White Lion's Lady (29 page)

She pressed her fingers to his lips and gave a small shake of her head. “All I need is you.”

Griffin sucked her fingertip into his mouth, then eased himself over her, bracing his weight on his fists, his elbows bent as he leaned down to kiss her again. He moved his lips over hers gently, lavishing her with a slow, worshipful joining of their mouths, and then their tongues. He would not rush her tonight. No matter the depth of his hunger for her, he would stretch the night out, wringing each hour, each minute, of its full measure.

And so he did, making love to her with his mouth, learning her most sensitive places and just how to stir them. He tasted every sigh and whimper that fell from her lips, tasted the velvet softness of her neck, the fluttering pulse at the hollow of her throat. With fingers more clumsy than he would have wished, he untied the laces that bound the bodice of her gown together at her breasts, spreading open the butterfly-adorned neckline to gaze upon her nakedness in wordless, reverent awe.

She was so beautiful, his Isabel, her long auburn hair spread around her like a halo of silken fire, her small breasts proud and firm, tipped with perfect buds that pebbled and peaked against his tongue when he dipped his head to sample their sweetness. She arched against him as he sucked each nipple into his mouth, her back rising off the mattress, aiding him in his want to ease her out of her clothing.

Her torso freed of the gown, Griffin smoothed his palm down the length of her, memorizing the softness of her skin, the delicacy of her breastbone and ribs, the pleasing dip of her belly. He kissed her there, at the sweet indentation of her navel, smiling when she shuddered under the subtle invasion of his tongue, a rush of gooseflesh spreading up her sides.

“It tickles,” she gasped, laughing softly.

He gave her a wicked lift of his brow. “I’m going to tickle you some more.”

Sliding his hands down her hips, he removed her gown entirely, lifting first one long leg, then the other, from within the tangle of skirts. He draped the kirtle over a faldstool near the pallet, then turned his attention back to Isabel, his breath rasping out of him on a vow. “Mon Dieu, you are exquisite,” he whispered, his loins thick with the heat of mounting passion, his arousal straining against the confines of his clothing.

He positioned himself between her legs, reaching over to lift her slender foot in his hand. He leaned down, kissing the fine bones of her ankle, letting his mouth slide up the length of her calf, along the side of her knee, bending forward as he reached the velvet span of her inner thigh. She breathed a voiceless “Oh!” as he sucked a mouthful of the tender flesh between his teeth, teasing her with a playful nip before hooking her bent knee over his shoulder so he could lower himself between her parted legs.

She went rigid the instant his tongue touched her. Her pelvis arched and she started to squirm away, but Griffin held her in place, his hands resting lightly atop her hips, letting her know there was no need for shame, nothing to fear. As he had with the rest of her body, he made love to her slowly here, as well, coaxing her to a writhing frenzy before taking the swollen pearl of her femininity into his mouth and laving it to the point of sudden, shattering release.

Isabel’s climax nearly unmanned him. She keened against him, whimpering his name, her reaction so unreserved, so complete, it was all he could do not to strip his clothes off and bury himself deep within her. But he had promised her the night was hers, and so he rode out the wave of her release, easing her back to earth with gentle kisses, soft caresses, murmured endearments.

She reached down for him, her fingers scrabbling for him and twining in his hair. “Please … enough …”

“Enough?” he chuckled, crawling up the length of her. “My lady, we are only getting started.”

Her laugh was breathless, her eyes dark beneath her half-closed lids. “I want to feel you,” she whispered, bringing her hand up to stroke his face. “I need to feel your body.”

“As you wish.” Braced on his knees astride her, Griffin unlaced his tunic and stripped it off. He flung the linen shirt to the floor, pausing to revel in the feel of Isabel’s fingers touching his bare skin, his medallion pendant sliding cool against his skin as her hand drifted across the planes of his chest and down along his abdomen. Her gaze lingered where his erection rose thick and throbbing between his legs, stretching the fabric of his hose. “Feel what you do to me,” he growled, taking her hand and placing it against his straining flesh. “Feel how much I want you.”

With his guidance, she closed her hand around the length of him, her parted lips and smoky gaze telling him that she wanted to know more, that she was ready to experience whatever he would show her. Shaking, exalted, Griffin unfastened the points of his hose and braies, rolling the last of his clothing off his hips and kicking it aside. Isabel made a soft exclamation of surprise as his arousal sprang free of its encumbrances, a guileless reaction that brought a prideful grin to Griffin’s lips.

“Does it hurt?” she asked innocently as she gazed upon his swollen member, sounding so concerned he nearly laughed aloud.

“In a way,” he admitted. He slid down on the bed, covering her, holding himself above her and teasing her belly with the blunt head of his penis. “It aches for you, my lady.”

“I think I ache for it, too,” she whispered.

Griffin eased himself between her parted thighs, his shaft slipping deliciously into the cleft of moist curls. The wet heat of her body seared his flesh, soliciting a deep shudder of sensation from within the very core of his being.
Instinctively, his hips began to rock against her, his sex shifting into place, impatient to be in her. Her moan of pleasure made him harder as they slid together, not yet joined but melding, yearning, moving as one. She matched his rhythm, clinging to him, her fingernails biting into his back, her legs coming up around his to hold him to her.

When he would have tried to slow down, tried to pace himself, she urged him on with a single word: “Yes …”

And then, he was beyond wanting, beyond desire, caressing her breasts, kissing her mouth, grinding against her in an effort to get closer, to bring her back to the brink of ecstasy when the pain of what he would do—what he had to do to answer his own need—would not be so difficult. She was nearly there; her limbs were quaking, breath coming fast and hot against his face.

“I have to be inside you,” he murmured, not giving a damn for how needy he sounded in that moment.

She clutched at him, squirming in passionate frustration. “Oh, yes …”

He couldn’t have waited any longer if his life depended on it. Holding her between his braced elbows, he shifted his pelvis, and with a single, deep thrust, he penetrated the barrier of her maidenhead. She cried out, but already her sheath was convulsing around him, the tight walls of her womb wracked with the force of the climax she had been so close to finding before he entered her. Despite that his body was taut, fevered, trembling with the need for release, Griffin held as still as he could, allowing himself only the smallest of movements while Isabel caught her breath, adjusting to this new, sensual invasion.

He placed a kiss to her damp brow. “That was the worst of it, I promise.”

“Well, it wasn’t so bad,” she whispered shakily. “It hardly hurt at all.”

Griffin smiled down at her, his brave little angel. “You’re crying.”

“Yes,” she answered. “Because I’m happy.”

Prayerfully, humbled, he kissed the tip of her nose. “So am I, my lady,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t hear the bittersweet edge to his voice.

With a reverence that deepened every moment he gazed upon her, Griffin began to move within the sweet sanctity of Isabel’s body. She accepted him fully, rising up to meet his light, easy thrusts, caressing his back, kissing his chest and shoulders, as he slowly found his pace once more. He rocked against her in a numbing brand of bliss, filling and withdrawing, his tempo growing more urgent as her womb clenched around him, coaxing his release.

Too soon, he felt his climax building, climbing to crescendo. He was lost to the feel of her, the scent and taste of her … lost to the very thought of her. He whispered her name, praising her as he filled her with the breadth of his passion, his strokes long and deep, hips pumping, his sex raging toward completion. He wanted to make it last, but he was too hard, too hungry. Too far gone.

His control began to slip, then snap. He lifted her pelvis and impaled her with a final, savage thrust, a hoarse shout tearing from his throat as his seed began a fast, molten rush from his body. Only at the last moment did he find the strength to catch himself, somehow managing to pull out of her silken warmth and roll away before he cost Isabel anything more than her virginity that night.

She turned toward him on the mattress after he left her, placing her head against his chest and stroking him as he shuddered, struggling to find his breath. Her lips were tender on his bare skin, her kisses sweet with concern. “Are you all right?” she whispered.

Griff gave a thick chuckle and wrapped his arms around her. “Oh, yes. I don’t think I’ve ever been better.”

He could feel her smile curve where her cheek rested against him. “My White Lion has saved me again,” she told him, her voice like a sigh. “I thought I owed you my life for rescuing me the day we met, but now … after tonight …”

“No,” he said, gathering her close. “I was the one in need of rescue, my lady. And you have given it well beyond what I deserve.”

She said nothing for a long moment, her fingers stroking idly at his chest. The evening had grown still, the monastery chapel having faded to quiet. Mass was ended; on the table next to the small bed, the candle sputtered and breathed its last. Griffin eyed the bowl of smoking, melted tallow with scorn.

“I shouldn’t stay here much longer.”

Isabel’s reply was soft, regretful. “I know.” She toyed with the medallion hanging around his neck, lifting the half-moon of bronze into her palm, rubbing her thumb over the enameled design. “Would you think poorly of me if I told you that it wasn’t enough? I thought I could be satisfied with just one night, but it’s passing so quickly … I’m afraid to let you go.”

“My sweet lady.” He bent his head and placed a kiss in her hair. “Sometimes we have to do things, even if they scare us.”

It wasn’t the answer she was looking for, he realized, but he would not give her false hope, not after all she had given him since he had come to know her. In truth, he shared her fears, perhaps more for his understanding of how short their time together now really was. As much as he hoped for her happiness, he could not bear the thought that she might forget him one day. They would always have the memory of this night, but in time another man would bring her pleasure. Another man would give her children, be at her side as she grew old. As unfair as it was for him to despise that man, Griffin found himself nursing a profound
contempt, a selfish want to know that Isabel would take something with her from their time together, something to remind her … and then he knew.

“I never forgave myself for losing that medallion,” he heard himself telling her as she let the amulet fall to rest once more against his skin. “It was my greatest treasure, everything of value that I had as a youth.”

“And you said you planned to sell it at first chance,” she scolded, slapping her palm down on his stomach in light reprimand.

He chuckled, but there was little humor in his voice. “I never would have sold it. And I should have thanked you for keeping it for me.” She started to say something, no doubt ready to deny his appreciation, but her reply cut short when he reached up to remove the medallion from around his neck. He brought it down before her, draping the long chain over her bed-tousled head and letting the pendant settle between her bare breasts. “I want you to have it back.”

“Griffin, I can’t,” she said, meeting his gaze. “You said yourself it’s your greatest treasure. It’s all you have of your family …”

If he had family at all, Griffin supposed that he was looking at it now. If the bond of blood could be as thick and true as what he felt for Isabel, then he need never know any other kin. She was all that mattered to him, and if he had been searching for a place of belonging before, he had surely come to know it with her. He lifted the medallion into his palm, staring at the image of the white lion rampant, the one half of a full circle that seemed somehow complete now that it rested over Isabel’s heart.

“This is where it belongs,” he said.

And with her sweet, answering sigh, the night became a fragile thing. Too fragile for talk, and so they came together again without words, a joining of lips and hands and bodies, a breathless twining of hearts and souls. Griffin
brought Isabel astride his hips and slowly guided her to another climax, watching as she rode him to the precipice of bliss and following her over the edge in the next instant. This time, he could not stop himself from filling her with his essence; he was too desperate to hold onto her, to hold onto the moment.

Together they shattered, their gazes locked, burning. Neither could look away; neither could let go, not even when their bodies collapsed on the bed, spent and sated. Trembling, silent, they clung to each other, unwilling to separate. Unwilling to surrender to their exhaustion, or to acknowledge the threat of the fast-approaching dawn.

He was gone when Isabel opened her eyes that next morning. He had left, probably some time after she had finally fallen asleep, but his scent and the memory of last night’s splendor remained. She stretched her limbs and rolled to put her face in the thin down bolster, breathing in the arousing muskiness of sweat and leather and man. She could smell him in her hair and on her skin and she thought she might die for the pleasing ache it brought to her soul.

Her body knew a pleasing ache as well, a fullness and a void. Though she had never been so tired, down to the depths of her bones, never had she felt so alive. And she knew that the source of her awakening could be summed up in one word: Griffin. She had to see him. She had to tell him how special last night had been. She had to know if he felt any fraction of the bliss she did for what they had shared.