The Forever Man(29)

"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."