”

  “Yes!” she cried. “Yes. That’s how it should be.”

  “Sweet mercy!” he swore, gripping her tight. “If I touch you again … No!” He lifted and turned her so she was half lying in his arms, kissing her into silence. Now that he knew what waited for him, it was agony not to touch, not to take her heat and softness and fire once more.

  Faith arched her back, gripping his shoulders. She flung her head back as his mouth trailed fire down her throat to the thrusting curves of her breasts. Her fingers worked his hair, pressing him closer, even as he finished opening the last few buttons of her gown, spreading aside the cloth. The night air cooled her flesh as he lowered the sleeves and freed her arms.

  Delaney lifted his head to look at her. The thin white cotton of her camisole strained across her breasts, the moon taking pity and coming out from its cloud cover to reveal the peach-gold of her skin. Her nipples were dark, swollen crests that begged for his mouth, and he lowered his head, brushing his lips from side to side between them. He bathed one crown, feeling her tense as he repeated the caress on its twin.

  “Don’t you like that?” he asked, waiting.

  “Del, don’t make this harder—”

  “Harder, duchess?” he groaned in a bittersweet voice. “Nothing can get harder.”

  Faith felt an embarrassed flush that had nothing to do with passion seething inside. When his breath seeped through the damp cloth, she moaned. When his lips gently closed over one taut peak, she dug her fingers into the muscles of his arms. She felt herself drawn deeper into his mouth, and sweet pleasure
burst inside her. He lifted her up even more, taking her soft flesh deeper still.

  She couldn’t believe anything felt this good, like a hot rain that brought her splendor and pain, running from her breast to her loin, where emptiness made her try to press her legs together. She tried to twist her body closer to him, but he eased his mouth from her.

  “Soon. I promise,” he uttered in a husky voice that was barely a thread of sound. His lips clamped on the other tightly beaded crown, suckling strongly so that she lost her breath and sanity.

  With her lips on the side of his neck, she drank the fine patina of sweat that glistened on his skin, her teeth raking his flesh, her tongue instantly soothing. Her nostrils flared with every breath she drew of the hot, musky scent of his aroused body. She called his name in a voice raw with need.

  She beckoned him. Sliding his hand up under the cloth of her petticoats and gown, he stroked the trembling length of her thigh, brushing lightly against the thin cotton drawers that covered her. He wished there was nothing between them. Nothing but flesh to flesh, heat to heat, hard to soft. His thumb pressed the crease of her leg, opening her leg wider before he found the slit in cotton that clung wetly, then gave way under his gentle strokes.

  He felt her quivering response all the way down to his bones. Hunger, unlike any he had known, prowled his body, clawing at him, and he felt himself tremble in reaction. He eased one finger deeper, savoring the wild shivering he called from her, closing his eyes as the fire and the hot softness of her flesh tightened around him, wanting him, wanting more.