Lakota Princess (24 page)

A shadow flitted across the moonlight.

She gasped.

“Are you phantom or real woman?” The voice was low, barely above a whisper; the words spoken in Lakota, and close to her ear.

She turned just slightly, there confronting Black Bear. He stood beside her, a scant few inches away, dressed in no more than breechcloth and moccasins. She hadn’t heard him come up beside her, but then, she shouldn’t have.

“How long have you been here?” she asked, her gaze taking in all of him; his bare chest, his abdomen, the way the breechcloth fell over his—

She shot her gaze up to his eyes, a half apology in her glance.

But he merely smiled at her before he repeated, “How long have I been here?” He took his time answering, letting his own glance roam the length of her body until at last he said, “Long enough.”

She turned in full toward him then, repaid for her efforts by his indrawn breath before he said, “So beautiful. So—”

He stared at her; he reached out a hand toward her, touching her lightly, gently; his hand, opened, outlined her hair, the silvery strands which gleamed as though with a life of its own, set off from the light of the moon, the stars, the very heavens.

“Do you understand what it is I want of you?” he asked, and she nodded.

He groaned then before he wrapped her in his arms. And Estrela sighed, comforted by the heavy beating of his heart.

“I wanted to tell you about it, about me,” she whispered. “I tried to tell you in so many different ways, but I—”

“Shh—” he said. “I know now. It is enough.”

Estrela nodded.

“You are sure you are ready,” he asked, “for all this will mean to you, to me?”

Again she nodded, and he sighed.

“Ah, Waste Ho, you are as potent as spirit water,” he said, nuzzling his face against hers. “And I want you.”

“Black Bear, I—”

“Do you want me?”

She gulped. “Black Bear, I…please—”

Whatever she would have said was cut off as Black Bear ushered her back into her bedchambers, leaving the doors wide open. The small wax candle by her bedside flickered with the draft that blew in, throwing fleeting shadows over the couple where they stood outlined against the dim light from the moon.

“Black Bear,” she said, “I do want you. I—”

It was all she was permitted to say.

His lips captured hers in a kiss that had his breath mingling with her own, his clean scent filling her senses.

“Black Bear…”

She had never felt this good, she had never felt anything like this, and as he raised his head, his eyes still closed, he shivered.

Estrela felt it straight to the bone. What was between them was powerful, was good, was more than she had ever thought it could be. And she could never remember ever loving anyone more.

“Ah, Waste Ho,” he said, raising his hand to her face. He inhaled sharply, letting his fingertips trail over her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, seeking the feel of her as though he were blind. “I have waited for you,” he spoke to her in Lakota, “for this, too long. I fear for my own control. Shh…” he said when she would have answered. “Just feel, Waste Ho. I think I have died these past few weeks thinking that another man has had you. And now that I know that you…” he shuddered, “…that you have never been with a man, I want you to remember always this, your first time. I—”

“Black Bear, about my marriage, you—”

“Shh—” He smoothed a lock of her hair back from her face. “We have much time now, you and me. We will know all there is to know about one another, but not now, I think.”

He kissed her again, only this time he brought up one hand to trail a path down over her throat, slowly—as if afraid he might miss some sensitive spot. The feel of it, the sensation, was almost more than she could take, and Estrela fell in toward him.

But it didn’t seem to bother Black Bear. He simply held her more firmly. He gazed down at her as she looked up to him, but he didn’t stop the movement of his hand. Down farther and farther he touched her, until at last he reached her breasts.

Estrela gasped, and Black Bear, in response, brought his head back to gaze at her.

He groaned then before he lowered his head, his lips touching her own.

Ah, the feeling. The exquisite feeling. And as shock wave after shock wave reverberated through her body, Estrela thought she would surely faint.

But he wasn’t finished with her. First he nudged her lips open with his own, then his hand, where it lay on her breast, began to squeeze the soft mound of her flesh, first one, then the other breast, his fingers circling the rosy tips until her nipples became hard nubs pushing forward against the fine material of her nightgown.

And this time, Estrela’s legs would not hold her.

She melted against him, her own body useless to her will, yet seemingly alive to his.

“Waste Ho,” he muttered as he drew his own smooth cheek over her own. “You try my very control. Forgive me if you push me over the edge. I try,” he said. “I will try to hold myself back.”

Estrela nodded, although she had no idea of his meaning.

He set her away from him, if only a tiny bit, and she saw that he watched her. He gazed at the slight gown where she felt it fluttering over her skin; he touched her hair, the sight of his darker hand amid her long, pale curls intoxicating; he stared down at the pale patch of color there at the junction of her legs.

His gaze was potent, too much, and as if to add to the sensuality between them, the wind chose that moment to invade the room, blowing back the flimsy material of her gown, toying with the silky curls about her shoulders.

And he caught his breath.

She sighed, leaning in against him. The feel of the wind, cool against the heat of her body, was creating such sensation within her, she thought she would go mad if he didn’t touch her again, and soon.

She moaned. And as though in slow motion, his gaze sought out hers. They stared, he scrutinizing
her
face now as he had earlier done with her body. And Estrela wondered which was more sensuous, the feel of the wind or the potent caress of his glance.

But Estrela, unused to the heady sensations of lovemaking, felt too shy.

She turned her head away, hiding her face under the silky curtain of her hair.

“Hiya.
No,” he said, reaching out a finger to gently touch her chin, bringing her glance once more to his. “Do not be embarrassed. You are beautiful, and I have longed for this moment it seems for most of my life. Permit me just a moment longer.”

Estrela looked up at him then, her embarrassment fading into a new feeling, a strange sensation that began at the junction of her legs, spreading upward and downward. A sensation that demanded her attention—and his.

She could stand it no more. She reached out toward him, though he stood a mere inch away.

It was all the encouragement he required. He reacted, seizing her hand in his own while with his other hand he drew the nightgown over her head, permitting him a clear view of her. And this time his hands followed where his gaze explored.

Estrela took a sharp breath.

“Waste Ho,” he said, “I hope you are truly ready for this, for I fear I can stop myself no longer.” And with this said he touched her most feminine spot with one finger, there seeking out her intimate secrets, Estrela aware that her own body moisture welcomed him more readily than any words she could have spoken.

He didn’t hesitate now. Watching her every reaction, he prodded her legs farther apart with his knee, and at her acquiescence, felt her feminine need.

She moaned and strained against him as he held her in his arms.

“Waste Ho.” He groaned in reaction to her. “I need you. I must have you. Are you ready for me? Waste Ho, do you want me?”

“Yes,” she whispered without hesitation, her nod telling him her answer too. “Please.”

He picked her up in his arms then, and with a few short steps to the bed, he lay her down on it, himself coming to his knees beside her.

She looked to his face and marveled at him, this dark, handsome man, whose touch sent fiery sensations over her body.

He held her hand. He didn’t do anything; he didn’t say anything. He just held her.

At last he lifted his gaze to hers. And there, as she looked to him, she saw his need, usually so carefully hidden, now etched into his features.

She reached out. “Black Bear…”

“Shh…” he whispered. “Just feel it, Waste Ho. Feel me, who I am. It is all yours tonight.”

And then he began to touch her. Up and over her breasts, down between her legs, over her calves to her feet, up again to her head, down, over and over until Estrela felt she might burst with sensation.

“Black Bear,” she almost cried out. “I don’t know if I can stand it. Please.”

He looked up to her, and Estrela saw him gaze at her intently before he rose to his feet, looming over her.

He removed his breechcloth, and Estrela gasped. She had never seen anyone look so magnificent, nor anyone so—

“Black Bear,” she said. “Aren’t you a little too…? What I mean is…how can you fit?”

He smiled. “Do not worry,” he said, a touch of humor to his voice. “We will manage.”

“Oh.” It was all she said.

She watched him as he leaned over her; she watched as he parted her legs, as he touched her.

And then, never looking away from her, he thrust into her.

She cried, but he was right there, easing her shock and her pain with a kiss.

He waited several moments while she accustomed herself to the feel of him. He lay on top of her, holding his weight away from her with his arms, himself still hard within her.

“I must do this now,” he whispered in Lakota. And then he smiled. “It will hurt for just a moment longer, but do not fight it. I promise you, there is more to this than just pain.” And then he withdrew, waited, thrust into her again, over and over.

Estrela gazed up at him as he lay atop her and marveled at his male perfection. She set her hands against his chest, now moist from his exertion. And with each drive against her, she, too, strained against him.

And then it began to build.

“Feel it, Waste Ho,” he said, reading every sign within her body. “Let go, Waste Ho.”

Her skin became moist. Her exertion crescendoed. Soon she was straining against him as frantically as he was with her.

“Come on, my love,” he coaxed her. “Feel me within you. And know that from this night forward, you are my woman. Come feel the passion between us.”

And though she heard him, his words, his meaning didn’t really register.

It had no chance. She was beyond thinking.

The pleasure kept blossoming inside her, kept building.

“Stay with me, Ho,” he urged her. “Feel me. Feel the pleasure I give you.” He took her hand in his own as they strained against one another, carrying her hand toward his heart. And with his eyes staring into hers, he smiled before whispering, “Stay with me.”

And Estrela thought she would burst.

She strained, she twisted, seeking a release she didn’t understand.

And then it happened.

Eyes wide, pleasure exploded within her, and she held onto Black Bear, he being her only salvation in a sea of swirling emotions.

And when she looked up to him, he smiled, saying to her words she never expected to hear.

“Now let us do it again.”

And though Estrela could barely believe him, he proceeded to show her exactly what he meant, bringing her once more to the point of release. But this time, when she reached her peak, he followed her, the force of his pleasure driving into her again and again.

Expended, he collapsed against her, and Estrela sighed in contentment.

Never had she known such pleasure.

She smiled and gazed at him. He already lay asleep in her arms.

She touched his back, felt the expanse of his long hair against her fingertips and she murmured, “I love you, Black Bear. I always have. And I hope that you will remember this.” She sighed. “For when morning comes, I will still be married.”

And with this discouraging statement, she adjusted his weight into a more comfortable position and, holding him tightly to her, knowing, yet fearing this would be their only night together, she drifted off to sleep.

Black Bear, although not plagued by such a troublesome thought, dreamed nonetheless; a horrible, terrifying nightmare. And if it were vision; it was the part of his vision he’d not understood.

He tossed and turned, helpless within the dream, but he didn’t cry out; nor did he awaken.

The raven swooped toward the nightingale. The nightingale flew, but she was no match for the black bird. No matter where she went, Raven followed.

Nightingale flew away home, across the sea; Raven followed. She stayed in England; Raven was there.

She could not escape, and Eagle was powerless to help.

He even now heard the cawing of Raven as the huge bird plunged down, down toward helpless Nightingale.

He had her in his claws. He had her imprisoned. Her life drained away, until…

Black Bear awakened.

A cold sweat ran over his body.

He shook his head, his whole body.

And then, startled, he glanced over to where Waste Ho should have been.

He heaved a sigh of relief.

She was still there, safe, protected, asleep. But could he always keep her by him, safe?

He thought back over the dream.

Eagle had been there, way up high, unable to do anything. Watching, waiting. Eagle. Himself.

But who was Raven?

He didn’t even question the identity of Nightingale. Tonight he had seen that Nightingale was female. And he was certain it meant only one thing.

Waste Ho Win, Pretty
Voice
Woman.

Black Bear lay back down in the white man’s bed.

He needed a medicine man to help him interpret the dream.

No other Indian was here except… Black Bear thought back to his two friends, both here in England. Both men were great warriors; neither, however, was a man of
woksape,
wisdom; he needed a powerful man, a medicine man.