Wild Yearning

by Penelope Williamson

  “Soon …” she echoed, and her heart skittered and leaped at his words.

  His hands drifted down her back to cup her buttocks, kneading them gently, then moved up the flare of her hips to span her waist. He turned her slowly around. His hands lingered at her waist, and then he stepped back to look at her.

  She started to cross her arms over her breasts, but he reached out and stopped her, taking her wrists and pulling her hands down, pressing them flush against her sides.

  “No, my sweet Delia. I want to look at you.”

  Her glance flickered up. She saw the heat of desire burning bright in his eyes and she quickly looked down again. But her eyes were caught by the bulging hard ridge that pressed against his smooth leather breeches. Soon … inside me soon… Her skin felt tight all over, too small for her body; she thought she would burst apart when he touched her again.

  He slipped out of his shirt and spread it like a sheet on the ground at their feet. Boldly, she ran her palms across his naked chest—muscles, skin, hair. Man. She felt a heady triumph as his skin shivered uncontrollably, like the wind suddenly causing a ripple on a calm lake. She could feel his heart beating, hard and fast, and knew it beat for her.

  His hands fell on her shoulders; his head came down. Slowly, mouths locked, they sunk together to their knees. He pressed her backward, and she landed partly on his shirt and partly on a bed of ferns and needles and dried, decaying leaves that rustled softly.

  He stretched out beside her and stared down at her breasts. Her nipples drew up, hardened. “I’ve dreamed about your breasts,” he murmured. “Ah, Christ, but they are beautiful.”

  She wanted to tell him that she had dreamed of him, but words were impossible.

  He rubbed his knuckles against first one nipple then the other, then he began to knead her breasts almost roughly, pulling and lifting them up to his hungry mouth. He took a nipple between his teeth, biting it, slavering it with his tongue. Throwing her head back, she whimpered from pleasure that was almost unbearable, wanting him to stop because the feeling was too exquisitely wonderful, wanting him to go on doing it forever.

  He released one nipple and went to the other, and she almost screamed from the delightful shock of him drawing it deep into his mouth, as if he would swallow it. The other nipple, now abandoned and left wet by his mouth and tongue, puckered up tightly as it was bathed by a cool draft of air.

  His hands began to stroke the length of her, feeling ribs and belly, hips and thighs. His mouth fastened onto hers, his tongue delving in deeply, tasting of her. He sucked and nibbled on her lips, and his hands … his hands were everywhere, stroking, caressing, making her skin burn. Branding her.

  He groaned against her mouth, “Ah, Delia … Delia …”

  Shifting to make a space between them, he trailed his fingertips across her stomach, moving lower and lower still until they drifted, swirled, became enmeshed in the fine hairs between her thighs, and she shuddered uncontrollably. She felt embarrassed being touched in so intimate a place and she opened her mouth to ask him to stop. But what came out was, “Oh, Ty, please…”

  He traced the outer edge of the triangular nest, following the folds of her skin where her legs joined. Instinctively, her legs fell apart, inviting him to explore further.

  He did so suddenly, thrusting his fingers into her inner wetness, and her hips rose off the ground from the shock of pleasure that stabbed her. He slid his fingers in and out of her, again and again, until she thought she would go mad from the sizzling jolts of hot feeling. Her whole world became one hard, throbbing point that he rubbed and teased with his thumb. Incredible sensations lashed through her, causing her to push upward against his hand and draw her legs tightly together as pleasure shuddered through her, pulling a hoarse cry from somewhere deep within her.

  Rolling over on top of her, he pressed down, grinding the hard bulge in his breeches against her pelvis. He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back, bringing his face close to hers. “Do you want me now, Delia?”

  “Oh, God…”

  “Say you want me now.”

  “Now … I want you…”

  He straddled her, his knees pressing into the earth on either side of her hips. He straightened and she looked up—and the magnificent sight of him robbed her lungs of breath and caused her heart to wrench in her breast.

  His buckskin breeches were pulled tautly against the lean muscles of his thighs, outlining their contours and making his confined manhood so very, very evident. His stomach was flat and smooth, though pumping a little from his harsh, panting breaths. Copper nipples stood out in the light mat of dark brown hair that covered his chest. She reached up, running her fingers through it, curling them around his totem bag, rubbing her thumbs against his nipples. She felt him groan against her palms. Sunlight, filtering down through the trees, sharpened the bones of his face. His eyes glowed at her like twin indigo moons.

  Delia stared fascinated as he unlaced his breeches and peeled them down over his buttocks. His sex seemed to spring out at her, rising up so thick and long from the dark nest of hair below his belly. The enormity of what was about to happen now frightened her. If she had been capable of speech she would have told him to stop.

  “Touch me,” he said.

  She didn’t move. She didn’t even breathe.

  He took her hand and wrapped it around his hard length. She was surprised by the heat of it and the slick softness of the skin around the huge, thick rigidity. It filled her hand and he moved her palm up and down on it. Instinctively, her fingers tightened their grip, squeezing him, and he made a low groaning sound, like an animal in pain.

  His hands, dark on the white of her thighs, spread her wide. He moved between her legs and pressed the round, smooth tip of his erect manhood against her moist, inner folds. His eyes fastened onto hers as he drove into her.

  Delia cried out, arching her back against the pain and driving him deeper inside her. He tensed as he felt the barrier and his eyes, which had started to flutter closed, opened wide. But it was too late to stop. He had already torn through her virginity. And so after a moment he gave another harder thrust, embedding himself deep inside her, and this time he smothered her cry with his mouth.

  He moved his lips gently across her cheek. “Sssh, Delia-girl. It’s all right. It’ll be all right.”

  He lay quiet a long moment, thick and hard within her, and then he began to move. His stroking was slow, yet sure, and all that had gone before, all that had seemed so wonderful was nothing to the sensation of this—of him filling her, man in woman, two bodies joined so intimately that he had become a part of her and she had enveloped him.

  His stroking grew in speed and intensity, and it began to hurt again so that she tensed. But then he cupped his hands beneath her buttocks, lifting her to absorb the shock of his thrusts and to lance her deeper. He arched his back, taking his weight off her chest, and as he stroked the inner core of her with his thick length, he slid one hand between their joined bodies until he found again that knob of pleasure. He rolled his thumb across it, almost sending her shooting out of her skin. Rolling, stroking, thrusting, on and on, until the whole world was reduced to the place deep within her belly that he speared and the throbbing point beneath his thumb. Shudders racked her body, driving her mindless with the feeling, the feeling, the exquisite, unbearable feeling…

  She opened her bemused, glazed eyes onto his face. Ty’s head was thrown back, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, his jaw clenched, and his mouth contorted as if in pain. Suddenly he gave one last mighty heaving thrust and his whole body shuddered, tearing a groan from between his pressed lips. He pumped into her, filling her.

  Love for him exploded inside of her with such force, Delia was surprised she didn’t die of it.

  Ty lay stretched out on the ground on his back, his breath coming in heaving bellows. His whole body felt leaden, as if he’d been beaten with something thick and heavy. He didn’t even have the strength to open his eyes
. Jesus, he thought. Oh, sweet Jesus.

  He felt her stir beside him and reached out blindly, meeting her elbow and moving down her arm until he found her hand. Her hand always felt so damn small. It brought a tight, poignant ache in his chest. Mortified, he realized he was close to tears and he didn’t understand why.

  He summoned the strength to roll up onto his side. He looked across at her and smiled.

  She lay still and silent as her gaze wandered over his face. Then she traced his lower lip with her finger. “I love ye, Tyler Savitch.”

  He dipped his head, avoiding her eyes, uncomfortable with the depth of emotion he saw revealed in those tawny depths. He inched his lips closer and kissed her nose, and because that felt so good he kissed her cheek and then her mouth. She sighed and her lips moved with his, warm and moist and easy, as if they had been created by God just to give him pleasure.

  He pulled away from her. Hitching his butt up, he yanked his breeches over his hips, fastening them. Her words hung in the air between them as if they had taken shape. I love ye, Tyler Savitch. Christ, he didn’t want that.

  He turned around to look at her. She lay sprawled on the ground, gloriously naked, looking wanton and abandoned and oh so damn desirable. Their eyes met and they shared the memory of what had passed between them. Suddenly, she sat up, snatching at her petticoat. Covering her breasts, she tucked the folds of the skirt securely beneath her arms. Her face was shiny red with embarrassment, and it almost made him smile, this belated sense of modesty.

  “Delia, why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?”

  Her eyes closed a moment and he saw her swallow. Her cheekbones were still bright red, but the skin around her lips had turned white. When she opened her eyes he saw they brimmed with tears. “I told ye that first night we met that just ’cause I worked in a grog shop, it didn’t make me a whore. I knew ye didn’t believe me.”

  Ty couldn’t deny it, but he didn’t want to spoil the pleasure they had shared so he slanted his lips into a teasing smile and stroked her cheek, tilting her face up. “I should have figured it out though, what with all that virginal resistance you put up every time I went near you. Do you have any idea of the hell you’ve made me suffer these past weeks?”

  She laughed, sniffled. Her lower lip trembled and he couldn’t resist flicking his tongue across it, sucking it into his mouth. But she pulled her head back out of his reach. “It wasn’t all that pleasurable for ye, was it? Me bein’ a virgin and not knowin’ what I was supposed t’ do.”

  “Aw, Delia…” He cupped the back of her neck, giving her a gentle shake as he smiled down into her solemn, beckoning eyes. Poor brat … Here she was worried about whether she’d pleased him, when it could hardly have been a very satisfying or pleasurable experience for her. “I’m the one who made a mess of things,” he said. “It probably hurt like hell—”

  She shook her head. “Oh, no, Ty—”

  He put two fingers across her lips. “It hurt. I know it did.” He drew her to him, pressing her head against his shoulder. “Christ, but you were so small and tight. I shouldn’t have gone thrusting into you like that, like some damn lusty bull.”

  She made a muffled protest against his chest. “It only hurt at the beginning. Afterward, I liked havin’ ye inside me, Ty. Oh, it felt so fine!”

  “It felt fine being inside you, too,” he said, and realized the words were a puny way of expressing the sensation of filling her hot, tight wetness. Fine? My God, it had been the other side of ecstasy.

  He tangled his fingers in her hair, pulling her head back so that he could look into her eyes. “Out by the cannon we were so hot for each other. I thought you’d want it hard and fast and now.”

  “But I did want it that way, Ty. Just the way ye said. Hard an’ fast an’ now.” The way she said it, in that rough, throaty voice of hers, was so erotic it caused a feeble stirring of his exhausted manhood. Hot wasn’t the word for what it had been like between them, what he had felt for her. He had been ravenous.

  He kissed her again, a light, teasing kiss that just started to turn into something more before he ended it. “Next time I make love to you, I’m taking it slow and easy, the way a man should make love to a beautiful, willing virgin.”

  “Next time …” Joy blazed out of her face, bright and intense. “Oh, Ty, does that mean ye’ll be wantin’ me again?”

  He drew her tightly against him, nuzzling her neck with his lips. “Hell, yes, I’ll be wanting you again. And again and again and again…”

  Smiling with delight, she fell back on the ground, drawing him down with her. “Now?”

  Laughing, feeling wonderfully happy, he kissed her hard on the mouth before whisking away the intruding petticoat. “Greedy brat. A man needs some time in between. We have the rest of the afternoon and all night. But in the meantime I can begin to get you”—his lips moved down and captured a nipple, drawing it immediately into a hard point—“ready. And teach you how to make me”—he released the nipple, trailing his tongue around the underside of her breast, licking her and tasting salty sweat and crushed pine needles and a little of himself—“ready.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath and tangled her fingers in his hair. “Ty, what are we goin’ t’ do now about Mr. Parkes?”

  His tongue drifted lower down her stomach and he felt his manhood begin to stiffen. Perhaps he wouldn’t need to wait quite so long after all. “Um?”

  “Mr. Parkes. What are we goin’ t’ tell him?”

  But Ty had forgotten all about Nat and he certainly didn’t want to think about him now, not with the delectable Delia warm and fast becoming ready in his arms. “ … won’t tell him,” Ty mumbled, delving into her belly button with this tongue.

  She squirmed, twisting her hips sensuously, and he smiled to himself. Perhaps he hadn’t been such a failure after all in initiating Delia McQuaid into the joys of lovemaking.

  “But we got t’ tell him somethin’, Ty,” she said, panting a little. The skin beneath his mouth quivered. “Won’t he be angry with ye when he finds out it’s you who’ll be marryin’ me now, ’stead of him?”

  Ty’s tongue stopped in its downward journey. Suddenly it was so quiet he could hear the wind-tossed cry of a gull and the distant sound of someone shouting below on the wharf of Falmouth Neck. The breeze felt cold against his naked back.

  Rolling off her, he sat up. He forced himself to meet her startled eyes and felt a sick clenching of self-disgust deep inside his gut. The pressure in his chest was so fierce he could barely breathe.

  Reaching down, he drew her up so that they were sitting across from each other, knees touching. In this position she seemed so small and vulnerable, barely older than a child. Hell, she was barely older than a child, a girl—although no longer a girl in one very important way, thanks to him.

  He could see the fear building behind her eyes. Steeling himself, he drew a deep breath. “I’m not marrying you, Delia.”

  She jerked her head back and forth, once, and her mouth slanted up in a funny, twisted way. “But ye said ye loved me.” “I never said that.”

  “But ye did! D’ ye think I would have let … Oh, God!” She pounded her thighs with her fists. Tears filled her eyes and spilled over. “D’ ye think any of this would have happened if I hadn’t believed ye loved me? But ye gave me things—the clothes and the horse. An’ the moccasins, Ty. Y-yer m-mother’s moccasins.”

  “Delia—”

  “And out there by the cannon, ye said ye loved me. Otherwise I wouldn’t never have let you, I wouldn’t have, I wouldn’t have … But I love ye. So much, don’t ye see? And ye said ye loved me.”

  Had he said those three damning words in the heat of the moment? He was sure he hadn’t.

  She was crying now, choking, heaving sobs, gulping in drafts of air. He couldn’t bear it, but at the same time he felt suffocated by her emotions, trapped. “I’m sorry this happened. I never set out to hurt you, please believe that—”

  “Liar!” He reac
hed for her, but she twisted out of his grasp, jerking to her feet. She snatched up her shift, pulling it over her head. Ty stood up now as well. The sickness in his gut had spread to his limbs, making them feel heavy, and he swayed a little on his feet.

  He held his arms out from his sides. “It’s just that I’m not ready for marriage now. My God, what I think I want out of life changes depending on which side of bed I roll out of in the morning. How can I be expected to know what I want in a wife?”

  She clutched her petticoat in a fist in front of her. Suddenly she dropped it and fell to her knees before him, wrapping her arms around his thighs. “Oh God, Ty, don’t do this to me. I love ye so much an’ I will be so good t’ ye, Ty. The best wife ever—”

  He reached down and pulled her back on her feet, shaking her. “Damn it, Delia, stop it! I’m not marrying you!”

  Her sobs ended suddenly, as if someone had choked them off. She shuddered once and pushed her hands up over her face, through her hair. “I’m sorry … I didn’t mean t’ embarrass ye. Or shame myself.”

  She moved away from him and finished dressing. He felt he should do something, say something, explain … “If I had known you were a virgin and that you fancied yourself in love with me, I would never have allowed things to go so far—”

  She whipped around and it was the old Delia back—proud, angry, fighting him. “Is that what ye think it is I feel for you— a fancy?”

  “What else could it be? We barely know each other.”

  She finished lacing her short gown and came to stand before him, uncomfortably close. She stared hard at his face until he wanted to look away. “I guess ye figured ye knew me well enough for beddin’ though. Or is it a game t’ ye—seducing poor innocent girls?”

  “Innocent!” He laughed once, hard and harsh. Then he closed his fingers tightly around her scalp and brought her face close to his, close enough that he could see his own breath stir the dampened wisps of her hair. “Virgin or not, you knew damn well what you were doing, Delia-girl. And if you think now you’re going to use the loss of your precious maidenhood to trap me into marrying you, think again.”