Love.
The thought startled her. Without a heart how could he love anyone, though if his heart was merely silent was there hope? She learned how to speak without a voice. Could Cree’s heart learn to be heard? Or was she being foolish? After all how did one teach the devil to love?
Chapter Twenty-three
Cree walked over to Dawn stopping barely an inch away from her. He ran his thumb over her lips as if readying them for his kiss. But he didn’t kiss her. His hand drifted down to her neck and squeezed it gently before drifting to her shoulder and kneading it with strong fingers.
He did not understand his unrelenting need for this woman. He had never wanted a woman as much as he wanted Dawn. It was like a gnawing hunger in his soul that he feared would never be appeased.
All he wanted was to take her and bury himself deep inside her until he was lost in exquisite pleasure. Even then though, he worried that it might not be enough. He feared he would want her again and again. He felt completely out of control when it came to her and that did not sit well with him.
“You belong to me,” he whispered.
She stared at him for a fraction of a moment before nodding amazed by the thought that sprung to mind.
And you belong to me.
Without a doubt she belonged to him, everyone and thing in Dowell belong to him. But that she should think that he belonged to her was utter madness. And yet the thought nagged at her that Cree belonged to her and no amount of reasoning seemed to matter. It was a thought strongly rooted in her and try as she might she could not uproot it. It had dug deep and would not let go.
“You know I will have you this night.”
She laid her hand on his arm and pressed one finger against his hard muscles.
“You remember,” he murmured. “This is good. One for yes and two for no.” He took hold of her chin. “Tell me. I want you to gesture it. Do you want me?”
She thought he held his breath waiting for her answer and for the first time in many years she wished she had a voice. He wanted to hear her say it of her own accord and she answered him, she pressed a finger against the hard muscle in his forearm.
His chest expanded with a breath and in the next second he lifted her up into his arms and he carried her into the other room. He yanked the wool blankets back before placing her down on the bed and then he quickly slipped off his boots and yanked off his leggings tossing them carelessly to the floor.
He was a sight to behold. Hard muscle everywhere even between his legs. And she shivered wondering over the wisdom of her actions.
He stopped, his one knee resting on the bed. “Do you fear me, Dawn?”
At one time she feared him beyond reason, but now? She reached for his hand and turned it over pressing one finger against his palm, waited, and then pressed twice against his palm.
“Yes and no?” he asked perplexed.
This time she nodded.
He lowered himself down alongside her, their bodies touching but he did not touch her. “You should fear me in some things, but I never want you to fear me when we are intimate.”
His hand came up then to gently touch the bruise on her face. “Does this hurt?”
She turned her hand from side to side.
“Sometimes?”
She nodded.
He leaned down and kissed the corner of her mouth near the bruised area. “Does that hurt?”
She shook her head.
He brushed his lips across her mouth. “And that?”
She shook her head again aching for more, so much more from him.
He took hold of her chin then and his lips took hers with such fervor that she thought for a moment that she would climax, but he stopped abruptly.
“And that?” he whispered against her mouth. “Does that hurt you?”
She pressed her finger against his arm twice and then twice more and then twice more.
He laughed. She had never heard him laugh and it made her smile.
“Then you want more?”
She pressed her finger to his arm at least seven times and he laughed again, and she liked the sound of it.
He kissed her again feverishly and she responded just as zealously. His hand roamed down to her breast while their tongues sparred like warriors hungry for victory. He cupped one and ran his thumb across her nipple teasing it until it was rock hard. Then he tore his mouth away from hers to settle it over her hard nipple and tease it unmercifully with his tongue.
She gripped his one wrist and squeezed hard hoping it would translate into the moan that was trapped inside her that she so badly wanted to release.
He went to work on her other breast while his hand made a slow descent down her body as if making certain to touch every inch of her, claim every inch of her, mark every inch of her and he did just that.
She was wanton and wicked for loving what he was doing to her, for what he was making her feel, for the pleasure he was giving her. But then the devil knew the sins of the flesh and she was succumbing to each and every one of them.