Ride the Fire (25 page)

She swallowed them.

For as nervous as it made her to see such clear evidence of his physical need, she wanted him more than she ever had, and some part of her thrilled to know that her touch affected him just as much as his did her. Before she realized what she was doing, she let the cloth fall to the floor at their feet and caressed him with her bare hands, hungry for the feel of him.

Even as he spoke the words, she knew some part of her wanted to do this. She remembered that day by the river when she had watched him bathe, remembered the shock she’d felt seeing that part of him, her fear, her fascination, her body’s reaction.

She reached for the ties of his breeches with trembling hands, felt his strong hands close reassuringly over hers to help her. And then it was done, and he was guiding her hands beneath the skin-warmed leather, over his hips, over the muscled roundness of his buttocks, over his corded thighs, as he peeled the leather away from his skin and let it slip to the floor.

His sex sprang free, stood rigid against his belly, rising thick and hard from a nest of dark curls. Beneath, his stones hung, full and heavy.

Something clenched deep in her belly. Heat seemed to spread from her womb, turned to liquid between her thighs. She felt herself falter.

“The sight of me frightens you.”

She said the first thing that came into her mind. “Now I know why it hurts.”

He cupped her bare shoulders, ran his hands down the length of her arms, took her hands in his. “It should never hurt, Bethie. When a man slides inside a woman’s body, it should bring her as much pleasure as it brings him.”

His words made her light-headed. She wanted to believe him. She
needed
to believe him. But she’d lived with Andrew for five years, had lain beneath him, had hated every moment of it. And before t h a t . . .

But this was Nicholas, not Andrew.
Not
Richard.

Nicholas made her feel things she’d never felt before. “Nicholas, I . . . ” How could she explain this jumble of feelings inside her? How could she make him understand? Before she found the words, he bent down and brushed his lips lightly over hers.

That simple touch, light as the sweep of a butterfly’s wings, made the heat inside her explode.

With a whimper, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed herself against him as his mouth claimed hers in a melting kiss. Sensation overwhelmed her: the sweet rasp of his damp chest hair against her nipples; the thrust of his tongue deep in her mouth; the caress of his hands as they moved over her hot skin.

And then he was gone. He turned, strode with a panther’s grace to the bed.

Bethie’s heart almost stopped. Had it gone this far? Were they really going to—?

But then he did something she could never have imagined. He lay down on his back in the center of the bed, stretched his arms above his head, closed his fists around the bedposts.

“My body is yours, Bethie. Touch me anywhere you want, any way you want. I won’t let go of these bedposts until you tell me I can. I put myself in your hands. Whatever happens now is up to you.”

For a moment she could do nothing but stare at him, her heart a hammer behind her breast. Even lying submissively on his back, he glowed with male strength and virility. No matter what he might pretend, he was not the submissive sort. And she realized he was doing this for her sake, trying to make her feel safe.

Whatever happens now is up to you.

“Bethie!” His body jerked, and breath hissed from his lungs. But he did not release the bedposts. She had never touched a man like this, had never felt attracted to a man’s body before Nicholas, hadn’t realized how much pleasure was to be found in touching and kissing a man. It was as if some deep-seated hunger had awoken within her. She wanted more.

Emboldened by his response, she kissed her way across his chest, down the line of dark curls to his belly, let her fingers find their eager way over the ridges and valleys of his muscles. She could feel the male power of him, feel the shifting of his muscles, the tension in his body as he deliberately restrained himself. He could overpower her in a heartbeat if he so chose. And yet he kept his word.

She dipped her tongue into his navel.

His grip tightened around the bedposts, and he groaned, a sound of pure male need.

Bethie knew where the heat of his need resided, knew which part of him burned hottest. She lifted her lips from his skin, gazed on the rigid length of his shaft. But the fear she had expected to feel was no longer there. Instead she felt insatiably curious.

Touch me anywhere you want, any way you want.

She closed her hand around him, slid her hand down his pulsing length, amazed by the feel of him. He was steel in silk, both hard and soft.

“Bethie . . . “ His eyes closed, and the muscles of his arms bulged as he strained against his grip on the bedposts.

Any way you want.

Nicholas felt her hot mouth close over him, thought he would come undone. “Good God, woman!” He fought to hold his hips still, to remain passive, as she ran her tongue lightly over the head of his cock, tasted him. He knew she had never done this before, and yet her tentative touch, her exploring kisses were more arousing than the expert actions of the most skilled whore. And when she gripped him in her hand, guided him deep into her mouth, he knew it wouldn’t be long until he came. Was she ready for that? Was she ready to take his seed in her mouth? He doubted it.

“Bethie, let me . . . touch you. Let me show you how good it is! If you don’t stop . . . !”

But she did stop, left him hanging on the edge, hard and aching.

He opened his eyes, saw her watching him through eyes filled with doubt. “Let me give you the same pleasure, Bethie. Let me show you just how good it can be for a woman.” Her hair was a tangle of yellow silk, her lips swollen from kissing him. But her eyes still held a shadow of fear. “Must you be . . . inside me?”

Inside her.
That was where he wanted to be, where he needed to be. He wanted to plunge inside her, to feel her muscles clench around him as his thrusts brought them both release. But the last man entrusted with loving her sweet body had hurt her, abused her. He realized she wasn’t ready for a man, not like that, not yet. He fought to subdue his own longing, looked into her eyes.

“No, love.” He could scarce believe what he was saying.

He must be insane! “I don’t have to be inside you.”

Bethie sat for a moment, shaken by his smile, stunned to her core by her own passion, by his words. “Aye, Nicholas. Show me.”

And then she was in his arms as he pulled her against him, pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that seared her to her soul. He rolled her onto her back, and his lips followed the same path she had blazed on his flesh—over her lips, across her cheek, down her throat, to her breasts, where he laved her nipples with his tongue.

Delicious frissons of heat shot from her breasts to someplace deep in her belly with each flick of his tongue, each tug of his lips. She heard herself moan, heard herself call his name. “Nicholas!”

“I want you hungry and aching, Bethie. I want you to know what it’s like.”

Hands rough from years of living in the wild caressed her breasts, teased her nipples, while his lips traced fire across her belly. Just as she had done, he dipped his tongue into her navel. A dart of flame shot through her. “I’m going to touch you now, Bethie, just as you touched me.”

Then his hand cupped her sex.

Tremors of both pleasure and alarm shuddered through her. Instinctively she drew her thighs together. “N-nay!”

“Trust me, love. Pleasure, not pain.” He moved the heel of his hand in slow, maddening circles on her woman’s mound.

And there
was
pleasure—shocking, deep, aching pleasure. She could not think. She could not doubt. She could do nothing but feel. Ragged sensation tore through her, made her insides quiver. The cleft between her thighs ached. She was wet, weeping, molten. “Oh, Nicholas, please . . . don’t... stop!”

She heard him chuckle, a deep, erotic sound. “Now I’m going to taste you, Bethie, just as you tasted me. Spread your legs for me.”

She heard him moan, the deep rumble vibrating against her tortured flesh.

“Mmm, you taste like heaven, love. So sweet.” Then his tongue teased her entrance, sent deep shudders through her, and for the first time in her life, Bethie felt empty. She wanted his kiss inside her. She wanted
him
inside her. But she couldn’t say it. She couldn’t tell him. “Please, Nicholas!” Her hands fisted in his long hair, pushed him closer.

Something was building inside her, stalking her. Something wild. Something primal.

He tugged on her swollen flesh with his lips, sucked her into his mouth again, teased her with flicks of his tongue. Helpless, frantic cries escaped her as the flames inside her grew higher and higher.

And then all at once, the fire within her drew itself together deep in her belly—and exploded. White-hot bliss surged through her, a pounding tide of molten delight, waves of pleasure so strong she feared she would come apart. “Nicholas!”

Her body trembled with the force of her climax, her inner muscles clenching hard again and again, until the fire faded to embers.

But Nicholas wasn’t finished. He lapped her still-swollen sex with lazy strokes until the heat began to build again, then drew upon her sensitive bud with his lips, sucked it, teased it. And in a matter of minutes she was lost in another climax and another and another, until she was exhausted and floating, Nicholas by her side, a smile on his lips. She curled against him, mumbled. “I never knew. I never knew, Nicholas.”

He pulled her into his arms, stroked her hair, his shaft still rigid. “Sleep, love.”

His body yearning for release, Nicholas didn’t sleep at all. But for the first time in six years, he felt content.

“There are some things a woman shouldn’t see, Bethie,” he’d said.

And so she rolled strips of linen into bandages she hoped would never be needed, made beds she hoped would remain empty, helped prepare salves she hoped would never be used, all the while listening to the surgeon, Dr. Aimes, talk about everything from treatments for different fevers to today’s topic—the many causes for the fall of the Roman Empire. He poured out a measure of laudanum for a soldier who had broken his ankle. “For civilization to triumph, man must conquer his inner beast. The failure of Rome, madam, was its acceptance of the barbarian.”

Bethie scarce heard him, her mind on Nicholas. For three nights now she had lain in his arms, felt the magic of his hands and mouth upon her. Never had she thought she would ache for a man’s touch, his kisses, his embrace. Never had she thought a man could make her writhe with pleasure or plead for release. But Nicholas had shown her a new world, one she had not known existed. Now she could hardly wait each evening until the sun had set and Isabelle had fallen asleep. She wanted him, was greedy for him. She was learning to please him in the same way he pleased her, with her hands, with her mouth. She had watched in awe the first time he’d reached his peak in her hands and spilled his seed across his belly. Like ribbons of melted white silk it had shot from him, as his body shuddered with the power of his release, a look of intense pleasure, or pain, on his face.

He had never pressured her for more, never tried to enter her body. And for that she was grateful. And yet . . . Every time she drew near to her climax, she felt a deep need for him inside her, an empty yearning, as if that part of her truly longed to be filled by him. But she said nothing, hindered by the memory of Andrew’s clumsy thrusts and Richard’s painful probing.

Nicholas. Nicholas. He had made these past three days the happiest of her life. And yet there were shadows.