Jo feared he would be scandalized if he knew that her virginity was intact. Never had she given herself to a man. But she would give herself to Wynne tonight.
This boldness made her feel . . . strong. She was in command, except that the pleasure was sliding through her too fast. She could feel a tingling in her limbs, and an urgency was building.
Jo sat up again, taking deep breaths. She painstakingly unfastened what was left of the buttons on her dress. His eyes were fixed on every movement of her fingers. His hips moved every now and then, building her awareness of the massive bulge she sat astride.
She loved the taste of him, the texture of his skin under her tongue. The magnificent chest, his strong neck and jaw, the lips. She pushed the dress down one arm, then the other, then to her waist. The ties at the neckline of the shift came undone with one tug and the material fell open, baring her breasts.
Her gaze moved to his eyes, and he was an animal unleashed.
* * *
He couldn't wait. He wouldn't wait. The flawless skin exposed and the perfection of her breasts took his breath away.
"Take me," she whispered.
He sat up abruptly, taking possession of her mouth. His tongue plunged into the soft recesses of her mouth. She arched against his body as his palm closed over the firmness of her breast. She moaned, driving him insane.
He had to go slow, take his time. The urge to tear off her clothes and bury himself deep inside her was too great. Wynne took her by the waist and the next instant she was on her back, staring up at him.
Leaning over her, he studied her eyes, the curve of her cheek, the delicate coloring of her lips, the play of dark hair on the sheets. She'd finally stepped out of his dreams into his life. He would love her for eternity.
He kissed her more gently this time, and their mouths continued a dance of love as their souls joined.
"Make love to me, Wynne," she whispered against his lips.
"I will . . . in time."
He slid his lips slowly down her neck and to her breasts. He pushed the shift to her waist and he heard her gasp as he tasted and teased her nipple.
He wanted to see all of her. Moving back onto the floor, he slowly undressed her. As he worked, his hands grazed across her skin, over her quivering belly, down the leg and up the inside of her thighs until a finger brushed against the slick opening of her sex.
A moment later, still standing beside the bed, Wynne looked down at the incomparable splendor of her naked body. She was the huntress Diana come to Earth to take her pleasure and grace the world of mortals.
He tossed aside his boots but didn't trust himself to remove his breeches when he lay beside her on the bed.
"Why?"
"Later," he told her. "After I am done with you."
Before she could object again, his hand slid over the symmetrical perfection of her breasts, and then moved slowly downward. His mouth recaptured hers, again muffling her gasp when he touched her center of pleasure.
* * *
"Close your eyes and feel every sensation." Wynne whispered in her ear, and she arched her body in response.
Jo closed her eyes as his mouth trailed down to her nipple. She felt a blissful madness coming on as his lips tugged at her. Waves of heat swept from her breasts to her core. She lifted her hips, desperately wanting his hand there again.
He was an expert. He knew what she wanted. His warm and magical hand slowly skimmed down her belly, leisurely exploring until it reached the junction of her thighs. She moaned as his finger gently slipped between her legs and found the delicate spot.
"Wynne." His name escaped her lips in wonder.
He began to stroke her, and Jo forgot her own name. His palm pressed at the mound, his fingers retreating and entering again. He caressed her so softly, so perfectly. Her legs tensed, and she felt the slick wetness beneath his touch. Jo found herself short of breath. Her body was suddenly humming with brilliant new sensations.
All the years of dreaming, of imagining this man in her bed, in her life, and the real experience of this moment so much surpassed all those visions.
His fingers circled and stroked, and an unbearable pressure was building within her.
She was possessed by him. He had enthralled her body in a timeless, frenzied world of sensation and passion. When she thought her release was imminent, he surprised her again by moving down her body and kissing her stomach and moving still lower.
Her eyes opened. She stared, not allowing herself to breathe. Praying that he wouldn't stop. Jo gasped when he covered her sex with his mouth.
His tongue replaced his finger, nudging at her so gently, lightly sucking, prodding.
Jo's hands tangled themselves in Wynne's hair, trying to pull him closer, wanting it to never end.
Suddenly her world splintered into unfathomable pleasure she'd never known before, and she heard herself cry out.
The climax exploded within her with the awesome power of a summer storm. The air around her lit up and she could not breathe. And then she was simply sailing through a crystalline sky, colors she had never before seen flashing around her as she soared. She cried out his name and fought fiercely to reach for him.
Wynne held her as she descended, kissing her softly until she found she was still in his arms.
The sensations in her body continued to recede in waves, but as he worked at removing what was left of his own clothes, she felt her excitement and desire growing once again.
She heard him curse. His breeches were too slow coming off. She shivered in anticipation when he stood gloriously naked beside the bed.
"Make love to me, Wynne." She lifted her hips, offering herself to him as he joined her.
The discomfort as he first entered her was sharp and quick and soon replaced by the wonder of their perfect fit. The haze of frenzied delight that followed, swept her up in wave after wave, lifting her, shattering her, until her bones dissolved into liquid, her flesh tingling and spent.
Lying together, they banished every specter of sadness and loss. Right now all that mattered was the two of them. All that existed was the affinity of two hearts and minds. Two bodies and souls. Tomorrow would be a challenge. And the day after. And many days after. But they would have time-a lifetime together-to face the world that awaited them.
For now, for tonight, each lived only for the other and basked in the afterglow of love.
Chapter 19
Grey mist rose from the river, the sun only a dull smudge of light above the phantom fields and cottages. The worn and battered graves in the kirkyard were dark with the damp. Beads of dew clung to the tufts of grass on either side of the path, and here and there a patch of daffodils hung their heads, waiting for the day to brighten. Jo needed to keep a hold on her emotions. It was as if she were going to the funeral of a friend, and she could not allow herself to break down when she needed to be strong.
They arrived early for the Sunday's service and walked on in silence for some time until she became aware of the sound of the river running over shallows. A cuckoo called from a grove on the far bank, and the feel of Wynne's arm linked with hers fortified her will.
It was time to go in.
They were the last ones who entered the church. As they seated themselves in the back row of the congregation, a spectral arm wrapped around her, surprising her with the comfort and encouragement it conveyed. Ghostly hands pressed her arm and gently touched her cheek, filling her with an unexpected sense of welcome. Jo knew it was her imagination, her anticipation of meeting those who shared with her the blood of the same forebears, of having long-held questions answered. But only in part. Her mother had been here.
The curate started the service, but Jo's mind couldn't comprehend the words. Instead, she wondered how many times a little dark-haired girl had sat in this church, perhaps in this very pew. Perhaps her wandering attention had been caught by the dark wood of the seat in front of her and she'd run her tiny fingers along the swirling lines of the wood grain. Perhaps she had practiced her counting on the rows of grey stones that shaped the arches of the windows and been distracted by the thought of spring flowers outside in the kirkyard.
Maybe, as she sat here with her mother and father, the worn coat of the stern old farmer sitting in front of them drew her eye, and she'd been tempted to pull the ribbon that held his hair back. The droning voice of the minister might have caught her attention, and she'd wondered why he wore such funny clothes and had such a strange hair when he looked nothing like that during his visits for dinner.
As she grew older, her gaze may have wandered from neighbor to neighbor. Her friend Josephine, who had the same name and loved to read. The two horrid boys from the next farm who teased her in the tiny school house at the end of the village. Perhaps those boys became less horrid as time passed.