by Sabine Starr
“I want to get this just right. Too long? Too short? Too wide? Too narrow? Lots of choices here in the campfire.”
He laughed harder, but she’d woken up his cock.
“If I had a row of outlaws, like those at Burnt Boggy, and stripped them of their trousers, I could compare their generous gifts to womankind. That way, it’d be easier to make an informed decision about the size of my stick.”
He shook his head, coughing as he choked with laughter. Yet his prick was rising up, flooding his body with heat, and preparing to show her the exact right size to perfectly fit her.
“And I’m thinking a little warmth wouldn’t be out of place, either.” She batted her lashes over her violet eyes. “You know, a red-hot poker.”
“Tempest, you’re playing with fire.” She had to know she was making him hotter than a furnace. Maybe that was her goal.
“If you showed me yours, I bet I could make my stick just right.”
“You don’t need a damn stick.” He reached across the fire, jerked the stick out of her hand, and threw it on the campfire.
“It wasn’t the right size?”
“I’m the right size for you.”
“Prove it.”
“You know what that means, don’t you?”
“I’m going to have a wedding night, one way or another. You can help, or you can watch.”
When she reached for another stick, he grabbed her hand and jerked her past the campfire and onto his lap.
She looked up at him, eyes wide. “Does this mean no stick?”
“Shut up.” And he followed his words with his mouth so she couldn’t say another outrageous thing.
She’d pushed him way past niceties. He thrust into her mouth, needing her so badly that he ached all over. He kissed her, tasting sweetness and tartness as he felt his cock grow stiffer. He pushed his fingers into her tawny hair, knocking out the pins of her chignon to set free her long tresses. He wound her hair around his fist to hold her head in place so he could ravage deeper and harder, nipping and sucking and licking.
But she wouldn’t be still for him. She thrust back with her tongue as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, wiggling against him as if she couldn’t get enough of his heat.
He couldn’t get enough of hers, either. She felt on fire. He massaged down her back, and then up her front so he could cup her breasts. He squeezed, feeling her nipples harden into tight buds against his palms. He wanted to rip away the fabric so he could touch her bare flesh, but he refrained because he had to do this the correct way. When she moaned, he caught the sound in his mouth and thrust harder, needing release, needing completeness, needing her.
Finally, he tore his mouth away so he could look at her face while he continued to toy with her ripe breasts.
She watched him with violet eyes turned deep purple.
“I need you to understand—”
“Please. Must I get my stick?”
He clasped her shoulders and lightly shook her. “Listen to me.”
She pursed her lips at him and made kissy sounds.
He groaned, almost unable to hang on to his composure. He had to get this out quickly, or he’d never make it. “The Moon Rattler started your initiation into the Sun Rattler clan.”
“I thought I was a Ghost Rattler.”
“My Rattler clan.”
“Are there a lot of clans?”
“Let me finish. We continued it last night. And if we go forward with this, we’ll complete it.”
She rolled her head back and forth, eyes closed. “I don’t know why you have to talk so much.”
“I’m protecting you. And I’m warning you.”
“Is this what you meant about marrying me?”
“Yes.” He rubbed a thumb across her delectable lower lip. “As Rattlers, we’d be joined together.”
She sucked his thumb into her mouth, giving him a coy look as she nibbled and sucked and teased with the tip of her tongue.
And he imagined her much lower, driving him witless as she plied his prick with her luscious mouth. He groaned, trying to think straight. “It means there’d never be a divorce, not after a year or any other way.”
She let go of his thumb and simply gazed at him. “We aren’t married.”
He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “But do you understand?”
“Let’s see. I’m already a Rattler. I’ve got this strange Soleil Wheel on my chest. And I’m halfway through an initiation into the . . . Secret Order of Sun Rattlers. I see and talk with ghosts. Do I have all that right?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me this. If I finally get my wedding night, how much stranger can my life be?”
“There’s no going back.”
She put her hands on each side of his face and looked into his eyes. “I don’t want to go back. I’ve never belonged before. I’ve always been an outsider. I’ve yearned to be with people like me, only I didn’t know any existed. Do you think I could ever in a million years want to be separated from you?”
He crushed her against his chest, feeling his heart beat hard and fast. “You’re my ladylove,” he murmured against her soft hair. “If you’ll be my bride, I’ll give you whatever you want.”
“You. I want only you.”
Chapter 34
And yet . . . if Tempest got what she wanted from Lucky, how long would it last? He spoke about forever, but so had Haig. Was she foolish to give away what young women were counseled to save for their husbands on their wedding nights? Once gone, her virginity could never be regained. What would Elmira and Lamira think? Would the Ladies Benevolent Society of Delaware Bend approve or disapprove? And yet . . . did anything matter except the feel of his lips as he pressed hot kisses down her neck?
“You are so beautiful,” Lucky murmured. “Skin smooth as rich cream. Eyes the color of twilight. Hair like spun gold. Yet your body is the least of your beauty. Your true beauty can’t be seen, only felt like the stir of a breeze, the warmth of a sunbeam, the ripple of a stream.”
With those words, she knew that she loved him. And she would love him forever, no matter how long or short their time together. She cared not a whit what others might say or think or do. She would always count her blessings that he had graced her life with the touch of his mind, his body, and his soul.
Tears blurred her eyes as she turned her face into the hollow of his throat. She felt the strong beat of his heart through his pulse. She caught his scent of sage, leather, and citrus. He was vitally alive and he was with her. He wasn’t a ghost that she could talk with but never touch. He didn’t pity her for her affliction. He even called it a gift. He valued her, all of her. If not love, he’d crowned her with respect and admiration. And it was enough. In fact, it was more than she’d ever hoped to receive in life.
“Smile for me,” she said, feeling her heart expand with happiness.
“What?”
“I want to see your dimple.”
He chuckled, revealing his dimple. “I’ve a lot better things for you to see.”
She toyed with the indentation in his left cheek with the tip of her finger, and then followed with a soft kiss. “What kind of big, strong man has such a cute dimple?”
“Don’t press your luck.’
She reached down and stroked his hard shaft through his blue jeans. “May I press my Lucky?”
“Won’t you be serious for one moment?”
She stretched her back, rubbing her breasts against his chest. She felt a deep contentment, almost lethargy settle into her limbs. Nothing mattered except right here, right now. They had all the time in the world, at least for the night.
She rolled off his lap and stretched out full length on her side. “Go ahead, show me.”
“What?”
“The part of you that’s better than your dimple.”
He chuckled. “You want me to strip for you?”
“I believe I’ll just make that part of my fee for talking with ghosts.”
; “What happened to the lady I met in the Bend?”
“Gone bad.”
“How bad?”
“If you’re good, I’ll let you find out.”
“What if I want to be bad?”
“That’d be good.”
He laughed harder, shaking his head as he unbuttoned the cuff of one sleeve and then the other.
“Now that’s a good bad boy.” She put her elbow on the blanket and rested her chin on her palm while she watched him. “You’re so beautiful, too. Just every little thing about you.”
“Little?”
She smiled. “Excuse me, every big thing about you.”
“Better.”
As she watched him, she felt her heart fill with such love that it almost took her breath away. He stood in the glow of the campfire with a velvety black backdrop and a canopy of starlight and moonlight overhead. He seemed made for the night, a man of mystery and magic.
“Are you invoking your matrilineal rights?”
“My what?”
“Right of descent through the mother.”
“What does that mean?”
“When Europeans arrived on Turtle Island, they brought their legal and social systems, which restrict female rights, but many native nations followed matrilineal descent.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“A man married into his wife’s clan and became part of her family. Their children belonged to her clan, not his clan. Maybe it wasn’t obvious to European men, or more likely they chose to ignore it, but these tribal women wielded great power and influence.”
“What happened?”
“Those who won the wars imposed their systems on those who lost. Yet we never forgot or lost our respect for the power of women.”
“Now I have a name for the way I was raised in Jefferson. The men in our family died in the war, and our women were left to carry on alone.”
“That often happens in war.”
“But you’re talking about children, aren’t you? I don’t understand why. You have that French protection, don’t you?”
“French caps.” He slowly unbuttoned his shirt from the top down. “You don’t have a Rattler clan of your own, so I offer my Sun Rattler clan to you.”
She bit her lower lip, feeling as if her world was spinning out of control again. “I can’t see that it matters.”
“Trust me, it does.”
“But we aren’t married. We’re just having . . . relations. I hope.”
He pulled his shirt tail out of his blue jeans, slowly shrugged the fabric off his shoulders, and then tossed the garment to one side.
She caught her breath, all thoughts flying away at the sight. He had broad shoulders sculpted with lean muscle down his chest past his belly button, where his blue jeans clung to his narrow hips. With almost no chest hair, his skin glowed golden in the firelight. His Soleil Wheel appeared raised, no longer flat, as if it was coming alive on his body.
“I meant it when I said that you’re my bride tonight.” He put his hands on his hips and looked across the fire at her. “Many different cultures practice many different ways to join a man and a woman. I mean for us to join as Rattlers in an ancient symbolic rite.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It is.”
“Couldn’t you just kiss me?”
He smiled, flashing his dimple. “I’ll do a lot more than that.”
“Couldn’t we get on with it?”
He put his hands on the top button of his blue jeans, and then slowly unbuttoned one button after another as he moved downward.
Her breath caught in her throat as she waited for him to reveal the long, hard length of his shaft.
“Tempest, come here.”
She felt too languid to move. She felt receptive, like an empty vessel waiting to be filled with rich nectar.
“Now.”
Something in his voice had changed, as if he had invoked some age-old power that recognized nothing but obedience. She rose to her knees, responding without conscious thought. On hands and knees, she moved slowly around the campfire until she knelt in front of him.
“Look at me.”
She glanced up and was riveted by the Soleil Wheel on his chest, for it appeared to whirl clockwise. She felt a primitive force flow from his Wheel to the Soleil Wheel over her heart. Soon her Wheel felt as if it whirled counterclockwise. And she felt breathless with anticipation as heat blossomed deep inside her, like a flower opening its petals to the warmth of the Sun.
“Close your eyes.”
She didn’t know what he was doing, or why, but for now she would go along with it. She lowered her eyelids, savoring the anticipation of his touch. Instead, she heard him shuck his blue jeans and toss them aside. A flash of heat rippled through her at the thought of him naked, ready, and able to consummate every dream she’d ever had of her wedding night. She grew hotter still as she imagined his long, lean muscles, the power of his body, and the hardness of his shaft. At the center of her desire, she ached, burned, and became moist. She waited for his touch, more impatient by the moment.
Instead of coming to her, Tempest heard him rummage in his saddlebags. Disappointment, confusion, and frustration made her want to leap up and grab him, but she reined in her desires. And waited. She felt hotter with each moment that he delayed her satisfaction. Perhaps that was his intention.
When he returned to her, she felt him wrap a soft scarf around her eyes and tie it behind her head. She tossed her head in irritation. She reached up to remove the blindfold, but he pushed her hand down.
“ No.”
She felt the power in that one word. Maybe he wanted her to focus on his touch and nothing else to heighten her senses. Perhaps he thought she needed a ritual to feel like a bride. It wasn’t necessary. She needed only him.
And then she coughed as thick, sweet smoke washed over her, surrounding her with a pungent scent. She wished he’d say something, but he remained quiet until she heard the beat of a drum that echoed her heartbeat.
“Stand up.”
“Are you sure—”
“Yes.”
As she rose to her feet, she felt her Soleil Wheel throb in time to the beat of his drum. He must be giving her a ceremony, but it was like nothing she could ever have imagined in her life.
“Remove your clothes.”
If he wanted her to feel vulnerable, he was accomplishing his goal. He could see her, but she couldn’t see him. To undress in front of him while blindfolded seemed indecent, decadent, and erotic. Could that be his reason? Was he building as much tension in himself as he was in her?
She reached for the top of her blouse and slipped free the first button. She took her time, making each movement of her fingertips slow and sensual, one button after another, until she dropped her garment to the blanket. She hesitated, drawing out the moment, and then unbuttoned her skirt and let it slide down her legs, feeling the fabric rasp sensually against her bare skin. He was instigating a heightened sensitivity in even the most ordinary of actions. When she stood in only her chemise and drawers, she drew a deep breath, tingling all over.
“Finish.”
She moved slowly to the beat of his drum, unbuttoning her chemise, slipping it off her shoulders, and dropping it to the blanket. She felt her nipples harden and her breasts swell at the thought of his eyes feasting on her bare flesh. And she grew hotter and wetter between her thighs in anticipation of his touch.
And still his drum pounded in time with the beat of her heart, the smoke enveloped her, and the Soleil Wheel throbbed on her chest. All of it combined to raise her desire, build her lust, expand her passion. Yet he didn’t touch her. She unbuttoned her drawers and let them fall to the blanket. And she stood naked before him. When she heard his sharp intake of breath, she smiled in triumph. No matter his control, he wanted her.
“Kneel.”
She started to question or protest, but she had come too far to stop now. She was the student. He was the teacher.
And she wanted to learn. She knelt at his feet again.
And the drumming stopped. She was surprised when she felt him clasp one of her wrists and pull it behind her back, and then the other. She was even more surprised when she felt cool metal surround both wrists and heard the rattle of chain. She tugged to get free, but he’d securely bound her.
She hadn’t bargained for this, and she felt uneasy. She started to stand, but felt his hand on her shoulder, pressing down.
“Stay still.”
“I’m not sure—”
“Do you trust me?”
She hesitated, acutely aware that she was naked, bound, and so very vulnerable.
“Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?”
“ No.”
“Trust me now.”
She sighed, realizing that she would follow him almost anywhere, even deep into uncharted territory, as she had been doing since she’d first met him. Good or bad, she had no way to know yet. Still, she felt her love for him, her connection to him, grow deeper with each passing moment.
He knelt before her, grasped her shoulders, and pulled her toward him. She felt him position her so that her Soleil Wheel was opposite the one on his chest. And then he twined his arms around her and slowly pulled her close.
As their Soleil Wheels touched, she felt as if they burst into flames. She moaned as searing heat enveloped her entire body. She struggled to twist out of his embrace, but he’d bound her so that she couldn’t escape. She felt as if they were going up in flames, melting into each other in a white-hot river of fire. And still she moaned and writhed against him, trying to get free.
When she’d lost all sense of time, feeling as if she’d blazed in his arms for all eternity, the heat changed, withdrawing from her extremities. As the fire contracted toward the heart of her, it grew in intensity until she burned with a desire so bright that she trembled and moaned in desperate need.
Yet she had no power. Only he could give. And she receive.
Chapter 35
Lucky rode a wave of power that kicked like a bucking bronc. If he hadn’t bound Tempest with silk and silver, he’d be hard pressed to hold her.
Rattlers must normally have wielded this type of power before they had transferred the Atlahtaw power to the spirit plane. He wanted to give in to the exhilaration that surged through him in a flame of searing heat, but he held tight as he balanced on a knife’s edge. To lose control or to give in meant annihilation for both of them.
