by Tina Donahue
She had to banish Canela from his mind forever. More importantly, Diana wanted to prove what a loving wife could do. She swirled her tongue over the uneven skin at the back of his crown. He grunted quite crudely, verifying his sensitivity.
She eased his member from her lips. “Despite what you want, I still fancy your cock. Be still.”
“What?”
She took him into her mouth.
“Damnation.”
His pleasure delighted her. She opened her throat to slip his entire length inside. Wasn’t easy. His shaft was wonderfully long, delightfully thick. Not pausing or tiring, she soon had her nose buried in the pelt above his rod.
He groaned lustily.
Diana eased his shaft from her mouth until only his crown remained between her lips, and then she guided him back inside. His balls plumped within her gentle hold. He tugged the sheets, his face maroon, shoulders strained, his intent clear. He planned to fight her.
That wouldn’t do. She wanted him to shatter, soar, and float down, so she could catch him in a tender embrace.
She flicked her tongue on his most sensitive area and ran her thumb over his furred sac. He squirmed. She followed. Nothing would break her hold or concentration.
Primitive noises poured from him, more animal than human. Sweat shone on his face and chest. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes.
She’d never seen anyone as beautiful.
Patiently, she brought him close to the edge, then let him drift away before she resumed her wanton teasing. He battled her throughout but finally stilled and roared. His seed spurted into her mouth.
She welcomed his offering, enthralled at its creaminess and unique flavor. Faint saltiness, along with what seemed to her life, the future. He struggled to breathe. She licked his cock clean, then lapped his balls.
“No—enough.” He trembled. “It’s too much.”
“I think not.”
He gulped air. “Only because you desire this. You desire me. Admit it.”
She couldn’t.
His breathing quieted and their silence grew.
He pushed up, no longer a contented husband but a pirate. Hard and dangerous, unwilling to accept anyone’s disobedience, especially his wife’s. “On your knees. Turn your back to me and bend over.”
She did not.
He narrowed his eyes. “Now.”
Desire and disquiet flooded her. Passion won out. She eased away and did as he’d ordered.
“Lower your head to the mattress. Spread your legs widely and lift your arse.”
If any other man had told her to do such a thing, Diana would have staunchly refused, unless threatened with death or harm to Peter. With Tristan, she obeyed readily. His commanding manner not only thrilled, he’d never hurt her. He wanted to prove her desire for him.
She needed to convince him how respect and love also mattered. For now, though, there was this. Her position was submissive, vulnerability complete.
He shifted, making the mattress shake. “Remain as you are.”
Easy for him to say. “For how long?”
“Until I tell you otherwise.”
“What will you be doing?”
“Looking at you.”
Her skin burned and her sex grew wet, the familiar ache growing within her.
He pushed his foot against her ankles. “Spread yourself wider. Display yourself for your husband.”
This was too much.
“Diana.”
She slid her knees over the sheet.
“Arch your back.”
Her buttocks lifted, the position daunting yet thrilling, dooming her to Hell for such outrageous desire. She didn’t care. Only satisfaction mattered.
He crawled behind her, cupped her mound, and explored her damp folds glutted with need.
She started at his intimate touch.
“You desire this.”
She cleared her throat. “I’m simply being obedient.”
He stroked, then gently probed her anus.
She stilled, shocked to her core. Despite what they’d shared, she was still a reverend’s daughter…and Tristan’s wife.
“I want all of you, every opening.” He circled her tight ring. “And your full obedience. Do I have it?”
Too shy to speak, she nodded.
He took great care in preparing her for the act, oiling her anus, slipping his finger inside, stretching her passage to accommodate his cock.
At his brazen moves, warmth filled her, the delight he generated unmatched by anything she’d experienced.
He washed oil from his hands, eased his crown inside her narrowest opening, and stroked her nub.
Heat shot through her, along with too many feelings to deny. Excitement, yearning, pleasure, lust. The pressure from his cock was unbelievably intense yet welcomed. Indulgence made her reckless with need.
He pressed toward her, she toward him. They touched at last, his rod fully inside. He paused to catch his breath. She struggled for air.
His slow, easy slide in and out of her, his relentless strokes on her sex, riveted her to the moment. The act was too much and everything she wanted, pushing her past restraint. Her ragged breaths filled the chamber, followed by Tristan’s booming shout that blocked animal noises and the rustling sea.
A moment like no other.
With his cock still inside, he pulled her up and into him. Holding her wrists to her chest with one hand, he breathed hard and brushed her damp folds.
Acute pleasure shot in countless directions, overcoming her. “No, don’t. It’s too much too soon.”
“I think not.” He pushed his knees into hers so she couldn’t close her legs and deny him what he demanded. With her confined, he stroked her lazily.
She squirmed.
He held on and took her past intense sensitivity to incomparable delight.
She wilted against him, letting him do what he willed.
Tristan brought her near the edge and stopped. “You desire this.”
Of course, she did. Any woman would unless she was an utter fool. Even so, Diana refused to say so.
He played with her flesh, making her mad with longing, but still wouldn’t allow her release. “You desire this. Admit it.”
She could barely catch another breath and lacked strength for a lie or the truth.
“Very well.” He rested his damp fingers on her hip. “I’ll never do anything that you don’t desire.”
She pushed against him. “What are you saying? You must finish this.”
“Why must I?”
She struggled for an acceptable answer, unwilling to admit her true feelings. She’d offered him compassion and he accused her of pity. She’d worried about his safety, and he came close to opening up but then shut down. Wasn’t fair for him to expect everything yet give nothing. “Because you must.”
He gave her nub a few precious strokes. The moment she shivered, he stopped touching her. “Why must I?”
“It’s your duty as my husband.”
“Allowing you to climax wasn’t in the vows.” He stroked her and stopped.
She argued, peppering her demands with oaths she’d heard.
Didn’t change Tristan’s mind in the least.
He rubbed and stopped, stroked and paused.
She broke. “Very well—all right. I desire this. My God, how I desire this.”
He rested his hand on her hip.
Her head fell forward. “Go on. Continue.”
He did not.
“Tristan, please.”
“Why? Tell me. Say what’s in your heart.”
She dug her nails into her palms, resisting.
So did he.
Unable to bear this any longer, she relented. “I desire you, Tristan…only you.”
* * * *
He brought Diana to completion and embraced her tenderly for the loveliest declaration he’d ever heard. She desired him. W
anted him. Couldn’t live without him.
He released himself from her and lowered them to the bed. She lay limp beneath him, breathing shallowly.
He kissed her satiny cheek. “Tell me again how you desire me.”
She looked pleasantly weary. “I do.”
He grinned. “I’ve finally had you. You fought well and long, but you couldn’t win against my determination. I told you I was never discouraged, and I’m not. Repeat the words. I want to hear them. I may never grow tired of doing so.” He was behaving stupidly but couldn’t help himself or his soaring happiness. “Go on.”
“I desire you and you had me.”
“I did. Why?”
“You’re a skilled lover.”
His smile faltered. He already knew his prowess in bed and waited for the words he wanted to hear. There weren’t any. “You desire me for no other reason?”
“Do you mean adoration or love?”
“What else?”
“Those feelings come only with friendship and respect.”
Which he didn’t have from her. Not only did her words sting, they crushed. “Then you’re saying your desire for me is only in this bed.”
A bird flew into the chamber. She watched its disoriented flight around the room before it found its way back outside. “I would think for most men a woman’s satisfaction in bed is inconsequential. For those who worry about such things, her physical release should be enough and surely all they could handle.”
“I’m not most men.”
Diana looked at him. “No, you’re not. You’re my husband. I was wrong to say you haven’t marked me. You have, and for all time it would seem.”
More riddles. He wished she’d simply speak her mind. “How have I accomplished such a miracle?”
“With the collar you demand I wear.”
He’d given the thing willingly and had hoped she’d accepted it in the same spirit. Apparently not, bruising his feelings further. “Perhaps I demand you wear it as I’m not assured of your love, adoration, or whatever else you want to call it. I barely have your desire. And only because I’m such a skilled lover.” He rolled off her and left the bed. “Maybe the day I’m certain you’ve given me your all, I’ll allow you to remove the collar.”
She didn’t retort.
He looked over.
She stared at his back, scars from a flogging that nearly cost him his life.
He faced her, hiding them. “Do you want to remove your collar?”
“Canela would surely like that. Perhaps you should have wed her.”
“I wed you.”
She opened her mouth, then sighed and kept quiet.
“Go on.” He planted his hands on his hips. “Say what’s on your mind.”
“I need to ask you something.”
Of course she did and her question would most likely wound. “I’m listening.”
“Am I mistress of this house?”
Surprised, he nodded.
She pushed up. “Then I have a demand.”
“You have a what?”
“From this moment forward I want the women to cover themselves properly whenever they’re in public.”
Tristan smiled. “No. Even though you’re jealous—”
“Civilized.”
“Have it your way, but they’re accustomed to their manner of dress.”
“They’re hardly dressed. Peter’s far too young to see a woman’s flesh.”
“Peter’s not the one who’s bothered. You are. No matter what you say or how much you complain, I won’t order the women to change their ways or their culture.”
“Because you’re not wed to them. You’re not their master.”
He rubbed his chin. “Delightful word, master.”
“Not as delightful as friend, one who’s accorded respect rather than blind submission, a willing and free love, not mindless obedience.”
He dropped his hand. “Do you have another request? If you do, I may listen to it before I say no.”
She gave him a chilly look.
Tristan ignored it. “I’m famished. Get yourself in order. Breakfast awaits.” He washed at the basin, then pulled a fresh shirt from the armoire.
After Diana tidied up, she tied the violet cloth around her hips and unbolted the door.
He stopped her before she opened it. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Leaving the room. I presume the food won’t be brought here as it was last night.”
“Your presumption is correct. Today we eat with the others.” He took her in, lingering on her tightened nipples as any sane man would. “You’re hardly ready to present yourself to the world.”
“I’m not presenting myself to the world, only to the people who live on this island, the women as well as the men.”
“You’re not going about as you are, Diana.”
“The other women do.”
“They aren’t wed to me. You are.”
“Surely your collar will tell them my place.”
He kept in an oath at how skillfully she’d led him into this argument. One she fully intended to win when she was the one who’d been born to yield and should willingly obey as she’d done in his bed. Apparently, it was the only place she would do so. Weary of battle, he opted for a softer stance. “No matter Canela’s manner of dress or undress I’ll never share her bed. I’m quite aware you doubt my fidelity, but there’s no need. You have it.”
Surprise crossed her face. “And you have mine.”
He had better or he’d kill any man who dared touch her. Now probably wasn’t the time to remind her of that. He kissed her fingers. “Thank you.”
She smiled, then became serious. “About my getting dressed, should I wear my mariner clothing or will I be wrapping myself in sheets?”
“Neither.” He led her to the armoire.
“My.” Diana touched the satin, silk, and lace gowns inside, the fabrics bearing more colors than a rainbow. “These are lovely. To whom did they belong?”
The woman who lived with the pirate who once owned the island until Tristan won the land and everything on it during a night of wagering. For his good luck, the pirate tried to kill him. During the battle, Tristan’s luck held. As he and James buried the man, his mistress ran off. A week later, the islanders found her in a ravine, the fall having broken her neck. Clutched within her hand was a sack of jewels, including the diamond marriage collar.
Tristan wasn’t about to share the story with Diana. “We took the gowns off a prize. From the looks of it, the woman who commissioned them had a form similar to yours. I’m quite certain they’ll fit.”
She eased into him. “What made you go on the account? Who lashed you? Who lashed Peter? What—”
“Enough.” He held firm. “I’ve already told you I’ll not answer those questions.”
“A friend would. Please.” She touched his chest. “I want to know.”
“I need to forget.”
She curled her fingers into a loose fist and stopped touching him.
A lash from a whip couldn’t have hurt more. “Someday I’ll tell you.”
“Would it be when we become friends?”
“It will be the day you give me your all. So, I suppose the answer to your question is yes.” He swatted her ass playfully. “Now hurry and get ready. I’m famished.”
Chapter 6
Once dressed, Diana understood why the island women didn’t bother with this civilized nonsense. The silk gown laced in front, the cut so tight her breasts squeezed together, the scandalously low neckline barely covering her nipples. The pleated back and voluminous skirt had as much yardage as bedsheets, the high-quality fabric in a deep rose shade.
Given the heat in her cheeks, her blush was surely as dark.
Tristan smiled roguishly. “Oh, I do like your gown.”
“It’s hardly mine, and it’s far too disgraceful. Give me one of your shirts to wear.”
He closed the armoire doors. “No, you’re wearing that. My God.”
She crossed her arms. Her breasts plumped, nearly falling out. Tristan’s grin widened. She dropped her hands to her sides. “Do you really want the other men to see me exposed like this?”
“I’d murder the first one who looked and everyone who followed.” He stroked the neckline, touching more skin than fabric.
Her head fell back. She moved into his touch. “To avoid bloodshed, I shan’t be wearing this or the others.”
“Pity.” He traced the swells of her breasts.
Tingles rippled through her. “No need to waste them, though. Perhaps the island women would care to wear a few.”
“I think not. They’re accustomed to their manner of dress.” He pressed his lips to her neck briefly and eased back.
Diana sagged into him, not wanting them separated yet. “I’m merely suggesting they use the fabric for the cloths they tie about their hips. Unless they’d prefer to use the gowns for something else. I’m quite good with thread and a needle. I could show them any number of designs they might like. It would be up to them, of course, to wear the new clothing, but until they realize what else is available, how could they possibly know they won’t like it?”
He held her chin. “No.”
“You won’t even allow me to offer?”
“I don’t want you giving away all the gowns. The one you have on now remains here. You’re wearing it when we retire tonight. I’m going to bend you over a table, lift the skirt, and take you from behind.”
Her belly fluttered. She smiled.
“Ah… Would that be your desire I see?”
“It would.”
Pleasure radiated from him. He opened the armoire, chose a shirt, and tossed it to her. “We’ll have to see about getting you something proper to wear. I’ll also speak to the women about the gowns.”
* * * *
In the dining room, James and Peter sat at a massive mahogany table large enough to accommodate thirty. Air whispered through the long windows, and the sun streamed in from an opening in the roof. Amazed, Diana drank in the scene. A soft breeze stirred the fronds of numerous potted plants and delivered the sweet morning scent along with a clean ocean fragrance.
