Silk and Shadows(68)

When he first touched where her thighs and abdomen joined, she flinched, momentarily grateful for the protection of her clothing. Then the warmth of his hand melted away her disquiet, as answering warmth slowly flowered inside her. She rubbed against him like a cat being petted.

He raised her skirt and petticoats, and she felt almost naked with only the sheer muslin of her drawers between his questing hand and her yearning flesh. The delicate fabric added a rustling sensuality as he caressed her, massaging her calf, her knee, moving ever upward.

When he reached the exquisitely sensitive inside of her thighs, she gasped with fearful pleasure, breaking the kiss in her need for breath. His broad palm came to rest between her legs, motionless while she became accustomed to the intimacy. Then he began rotating his hand in a slow circle. Her breathing roughened as her inchoate longings began to focus into a swirl of sensation beneath his palm.

"You like that, don't you, sweet Sara?" he murmured. He shifted from general pressure to a delicate, more specific exploration, his fingers searing through the thin muslin.

She pulsed against him in wordless answer. When the stroking ended, she almost cried out at the deprivation before realizing that he was only pausing to untie the ribbon that fastened her drawers around her waist. She knew she should protest, but instead she shamelessly raised her hips to help, no longer knowing or caring what was proper, or what the consequences might be.

The air was cool on her heated skin when he tugged the flimsy garment off. Shyness was not yet gone, and she tensed when his fingers skimmed across the subtle, satin curve of her belly, then traced a path through the soft curls to the mysteries below. When at last he touched her bare flesh, she was startled and embarrassed at the moist heat of her response.

He held her close with one encircling arm. "Relax, sweet Sara, relax," he whispered. "Your body was made for love. Let me teach you."

At first she was unbearably sensitive, fearful of such intimate invasion. But he knew her body better than she did herself, knew exactly where and how to touch, easing her disquiet even as he inflamed her senses.

She was aware of his soothing voice, but not the words he uttered, was aware of the scratchy feel of his wool coat against her cheek, of the subtle, musky male scent of him in her nostrils. Her hips began moving involuntarily, and her breathing was ragged, desperate, as waves of need threatened to drown her.

"Yes, Sara, yes. Yield and be free." His voice was husky and uneven, and she felt a hot, hard bulge where her leg pressed against him. The last of her inhibitions were dissolved by the knowledge that he was also aroused by her. She lost control of her body entirely, crying out as shattering urgency overwhelmed her. She was falling, falling, frightened yet joyous.

In the aftermath, she felt as if she had been fragmented and was only slowly being reassembled. She lay on her side, and Peregrine held her against him, one hand cradling her head while he whispered gently in a language she did not understand. His other hand still rested on her, calming the heady throbbing of her most private parts.

She raised her head to look at him, struggling for a measure of composure. "That is what you wanted to teach me?"

"That was only the beginning, silken Sara, the first step on a road with no end." He smiled, unsteady brilliance in his eyes, and began caressing her again.

She had thought her body was sated, but he knew better. Under his expert touch, tendrils of pleasure began to coil deep inside her, first slowly, then with growing intensity. Her eyes drifted shut in blissful, wondering appreciation.

As he lowered her to the yielding turf, she heard the brushing sound of fingers manipulating fabric and buttons. Then he touched her again, his fingers sliding inside her, then spreading the delicate folds of flesh. She should have known what was happening, but she was too dazed, too disoriented by the newness and the pleasure to really understand.

Sara's discovery of her capacity for rapture resonated within Peregrine, touching chords of wonder he had long forgotten or had never truly known. When she gazed at him, warm with wanting, delicious in her openness and vulnerability, she touched his spirit as deeply as she kindled his body.

He reacted with primitive male possessiveness, overwhelmed by the irresistible need to make her his own. Intimacy was not something Sara would give or accept lightly. If she would be his lover, she would also be his wife. He wanted her, by all the gods that men worshiped, he wanted her, and her response was irrefutable proof that she also wanted him.

He separated her legs and positioned himself between them. Though he yearned to plunge heedlessly into her sweet body, he restrained himself. His eyes closed as all his iron discipline focused on curbing unruly desire. While it was impossible to eliminate pain entirely, he pressed against her with slow care to minimize her discomfort.