by Nan Ryan
Shanaco raised his head.
“I want,” he said, tangling his fingers in her long red hair, “to make love to you until you think I’ve loved you all I can.” He smiled wickedly and added, “Then I’ll love you just a little bit more.”
She smiled her approval. Shanaco kissed her mouth, and while his lips moved on hers, Maggie felt his impressive erection throbbing insistently against her thigh in tempo with his thrusting tongue. She felt his fingers enclose her wrist and move her hand down to his hard, heavy flesh. He released her hand but continued to kiss her ardently. With an innate knowledge born of passion, Maggie gently enclosed the pulsing shaft and began to gently stroke him.
Shanaco’s lips left hers. He again braced his weight on an elbow and lay on his side. Never releasing her hold on him, Maggie turned over onto her side so she faced him. Gripping him a trifle too firmly, she asked, “Is this the way? Does this feel good?”
“Loosen your hold a little, sweetheart,” he gently instructed.
“Oh, sorry.”
“It’s all right. All right. Now, start at the very base and slide your fingers slowly up.” She complied, watching his face to be sure she wasn’t hurting him. “Now back down again,” he said.
“Like this?” she asked, warming to the exercise.
“Yes,” he praised, “exactly like that.” Soon he was in danger of climaxing. He quickly moved her hand away.
He leaned to her and kissed her. While he kissed her he pressed her back down and fanned his hand across her flat belly. He felt her shiver at his touch. He kept his mouth on hers while he moved his hand steadily lower. Pausing for a second, Shanaco gently raked lean fingers through the fiery coils of her groin, then coaxed her legs apart.
When he touched the slick flesh between, Maggie tore her lips from his and looked at him, her mouth rounding into an O of surprised pleasure. Shanaco smiled. And he continued to caress her. He stroked her with a slow, encompassing touch, his forefinger circling that tiny button of pure sensation, then slipping farther down to the source of wetness to test her level of excitement.
He wanted her to be highly aroused, but he didn’t want her to climax. Not just yet. He wanted their first orgasm to be a shared one that would never be forgotten by either of them. So he teased and toyed with her, thrilling her, readying her for the act of total lovemaking.
Judging the intensity of her arousal—she was almost ready but not quite—Shanaco took his hand from her, stretched out on his back and drew her over to lie atop him. For the next few minutes he allowed the sexually awakened and healthily curious Maggie to acquaint herself fully with his body.
She loved it.
Careful to avoid the worst of the many bruises and broken skin decorating his flesh, Maggie squirmed and trembled and rubbed herself against him while Shanaco held her in his arms and told her of all the forbidden sexual pleasures they were going to share.
Maggie hardly knew when they changed positions. But soon she found herself on her back with Shanaco atop her. His handsome chiseled face and wide sculpted shoulders loomed above, the dying firelight casting shadows on his high cheekbones and passion-hardened mouth.
Shanaco kissed her, and as he kissed her he gently nudged her legs wider apart with his knee. He moved his slim hips between her open thighs and carefully positioned himself so that the smooth tip of his erection was cradled in the red coils, lightly touching her slick, swollen female flesh.
Maggie closed her eyes in expectation of his penetration.
“Look at me,” he said softly. “Open your eyes, Maggie.”
Maggie wordlessly obeyed. She looked directly into his molten-silver eyes and shivered. While they gazed at each other, Shanaco again took her hand, drew it down between their bodies and wrapped it around his aching erection. He moved his hand up to her face and cupped her fever-hot cheek.
“Take me, Maggie. Make me yours. Love me, sweetheart.”
“I will,” she whispered, and while he obligingly slid down into position, she guided him up into her, ignoring the brief discomfort, longing to have him become a part of her.
His penetration was careful and leisurely, his only concern that he might hurt her. When he was fully inside her, Shanaco sighed with elation and kissed Maggie. For a time he lay perfectly still, not daring to move until her tensed body began to relax and more comfortably accept him. Only then did he cautiously begin the deep, rhythmic thrusting. Slow and easy until Maggie stopped grimacing, wrapped her arms around his neck and began to lift her pelvis, eagerly accepting him, loving the feel of him moving inside her.
Shanaco was so hot for this flamed-haired beauty he could hardly keep from climaxing immediately. He closed his eyes so that he wouldn’t be looking at her glowing face, her passion-clouded eyes.
But Maggie wouldn’t allow it.
“Open your eyes, Shanaco,” she said softly, repeating the request he had made to her only moments ago. “Look at me while you love me.”
Shanaco opened his eyes. “Maggie, Maggie,” he groaned, and realized that he didn’t have to hold back any longer. Like him, she was on the verge of release. Shanaco’s thrusts grew faster and deeper. Maggie moved with him, her body burning hot, her heart racing.
Maggie cried out his name and desperately clung to Shanaco as she felt herself losing control. She found herself being swept away on a rising tide of carnal pleasure that was threatening to drown her. The joy was too great; the feelings too intense.
She could no longer stand it!
All at once the spiraling sensation of ecstasy was so intense she bit Shanaco’s shoulder viciously. And then that sweet explosion washed over her and she knew that Shanaco was climaxing with her. It was joyous, wonderful, total bliss. All she’d ever dreamed of and more. Her arms around his neck, her breath coming in quick, shallow pants, Maggie hugged Shanaco to her and kept her legs wrapped tightly around him.
“Don’t move for a while,” she whispered against his sweat-dampened jaw.
“I couldn’t if I wanted to,” he said truthfully.
Maggie smiled, nodded and finally let her weak arms and legs fall away. She sighed with contentment, feeling every muscle in her sated body slacken and relax.
At last Shanaco raised his head, smiled, kissed her, slid out of her and fell tiredly over onto his back. For a long, silent time they lay there on their backs, holding hands, allowing their breathing to return to normal, their heartbeats to slow.
It was Maggie who spoke first. Without moving, she said, “We’ve been unwise. You’re badly hurt and we shouldn’t have…we behaved foolishly.”
“Could be,” he said with a lazy grin.
“Undoubtedly.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“Absolutely.”
“There’s only one thing I’m sure of.”
“What’s that?”
“That we are going to behave foolishly again before this night is over.”
Thirty-One
Maggie laughed and assured Shanaco that he was wrong. They would not behave foolishly again before the night was over.
But a couple of hours later she got back into the bed with him. During the time she’d been up she had allowed Pistol back inside to get warm. She had fed the hungry wolfhound, then fixed a meal of sorts for Shanaco and herself.
After the dishes were cleared away she had built up the fire, heated water atop the cookstove and announced that she was giving him a much-needed bath.
Shanaco didn’t argue. Nor did he object when she tossed the covers to the foot of the bed and went to work in a no-nonsense manner, nurse to patient.
Fully clothed, Maggie began to carefully bathe Shanaco’s lean body, taking care not to hurt him, frowning at the sight of the many bruises and abrasions marring his bronzed skin. Shanaco sighed and stretched and loved every minute of it. And inevitably, the bed bath became more of a sensual exercise in pleasure than a simple cleansing of the flesh.
Maggie gently stroked him with the damp cloth, ru
nning it lightly over his wide shoulders, the hard planes of his chest, and down his flat belly. She felt her face grow warm when she maneuvered the cloth down the insides of his thighs, the back of her hand brushing against his groin. Causing it to stir.
“There,” she said at last, “all done.”
She dropped the cloth and hurriedly blotted the moisture from his body with a large, thirsty towel. Then she placed fresh bandages on the worst of his cuts and bruises.
“Think you can get up? Walk to the sofa if I help you?”
“I’ll try.”
Maggie helped him sit up and swing his long legs to the floor. She saw him grimace and wondered how on earth he had been able to make love to her. She shouldn’t have let him. She draped a blanket around his shoulders and assisted him as he slowly crossed to the horsehide sofa.
When she was sure he was comfortable, she stripped the soiled linens from the bed and put on clean sheets and pillowcases. She fluffed up the pillows and smoothed the blanket taut. Then helped Shanaco back to the nice clean bed and, over his protest, quickly turned away.
Maggie heated more water, brought in the wooden tub from outside the back door, set it before the fire and filled it. She again let Pistol out, locked the door and began stripping off her clothes.
Watching from the bed, Shanaco swallowed hard when, naked and beautiful, her glorious hair pinned up atop her head, she stepped into the tub. She took a long, leisurely bath that Shanaco enjoyed as much as she. Maggie hummed as she raised a wet washcloth to her throat and let it slide slowly down to her breasts. She knew Shanaco was watching, but she didn’t mind. It was thrilling to feel his eyes resting on her, examining her, admiring her.
The bath finished, Maggie rose regally from the tub, her slender body gleaming wet. The flickering firelight licked at her pale thighs and high breasts and set her red hair ablaze. Diamond droplets of water clung to her pointed nipples and to the flaming curls of her groin.
Shanaco stared in awe, knowing instinctively that this vision of Maggie would be indelibly stamped on his brain for the rest of his life. Long after they had parted, he would remember exactly how she had looked on this cold snowy night.
He watched bewitched as she toweled herself dry, each move of her lithe body inherently provocative. He smiled as she slipped a long white nightgown over her head but did not fasten it up the front. The gown was undone to her waist. Finally she came to join him.
Maggie stood beside the bed and looked at Shanaco. He was propped against the pillows. The covers rested around his waist. His taut muscles gleamed in the shadowy firelight. His raven hair was tied back and his penetrating eyes smoldered with desire.
Just looking at him made her long to be in his arms. But it would be, Maggie knew, totally irresponsible for the two of them to make love again. Once had been foolhardy enough. She had to remember that Shanaco had been badly hurt. Was badly hurt. He was suffering the lasting effects of a vicious beating. His handsome face and exquisite body were covered with wounds and bruises. She was supposed to be caring for him, not allowing him to further injure himself.
“Come to bed, sweetheart,” Shanaco said softly, his hand outstretched to her.
“I will,” she said, “but only if you understand that we can’t…”
The sentence was never finished. Shanaco reached out, caught hold her gown and reeled her closer. He released the gown, clasped her wrist and drew her hand up to his mouth.
He kissed the warm palm and said against it, “Maggie, if you’ll get into bed with me, I swear you won’t have to make love to me.”
Skeptical, Maggie sank down onto the edge of the mattress facing him. She laid a warm hand on his smooth chest.
“You mean it?” she asked. Shanaco smiled and nodded. “Very well,” she said. “We’ll just talk awhile then go to sleep. Lord knows we both could use the rest.”
Maggie rose to her feet, turned back the covers and got into bed. Her head had hardly touched the pillow before Shanaco’s lean fingers were stroking her throat and sliding beneath the gown’s fabric to caress a soft, warm breast.
“Shanaco,” she said, beginning to scold him, but his mouth quickly claimed hers in a scorching kiss.
His lips taunted hers with kisses; gentle, teasing, then hotly demanding, his tongue ran along the inside of her bottom lip before plunging between her teeth to probe the sensitive insides of her mouth.
Maggie moaned and Shanaco’s lips finally lifted to hover just above hers.
“You swore,” she reminded him, already lost, wanting more of his kisses, more of him. “Remember?”
“I swore that you wouldn’t have to make love to me,” he said, his breath fanning her face. “And you won’t. I will make love to you.” He lifted a hand, plucked the pins from her hair and watched it spill onto the pillow. He reached across her, laid the pins on the bureau.
“But you’re not able to…to…aah,” she breathed as his lips touched her throat.
Shanaco whispered words of love in a mixture of English and Comanche as he nudged the open nightgown apart with his hot face and his mouth moved down to capture a stiffening nipple. He teased and toyed with the nipple, rolling it on his tongue, nipping gently with his teeth. He sucked at it until it was achingly erect, then moved to the other nipple.
Her back arching, her heart pounding, Maggie could feel her thighs eagerly opening to him as Shanaco deftly moved between her legs, eased the gown up out of his way and pressed a kiss to her navel. When he probed the small indentation with the tip of his tongue, Maggie anxiously lifted her arms up over her head and wrapped her hands around the rungs of the iron bedstead.
Shanaco’s tongue sensuously circled her navel, then slipped lower to lick at the baby-fine line of pale red hair leading down her belly. Maggie knew instinctively what he was going to do to her.
She was shocked.
She was powerless to stop him.
She no longer belonged to herself, but to him. She existed only for passion; was but a burning vessel of desire.
Maggie’s fingers tightened on the iron rungs of the bedstead as Shanaco gripped her hips and his burning lips pressed soft kisses down her bare belly, moving steadily lower. Maggie moaned and her head tossed from side to side on the pillow when his mouth reached the springy coils between her thighs.
She gasped and her pelvis surged upward when his tongue parted the curls, then touched her where she burned the most. Maggie clung to the iron rungs and allowed Shanaco to lift her legs up over his shoulders. She grew dizzy and weak with pleasure as his mouth mastered her totally, his lips enclosing her, his tongue plunging, stroking, licking her with the heat of a thousand suns.
Wave after wave of unequaled pleasure washed over Maggie until she was sure she would literally burst into flame. The ecstasy built and built as his torturing tongue slipped lower still and she felt it go inside her. She gasped and arched and pushed herself up against that fiery tongue, knowing that a helpless scream was forming in the back of her throat.
But just before the coming explosion, Shanaco abruptly took his mouth from her.
Maggie whimpered her protest and her hands left the rungs of the bedstead. Frantically she reached for him, tried to pull him back into place as his lips moved down the insides of her open thighs.
Then all at once he was above her, his handsome face inches from her own. She smelled herself on him, her scent mixing with his. He kissed her and she tasted herself on his mouth. But while he kissed her, Shanaco slowly—so that she would feel every hot inch of his throbbing erection—came into her, filling her, stretching her, conquering her.
His lips released hers. He raised his head. He stared down at her with those mesmerizing silver eyes. He began the slow, rhythmic thrusting, the surging of his lean hips. Maggie sighed with sexual joy and began to lift her pelvis to meet each dazzling thrust.
Her hands again moved up to grip the bedstead’s iron rungs, and she whispered his name over and over as smoothly, unhurriedly Shanaco took h
er closer and closer to total bliss. He carefully kept his own rising passion in check to prolong her pleasure.
Consumed with raging desire, Maggie selfishly forgot that Shanaco’s body was battered. Didn’t care that the handsome face above her own was bruised. She wasn’t worried that their actions might further injure him—nothing mattered except what he was doing to her at this moment in time.
She gloried in the luscious loving, bucking eagerly against him, squeezing him possessively with her thighs, wanting to have him stay buried deep inside her for all eternity.
Perfectly gauging the level of her building excitement, Shanaco continued, for a time, to languidly love her, setting a slow, sensual pace, gliding in and then almost out, making her hotter and hotter.
Until her hands left the bedstead, clutched at his shoulders and she began to beg him.
“Shanaco, Shanaco,” she murmured, suddenly terrified that these wonderful sensations she was feeling would leave her. That he would leave her. That she would be left like this, suspended, yearning, hurting.
“I know, sweetheart,” Shanaco soothed, and speeded his movements, thrusting faster, plunging deeper, driving into her with the full force of his unleashed passion. He knew the exact second that her climax started.
“Oh, oh yes, yes,” she cried as the elation quickly spiraled out of control and she felt as if she could stand it no longer.
And then that wondrous explosion, that wrenching ecstasy, that total abandon. Her hands were back on the iron rungs and she held on for dear life. She screamed out as she was buffeted by a joy so intense it was almost painful. She looked at Shanaco’s face, hardened now with passion as his own release came. She could feel him throbbing powerfully inside her, knew that his ecstasy matched her own.
The wayward thought came to her that his strong male body was like a fierce volcano, erupting now with pent-up heat, the hot lava of love shooting high up into her.
“Darling,” she sighed when at last the storm had passed and they were both limp with satisfaction, their bodies still joined, hearts beating as one.
