Moon Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (52 page)

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Be a strong woman
. The words echoed in Deborah's head as she prepared for bed that night. Bed. It seemed all his dominance began and ended with the hypnotic physical control he had over her, from the first smoldering caresses in that rain-swept cabin back at the Beechers' country estate. With a determined stride, Deborah rose from her dressing table and went to one of her trunks.

      
A few minutes later, she stood in front of the mirror, critically eyeing herself. The night rail was simply made, of white silk, flowing and full with a satin ribbon gathering the neckline primly high at her throat. Matching satin cuffs gathered the sleeves at her slim wrists. It was virginally pure, except that it was so sheer as to be almost transparent! In an attempt to prod Deborah into remarriage, Obedience had bought the scandalous creation for her.

      
“Any feller whut's got him eyes'll have 'em pop clean outta his head seein' yew in thet.” Deborah could hear her old friend's voice as if it were yesterday.

      
Hearing Rafael's footsteps coming down the hall, she took a deep breath and poised in the center of the room. Her hair was brushed to luminous silvery splendor around her shoulders and she was barefooted.

      
“Adam's sound asleep in his new bed and—” Rafe stopped frozen in his tracks as he looked at the vision before him. Shoving the door to their room closed, he leaned against the solid oak frame and looked her up and down. “Oh, Moon Flower. After all the days on the trail, I've dreamed of this,” he whispered as he walked slowly toward her. Gingerly he touched the gown. “Is it made of moonbeams?” he whispered in that soft, silky voice that never failed to thrill her.

      
“Only silk, not moonbeams,” she replied on a breathless gasp as his hand reached out to tease a nipple through the fabric. He moved back a step, taking a coil of gilt hair in his hand and trailing it through his fingers as he looked at her beautiful breasts, then down to the slim hollows of her flanks. When his eyes moved lower to the silver curls at the juncture of her legs, Deborah thought she would melt from the scorching heat of his eyes.

      
Seeing the flush creep up her throat and face, Rafe smiled. “Come here, Moon Flower.” She obeyed. “Now,” he said silkily, reaching for her hand and placing it on his shirtfront. She could feel his heart's steady thrum as she unbuttoned the shirt and peeled it off. Once his chest was revealed, she ran both hands up through the crisp hair, reveling in the hardness of his muscles flexing. He lowered his mouth slowly to hers.

      
She could feel his heart pick up speed. Hers did, too. When she felt him pull her arms down to his belt, she complied eagerly. Then, she began to unfasten the buttons of his fly with tantalizing slowness.

      
Deborah slid his pants down, past his hips and small, hard buttocks. Impatiently, he shrugged them down and stepped out of them, kicking off his soft moccasins.

      
Like a man unwrapping a delicate Christmas gift, Rafe took one of her wrists and unlooped the satin band, kissing the small pulse there, then repeating the process on the other arm. When he finished, he rested her arms across his bare shoulders. She let them hang limply, drugged with sensation, as he turned his attention to the satin drawstring at her throat. As the gown whispered to the floor, he scooped her into his arms and walked to the bed. He laid her down, his black eyes riveted on her possessively. “I've waited so long, Moon Flower,” he whispered.

      
Deborah let her eyes return the compliment, looking at his lean, bronzed body, hard and scarred. Its beautiful patterns of black body hair all led her to that central pulsing core of him. She reached up and touched it and felt his legs actually tremble. “Come,” was her invitation.

      
“Yes,” was his whispered reply as he slid onto the bed beside her.

      
They lay on their sides, bodies entwined. With his tongue, he slowly rimmed around the outside of her mouth. Deborah shivered and closed her eyes, lips parting slightly in response to the teasing. Rafe flicked the tip of his tongue against her teeth, and carefully, in a circling caress, stroked the inside of her lips. His efforts were rewarded with a soft moan. Aggressively now, he began to probe more deeply.

      
At that moment, Deborah closed her lips gently but firmly, and with a slight sucking motion held her love captive. He was taken by surprise. His “proper Bostonian” had never before responded so boldly. Surprise gave way to a sense of slight uneasiness as she released his tongue and followed its retreat with her own assault. She penetrated and pillaged her husband's mouth with even more passion than he had shown toward her. Startled, he tried to pull away; but Deborah, her hand pressing against the back of his neck, would not be fended off.

      
Rafael rolled over, pressing her onto her back, breaking the kiss. As he looked into her beautiful face, he felt puzzled and a bit wary. Yet the beauty that had always fired him again ignited the heat in his loins.

      
“Moon Flower, you are so beautiful,” he rasped, after all these years still half-resentful, half-fearful of the power that she had over him.

      
As Deborah's fingers caressed his jaw, the expression on her face sobered. “You, too, love, are so beautiful.”

      
The candlelight made her hair shimmer silver, her face an incandescent gold. Rafael balanced his weight on his knees and elbows but deliberately allowed his body to pinion the slender length of his wife on the bed. Drunk with need, he thrust his face into the hollow of her shoulder and began to nuzzle, kiss, and savor.
God, I want you, I need you.
His arms slid along the sheets, and his fingers twisted, almost cruelly, into the mass of silver hair. His lips and tongue traced a tingling path along Deborah's throat, up her neck to her ear. Her lavender eyes snapped open as she reached out, furrowing her nails into the curly hair at her dark lover's temples.

      
“Rafael, I love you.”

      
When he continued to feast gluttonously, Deborah clutched more forcefully at his dark hair. He found himself staring into the questioning face of his wife.

      
“Yes, I need you,” he choked, his throat dry and constricted.

      
Almost in shame, Rafe slid backward onto his knees, still keeping the weight of his upper body pressing on the slim figure beneath him. His lips and tongue greedily explored the small erect nipples, and he grew more intoxicated, savoring Deborah's whimpers of pleasure as she writhed under him. His teasing fingers stroked a trail down her sides to her hips, her thighs.

      
Deborah groaned. Lost in a delirium of ecstasy, she lifted her long, shapely legs, seeking to scissor them around the waist of her tormentor. Rafe thwarted the attempt as he seized her legs at the back of her knees and thrust them firmly forward. Strong hands massaged the satiny flesh at the backs of her thighs, moving downward to squeeze and knead her firm round buttocks. Gliding over the swell of her hips, his dark hands slipped upward along her sides to grasp her arms in a viselike grip. Then, he shifted his weight slightly forward.

      
Deborah felt his lean, hard biceps pressing against the backs of her thighs, pushing her knees even closer to her breasts. The subtle pressure spread her legs. In a flash of realization, she understood that she was powerless, a prisoner—and God help her, a willing prisoner.

      
Hunger-driven, Rafe lowered his head to kiss the firmness of his captive's stomach, to nibble the inviting swell of abdomen, to tongue her navel. The exquisite torture lasted she knew not how long when suddenly it stopped. In desperation, she opened her eyes and saw that Rafael had now assumed a position on his side, his hips and rock-hard abdomen pressed against the resilient softness of her thighs. Deborah could only partially suppress the cry that escaped her as he entered her.

      
Rafe drew in an unsteady breath and paused to regain control of himself. Instinctively, Deborah drew back her legs so that her knees were now almost touching the swollen tips of her breasts. With a will of their own, the trembling thighs spread even wider in a gesture of welcome.

      
As he began to rock his hips slowly back and forth, Deborah's eyelids fluttered closed. She felt his fingers streak a burning path down the inside of one of her thighs and then up the other. She sighed as the questing hand came to rest on her pale-thatched mound. Her body arched as he began to knead the curly hair in a gentle, circular motion.

      
Rafe thought,
So beautiful, so very beautiful,
as he allowed his fingers to stray downward, stroking the wetness beneath the pale pubic hair. Her lithe body shuddered. Unencumbered by the burden of his weight, she shook spasmodically. Rafe continued to thrust slowly back and forth, while his fingers stroked first up and down and then around and around in small, tight circles, caressing the wet, sensitive spot.

      
Completely overpowered by her passion, Deborah ground her shoulder blades into the bed, her head pressed back into the rumpled pillow. Small, gasping whimpers and sobs wrenched from her throat in a rhythm perfectly attuned to that of the slow, powerful thrusts of her husband. Suddenly, all motion stopped.

      
Deborah's passion-darkened eyes flew open. She looked toward her dark love, still lying on his side, his head propped on a mound of covers. His handsome face was intent. Wracked with need, she reached to touch that beloved cheek, but Rafael intercepted her fingers with a kiss, then moved his head slightly and flicked his tongue across her palm. Deborah felt a searing sensation surge up her arm and through her body. She pleaded, “Love, please, now!”

      
Rafe studied her face carefully. “No, Moon Flower, not yet.”

      
Deborah almost sobbed in frustration. She closed her eyes, and rolling her head sideways, away from his searching eyes. Slowly, the thrusting and stroking began again. Now, between her legs she felt a pool of liquid fire, a fire that gradually engulfed her body. The whimpering became a fierce animal cry. She was unaware of the writhing contortions of her own body, knowing only that she was swelling, swelling—and then it started from somewhere deep inside her. She cried out as her body thrashed in an ecstasy so violent that it was almost agony. The violet eyes opened, and above her she saw the intent, almost grim face of her husband.

      
“Rafael, oh, my love!”

      
Gradually, in spite of his slow, tantalizing thrusts, the spasms began to subside, but at that moment, Rafael started to drive his hips forward and downward in an ever-quickening rhythm. She threw her head from side to side in a swirling tangle of silver hair. Pleasure-drugged, her eyes were open but unseeing. From the valley of her orgasm, she was being driven to a new peak, one as high as the first.

      
As her vision cleared, she realized that during her passion storm, Rafael had once again positioned himself over her. The hard biceps were once again pressing against the backs of her thighs, literally holding her hips off the bed. Although he had ceased his thrusting, she could still feel him inside her—rigid.

      
His weight supported by his outstretched arms, Rafe began once more to rock slowly back and forth. He could feel the caress of her sheath, pulling at him, engulfing him. He closed his eyes as his own passion, so long held in check, began to swell to a climax.

      
Deborah had been watching the beautiful lean body above her. When Rafe began to gasp and throw back his head, Deborah, with all the strength that she could muster in her long legs, drove her heels downward until they rested on the bed. At the same time, she reached up to grasp handfuls of thick black hair—pulling his head toward hers. He found himself staring into the beautiful face of his wife. Her eyes now gleamed like blue violet flame.

      
No, my love, not yet—and not like this!” Deborah's arms encircled her stunned lover, clasping him close to her breasts. Her legs twined around the sinewy, dark thighs, and in an instant, a startled Rafael found himself rolled onto his back. Placing the palms of her hands on his furry chest, she pushed herself upward, astraddle his hips. Rafe attempted to prop himself up on his elbows. “Deborah?” His voice was uncertain.

      
His escape was not to be so easy. Deborah felt his hardness still buried deep within her. She pressed down on his chest, gaining leverage as she raised her hips. Rafe was pinned back on the bed, as his wife slowly lowered her hips, sliding down his swollen shaft. A half-stifled gasp escaped his lips. With her silver mane in a glorious tangle, she smiled down at her captive. Once again, she raised her hips, contracted her muscles to grip the flesh imprisoned within her, and thrust downward. This time, Rafe could not even begin to suppress the groan her movements provoked.

      
Deborah rode him with deliberately slow, tormenting gyrations until his breath came in labored, panting gasps. She watched as his body arched and twisted beneath her, as if she were astride a wild, unbroken stallion. Her violet eyes eagerly studied him as the tendons in his neck began to bulge and the muscles in his chest knot. Rafael, on the verge of release, closed his eyes.

      
Deborah stopped moving. “No, love, open your eyes!”

      
The voice was soft and velvety, but he sensed the undercurrent of command in it. When he opened his eyes, she was staring down at him. Only then did Deborah continue the slow, tormenting gyrations.

      
“A minute ago, Rafael, you looked into my soul. Now, you must let me look into yours.”