The Wind Dancer (12 page)

And, most of all, the power of his leather-gauntleted hands held out before the flames...

"You're very small." His gaze was still on the fire. "It will hurt you the first time."

She didn't answer. She almost wished he would touch her and end the maddening tension
between them. She felt as if the next breath she drew would shatter her composure.

"I'll try to proceed slowly but--" He stopped and was silent a moment before continuing
haltingly, "My appetites are great. Sometimes it's like a frenzy, a madness. You must not
fight me or I might injure you. I don't want that to happen."

"I will not fight you."

Lion's hands closed slowly into fists. "I know. You will yield because I own you." He
smiled recklessly as he turned to face her. "And why not? It's the way of the world." His
gloved hands reached out to encompass her breasts. "Why do you gasp? The leather is no
longer cold. I made sure of that, Sanchia."

The leather
was
warm, almost hot, she thought hazily. The hard, seamed leather was
strangely seductive against the smoothness of her flesh.

His hands were cupping her, squeezing her gently while his gaze studied her face. "My
hands are even warmer," he said softly. "But I dare not take off these gloves yet. The
texture of your skin excites me and if I touch your flesh I will need you at once... and I
will take you at once. It will go easier for you if I do not." His left hand slid down her
abdomen to the thatch of curls surrounding her womanhood and began slowly to rub back
and forth. "Such a pretty nest." His voice was hoarser, his nostrils flaring as he looked at
her. "I want to move into you and feel those curls brushing against me. Part your limbs
now, Sanchia."

She was trembling so badly she wasn't sure she could move. His hand stroking her was
igniting a strange burning sensation between her thighs.

"Sanchia." The softness of his tone failed to veil the underlying command.

She obeyed him, her gaze fastened blindly on the lacings of his leather jerkin.

"Wider." Her gaze moved up to his strong brown throat, and she watched in fascination
as the pulse in the hollow abruptly accelerated. "Ah, that's right. Now stand very still."

His hand moved down between her thighs and she felt the warmth of his hand through
the gauntlet as his palm moved against her, caressing, stroking. Everywhere he touched
left a trail of that same moist burning sensation that was close to pain. She closed her
eyes, swaying helplessly as sensation after bewildering sensation tore through her. "It...
hurts."

"No." His palm cupped, squeezed, released. "It's not pain, Sanchia. Hunger." His voice
was uneven. "It's hunger."

"I don't think so." She reached out to clutch desperately at his upper arms.

He stiffened. "Don't touch me."

She jerked her hands away. "I'm sorry, my lord, I didn't mean--"

"Lion," he cut in through clenched teeth. "It's too soon for you to touch me. I can't hold
off, if you do." He lifted her in his arms and started across the room toward the bed.
"There are many kinds of hunger." He laid her down. "This is the best." He parted her
thighs, his index finger searching. "And the worst."

He found what he sought and began to gently press and rotate.

Her eyes widened with shock as she gave a little cry.

He was a huge, dark shadow bending over her, his expression intent, his lips parted to
take in more air as his massive chest labored with the harshness of his breathing. His face
was a devil's mask above her as the glow of the firelight lit only one side of his face
leaving the other in darkness.

Darkness. Flame. Hunger.

She bit her lower lip to suppress a moan as the unbelievable ripples of feeling spread
from his gloved finger to every part of her body. It
was
hunger, she realized dazedly, a
hunger more terrible than any she had ever known. She couldn't bear it. She instinctively
tried to close her thighs.

"No!" He stopped her, moving her thighs even farther apart until she felt totally
vulnerable, totally exposed. His finger continued to press gently as he gazed down at her.
"I want to look at you." His tone was almost guttural. "Beautiful... " His other hand
moved down and he inserted one finger carefully within her. "
Dio
, you're tight." A
second finger joined the first with some difficulty and he paused, his gaze lifting to her
face. "Tell me what you're feeling."

The seams of the leather gloves pressing against her, his fingers invading her, the burning
hunger increasing every second. She shook her head helplessly. "I... can't." She gasped
and instinctively arched up against him as he plunged deeper, withdrew and plunged
again. "Please, my lord--"

"What do you feel?" he demanded.

Her head thrashed back and forth on the pillow. "Heat." Her nails dug into the coverlet.
"Hardness. The leather is... " The muscles of her stomach clenched as a third finger
slipped into her. "Fullness."

"And hunger?" He moved slowly, then faster, then slowly again. "You want this?"

"Yes." The affirmative was a whisper. She was surprised she could speak.

"It's pleasure?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Good." His fingers left her and he straightened and stepped back away from the bed.
"Let's hope you'll soon know so, for I can't wait any longer." He drew off the leather
gauntlets and threw them aside. "Santa Maria, I want to f
eel
you." He touched her
breasts, his long fingers light and gentle on her flesh. A shudder ran through him. "I told
you," he whispered. "I knew it would be like this." His callused palm cupping her breasts
was nearly as hard as the leather of the glove, but it was infinitely different. His flesh was
warmer, vibrant with life. "Your skin is like nothing I've ever touched before. It makes
me--" He threw back his head, drawing in a great breath as if starved for air. "I'll show
you how it makes me." He pulled her to a sitting position on the bed and began to strip
off his clothing.

She crouched on her knees on the bed, her arms crossing her breasts in an attempt to still
her trembling. "You're undressing too?"

He didn't look at her as he pulled off his boots. "As quickly as possible."

"Giovanni never undressed when he took my moth--" She broke off as he cast her a
stormy glance. "I can't help comparing you. He was my master. Now you're my master.
My acquaintance is not so large that--" She stopped, her eyes widening as his rampant
arousal sprang free when he pulled off his black hose. She swallowed and moistened her
lips. He was not like Giovanni at all. Naked now, Lion was all iron muscles and brawny
power. The triangle of springy dark hair thatching his chest ended in a V before it
reached the flatness of his stomach, but another thatch surrounded his manhood. Where
Giovanni was soft and flabby, Lion was taut and muscular. Where Giovanni was small,
Lion was--

"You see?" Lion asked softly as his gaze followed her own. "This is what you do to me.
Looking at you, touching you..."

"I see." She couldn't keep her gaze off him. She stated positively, "You won't fit, you
know."

He chuckled. "I'll fit very well. A woman's body is marvelously accommodating. After
the first time it won't even hurt."

She had grave doubts his assurances would prove true but, since there was clearly
nothing she could do, it would be foolish to worry about possible pain until it happened.
Besides, she was still feeling the tingling urgency between her thighs that tempered her
fears with curiosity and excitement. "You look very... strong."

"I notice you don't call me handsome." He threw the hose aside and stepped forward. "I
know well I'm an ugly bastard. But, as you say, I'm strong as a bull and that can be of use
in such jousts as this."

"You're not ugly."

He smiled cynically. "You learn the arts of flattery quickly. However, sweet words are
futile when I have a mirror to look into each morning."

He didn't believe her, Sanchia realized. "No, truly, I do not--" She broke off as he knelt
on the bed facing her. He was so close her nipples brushed the thatch of hair on his chest.

He cupped her face in his hands as he gazed down at her with an expression that hinted at
anger. "I don't want this. I have no liking for taking virgins."

"Then don't do it."

"Easy words." His hands moved down to her shoulders and began to knead her flesh with
yearning tenderness. "I must do it. From the moment I saw you I knew I must have you
like this."

"Not from the first moment. Only when you saw me in the bath and found I wasn't as
ugly as you thought."

"Cristo, must you always argue with me?" His hands tightened on her shoulders. "I like
you better when the only sounds you make are gasps and moans."

Obediently, she kept silent. What was he waiting for? she wondered. She could feel the
unbearable tension gripping his body and yet she also sensed reluctance.

"And don't look at me like that." He shook her. "I don't want to hurt you, dammit. It will
bring me no pleasure, but I must... " He pushed her back on the bed and moved between
her thighs. His arousal nudged against the center of her womanhood as he muttered, "One
stroke and it will be over." He covered her lips with his palm. "One stroke... "

He drew a deep breath and lunged forward.

Pain. White hot. Lightning swift. Her cry was smothered by his hand but her eyes
widened with shock and agony as they gazed up at him.

"Close your eyes," he commanded roughly as he eased farther into her tight passage.
"Don't look at me."

Her lids fell and she was in darkness. The pain was fading, and she was conscious only of
an exquisite fullness and a sense of something lost that had been found. She could feel
the soft prickle of the hair dusting Lion's thighs brushing the smoothness of her own and
heard the harsh sound of his breathing above her.

He was still, filling her completely but not moving. "It's done." His palm petted her,
smoothing her around him. "
Dio
, you've taken all of me. I wasn't sure you'd be able to do
it. You're so tiny... " His finger began to press and circle that bewitching place he'd
fondled before. A hot shiver ran through her and she could feel the muscles of her
stomach clench. A moment before she had felt pinned, staked to Lion's body and content
only to accept, but suddenly now she felt the need for something more. "May I... move?"

He froze. "I cannot stop." His voice was savage with frustration. "I'll try to hurry but I
cannot promise."

"That wasn't what I meant. I wished only--" She broke off as he drew out and then
plunged forward. Pleasure streaked through her. This was what Lion had meant, she
thought dazedly as he began a wild, pounding rhythm. This must be the pleasure men felt
when they fornicated with a woman. She wished Lion hadn't condemned her to darkness.
She would have liked to watch his face to see if he was feeling the same pleasure as she.

Yet he must be enjoying her body for he was shuddering, trembling as he moved, his
breath coming in sharp gasps that resembled sobs. The intensity of his need filled her
with a heady excitement and increased her own hunger tenfold. It was as if he were
feeding her his frustrated desire for completion and somehow making it her own.

He was petting her again, his big hands trembling, urgent. "Take me," he muttered. "Help
me. I want all of you."

He sounded like a man in agony, she thought with a rush of maternal tenderness. What
must it be like to feel desire with such overwhelming intensity? She clenched around him
and heard Lion give a low groan.

"Sweet... That's right. Hold me. Only a little longer."

She tried to hold him but he was too wild, out of control, almost lifting her from the bed
with the force of his thrusts. She was suddenly conscious of something building within
her, growing stronger with every movement. Something... strange, coiling toward fever
heat.

Lion was moving her, shifting her, trying to take more of her. The hotness pouring
through her was a clear stream of pure desire. Then the stream merged with Lion's until
there was only one river, one entity striving to reach... to reach what?

Then she knew!

The knowledge broke over her in a release of rapture that left her gasping and shivering
in the shimmering aftermath.

Lion cried out thickly as if strangling on a surfeit of pleasure.

The silence in the room was broken only by the crackle of burning logs in the fireplace
and Lion's harsh breathing above her.

"May I open my eyes now?"

She heard his breathing become arrested and then he muttered a low curse beneath his
breath. "
Gran Dio.
" Then he was moving off her. "Of course you can open your eyes.
Why the hell shouldn't you?"

Her eyes opened to see him striding across the room, the muscles of his tight buttocks
rippling as he moved toward the washstand. Slowly she sat up and gave a wistful sigh.
He was angry again. She wished she'd been allowed a few moments more to enjoy this
odd sweet languor before having to gather herself to try to understand what was troubling
him. "Because you told me you didn't want me to look at you."

"That was because I didn't want to see your--" He broke off and kept his gaze averted as
he dipped a cloth into the water in the basin and wrung it out. "I didn't mean you had to
keep them closed. Have you no sense?"

"I don't know you well enough to always know what you want from me," she said
simply. "I thought perhaps it made your pleasure greater if I didn't distract you by
looking at you."

"No, it wasn't that." He averted his gaze as he turned and came back to the bed carrying
the damp cloth. He sat down on the bed and moved the cool cloth between her legs. His
gaze remained fixed on the cloth as he asked in a low voice, "Does it still hurt?"

"There's a little soreness." She shrugged. "I thought it would hurt much more. You're
right; a woman's body is very accommodating."