Into the Woods (21 page)

Matilda smiled and leaned forward to kiss him on the mouth, not once but a dozen fleeting times. She laughed, then pressed her chest to his. "It does seem to be quite effective."

He wondered at her mirth, and why she'd insisted on testing this potion now. Did she need it? Did she think he needed it? He looked into her strange and beautiful eyes and felt a jolt he could not explain.

"I had to be sure," she whispered, taking his face in her hands. "I had to know..." she kissed him again. "Declan, what we just took was sugar water. Plain, ordinary sugar water. There is no love potion, there was never any magic about any of the things we took. All this time it's been us. Just us. We thought those things I made were real, so we allowed ourselves to look and crave and speak without restraint. That's all it was." She kissed him again, deeper this time. "I'm so glad it's just us," she whispered against his mouth.

* * *

Relief made her light-headed, dizzy, and breathless. All this time it hadn't been herbs and spices making her heart beat fast and her blood boil. It had been Declan all along.

He stood, lifting her in his arms as he rose from the chair. "Just us," he said, amazed.

"Yes."

He pushed past the calico curtain that separated her bedroom from the main room, placing her on her feet by the bed. The light was dimmer here, with the curtains at the single window pulled shut, but still she could see Declan's face and the passion in his dark eyes quite well. She wanted to see everything.

He unbuttoned her wet blouse, moving slowly even though he was obviously as anxious as she was for them to lie together. She could see the need in his eyes, feel it in his every touch. She didn't hurry him, even though her body trembled and her knees shook. This was a moment to be savored.

When her blouse was unbuttoned, Declan slipped his hand inside the wet fabric to touch her breast. His hand was warm and tender against flesh still cool and damp, his fingers teased her nipple and traced the rise of her breasts. She closed her eyes and thought about nothing but the feel of his hands on her flesh. He touched her gently, and yet she felt it everywhere; in her heart and her weak knees and most especially in the throbbing rhythm between her legs.

He removed the blouse and dropped it to the floor, and pulled her against him for a deep kiss. His tongue teased hers as he held her tight.

When he released her, she reached out to unfasten the buttons of his damp shirt. He stood very still while she flicked one button after another through her fingers. When she'd unfastened them all, she spread the cotton in her hands and leaned forward to kiss his chest, to lay her mouth against flesh warm and hard and lightly sprinkled with dark hair. While she kissed him there she pulled his shirt from his waistband and pushed it up, raking her hands along his sides as she lifted it slowly up and over his head. It landed on the floor next to her blouse.

He unfastened the button at her waist, and the next and the next, and with a gentle push the skirt fell to the floor, pooling at her feet. She was vulnerable, standing before him in nothing more than her damp drawers, but she wasn't afraid, not of Declan. It didn't matter how big he was, how commanding, how determined; he would never hurt her.

She kicked her skirt away and laid her hand on his trousers. The damp fabric made working the buttons there more difficult, but she managed to unfasten them all without running into unbearable difficulties. She shucked the trousers down slowly. Declan kicked off his boots, one at a time, and stepped out of the trousers.

They stood facing each other, each wearing nothing more than flimsy, wet undergarments.

"I can't believe that what I feel right now is real," Declan whispered, pulling her close.

Matilda's eyes drifted shut, and she melted against his chest. "I know," she whispered. Knowing that what she felt was genuine was more amazing to her than the possibility that a true love potion might exist.

While she leaned against Declan, he slipped the fingers of one hand into the waistband of her drawers as he unfastened the tapes with the other. He pushed them down and she stood against him absolutely naked. Exposed. Wanting. Could a woman offer anything more to a man than this? He held her heart and her body in his hands, she was his wholly, without question or regret.

He removed his own underwear and laid her on the bed, covering her body with his. "Your skin is still a little cold," he whispered, running his hands over her skin to warm her. He brushed his hands over her arms and her sides and her thighs, and she felt the heat grow, warming her from the inside out.

"So is yours." She raked her hands down his back, skating her palms over the muscles, feeling him grow warm as she did.

She felt, also, the erection that pressed against her thigh. In the past weeks she'd learned as much from reading the books that contained recipes for love potions and erotic oils as she had from her grandmother, who thought that no woman should be ignorant of anything, not even the intimate ways of a man and a woman. Hearing and reading about intimacy had not prepared Matilda for the way she felt, for the power and the sheer beauty of the sensation of Declan's body against hers.

Matilda knew what was to come, and she wanted it. She wanted Declan inside her.

Her hand skimmed boldly to his hips and rested there as Declan kissed her, slanting his head as if he could deepen the kiss this way, touching her as he held her mouth open with his lips and flicked his tongue against hers.

She slipped her hands between their bodies to touch him, raking her tentative fingers along his length, wondering how she could possibly take it into her body and yet knowing that it would be wonderful and right to have him there. He moaned as she wrapped her fingers around him.

There was no longer anything cold in the bed. The skin, hers and his, that met along the length of their bodies was warm. The wetness between her legs was warm, too. Hot even.

Declan reached down and spread her legs, then raked his hands slowly along the insides of her thighs. His fingers barely touched her flesh.

"I've never felt anything so soft in all my life," he whispered as he stroked her, teasing the tender skin of her inner thigh with long, patient fingers. Matilda quivered so hard she was quite sure the entire bed shook.

Declan's fingers moved higher to touch her intimately, and she arched off the bed and moaned, the response instinctive and powerful. He kissed her, caught the moan in his own mouth as he did and, in an unexpected move, slipped a finger inside her. She gasped and trembled as he began moving that finger—in and out, in and out, in a motion that promised what was to come. She rocked against him, unable to help herself, unable to think of anything but the way her body sang.

He took his hand from her, then grazed her body with his as he positioned himself so that he rested between her spread legs. The tip of his erection barely touched her; a quiver shook her body as he pressed forward.

Her body stretched, changed to accept him. There was pressure and even pain as her body expanded to accommodate their joining, but she felt not an instant of trepidation. He rocked above her, in and out, not with great force but with tenderness and ease.

When he broke through her maidenhead, there was a moment of pain that made her gasp and arch her back, but the pain was quickly over, and Declan pushed deeper into her body. He made love to her, kissing, whispering, stroking, and they fell into a natural rhythm, a dance of sorts that wiped away everything but intense physical sensation and a depth of emotion she had never before imagined.

She found herself swaying against him, meeting his increasingly vigorous thrusts with surges of her own as her body took over. Eyes closed, heart pounding, she lost herself in the act of loving Declan and allowing him to love her.

Her climax hit her with such force she cried out softly and seized Declan tight as unexpected tremors wracked her from the inside out. Intense pleasure seeped through her body, her spasming inner muscles wringing everything from Declan. He moaned and drove deep inside her one last time, finding his own release.

She could not breathe, could not move, as Declan drifted down to cover her.

A sigh escaped her lips, as her breath returned. Her body trembled and ached, and yet she felt good. Wonderful. Remarkably fine. Declan remained inside her, a part of her, and she felt as if she'd succeeded in crawling beneath his skin. This was what it felt like to be a part of another person, to truly be one.

"Oh, my," she whispered into his ear. "I didn't quite expect that."

He lifted his head and looked down at her, brushing a damp strand of hair away from her face. "What did you expect?"

She smiled. "Something rather like a kiss, I suppose. A meeting, a moment of pleasantness. I never expected to be shaken to my very bones."

He smiled and kissed her lightly. "You are an amazing woman, and I will never let you go," he whispered.

"I'm glad to hear it." She draped her arms around his neck. She thought of telling Declan again that she loved him, but since he had not yet said the words to her, she held them back. Maybe he wasn't ready to admit that what they had found was love.

Matilda experienced a moment of suspicion, a shiver of apprehension. She knew of no true stories of love that had worked out well, and very few fictional ones. In the end there was always pain and death and heartache. But for once she thought—no, she knew—that there could be happy endings for true lovers. At the moment she felt too good to consider anything else.

* * *

He woke knowing exactly where he was and what had happened in Matilda's bed. There was not so much as a split second of disorientation or doubt. A deep peace filled him, a satisfaction he was unaccustomed to making him feel strangely content.

Matilda was not sleeping beside him, though she had been a while back when he'd opened his eyes briefly to study her. He couldn't have been asleep more than two hours or so; it was still bright outside. The summer days were long.

His shirt, trousers, and underwear had been hung across a couple of chairs by the window, where they caught the diffused sunlight streaming through the curtains. They were not quite dry, so he wrapped Matilda's quilt around his waist and went in search of her.

She wasn't hard to find in the small cottage. Almost immediately after stepping from the bedroom he saw her in the kitchen, her attention resolutely on her worktable and a sticky mass she shaped and stretched and kneaded. She was so intent in her work she didn't hear or see him, so he took the opportunity to study her.

She'd donned new, dry clothes—a white blouse with a narrow band of lace at the collar, and a blue skirt. Her hair was loose and waving down her back in soft, silky waves. Her feet were bare.

Why did he feel this way about this woman? Why, of all people, was he obsessed with Matilda Candy? She was pretty, yes, open and honest and innocent, but there were other women in the world with those qualities. None of them did this to him.

Knowing that what he felt was not aided by any witch's brew confused him more than it should have. He hadn't known such strong feelings were possible, not for him. Matilda had said this was real, that it was purely them. She'd even said it was love. And right now, he didn't want to argue with her.

"What is that?" he asked, stepping into the kitchen.

She cocked her head slightly to look at him and smile, seductive and innocent at the same time. "It's a surprise."

He watched her fingers work through the gooey mass, stretching and kneading. The mass was slowly changing in texture, growing more opaque and firmer. But her hands were definitely occupied.

Holding the quilt at his waist with one hand, he stepped behind Matilda, nosed her hair aside, and laid his mouth on her neck. She giggled in response and tried to move away, but her task at the worktable kept her in place. He laid his free hand on her hip and sucked on her neck.

"Declan!" she said with gentle laughter.

"Matilda," he whispered, moving his attentions to the other side of her neck.

"My hands are full at the moment."

He loosened his hold on the quilt and let it fall to the floor, reaching around her to caress her breasts. "So are mine."

His arousal pressed against her backside, and she quit laughing. Her hands still moved urgently in the mass of goo, but she leaned against him and sighed deeply as he cupped her breasts in his hands and gently flicked his thumbs over the nipples that hardened at his touch.

"This is so unfair," she whispered.

"Did I ever claim to be a fair man?"

She shook her head.

He kneaded her breasts in rhythm with the movement of her hands in the sticky mess on the table and kissed her neck, sucking and licking and tasting her. "Do you want me to stop?"

She shook her head again.

He unfastened her blouse and slipped his hand inside to touch her. She wore nothing beneath—no chemise or underthing to impede him. He teased her with his fingers and wondered if she wore anything beneath her blue skirt.

Lifting the skirt revealed that she had nothing on below. He stroked her hip and her bottom, reveling in the feel of her soft skin, pressing his arousal against her.

He wanted her again, here and now, with an urgency that overwhelmed him. His hand slipped around her and lower, to touch her where she was already wet for him. She quivered and melted at his touch, moaning and spreading her legs slightly. She continued to knead the mass on her worktable, but with less enthusiasm. The movements of her hands were lazy, distracted. Finally they stopped entirely.

He spun her around and kissed her. She held her hands away from him, but leaned forward and closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around him.

He lowered her to the floor, and when she lay beneath him, he parted her unbuttoned blouse and greedily took a hard nipple into his mouth. She moaned as he suckled her, opening her legs in invitation and scooting down and against him.

He moved the blue calico of her skirt up and aside and parted her thighs wide. Dammit, she wasn't the only one trembling as if she couldn't wait another second for him to be inside her; he was shaking like a leaf, quaking deep down.