by Susan Ward
She was shamefaced by her confession and she immediately lowered her face back into him. Her laughter made her soft breasts a frantic massage on the high shallow of his rib cage, as she surrendered to the delirium fit that claimed her.
Folding her into the warmth of his body, Varian felt the thrill of her pass through him. She was in all ways a charming surprise. In this moment when he’d troubled that her no longer passion-claimed senses would prompt her to withdraw from him, Merry wrapped herself around him to continue the delightful sharing of herself.
Varian’s husky laughter was muffled by the need for his lips to touch all through her hair. He had laid with a virgin only once before because he had been careful to stay away from them and their complications. And as wonderful as his wife had been that night, he was overpowered by what he was feeling for Merry. Perhaps he was just old enough to appreciate what she’d given him as the treasure it was.
She had climbed into his bed, untried and unknowing, and had wrapped their joining in fulfillment of both heart and body. She breathed through their coupling innocent wonder, fresh awakenings, old awakenings, unbound in all, so that even humor whispered through it. All of it she eagerly shared without a hint of restraint to detract from the completeness she made it. All of herself virtuously, generously offered so no part of him could ever manage to stay sealed from her.
Merry moved in total possession of him in the unconsciously made claiming of him with the beauty of her heart. He could not reclaim from her any part of him if he tried to. Varian had not been prepared for this. This complete rebirth she was creating in him, first with her heart, then with her flesh. This greedy bliss as he became aware this part of her belonged to no one but him and never would, and he would never belong to anyone but her again. It was in all ways a surrender to Merry.
Guiding her head with fingers in her hair, he tilted up her face, running his thumbs along the laughter-flushed slopes of her kitten soft cheeks as he whispered, “Everything I feel for you, I didn’t dream possible before you, Merry.”
She pressed her lips against his chest. “Everything I feel for you, Varian, I did not want to feel before you.”
He brushed her mouth with his, his fingertips light within the play. He had intended it to be only a gentle touch, but it deepened on its own as shivers cursed down them both.
Merry felt the change in him, shocked by her understanding of it and the eagerness of her own flesh.
His words whispered against her cheeks. “I may never let you out of my arms again. I lie here fully sated and in a breath you make me desperate in hunger for you. Give me your mouth, Little One.”
Merry lips were claimed in a flash and she was suddenly lost in the fury of being loved by Varian.
~~~
Merry came awake to a cabin bright with midmorning sunlight, her body in a warm cocoon of male flesh and her limbs still sweetly holding the flavors of Varian’s passion. She had fallen asleep, still tangled around him, sometime after…their third coupling? Exhaustion had pulled her into slumber, not want of rest.
Her desire for Varian, uncapped, was an unexpectedly whimsical force that returned in flashes with surprising quickness. Refused and unsated for too long, it was as if every nerve in her body demanded to soar wildly with him. Somehow she had kept this from her flesh for twenty years, and now that Varian had stirred it awake, it flowed madly, dragging her with it.
Easing out of Varian’s arms, she turned in bed to study him. They had shared a cabin six months, yet somehow she had only seen his unclothed chest twice. Nothing more. Last night, she had been too shy, too nervous to look with any thoroughness at the rest of him.
She watched the play of his tanned muscles and lightly furred chest, rising slowly as he breathed. In her movement from him, she had pushed the blankets down, exposing every inch of that magnificent body. A hot blush stained her cheeks as she looked at that part of him she’d been too timid to look at last night—the part she had come to know very well without having seen it. Wickedly, she studied him, the flat belly, the narrow hips, and that most intimate part of their difference. Staring in awe at the long lines of muscle and bone, his face attractively softened by sleep, she was positive it was not possible that another man could be so perfectly made.
A dull ache spread through her limbs, new and now with knowing presence, and burst into a medley within her.
Biting her lower lip, Merry gently traced the firm line of his jaw and smiled, noticing he did not stir. Feeling bubbles of soft laughter, she thought, he is older than I am, perhaps he needs more sleep. Her cheeks burned, shamefaced by her thoughts.
It was a preposterous notion. Varian was quite simply in expert shape, and even if she couldn’t see it with her own eyes, he had proven it in his bed. He was just asleep and couldn’t feel her touch because it was light. She eased back into his arms, placing her cheek against his chest, moving it lightly as she enjoyed the teasing of his furry flesh against the softness of her face.
Bold—because whatever she was doing wasn’t doing anything to him and Varian wouldn’t know if she were clumsy in this—her hands began to move in caressing patterns on his chest and his arms, carefully learning the feel of him since her frantic passion had made it impossible for her to get a clear impression of his structure. Running her hands along him made the blood rush through her veins in fury. She shouldn’t have touched him. It made her desire rekindle fiercely and he neither woke nor moved.
Laughing, she sprayed light kisses up his neck, causing the fiery sensation to grow even stronger in her center. No response in him. Sleep.
Frustrated, Merry sat back on her heels beside him, shyly clutching a gathering of blanket to shield her nudity. On a softly laughing whispered, she breathed to herself, “Now that I have you here, now that I want you, how do I wake you? What does a woman do to stir a slumbering man?”
“What you are doing, Little One, is doing extremely well.”
Merry nearly jumped through the beams of the ceiling when those black eyes opened, sparkling. She would have sprang from the bed then, if Varian hadn’t caught her around the waist and pulled her beneath him. Merry struggled against his arms, her face smoldering from embarrassment, and she couldn’t meet his eyes.
Half laughing and half furious, she exclaimed, “Why did you pretend to sleep through that, you insufferable man?”
The dazzling color on Merry’s cheeks, considering what they had done all night, was absurd and delightful. Grinning, he said, “Because you were afraid to look at me except in brief passing glances last night. You are braver when I am sleeping and I enjoy you looking at me.” He gave her a kiss. When he lifted his face her eyes were wide beneath him. Softly, “Why are you afraid to look at me?”
“I am not afraid,” Merry scoffed cheerfully. Then those sparkling doe eyes carefully lowered from his, as she asked, “Why do you enjoy it when I look at you? How does it make you feel?”
Varian’s lips moved in kisses, his hands roaming her body as her limbs slowly melted to his touch. Whispering between the movement of their lips, he said, “Inflamed, Little One. I am on fire when you look at me. I enjoy it because I enjoy the burn. The burn is new to me, because I know I am the only man you have ever been with this way. I will be the only man to ever know you this way. It floods me with fire when your eyes touch me.”
Merry pulled out of his arms then and sat up, a pretty statue perched on her heels, blanket clutched to her lush breasts, teeth buried into the impish line of her lower lip, and the wild arcade of curls all around her. Those sparkling eyes of brilliant blue, framed by their inky long lashes, were so large in her face she looked like a caricature. They were innocent, honest eyes, uncontrived, because she didn’t know the power of them yet or how to manipulate them.
It was hard for Merry, and it ran through Varian’s veins like a heady nectar her want to please him. Her eyes moved slowly, a winsome flutter of fast darts here and there, settling with less thoroughness than they had when she had thou
ght him sleeping.
The emotion tightened painful in his chest as he watched her. Innocent eyes moving across not so innocent flesh. Soul alive putting breath into soul only just starting to reawaken. Purity and the tarnished. Watching the shy exploration of her gaze and the youthful trust on her beautiful face that carried her through her own curiosity in this. He was an arrogant man to have believed for even a moment she would be the one most changed and needing of protection in this.
The color on Merry’s cheeks matched the swirls of pink beyond the stern windows left by the rising sun. “How did that make you feel?” Her voice was all air.
Gazing into the waiting depths of her eyes, Varian whispered. “I am on fire, Little One. Every touch of your eyes flooded me with fire.”
She ran her teeth over her lower lip, an unconscious gesture that drove his passion into roiling boil. “And how does it make you feel when I touch you?”
He felt every muscle shiver in agonizing response and she hadn’t so much as breathed on him. “Touch me and I will tell you.”
She started with an arm and moved up the line of a muscle. The finger lifted and he heard his own breathy command, “Touch me, touch of Merry.”
Her delicate hands replied with gentle sweeps. She was careful in her trek, but excited and thorough. It was an agony to lie patient beneath those dainty, fawn-soft fingertips.
She liked the feel of his harder male body and it showed on her face. She was awe-inspiring in her generosity to openly give of herself, so much so he regretted what he was taking from her and what little he had to give to her by needing her. His need for her exceeded in all ways what he could ever provide her. Wistfulness had slipped into his eyes, without him knowing it.
Merry saw the change in those black depths and knew what it meant. That sad light that flickered sometimes when Varian was troubled by all those things he buried deep inside of him. When it came, it was like there was a wall between them, making him unreachable.
She hated the feeling of that now, after having spent so many moments deeply close to him. She slipped back against him, her cheek against his chest, her hands gliding down his powerfully built arms. Trailing kisses along his chest, she whispered, “Since you are at last awake, tell me what I have to do, Varian, to get you to lay with me ...”
~~~
It was midday when Varian heard the knock. He had wondered how long the boy would stay away, knowing his absence from deck told Indy exactly what had kept him below in his cabin so long. Climbing from his bed, he grabbed a robe, shrugging into it as he went to the door.
He opened the door, took the tray from Indy and said in a low voice, “Don’t return until I send for you. No one is to knock on this door until I tell you they may.”
Those soulless black eyes beneath Varian were damning. “As you order, I won’t return and I will pass your instructions to Tom,” the boy snapped. And then, unsure in a way Varian had never seen the boy before, Indy asked, “You were angry with her yesterday. Just tell me you didn’t hurt Merry to get her in your bed and I will leave.”
Betraying emotion covered the boy’s face. Worry over Merry and fury at him. They were not what Varian expected. He had expected sneering triumph. Varian had not forgotten the circumstance of Merry being here. The boy had put Merry in his bed for this purpose, had wanted this for reasons that had nothing to do with whatever blurry connection Merry had to Rensdale, and Indy had finally gotten his way.
Into the pause, the boy spoke again more harshly, “I won’t forgive you if you’ve harmed her.”
Indy’s words were not generous of him and they were betraying both of his thoughts and his youth. The boy cared for Merry and at times understood him not at all. It made Indy’s motivation in all this less understandable and the genuine distress in the boy’s eyes forced Varian to reply to Indy’s insulting comments, though this was not an issue Varian enjoyed discussing.
Varian put it bluntly. “I could never physically harm a woman. That is truer with Merry. Go. I would rather spend the rest of my day in other pursuits than anger.”
Varian didn’t wait for a reply. He closed the door with quiet care and locked it.
CHAPTER SIX
The early afternoon sun bathed the cabin in hot shots of orange. They fell across the paleness of Merry’s back in a pattern made playful by the lifting and lowering of the ship. Varian had pulled her body across him the moment she woke. The fingers of one hand lay spread in star points on her tiny bottom, lightly caressing. He was trying, unsuccessfully, to feed her berries from a silver bowl; to divert himself, unsuccessfully as well, from kissing each point of sun-hued brightness on her flesh.
He’d been feeding her berries for an hour with deliberate slowness from his fingers. In the beginning, he had committed himself to savoring only the feeding of her, the light touching, and kisses. He delighted in this exchange, knowing she must be tender in her daintiest areas of flesh. But Merry’s mannerisms taking food were not a good ally for the contentment of his body. Her gestures of mouth, as she ate, were arousing to watch and he had stretched this out, conscience and urges battling, until he was ravenous for her.
He had shocked himself when he had started whispering into Merry’s innocent ears, after each berry she ate, wicked and outrageously worded things about what the moves of her lips did to him. He was charmed and goaded onward after the first whisper, by the ever shifting swirls of pink on her cheeks that accompanied eyes bright in either confusion or shocked comprehension. Even as she chided him to stop saying such wicked things, she eagerly tilted her ear to him, laughingly, to listen. That she never once stopped her moves to hear the near soundless whispers made it impossible for him to contain the impulse to say them to her.
Above him Merry was a vision of bright blue eyes and flawless creamy complexion, framed by a halo of soft un-brushed ebony curls. Watching her, Varian wondered how his noble intent had survived even a minute. That thought had hardly finished in his mind when she ran the tip of her tongue against him to catch a wayward speck that had dropped from her lips onto his shoulder. Consuming tenderness gave way to consuming want.
His mouth traced the drip of berry juice down her chin and, between kisses, he ordered, “Closer.”
He could feel Merry’s curves dance against him in renewed laughter, making every nerve-ending of his body throb. He tried to remind himself she was in a playful mood and to flail into submission the soulless demands of his appetite.
She’d been laughing since she woke, and he found himself held captive by it because often times she laughed without cause. When humor hit her, it was a magnificent possession, an unruly spirit that frolicked through the gracefully exaggerated actions of her body whether engaging in passion or food. Merry’s laughter, like her temper and her passion, would rage inside her until it burned itself back into calm, in wait for its next spectacular uprising.
Merry tilted her head and her eyes flashed in maidenly embarrassment as she noted the intimate mold of her flesh against his. Her generously rounded breasts were against his sculpted chest muscles. Her soft cushioned-lined hips against his firmer, flatter angles. Her pale cherub legs were riding those of darker, hard-knit muscle.
Her face glided back before his watching gaze, with confusion. Tenderness and passion shot through him, in unison, in what she had made a knotted tie of these two emotions within him.
On a voice, partly perplexed and partly aroused, she whispered, “I can’t get closer. It is an impossibility.”
He sent his fingers to run down her spine and quivering flesh answered their trek as his kisses moved to her neck. He felt her heart rhythm beneath his lips build in tempo. “Always disobedient. You can get closer. I need you closer.”
Her bluebell eyes did studying darts across the press of their bodies. The gossamer texture of her hair brushed his lips as her head turned from side to side. Her eyes settled on his gaze again. Varian wondered how much of the expanding emotion swelling his heart was showing on his face and in
his smile. Merry ran through his flesh like a rapid intoxicant, so much so, he felt more an essence of her than himself when they were together.
He was not a man who would have been termed by his past lovers as playful in bed, but it was part of Merry’s magic, his surrendering to breathe as a reflection of her. Even now, when the passion rioting in his veins called for ruthless completion rather than leisurely play.
It was his flesh that knowingly moved their bodies. It was her spirit that flavored the sharing of their passion, giving it tastes that were richer, more vibrant and more than anything within his power to share with her. All of who she was ran in genuine, deep cords, even the cords of her running through him.
The dazzling color of her cheeks enclosed a beguiling smile. In his senses floated the exquisite awe of the joy she was to him. He brought a hand to her face, brushing back a tendril from her brow, and pressed, “Why are you still? I ordered you closer.”
Merry laughed harder, the sound coming deeper from within, every delicately made muscle of her body capering against him. “I refuse to get closer. I am close enough. Any closer and I will disappear into you.”
That made him grin. The unaltered innocence of her mind was astonishing. It had not occurred to her once, what he meant by closer. How that was possible was anyone’s guess, since they’d made love more times since she’d climbed into his bed than there were teeth in his comb.
Smiling up into her round eyes, he demanded, “You are being disobedient. Closer.”
Merry knit her brow in confusion of what he wanted her to do. Sweetly indignantly, she countered, “That sounded like an order. I have a proclivity toward disobedience, which will require you to respond unfavorably...” she caught her breath as she realized what he was doing with her hips and what he meant by closer.
A throaty moan escaped him as her flesh, moist and ready to receive him after the hour of touching, gloved his staff.
