Lone Arrow's Pride

by Karen Kay

  If not love, he must feel something for her, she thought. After all, he was making her his wife. It was not something he would do if he did not like her…at least a little.

  He shifted his weight against her, and Carolyn held her breath. While she was not unaware of the facts of life, to be presented with its reality close-up was another matter.

  He must have perceived her concern, for he lifted himself up to kiss her again. He said, “I cannot keep from hurting you at first. Be assured that the next time we do this, it will bring you more pleasure.”

  She gazed down at him. “Then we will do this again?”

  She witnessed his instantaneous grin before he murmured, “Many, many times, I think.”

  “Oh.”

  “Come here,” he said, as he took hold of her waist and shifted her position until she lay beneath him. That he grabbed hold of a part of his clothing, pushing and fluffing it until it lay like a pillow beneath her head, did much to attest to his care. That he also centered his robe upon the ground so that she could lie down on it, confirmed her opinion that Lone Arrow was, indeed, a gentleman. He said, “You should be on the bottom the first time. It will hurt less.”

  She simply nodded.

  Having so agreed, she thought that he might make love to her right then and there. But he did not.

  Instead, he reclined to the side of her, one arm bent so that he cradled his head in his hand, while with his other…she shuddered with delight.

  He touched her everywhere, trailing gentle fingers down her face, over her jawbone to her neck. Down farther still to one breast, the other. And where his fingers touched, his lips soon followed, even if that meant that he had to kiss her through her clothing.

  Tenderly, though with a sure hand, he undid each button of her chemise, one by one, his eyes bright as he gazed at her. And then, perhaps too quickly, it was done.

  Timidly, she glanced up at him. But such shyness had no chance to fester within her, for it fled beneath the surety of his touch. And when she witnessed the fervor blazing in his eyes, she lost herself to the wonder of him.

  Gradually, he peeled away her cotton chemise.

  “Beautiful,” she heard him mutter as her body became exposed to his gaze.

  She might have said a word, or perhaps a cute phrase back to him. It was in her mind to do so, but before she could so much as utter a single syllable, his lips were there upon her bosom, creating havoc within her.

  And as he took each tender nipple into the hot recess of his mouth, she arched herself against him. She could not help herself. The pleasure he gave her was fierce, and in response she breathed out the deepest of sighs.

  He dallied over her as though she were a feast, and in response to his ministration, she squirmed in his arms. She wanted more.

  But he was not about to satiate her, it would appear. At least, not at this moment. Instead, he traced a series of kisses down the length of her body. Down over her stomach, lower still, to her very core, past even that to the length of each leg.

  Carolyn quivered with pleasure. She felt as though every inch of her had been loved, explored and worshiped.

  Scooting back up toward her, he let his fingers feel their way to the privacy of her femininity, and he murmured, “You are ready for me.”

  Was she? Most likely, she was. In reality, she supposed she had been ready for him for eight and a half long years.

  And then his fingers were doing things to her down there that she had only imagined possible. Pleasure erupted within her, making her feel as though she were a living volcano.

  Once more, his kisses trailed down over her body.

  And as his caress came closer and closer to that most exquisite of pleasure sources, she brought her hips up to meet him, never dreaming that he would kiss her there.

  Yet he did. And she thought she might surely die from the pleasure of it.

  Oh, how she cared for this man. And a thought occurred to her: Was this the reason she had never looked at, nor been interested in another man for these past eight and a half years?

  She might have explored that thought in more detail, but she was given little resource to do so.

  His tongue had found her, stealing her attention away completely. And with her body entwined within his arms, he slowly brought her up to a height of stimulation she hadn’t known was possible.

  Then it happened. The intensity; the trauma. In truth, her body convulsed with so much energy, she wondered at its source. Over and over, the pleasure came to her; over and over she thrashed under Lone Arrow’s expertise.

  And as her body went weak, she felt as though she were expanding as a spiritual being, gaining more space. Truly, she felt as though she looked down upon herself and upon him from a viewpoint far above them.

  And in that instant, she knew the truth for what it was.

  She loved this man; had always done so. There was no doubt about it; none whatsoever.

  Oddly, the realization gave her peace. And as her breathing resumed a more normal pace, she slowly drifted back to earth. He, however, had lifted up until he came to rest upon a forearm. He watched her, his gaze tender. Yet it was also all mixed up with a fiery light of yearning, as well as some other emotion she could not quite identify—admiration?

  He smiled at her, and Carolyn found herself returning the gesture wholeheartedly.

  Once more, he said, “You are ready. It is time.”

  There was more?

  Without further delay, he reached up to kiss her, his tongue sweeping into her mouth to mate with hers. Mouths slashed across mouths, as if a kiss, all by itself, were the act of love.

  What was this? Once more, liquid fire swept through her veins. And even the taste of her own scent upon his breath did not diminish her pleasure. In truth, so caught up was she in the simple act of what they were doing, she did not feel him rising above her.

  “It will hurt but a moment,” he whispered into her ear. She knew what he meant and waited for the worst. But it did not happen.

  Instead, she felt the evidence of his fingers playing with her, creating another series of reactions rebounding through her.

  And then, as casually as if they had done this all their lives, he substituted himself for those fingers.

  Gradually, so as not to disturb her, he became as one with her, and all the while his dark eyes were trained on her. She thought that it was as if he might register her every reaction.

  And oh, how she loved that care.

  Coming up onto his forearms, he smiled down at her, while he swept up a wayward lock of her hair into his fingers. And dear Lord, he gazed at her as if she were the most precious thing on earth.

  Inadvertently, she shifted position, observing that her action caused him to close his eyes as though he were in agony. But she knew it was good, and when she heard his deep groan, which was so obviously one of pleasure, she rejoiced. Had she done that to him? With a simple wiggle?

  He whispered, “I try to go slowly for you. It is not easy for me, for I want you in a very bad way. When you stir like that, I can hardly hold myself back.”

  She gulped. She did not want him holding back. She wanted all of him—now; moreover, she desired that he experience the same sort of pleasure that she had known. As he had imparted to her, so, too, she wanted to give back to him.

  She said, “Don’t go slowly. I would have all of you, all that you can give me.”

  He groaned, as though he could barely stand to hear these words. And he shook his head, saying, “I think that you do not know what it is that you say.”

  “Perhaps, but I think you are wrong, Lone Arrow. I am not unaware of the way in which people mate.”

  He gave her a grim sort of smile. “Still,” he said, “we will take it my way.”

  She nodded, then watched as fine beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead; watched as he swallowed, obviously fighting for self-control.

  And slowly, as he had predicted, little by little, she took in the whole
of him until he fit her perfectly. They both froze.

  One slow beat of time followed upon another. And then, all at once, his lips came down over hers, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. Someone made a high-pitched sound. Was it her?

  It might have been so, for the noise, quiet though it was, seemed to be his undoing. He broke off the kiss, placed his forearms at each side of her head, and positioned his cheek by her cheek, as though he could afford to do no more than this. Into her ear, he whispered, “I have needed this, wanted this from the moment I saw you in your room two nights ago.”

  Joy filled her heart. Did this mean that he loved her?

  She sought out his lips, moving her head to the side until she could touch her lips to his. She said, “Kiss me again, Lone Arrow. For I, too, need you.”

  He growled, as though he were as wild as this land over which they roamed, and he granted her request without pause, as though he, too, could not help himself. He swept his tongue into her mouth, and this time, she rejoiced, relishing the taste of his musky scent.

  Tentatively, she twisted against him, causing him to whimper a low-sounding groan. Oh, what a wonderful sound.

  Rising up slightly to glance down at her, he asked, “Do you know what you do to me?”

  She did not answer. It seemed unnecessary. Instead, she whispered, “I want you, Lone Arrow. All of you. Please make love to me. Please.”

  He gave her that guttural noise again, which seemed to be half animal, half human, before he murmured, “I will. I promise.”

  And without another word, he began to move within her, oh, so very slowly.

  At first his thrusts and plunges hurt. Then, as she became more and more accustomed to him, it was with some shock that she began to experience again, that same pleasurable feeling, down there, deep within her.

  What was this? Could she attain that same plateau of passion once more? So soon?

  Seeking it, while at the same time, wanting to give back to him, she gyrated her hips against him, instinctively knowing what to do. And always, she wanted more; more of him, more of this. Gazing up at him, she became aware that she had somehow surprised him.

  She found him watching her, even while he moved against her. And his look was intense. Still, he grinned down at her, and she found herself smiling back up at him.

  Did he feel it? Did he acknowledge what was between them? It was a kind of power. Power, she thought, because there was so much beauty between them. A beauty in being this close to each other; a beauty in sharing.

  He murmured, “It is good for you?”

  She nodded. “It is good. But Lone Arrow, I would have more of you. I think that you are still holding back.”

  Her words seemed to drive him a little crazy, for as soon as the statement was uttered, he thrust against her, once, again, over and over, so quickly and so enthusiastically, that it left her feeling as though she were spinning.

  But it was good, so very good, and she met his gyrations, one for one. In truth, she could not have stopped had she wanted.

  No, in essence, she found herself fidgeting right along with him, pushing herself toward that same bliss that she had experienced only a little while earlier.

  The change came suddenly, like the dawning of a new day, and she felt the joy of release bursting within her.

  This time the magnitude of the pleasure startled her. She hadn’t expected that, not again, not so soon. And she must have surprised him, too, for she could not keep her feelings to herself.

  High-pitched whimpers, low-resounding sighs escaped from her throat, leaving Carolyn hoping that the wind itself would commingle with the clamor, making her own noise part of the nature all around her.

  In response, he beamed down upon her. And in his look was so much affection, Carolyn thought she might purr. Resting his weight on a forearm, he mumbled, “It was good for you, even this, your first time?”

  She nodded, whispering, “It was wonderful.”

  But it was not over. Carolyn knew inherently that he had not met the same release as she, and so, as though to aid him, she began her gyrations all over again. Over and over she strained, until he all at once took over their rhythm. Coming up onto his knees, he placed her legs over his shoulders, and with his gaze softly staring down into her own, he bore against her, once, again and again.

  She knew the exact moment he spilled his seed within her, watched as he shut his eyes against what must be an overpowering sensation for him. And she sighed.

  It was like heaven to her. She listened to his raucous release; gloried in the feel of him, in the sound of him, in the scent of their lovemaking. Truly, she had never felt closer to another being in her life. And she thought that there, for a moment, it was as though—perhaps for a moment only—they shared the same space.

  In the aftermath, as he gradually sank down upon her, she felt herself become one with him, not only in body, but in spirit. And as the two of them drifted off into the surroundings above them, she found herself sharing a part of her with the one she loved.

  So this was lovemaking. It was an awakening of life such that she had never before experienced.

  And so it was that she fell into a pure, relaxing sleep, with the arms of her Indian lover firmly holding her, protecting her.

  Truly, as she snuggled deeper into his embrace, she felt as though she had come home.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ho! Despite many good reasons why he should not, he had done it. Lone Arrow let out a low grunt, while at the same time, he silently admonished himself.

  What a predicament he had made for himself. He had consummated their vows. And in doing so, he might as well have promised to take The-girl-who-runs-with-bears to the treasure cave. He knew it. She knew it.

  And truth be known, it was not that he could not take her there; it was that he must not.

  “Ho!” he muttered to himself once more, grimacing. To say that Lone Arrow was not pleased with himself would have been an understatement. He knew he should have exercised more control, more restraint where The-girl-who-runs-with-bears was concerned. He knew it; he had ignored his own wisdom.

  Still, as Lone Arrow rested beside her, here in the coulee, beneath the beams of a midnight moon, he felt as a man, divided. Logic and an unswerving loyalty to his clan demanded from him certain actions: preserving secrecy; observing particular rites and ceremonies; protecting the treasure cave.

  On the other hand—and this was what was startling to him—his sense of duty, alas, his very being, directed him toward trust, toward placing his belief in a woman whom he knew to be lying.

  It should not be a problem. Yet it was.

  Looking down upon the beauty of her, as the faint beams of moonlight washed over her skin, he knew that he had been defeated in this, the first battle of their wills. Oh, he was not mistaken, she had won.

  Truthfully, it was not that he desired to fight with her—he could think of better ways to spend their time alone. No, it was more a case of dissention.

  If he helped her, and her intentions were not pure, then by befriending her, he would have betrayed his people. On the other hand, if she spoke true, if her family’s welfare depended upon her, then, by the same reasoning, if he did not help her, would he not have betrayed her?

  It was hard to know what to do. If only he could trust her as easily as he desired her. He shut his eyes and frowned. Desire…

  Alas, even now, he fought a constant struggle simply to keep his hands to himself. So soft, she was, so perfect. So feminine.

  It would be easy to touch her, much too easy…Pulling a face, he reached out a hand toward her but jerked back at once. He should keep to himself, he decided. After all, how could he make important decisions about her, about himself, if he were constantly tempted by the flesh?

  But no sooner had that thought materialized, than she stretched, causing him to reevaluate. And he found himself reaching out once more toward her, only this time he met with success, and he found himself running the tips o
f his fingers down the length of her.

  She shivered, and despite himself, he responded in kind.

  What was this bond between them? he wondered. Was it no more than mere lust, as he suspected? Certainly, passion was a part of it, but was there more to it than that?

  More, he wondered, of what? Respect?

  He snorted. Baa-lee-táa, no. He answered his own question. How could he respect a person he did not trust?

  At that thought, Lone Arrow stiffened his spine. Was that not what this was all about?

  Still…Would he admire a woman, no matter the beauty of her body, if she were as treacherous in spirit as he suspected this woman to be? And upon this thought followed another: Would he honestly feel a bond with her if she were so dishonorable?

  Lone Arrow knew his own mind. Always, he had been taught to rely on himself and to respect his own judgment. Ho! Then in view of his feelings toward this woman, should he not be more inclined to give her quarter?

  Lone Arrow’s mind stilled with this thought. Perhaps he should reconsider. Maybe he should sit his woman down and keep her talking until he discovered the extent of her problem.

  Then again, if he were wrong…if she were dishonest…

  He grimaced. What was wrong with him that he was allowing a woman to rule his mind?

  Frustrated with himself and with this circular line of thinking, it was perhaps with more antagonism than might be fitting, that Lone Arrow spat out, “So you will now expect me to take you to the cave?”

  She opened a single eye, to peep up at him, answering him sleepily, “Must we talk about that so soon?”

  He nodded. “We will talk about it now, I think.”

  “Naked?”

  He heard the humor in her voice, he acknowledged it, and truth be known, he responded to it, to her. But he could not allow himself to be swayed by her, not even by her wit; at least not until he was certain as to whether he could place his faith in her or not. And so he said, keeping as much emotion from his tone as possible, “To speak to one another without clothing is, I think, the best way to settle an argument…that is, if those two people are husband and wife.”

  She sniffled. “I’m not so certain,” she said. Then, “Of course I expect you to take me to the cave. And with all possible speed.”