The Warrior (32 page)

Parting the sleek folds or her cleft with his thumbs, he traced a probing pad over the small, hidden nub of her sex, slowly circling.

Ariane whimpered.

To her infinite shock, Ranulf bent and brazenly pressed his mouth against her there. She went rigid from an unbearable surge of pleasure.

“Nay!” she gasped, trying to pull away.

Ranulf laughed softly at her reaction, even as he captured her wrists and pressed her hands against her sides, preventing her from moving. Bending to her again, he found her essence with his mouth. He licked the heated flesh, making her feel the soft slither of his tongue . . . his warm lips sucking softly in a kiss.

Ariane trembled under his erotic assault. His scandalous attentions stunned her. What wicked madness was this?

And yet she could not summon the will to protest as his tongue lapped at her, plying the swollen, aching folds of her flesh. His probing kiss inflamed her with sensation, robbing her of breath. Her skin grew hot as he ravished her senses; an exquisite pleasure, so intense it was almost painful, shot through her body.

He gave her no opportunity to evade his burning mouth or the arousing lash of his tongue. He held her captive, as though she were his prisoner, meant solely for his heathen pleasure. His tongue swirled and licked and stabbed her with fire.

Ariane clenched her teeth to stifle the moan building in her throat at his wicked assault, but Ranulf went on tasting her to his ruthless satisfaction. The musky, primitive scent of her made his loins grind with need. Her taste was intoxicating, hot and sweet as wild honey. Mercilessly he stroked her, savoring her taste, nibbling on her succulent sweetness, until her soft whimpers told him she was hot and throbbing for him.

Then deliberately, with exquisite care, he thrust his tongue within her, a tantalizing act of primitive possession. The brazen invasion forced a shuddering moan from her. She arched and cried out in denial, her hips surging up to meet his feasting mouth.

“Ranulf . . . sweet God . . .”

A spiking surge of lust ripped through Ranulf’s senses. She was hot and excited and oblivious to everything but what he was doing to her. Her low, rapturous cry thrilled him. His grip on her buttocks tightened as she twisted against him, writhing. He held her surging body down, his mouth pressed hard against her as she shook with convulsions of pleasure.

When the last aftershock had passed, his mouth tenderly grazed her heated flesh, now slick with her own dew, then swiftly moved up her sweat-dampened body. Without giving her time to recover, Ranulf stretched above Ariane and settled his hips in the cradle of her thighs. He could wait no longer. Never had he been so hard, so near to bursting.

Holding himself above her, he kneed her thighs wide apart. With the searing tip of his shaft poised at the very heart of her, though, he hesitated. Had she lain with another man like this? Driven other foolish swains into a frenzy of desire for her with her bewitching, responsive body? Or was she truly the innocent she seemed?

Trying to dismiss his irrational jealousy, he concentrated on the beautiful woman beneath him. He needed this, needed her, craved the fierce release only she could give him.

Dazed from the fiery explosion that had shattered her senses and set her pulse pounding, Ariane reached for him eagerly, never wavering though her lover prepared to invade her body with his huge shaft.

“Ranulf . . . please,” she breathed, her voice holding a plea, for what she knew not.

“Hush, sweeting,” he murmured hoarsely in return. “Open yourself to me.”

All of his natural instincts screamed at Ranulf to take her swiftly, to ease the fierce, almost desperate ache in his loins, but he sank slowly into her, with teeth-gritting caution. Despite his care, her thighs clenched around him in a futile effort to halt the spearing, alien intrusion. When he felt the fragile barrier denying him entrance, Ranulf almost drew back, afraid he could not control himself, afraid he would cause her pain, yet he could not stop now . . . could not stop . . . could not . . .

Ariane winced in pain as her tender, virgin flesh stretched and split, and cried out when he pressed more fully within her. The pressure was almost too great to bear. His rigid length was a huge lance thrusting within her, a mighty weapon that was tearing her asunder.

She heard herself sob, felt the gentle brush of his mouth as he tenderly kissed her lips in an effort to soothe the ache.

Helpless to do more, Ranulf held himself completely still as she shuddered around him, wanting to curse and shout in triumph at the same time. A virgin! A chaste innocent untouched by any other man. She had not lied to him! He was her first lover; she was his now. They were joined together intimately, his hard flesh buried in the heated, sweet center of her body.

He clenched his teeth, holding back the raging desire he felt for her, forcing himself to wait until she could accept the pleasure of a man’s fullness stretching her and probing deep. His powerful thighs kept her slender ones parted wide, his broad chest barely touching her breasts. Her breath was coining in shallow pants, her eyes tightly closed.

“Ariane . . . look at me.”

She obeyed reluctantly, her lids fluttering open to reveal luminous gray eyes misty with tears.

His own eyes smoldered with fire. “Is it better?”

“Y-Yes . . .” she answered honestly, although her breathless reply held little confidence.

“Can you take me deeper, sweeting?”

She frowned thoughtfully, staring at him with skepticism. “There is more of you?”

His smile, slow and sensual, was as tender as it was amused. “I fear so. But I can refrain from seating my shaft fully.”

“No . . . please . . . I want you . . . fully.”

Even as she spoke, her hips moved tentatively, tilting a little to give him better access.

Ranulf drew a sharp breath. Her slightest movement made him wild to go deeper, but with a fierce effort, he forced himself to rein in his impatience. Slowly he shifted his weight above her, purposefully grazing her breasts with his furred chest.

Her sensitive nipples tightened at the arousing contact, the throbbing ache echoing between her thighs, yet he could not make her forget entirely what the rest of his body was doing as he penetrated her, submerging himself fully, imbedding himself deep inside.

Ariane tensed, holding her breath. . . . It was odd, but the hurt had faded, leaving behind a burgeoning ache that was not entirely painful. In truth, she felt a traitorous warmth stir within her, blurring the edges of her pain and apprehension.

Then Ranulf’s lips settled over hers, and she tasted her scent on his mouth—a taste that was both shocking and erotic. Ariane quivered as his warm tongue thrust into her mouth with surprising softness; of their own accord her hips rocked against his.

She almost moaned in protest when she felt his rigid length withdrawing from her body.

But Ranulf had no intention of withdrawing entirely. Instead, his hand slipped between their bodies, his fingers finding the hot, sleek bud that was the center of her desire.

Stunned by the spasm of pleasure that rippled through her, Ariane whimpered and reached for him, her arms twining tightly around his neck. Blindly she murmured his name in a plea for mercy, but he ruthlessly went on stroking her, his back arched, his eyes half shut. She felt the shudder that quivered through him moments before her body caught fire again.

The world disappeared for her, leaving only flame-hot desire. Her hands clutched at the broad, straining shoulders of the man above her, her hips writhing.

“Yes, sweeting,” Ranulf rasped in hoarse approval, encouraging her wild abandon.

She was only dimly aware of his husky voice murmuring in her ear, barely conscious of the ridges of scarred flesh beneath her fingertips as she clawed at his back. Reduced to pagan need, she clung to him, frantic for release from the incredible tension in her body. In mere moments she arched in the next convulsive climax, her gasping cry of pleasure rocking Ranulf to his very core.

“Sweet Jesu!” He stiffened for an instant, his eyes closing in sensual pain. Then no longer able to help himself, he began to move his hips, thrusting in and out in a hot, urgent rhythm. Striving to remain gentle, he drove into her carefully while Ariane clung to him and trembled and quaked.

The raw, primitive explosion that ripped through Ranulf held such a violent intensity that it clamped his teeth shut. And then he could no longer control even that. He cried out in his own savage release as he poured into her with pent-up wildness, his body clenching and shuddering.

For long moments afterward, they lay fused together, unmoving except for the ragged tempo of their breathing. Desperately Ranulf drew air into his heaving lungs as he tried to focus his thoughts. His skin was drenched with sweat, his body hot with need, his rage of desire dulled but not sated.

He wanted her still.

His body felt heavy and languorous, yet he was half hard already. He didn’t want to leave the hot haven between her thighs, but he knew for Ariane’s sake he must. Slowly, with effort, Ranulf eased from her body, shifting his weight to one side, and raised his head.

He had been far too rough with her when he meant to be gentle and considerate of her inexperience.

“Forgive me . . .” he murmured, looking down at her exquisite, flushed face framed by the wild tangle of her hair. Her breathing had quieted; her eyes were closed.

She made a soft sound that might have been agreement, yet Ranulf could not excuse his conduct so easily.

It stunned him that she could have made him lose control that way. He had not been so inflamed by a wench since he was a stripling lad. True, he had been celibate for some weeks now, but even that did not explain his violence, or his fierce desire for Ariane. He had experienced orgasm too frequently to dismiss the savage ferocity of his release, or the shattering satisfaction afterward. Or his continued state of arousal now. He felt the same alertness he experienced after battle, nerve endings tingling, blood pounding. There was an urgency still within him, a fierce need for this woman that could not be sated by a single possession.

Such a response was unique in his experience. Once he had possessed her body, his lust should have dimmed. And yet his attraction for Ariane was as fierce as ever. . . .

Ranulf’s lips twisted in a wry smile as he gazed down at the sleeping woman in his bed. Evidently Ariane felt none of the same urgency he felt. She had fallen into an exhausted slumber in the aftermath of passion.

His gaze traveled over her slender, sweet-breasted body, pausing when it reached her legs. Ranulf’s smile faded. Pale pink blood, mingled with his pearly seed, streaked her thighs and splotched the sheets.

His eyes darkened in triumph. His claiming of her maidenhead had been a victory for him. He had been the first man to possess her. The only one.

“You are mine,” he declared in a low, controlled whisper as he brushed a fair, tumbled lock back from her face.

Reaching down, he covered them both with the bedclothes. Then, with a tenderness that was almost foreign to him, Ranulf drew Ariane into his arms, pressing her head into his shoulder, and closed his eyes.

Roused briefly from slumber, she sighed and nuzzled her face more deeply into his warm skin. She had feared Ranulf would take her in anger, but instead of forcing her, he had turned seducer . . . a sensual, considerate lover. The change in him had bewildered her. . . .

Suddenly awake, Ariane felt the prick of tears behind her eyes. Ranulf’s tenderness moments ago, when he had taken her body and taught her the wonder of being a woman, made her want to weep. If events had not intervened, this forceful, charismatic man would have been her husband. This would have been her marriage bed, her wedding night.

Instead, he had claimed her body as he would any serf’s, merely to prove his dominance. He had treated her as a possession, an object upon which to slake his lust. He had given her devastating pleasure, true, but only as a means to force her surrender.

Their coupling had meant far, far more to her, though. Their consummation had been more than a passionate union of the flesh. In her heart, they had truly mated. Ranulf had adamantly refused to acknowledge her as his wife, but she felt joined to him now. She belonged solely to him.

Swallowing the ache in her throat, Ariane closed her eyes, breathing his clean, musky scent. And as she willed herself to sleep, she clung to the hope that someday Ranulf would come to feel more for her than simply carnal desire.

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