"It's not a matter of keeping secrets, Tate."
Her eyes wide, she watched as he lowered his head, allowing his mouth to meld with her own. His lips opened, his teeth tugging against her lower lip, holding the plump prize in a gentle grip, drawing it into his mouth. And there his tongue bathed the sensitive flesh with a caress that coaxed a moan from her throat. Her eyes closed once more as she savored the shivering sensation.
She tingled throughout her body, gooseflesh erupting upon her arms and legs. She shifted beneath him, her aching muscles and numerous cuts forgotten for the moment as she concentrated on the shimmering delight of his touch.
And then his mouth moved, releasing her slowly, as if he were reluctant to forfeit the small territory he'd conquered so easily. His lips were agile, seizing the lobe of her ear, his teeth measuring its size, then moving to explore the soft, vulnerable skin of her throat.
Whispering against her flesh, he spoke broken phrases and hushed messages that she blushed to hear. "Soft … You're so warm and … smell so sweet, here … and here."
His hands were gentle, his fingers careful, as he freed the small buttons on her gown from their moorings. And then moved the fabric aside, allowing the lamp to illuminate her flesh with a golden glow. Slowly, he bent his head, his mouth brushing against the rounding firmness, his fingers circling beneath to caress with tender care, even as he lifted and held the fullness in his palm.
So careful was his touch, so gentle his caress, she forgot the wound marring her skin, until his tongue laved across its healing surface. She'd cleaned it this morning, washing the salve from the scabbing flesh, leaving it without a covering bandage, to heal. Now, in a tender bathing, as if he would take the hurt of her injury, he ministered to her, finally tracing it with his lips, taking the last vestige of moisture with his mouth and then blowing against the damaged skin to dry it.
Johanna felt the puckering of her nipple, the drawing of her flesh as his warm breath flowed over her skin, and she shivered. Tate's chuckle was a low sound, as if he were pleased by her response, and she opened her eyes. He was watching her, lifting to his elbows, his gaze intent on the changes his touch had wrought on her tender flesh.
"Tate?" Wary of this loveplay, she whispered his name.
"Ah, Jo, you're such a prize," he said softly, his gaze moving to capture hers. "Don't stop me, sweetheart. I feel as if I've waited forever for this."
She could not resist his plea, could not resist this man who had crept into her heart with such ease. She, who had determined never to be a bride, had in these few moments discovered that she was ready to be a wife. So quickly, Tate Montgomery, with all his own secrets intact, had eased his way into her life and taken his place there.
"I just don't know what you want me to do," she told him in a hushed whisper.
His smile was crooked, and his eyes glowed with a warmth she reveled in. "Just let me love you, Jo," he said. "I won't hurt you. I'll be careful."
She nodded, giving herself over to his care, willing herself to relax beneath him as he lowered his head to the skin he'd left untouched until now. His mouth was firmer in its pursuit here, his tongue brushing against the crest that rose to meet his caress. And then he captured that small nubbin of flesh, took it between his lips and suckled it against the roof of his mouth, his tongue holding it captive.
She squirmed beneath him, breathless, caught by the web of piercing pleasure he wrapped about her. Her mouth opened on a moan of protest, as though she could not withstand such a concentration of feeling.
As if he sensed her need, he released her from his mouth, his lips moving to brush reassurance against her skin as he quieted her trembling. He tended her, his fingers cradling her, his breath warm on her skin, spending countless kisses across the surface of her breasts. Ever aware of the scarred surface, skirting it, murmuring soft phrases of comfort, he touched either end of the long scratch with his lips, as if it would shrink and heal at his loving.
And then he rolled onto his side, leaning up on his elbow and pulling the covers from her, lowering them until only her gown kept her from his sight. His hand tugged at it, lifting it, easing it up her legs, and she caught her breath at the brushing of his callused fingers against her skin.
Feeling the pressure of his touch easing between her thighs, she moved, whispering a protest, tightening the muscles that would keep him from his goal. "Tate … please cover me. I'll be cold."
His head dropped, his forehead meeting hers, brushing back and forth in a mute refusal. Then he meshed their mouths in a kiss that was different from the others, a hot, damp blending of lips and tongue that smothered her objection, urging her to a new exploration. She allowed it, giving in readily to the invasion of his tongue, intrigued by the path it traveled as he forged new ground, coaxing her into a fusion that sent shivers of delight down her spine.
So sweetly he pleasured her, so careful was he in his tender movements, that she was almost unaware of the brush of his hand over the thatch of curls he'd claimed as his own. Until his fingertips foraged farther and a glittering surge of pleasure brought a piercing cry from her throat. His mouth muffled the sound, capturing her once more in the hot, wet embrace of his lips.
With a groan of surrender, she lifted her arm, easing it around his shoulder, her fingers sliding into his hair as she held him to her. She moved to his pace, her body giving way to his clever fingers, her legs relaxing at his bidding, ever aware of the gentle pressure of his hand against her flesh.
He lifted his head, calling her name, his whisper hoarse in the silence. "Johanna! Look at me, sweetheart."
"No … " Shaking her head, she frowned, unwilling to leave the haven of pleasure he'd offered her, unable to control the hushed sounds that breathed between her lips. Still, he persisted, whispering his bidding once more.
Her eyelids fluttering, she murmured a protest. But he would not be denied. Coaxing her, his lips urgent against her cheek, he nudged her to obey, and her eyes opened reluctantly, then widened at the expression of tenderness on his face.
"Jo, sweetheart … "
Tate urged her to the brink of discovery, the edge of ecstasy. And then watched the wonder unfold as she catapulted to pleasure, her mouth opening in a silent cry, her eyes closing tightly against the tears that trickled from beneath her lids.
He drew her against himself, rocking her carefully, lest he hurt her arm, his face buried in her fragrant hair. And then, as the spasms eased, as she quieted in his embrace, he lifted himself over her. She encouraged him, enclosing him, her knees hugging him, even as she felt the gentle thrust of his invasion of her body.
It was welcome, this coming into her most secret part, this careful taking of her womanhood that he had set about with such certainty. For a moment, the painful past reared, and she forced it from her mind. Tate bore no resemblance to Joseph Brittles, at whose hands she'd known only shame and despair.
He'd wooed and won her with care and concern, and she gave him the homage due his tenderness. She lifted to him, uncaring of the pain she dealt herself with the movement. She held him in a full embrace, her torn flesh forgotten in the knowledge of this most intimate act of marriage. Clinging to him, she gathered the sum and substance of his whole being within herself, sheltering against his big body, willing him to lay claim to her as he would, withholding nothing from his surging power.
He shuddered against her, gasping a guttural cry of completion, and his groan was magnified by her own. He dropped his head to rest beside hers, his breathing harsh against her ear.
"Ah … Johanna … " As if he could say no more, he shook his head, then brushed a series of warm kisses over her face, across her throat, tipping her head back with the urging of his mouth.
She clung, her needy spirit given sustenance by the silent adulation he spent on her so lavishly. Her arm slid to the bed, the throbbing of her wound finally catching her attention, but she pushed it to the back of her mind, brushing the unwanted reminder aside.
"Jo? Did I hurt your arm?" His voice was hushed, worry taking hold as he sought her reassurance.
She shook her head. "No … I just … "
He groaned and turned to his side, taking her with him, easing the weight of her arm, careful as he lifted and held it in place. "I tried to be careful, sweetheart. Here, let me see."