His mind swam with the wonder of her, and his body shuddered uncontrollably as she sucked him deeper into ecstasy. It was a gentle motion, tentative, almost shy, but enough to drive a man over the edge of reason.
Meg felt the last of her strength flee her legs as the taste of him filled her senses. Her knees wobbled, and she leaned helplessly into his hard lean length.
His arm held her in place, even as he stole the last of her breath. Tristan tore his mouth from the seduction of hers and sucked air into starving lungs, waiting for the room to steady itself before he dared move her to the bed. He knew he didn't have the strength to walk the few feet it would take. He'd never known a need like this before. A pulse hammered in his throat, almost stealing his ability to breathe. "Gypsy, my God," he groaned, his mouth against the crown of her head. "What are you doing to me?"
Meg was lost in a fog of erotic sensations. She never heard his question. She wouldn't have known what he meant if she had. Meg had never tasted passion before. This was all new to her. New and exciting and wonderful.
She never knew that her lips burrowed into the strong line of his throat, knowing only that he tasted of salt and delicious man. She was not aware her fingers tugged at his shirt and did not hear her soft cry of frustration as material refused to part, thereby preventing further exploration.
"Easy, love," he said, feeling her tremble and realizing her need was at least as great as his own. His heart thundered in his chest at the passion he glimpsed, and he tried desperately to bring himself under control lest this coming together be finished almost before it began.
His fingers shook now as they moved to her waist and disposed of the knot that held her petticoats in place. The three frilly garments fell to join her dress at her feet, and then he was lifting her into his arms. Tristan staggered even at her light weight, almost falling as he forced his legs to carry them to the bed.
His mind in a fog of desire, he propped her upon two pillows as he set himself before her on his knees and ready to enjoy the feast her body offered. His mouth touched her lips briefly but didn't lead him astray. There was more for him to discover, much more, and he had to see to this need before it was too late.
His mouth grazed her neck, his tongue sweeping her taste and scent into his body, claiming it for his own. He smiled as she arched sweetly for his pleasure, for both their pleasure, and ran his tongue, hot and wet, over all he could.
Her breasts were full, deliciously firm. He gloried in the feel of her, kneading her flesh, circling the tips until she despaired of his ever touching her the way she wanted. And then he did. And Meg cried out in agony as he took her deep into scalding heat.
His cheeks hollowed as he sucked and then bit and then ran his tongue over her supposed injury.
Meg, so lost in the ecstasy of his mouth, never realized his boots were kicked from his feet. She didn't notice that he almost tore his shirt from his shoulders and that his belt lay open, the heavy metal against her belly.
Her hands roamed freely over his shoulders, down his back as far as she could reach, and then around his lean frame to weave her fingers through a muscled hair-covered chest.
"No!" he said as he gathered her hands in his. He gasped for breath, knowing he was dangerously close to losing every ounce of his control. "Don't touch me."
Meg raised her gaze to meet his fiery dark eyes and read in their depths a helpless yearning as deep as her own. "Let me," she whispered throatily.
"I can't," he returned, his voice hardly more than a choked whisper. "If you touch me, I won't be able to . . ?
Meg came to a sitting position. Her eyes glazed with passion, her lips swollen from the hunger of his kisses, she brushed her mouth deliciously upon his as she pleaded her cause. "I need to touch you," she said softly. "I need it so much."
"My God," he groaned as he took her mouth with devastating fury. He ate at her like a man wild for sustenance. His fingers delved deep into her hair, capturing, pulling, unable to get enough of her taste.
Lacy drawers were torn in an effort to slide them down her legs, even as he struggled to rid himself of his trousers. His hand slid between their bodies and then down, over her rounded belly, to the juncture of her thighs.
Meg stiffened, momentarily surprised at his intimate touch, then felt her alarm almost instantly waning as she was once again taken to the edge of ecstasy, lost in the frenzy of his kiss.
He groaned, his body nearly exploding at the heated moisture he found there. His fingers parting her flesh, he positioned himself between her legs.
His heart thundered with anticipation. It had never been like this before. Never had he known such yearning. Never had his need been so great.
His breath was hot and heavy against her face as he took her hips in his hands and guided her body toward his. At the threshold of heaven he took a deep breath, desperately trying to clear his mind, to gain a glimmer of control. He knew he couldn't make it good for her if he didn't. He had to find a way.
Tristan found it in the most unlikely place of all.
He made a sound deep in his throat as his mouth found hers and his body eased gently into the warmth of her. Arms, legs, and belly trembled even as he forced a calmness he was far from feeling. He tore his mouth away and took huge gasping breaths. She was so small. Smaller than she should have been. The thought came to mind that he might hurt her. Feeling the obstruction, he knew the reason why.
His eyes widened with surprise. How could this be? A Gypsy? A woman who looked like her? Who danced with a sensuality that called for a man to come to her and take what he would in her arms? He couldn't fathom the possibility and then his mind seemed to shut down. He couldn't think at all as his body took over.
He heard her startled cry of pain as he forced his body beyond the slight barrier. His arms trembled as he held himself above her and looked into eyes that glistened with tears of surprise and pain. On his elbows he cupped her lovely face in his hands and soothed the ache away with softly spoken words and tender kisses. "Meggie, I'm sorry," he said against her mouth, for the first time calling her by her Christian name. "I know that hurt, sweetheart, but it never will again."
Tristan watched her eyes and knew a naked innocence for the first time. Why hadn't he seen it before? Why hadn't he realized that her sometimes innocent expressions were not meant to taunt him to madness? He sighed as guilt plagued him. She'd been an innocent, and he had taken her from her people by force. He had treated her callously. How had he dared?
Anger slowly overcame intense guilt as his conscience sought a reasonable excuse for his actions. He'd dared because of a dance that had driven him wild with need, he reasoned. He'd dared because of kisses willingly shared in the moonlight. Because of touches permitted. Tristan tried to rationalize away his guilt and swore what had happened wasn't his fault alone.
But it was. She had been an innocent, ignorant of the intimacies between a man and a woman. He should have known better. Tristan mentally shrugged away the guilt. This remorse was wasted. What was done, was done. It was too late now to go back.
For a moment he marveled that a woman so sensuous could have remained pure and untouched. What would she be like once she learned what he could show her? God, the thought boggled the mind.
He smiled into black sparkling eyes. That he was her first filled him with overflowing gratitude. He hadn't allowed himself to think how important this was. How very much he needed to be her first. Suddenly he knew even that wasn't enough. He wanted to be more than her first. He wanted to be her last.
Chapter Nine
Tristan lay heavily upon her, waiting for her body to soften, to accept him. The trouble was, she wasn't getting softer. She was getting stiffer by the minute.
"Get off me," she said, her eyes bright with tears and rage.
Tristan smiled. "It's too late, Meg. Nothing can stop my loving you."
She pushed at his shoulders and warned, "I'll scream."
Tristan smiled at her threat. "And let my c
rew know what's happening here?"
"I'm going to kill you," she gasped, struggling to throw him off, her arms pushing against his chest with all her strength.
Tristan easily subdued her struggles by gathering her hands in his and holding them over her head. Gently he touched his finger to her softly swollen lips and smiled into flashing black eyes. "You're adorable. Do you know that?"
The threat of tears grew along with her frustration. Why did he have to be so big? Lord, she couldn't budge him an inch. Meg couldn't imagine a man bigger, heavier, handsomer. . . . Meg forced back her gasp of shock. Handsome? Why in the world had she thought that? This man wasn't handsome. Her gaze moved over his even features and dark hair. All right, perhaps he was attractive, but that fact had no bearing on the monstrous thing he was doing. Her words were choppy with exertion as she continued her struggles. "The first chance I get, I'm going to put a bullet in your back and throw you overboard."
Tristan grinned at her bloodthirsty threat. "You get me all excited when you talk like that." The slight movement of his hips emphasized the fact that he was already excited.
His obvious good humor did little toward easing her anger. Meg shot him a dark look of censure and bucked her hips. "You beast."
Tristan groaned at the movement. She couldn't know how good that felt. "You delicious vixen."
"I hate you," she said in desperation. Something terrible was happening here. She didn't know what exactly. Confusion filled her, for she no longer knew a desperate, almost hysterical need to get away.
"I'm mad about you," he said as his mouth began a torturous teasing of its own.
"You're mad, period," she said, but the words were spoken into his mouth and they were softer than might be expected.
She moaned as his tongue again sampled her sweetness and her body grew weak. Floating, against every rational thought, she welcomed again that indescribable ache, that secret longing that filled her belly to overflowing. "Stop," she murmured even as her mouth widened, eager for more of this pleasure, this rapture. He was taking her will, and she couldn't find the strength to stop him.
"Soft," he whispered as his mouth showed hers what true pleasure meant. His lips tingled across hers. Back and forth, again and again they moved until she was lost in the need for him to complete the kiss. "So incredibly soft," he said as he released her hands and took her mouth for his own.
He'd never known anything like it. No mouth could be as delicious, as clean, as sweet. There were no lips as soft, as pliant, as giving.
His hands cupped her face as he kissed her deeply, robbing her mind of its will. Gently he began to ease his body from hers only to press against her again more deeply than ever.
Meg groaned at the sensation that seeped slowly throughout the lower part of her body. It held her enraptured, robbing her of will and strength, and all she could think about was her wild, desperate need for more.
The ache, unknown to her till now, came as a tightening, a discomfort, a longing for something she couldn't name or explain. What was happening? How could she suffer even as this feeling grew to near bliss? She tried to think but soon realized the impossibility as he touched and kissed her. And then it came to her. She couldn't think because she didn't want to. All she wanted was to further explore this feral, almost depraved need for more.
She was gasping for her breath by the time his lips slid from hers. Meg stirred restlessly beneath him, and Tristan smiled into eyes glazed with passion. "Do you like that?"
"What?" she asked dreamily, not knowing or caring what he was talking about.
"This," he said as he pressed closer, harder into her, and then smiled as her mouth opened,wordlessly as her body accepted still more of him. "You do like that, don't you."
Despite the fact that Meg was nearly mindless with feeling, she'd have had to have been blind to have missed the glow of confidence in this man's eyes. He was entirely too sure of himself. Far too cocky.
It took some doing, but she managed to gain control of her emotions. She never thought to escape his hold, but wantonly raising her hips to his, she answered the surprise in his eyes with a wicked smile. Her intent was to show him he had not the effect he imagined on her, but something went wrong. Her body felt suddenly thick, aching with the most exquisite pleasure. It just about killed her, but Meg managed to keep a guttural cry of ecstasy from her lips as her body accepted all of him. "This?" Her heart raced madly. "Do you mean this?"
Tristan muttered a low curse and then groaned an aching, "Sweet Jesus," as he rolled to his back, taking her with him and guiding her into a position where she straddled his hips. She was killing him. He had no hope to live through this torture.
Dizzy from the quick movement, Meg nevertheless took the opportunity offered and lowered her lips to his throat. She had learned quickly what could be done with a mouth. She knew how it felt when his lips and tongue moved over her sensitive flesh. Would he suffer the same when so tortured? Would he be driven wild with a feathery flick of a tongue, with the warm suction of hungry kisses?
His hands reached for her breasts, cupping her softness, his fingers gently twisting the tips to hard nubs of pleasure. "You're killing me," he said, his voice tight with the need to lose his body in hers forever.
Meg never heard his low moan. Her mouth was busy as it worked a delicious path down a hard, muscled body. She had almost reached his stomach when he shuddered and swung her dizzily beneath him. "Later," he gasped, as he moved hard into her heat.
She groaned with obvious pleasure, and he moved harder, faster, until their breathing ceased and hearts thundered and they were little more than hungry beasts straining for the ecstasy found only in each other.
He heard her cry and knew from the look in her eyes she was afraid.
She felt nameless longing hovering about the edges of her sanity, threatening to take her into its clutches and send her into a void where nothing would ever matter again.
Her back arched, and a low, guttural moan escaped lips pulled tightly into a grimace of pain. She couldn't bear much more. She couldn't bear it and live.
"Don't be afraid," he said. "Let go. You won't be sorry." Her mouth opened and closed in a silent gasp for help. And then it came, the cry that was torn from her soul as the rapture broke over her and threatened her very sanity.
Quickly he took her mouth to muffle the sound. He felt the convulsive movement deep inside and held her tightly as the glorious spasms squeezed his blood-engorged flesh, holding him tighter and then loose and then tighter again until he thought he'd surely die from pleasure this great. He groaned, holding back no longer. With his mouth on hers still, he shuddered just as she had and knew for the first time in his life what it was to fly above all earthly things.
He lay heavily upon her, his breathing ragged, knowing an exhaustion unlike anything he'd ever suffered before. God, he'd known this would be good, but he'd never suspected, never hoped for this.
Taking her with him, he groaned as he rolled to his side. His arms were shaking, and he knew he hadn't the strength to come to his feet. He couldn't believe it. What had she done to him? What mystery did she hold, what power did she possess to cause a man to lose everything once in her arms?
Meg lay perfectly still. It took her a long moment to realize what had happened. Actually, she didn't know what had happened, except for the fact that it had happened in this man's arms. She felt shamed.
Deeply, horribly shamed. Not only for what he'd done to her but for her wild response to this villain, for her silent plea for more. It shouldn't have felt this good. Somehow she knew it wasn't supposed to be this good.
Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps all men and women suffered this beauty, this enchantment upon coming together. Meg shook her head. No. If that were true then women wouldn't whisper of the horrors of the bedroom. Brides wouldn't shiver in terror of their wedding night. No, all didn't suffer this pleasure. Something was wrong here. Something was terribly wrong.
Meg rolled to her back and
began to inch herself from his side. She had to move away. She had to think, to come to an understanding of what had happened and why.
He reached for her again. "Where do you think you're going?"
Meg pushed him aside. "I'm getting up. Do you mind?" It was amazing how easily the wretched man moved now. Now that he'd accomplished what he'd set out to do. Meg vowed her day would come. This man would suffer for this unspeakable crime. Had she a weapon she'd use it now. Had she a weapon, she wouldn't wait the three weeks to see this man suffer.
Tristan chuckled as he reached a lazy arm around her waist and pulled her back against him. "As a matter of fact, I do. I mind very much." He breathed a deep sigh of contentment as he snuggled her against him. "Now isn't this comfortable?"
Meg lay stiffly in his embrace. She cursed an involuntary chill as his warm breath touched the side of her neck. "I hate you."
Tristan laughed softly as he nuzzled her ear. "Love talk. Isn't it wonderful?"
"Let me go." She tried to squirm away.
"No. I like the way you feel against me," he said, his arm heavy around her waist as he held her to him. "Damn, my heart won't stop pounding." His hand moved just enough. "Yours won't either. I knew our coming together would be like this. Tell me you're happy we did not wait."
"I'm delighted," she snarled sarcastically. Tristan grinned and pulled her rounded rump tightly against the curve of his body while his fingers reached for her breast. He played with the tip until it grew hard against his palm. She wiggled her behind against him, trying to create some room between them.
He smiled, knowing the movement, innocent in its intent was doing things to his body. Things he couldn't help. Things he didn't want to help. He wanted her again. And if she didn't stop trying to get away, he was likely to take her, despite the fact that this was new to her and she'd apt to be sore. He teased, "This is your first time with a man, Gypsy. Try to control yourself. If we do it again, it will hurt you."
Sweet Seduction hmtl Page 13
