As his lips moved over her face, leaving a moist trail, she clutched at his bare shoulders, her fingers hardly denting the iron-hard muscle under the smooth flesh. Without quite knowing how it happened, she found herself molded firmly against his body, felt the solid thickness of his sex against her belly.
And it was good! It was right!
The heat in her belly spread, lower, warming her thighs, setting the secret core of her aflame. She felt swollen, ready for...for..."William," she gasped. "Oh, William, I feel--"
Once more he took her mouth, but not gentle this time. He devoured, sinking his tongue deep inside, sucking her lower lip, licking behind her teeth. His hands, gentle until now, grew bold and determined, molding her shoulders, girdling her waist, clutching at her dress and working it upwards along her body.
The cool morning air on her thighs surprised her. "Wait!" she cried, catching at his hand. "Please."
Immediately he froze, drew his head back.
The look in his dark eyes nearly broke her heart.
"No! I didn't mean...Oh. William, all I wanted to do was help."
She rose to her knees, bending so that her head barely brushed the lowest branches. Quickly she untied the laces at her neck. Taking the fringed edge of her long dress in her hands, she started to pull it upwards.
But he stopped her. "You's in too much of a hurry," he said, his voice hoarse and shaking. "We got all day."
Chapter Thirteen
They rose then, and ate, although Flower found the roast venison left from their supper tough and tasteless. She chewed on shriveled currants, enjoying their small sweetness, and nibbled at a piece of the hard, unleavened bread she had made from the last of their flour.
William seemed almost as lacking in appetite. She felt his gaze whenever he was nearby, and wherever it touched, it burned. Their chores seemed to take forever this morning. The strips of meat were still far from dried, so William went in search of more firewood. Beowulf disappeared shortly afterward, and she supposed he had gone hunting as he usually did in the mornings.
The camp tidied, Flower looked around for something else to occupy her time until William returned. She did not allow herself to think of what they would do with the rest of the day. Yet not thinking of it was almost impossible. Her skin tingled, her lips felt bruised and tender. And the ache, low in her belly, radiating into the tops of her thighs, reminded her that they had left something unfinished. Something important.
I want him! I never thought I would want a man, but I want William. The realization that she could still desire a man gave her great joy, for it meant that marriage was possible for her. And children.
Oh, how she wanted children of her body, to fill her empty arms, to occupy her lonely heart.
Smoothing her hands down her dress, she wondered why she felt so different when William did the same thing. His hands are bigger, stronger, but that is not what makes the difference. That is within. Once more she felt a surge of heat infusing her entire body.
How I wish I could go to him innocent. He is such a good man. But I could never forget that he was there--that he knows.
Forcing her thoughts away from her emotional confusion, she dug into her pack and pulled out the dress and petticoat. Way down at the bottom, she found the small scrap of lilac-scented soap Hattie had forgotten at her father's cabin. She had never used it, although she had sometimes held it in her hand and inhaled its sweet odor during the long, dark winter days just past.
On the way to the river, she thought back to that brief spell before the renegades had destroyed her. It had been one of the happiest of her adult life. Emmet and Hattie had made her feel a part of their family, Silas had been like a younger brother, and William...well, she had seen the warmth in his gaze, had cherished it like the new and tentative devotion it was.
There was time, she believed then, for it to grow and ripen.
After the renegades came, there was no more time for love. They took more than her innocence. They stole her future.
The eddy at the river's edge formed a pool perhaps six feet across. The steep bank behind it suggested that a tree had once grown there, and had toppled into the river during spring floods. Although the small pool was shaded for much of the day, now, in the early afternoon, it received full sun. Flower hung her buckskin dress and leggings on a sagebrush and waded into the water, shivering when she felt its chill. Clenching her teeth, she sat, armpit deep, and waited for the shivering to stop.
The scrap of soap had nearly disappeared when her hair and body were clean to her satisfaction. Carefully she laid it on a rock, then leaned back until only her face and toes were out of the water. Eyes closed, she let the summer sun lull her into almost total relaxation, as she half-floated in perfect comfort.
Perhaps she slept. Perhaps not, but she felt totally at peace.
The voice startled her, harsh and strained. "Consarn it, woman! You like to scairt me to death."
In her hurry, she lost her precarious balance and went under. Spluttering, spitting, she pushed herself upright and glared at William where he stood on the bank. "You surprised me," she said, shaking the water from her short hair. "I did not hear you coming."
"I hollered. When you wasn't at the camp, I hollered to beat the band." He squatted at the water's edge. "When you didn't answer, I reckoned you was hiding, so I got real quiet, wantin' to see what you was hidin' from."
Instantly contrite, she reached a wet hand toward him. "Oh, William, I am sorry. I would have left a note, but -- " She hesitated, not wanting to shame him.
"You coulda' scratched it in the dirt. I'd have seen it."
"But -- "
"I can't read good like you do, but I knows...know my letters. Hattie taught me, last fall."
Now she was shamed. "I did not know. You never told me."
His shrug showed her he was hurt but trying to hide it. "It don't matter. I reckon most folks don't 'spect a big Nigra buck to read or write." He picked up a twig and scratched in the sandy riverbank. "I can't write good yet, but I knows my name." Another series of scratches. "And yours."
She leaned forward, but could not see what he had written. "Turn your back," she said, "so I can get out."
His eyes gleamed, but he did as she asked.
Quickly she shook the worst of the water from her body, then used the petticoat to dry herself. In this heat, the linen would not be damp long. Both garments fit almost snugly at the waist, telling her she had gained weight since leaving Grande Ronde. About time, too. I had become little better than a dry stick. Her breasts, which had looked shriveled in early spring, now were full and proud on her chest. Her belly was rounded and firm, rather than a hollow between her hipbones. How I wish I had a mirror. The water in the eddy was constantly in motion, so that her reflection showed nothing but pale eyes in a tanned face, surrounded by a crown of black hair. The tiny buttons closing the bodice resisted her efforts, but at last she had all twelve of them forced into their buttonholes.
Once dressed, she bent to look at what William had scratched in the sand.
Crooked letters, but readable. William King.
And underneath, Flower Jones.
"I did not know your name was King."
He turned, smiled down at her. "It is now. Hattie and me, we had lots of time to talk last fall. She told me I needed two names, now that I'm a free man and a landholder. So since I come out here lookin' for my place to be king, that's what I named myself."
Biting her lip. Flower swallowed past the lump in her throat.
"You smell good." His voice was low and husky. "Good as you look."
When she looked up into his face, she could read desire there, desire as she had seen on many faces. But on his it was sweet and loving. There was no demand. Only patience holding his man's hunger in check.
The surge of answering longing took Flower by surprise. Her heart grew icy at the very thought of a man's body ramming into hers, of his arms holding her helpless, his hungry mouth sucking a
nd biting at her breasts. But she knew, as surely as she knew her own name, that if she did not make love with William--now, today--she might never be able to let any man lay hands on her.
Without touching him, without stepping nearer, she spoke. "It is time." There is no going back now.
For an instant hunger blazed in his face, then was masked. Only his eyes showed that he understood what she said. "Now?" The word came out as a croak.
"Now." She stepped past him and walked up the path toward their campsite. Once there she paused, looking back over her shoulder. He was right behind her, his moccasined feet soundless on the soft dirt of the narrow trail.
Then he was next to her, his arms around her body, his lips delicately questing along her hairline. "Anytime you gets scairt, you let me know and I'll stop."
A tiny nip on her earlobe. Hot breath drying the trace of moisture. Shivers rippled up her spine, but not from cold. His hands flattened on her midriff, were still for a long moment. Then his thumbs brushed across the peaks of her breasts, so lightly she wasn't sure if she had felt their pressure or the whisper of their passing. In the next instant she had no doubt, for this time they pressed lightly, teased through the sturdy calico of the bodice until her nipples were turgid and aching.
Again and again his thumbs brushed the sensitive tissue, until she thought she would scream with the need for...what? Flower caught at his wrists, pulled his hands higher until they cupped her breasts. "Please," she gasped. "I need...oh, please!"
"Ah, woman, you is the sweetest thing ever made," he said into her ear. His arms tightened. His sex was hard against her bottom, and she twisted back and forth, rubbing herself against him.
Releasing his wrists, she fumbled with the bodice buttons, wondering why any woman would choose to wear a garment so difficult to get into and out of. Perhaps that is why Marie gave me the dress, she realized, amused. Auguste must have tired of struggling with the buttons.
The last buttonhole released its captive and her bodice fell open. William slipped his hand inside, gently touched her.
Air hissed between Flower's teeth as she felt his touch like a burning brand. As his fingers stroked over the sensitized skin, she fought to keep her knees straight, for her legs felt as if they had lost all strength, all rigidity. And then she was swinging through the air, caught close against his chest, as William carried her up the slight rise to the spreading cedar sheltering their beds.
Going to his knees, he lowered her gently onto the bed closest to the canopy edge. She lay there, looking up at him. His dark face was shadowed and mysterious, here where the summer sun could not penetrate. Then the white gleam of his teeth shone in a wide smile. "I reckon we needs a bigger bed. This'un ain't gonna hold us both."
No, it would not, for it was no wider than a single blanket folded endwise. "I will -- "
"You ain't doin' nothin'. I'll just pull that other pile of cedar over here and spread the blankets. Then we'll have us a fine bed." He leaned across, suited action to words. Soon the two mounds of cedar were side by side. "Can you roll over?"
She scooted aside and knelt while he spread one blanket across the irregular mound, lay the other in a crumpled ridge at the end. Her hands were cold, her belly swirling with those same tiny creatures that had been there before. When William paused and looked across the bed at her, she licked her lips. Somehow no words came to her tongue.
She's so scairt she's shakin', William thought, looking across the bed at her. Yet her chin was high and her gaze was steady. He wished he had half the heart she did, after all she'd been through.
Her tongue gave a quick lick, then another, flicking in and out quick as a wink. Slowly he worked his way onto the bed, closer and closer. When he was near enough to touch her, he held out his hands, inviting her to come to him. The last step had to be of her choosing.
The waiting almost killed him. But at last she leaned forward, crawled onto the bed. Now she knelt no more than a hand's breadth from him. Close enough so he could hear her breathing, could smell the flowery scent of her. Hesitantly he raised his hand and touched her quivering lower lip.
Again her tongue flicked out, but this time it licked his finger with liquid fire. William kept himself real still, letting her do what she would with him. Her tongue licked along the length of his finger, back to the tip. He could see his own hand shakin'.
"Lie down?" There was scarce any sound atall in her voice.
He laid himself at her knees. Between the open halves of her dress top, the shadowy curves of her breasts drew his gaze, reminded his hands of the sweet, round weight he'd held like something precious. Her hands worked at the cloth, until the whole dress gaped, just barely covering her. Then she leaned forward, looming over him and -- "Lawd a-mighty!"
A pebbled nipple teased his lips, but when he opened them to take it inside, it drew away. Then the other one offered itself, only to dodge back. "Woman!" he warned, feelin' like he was about to go off right there in his britches, "don't tease me, if you knows what's good for you."
Her broken breath was almost a laugh. William held himself still as could be as she sat back on her heels. Slowly she pulled the top of her dress off her shoulders, let it slide down her arms. He watched her face, for he knew if her looked full at her body, he'd be plumb gone.
She wiggled, and the dress fell away, puddling around her. The petticoat was tied in back, and when she arched to reach it, her breasts stood high and proud, peaks a deep winey red, undersides pale and delicately veined with blue.
He clenched his fists and breathed deep.
The petticoat loosened at her waist and slid down her hips to lay atop the dress. With another wiggle, she had both garments around her knees. And then she was layin' right beside him, skin hot against his, hotter'n any fire he'd ever felt. He slid one arm beneath her and pulled her even closer. "I loves you," he mouthed into her hair, but soundlessly, because to say the words might bind her to him.
Any bond between them must be of her making, not of his.
There was still tension in her body, although not so much as before. As long as she was caught up in what she was feeling, she was fine, but he always knew when she started thinking. Then she went still and stiff, until his careful touches aroused her again. He led her slowly, cautiously along the path to pleasure, ignoring his own needs.
When she pushed at the waist thong of his britches, he rejoiced. When his sex leapt under her first, experimental touch, he gritted his teeth and kept his caresses slow and undemanding. And when his fingers at last reached the hot center of her, he smiled at the honeyed moisture he found there.
Her wordless cry at his touch froze him, until he felt her buck against his hand. Then he parted her and poised his finger at the mouth of her heated passage. Her whimper was of need, not of fear, and he almost laughed aloud. He let her small movements carry his finger in and out, never going deep, yet always teasing, always tempting. Always promising.
"William...please. Oh, please, it...I...you must...!"
With his thumb he found the small button that was the seat of her pleasure. He pressed, with a circling motion, and she screamed softly, making a sound like a far-off hawk. And then she was gasping and writhing and panting, and his hand was flooded with hot honey.
When her seizure eased, she lay across him as if there wasn't a bone in her body. William let her lay for a little while, petting and stroking her. He inhaled deeply, needing the breathing spell. But soon his own need clawed at him.
Holding her carefully, he lifted her above him. "Straddle me."
Her thigh brushed his sex as she swung astride him and for a moment he thought he'd lost control. Then she was above him, guiding him to where he belonged.
He slipped inside her. With his hands at her waist, he held her still a while, feeling the need grow until it was so powerful he shook with it. Then he lifted her and let her slide back. And she understood, for she did the same thing again. And again.
And that was all it took. Waves of
passion swelled and broke inside of him as he filled her with his seed.
Empty, but filled with such bliss as he'd never known, William held her tight against him. He couldn't have moved if his life had depended on it, but if he was to die right now, he'd go happily.
"I never knew," she whispered against his shoulder, "that it could be like this."
In the next breath, she was asleep.
William lay awake, just watching over her. He didn't think she was healed of her hurt, not by a long shot. But she was on the way. And he was gonna make certain sure she kept on gettin' better.
He reckoned her hurt, way down deep inside of her, was a lot like his feelings about being whupped. Nothin', save being taken as a slave again, scared him as much thinkin' of how it felt when the whip lay across his back, cutting deep with a pain like no other. Of thinkin' it might happen again.
She'd likely never get over her fear, just like he'd always live with his. But he'd made up his mind a long time ago that he wasn't gonna cower and cringe so's it'd never happen. Now it was time for Flower to learn the same.
He cupped her cheek in his hand, stroked his thumb across her closed eyelid. She turned her face into his palm and her lips moved against it.
William smiled. He had a while yet to convince her he could take care of her as well as any man. He was gonna do his damndest.
* * * *
William was not beside her when she woke, but Flower heard his deep voice, speaking in the singsong cadence he often used with Beowulf. She sat up, aware of a tenderness between her legs, of aches in her thighs. Not pain, as she had felt before.
Her movements were slow, languorous. Her body was rested and deliciously content. Leaving the petticoat where it lay, she pulled her dress over her head and buttoned the bodice halfway up.
William looked up when she approached, his smile wide and happy. "You slept a long time," he said. "I was just about to roust you."
Ice Princess Page 20
