Myla By Moonlight (11 page)

Somehow, she lay beneath him with the thin softness of his pallet molding to her backside. His mouth traveled along her throat like a hungry wolf seeking prey. He hunted her flesh, nipping and licking until a shudder began in her belly and coursed along her veins. Rough fingers traced over her skin, along her arms and across her shoulders. They rasped on her silk, cupping her breast in a warm palm. Her back arched, thrusting into his touch, and his thumb worried the tightening tip. Each plucked sensation burned hotter, seared longer, left an ache deep in her hips.

On some academic level, Myla knew what was happening, knowledge gleaned from sources outside her experience. Where their path led was forgone but the journey itself vibrated her core with intensity. Violence bred the need for closeness and women were never far from the soldiers who fought. All his life, Taric had seen the passionate embraces of those around him, celebrating life and that they were among the living. She’d viewed him entangled as a young man during his first frantic brush with intimacy. She knew from afar what occurred.

The knowledge was cursory. Nothing prepared her for the undulating need deep inside her. Fire craved the air, night craved the moon, and she craved Taric.

She’d meant to relieve but now longed for relief. Like dry twigs touched by a candle, desire flared and heated her blood with a swift, consuming appetite. The tang of his jaw rasped against her tongue and the flame leapt higher. Against her stomach, his hardness grew and the ache in her turned wet.

The strong shoulders beneath her hands shifted and her leather belt loosened. A soft moan left her lips to be captured by his. His hands tugged at her gown and hers mimicked, clawing at his shirt. She burned too hot for covering but the scorch of his skin only soothed her fire, increased her want. Taric’s touch inflamed her with a shiver.

A far-too-feminine mew seeped from her throat and his mouth left a wet trail down to her breast. It cooled in the night air, highlighting the fiery swath of his tongue circling her hardened peak.
Hot. So hot.
Stars flashed behind her closed lids when his teeth caught, nipped and worried the aching tip. How many things could bombard her senses in one instant? The slight scrape of a roughened cheek against her soft skin, the whisper of his hair along her shoulder, the delight of his lips surrounding her nipple all crashed into her. This is what it meant to be a woman—a woman with a man who was her destiny.

The fire in his skin branded her without a mark. Her nipples cried for his touch, his mouth, and strained outward, seeking him. They met his chest with sharp points and her nails clawed into his shoulders. He whispered her name into the night.

Hungry.
Famished for something other than food, she surged beneath him and echoed his action, skimming tasting lips down his chest. A drum beat behind his ribs with deep pounding music. The melody enchanted her, enthralling her with its fervor, and her blood sang in response. She couldn’t stop from sliding her hands down his back, feeling the resounding rhythm increase below her touch.

Magic possessed her. It could be nothing else. What else had the power to stir ancient intuitions and command her body to move beneath his?

Firm and velvety, his mouth skimmed down her quivering stomach. Each caress was a sizzle, each kiss a scorch, each nip a burn. The silk across her thighs teased with feather softness, soon replaced by his fingers and then his tongue. Her muscles trembled in expectation and longing. The wheat silk of his hair slid between shaky fingers as he mouthed her thigh. She was powerless to stop the appetite and unwilling to fight the thirst. Fear was forgotten and each discovery bound them closer.
More.
Hungry.

His strong fingers left smoldering trails over her flesh as he touched where no one had, not even her. Creamed satin melted to his caress and a whimpered sigh called him to her lips. The cherry silk pushed above her thighs, Taric palmed her skin, parting her to his touch.

Her body shuddered at the exquisite torture of rushing pleasure. A plea formed on her tongue, a plea for mercy, for relief, for him. The sound of his passion on a low breathless groan stripped any control remaining and she arched into his hand. As always, she was his to command whether by word or caress.

A roar grew in her ears. Her blood, fed by his kisses, churned like the sea during a storm, swelling with wave after wave of passion. They were on this uncharted path together. Nature and basic instinct guided her hands to slide down his back, grip his breeches and tug.
I need
.

The deliciously wet ache increased, throbbing in unfilled agony as Taric took her mouth with reckless fervor. Desire, want, lust all were berry flavors of the richest essence. He touched places on her body that she’d never thought about before. Heated wetness slicked the flesh buried inside her hidden folds, where a firm pulse beat with wild abandonment beneath his touch.
So hot. So hungry
.

Myla embraced the raging inferno within and opened her soul to him. He needed. He needed her. She needed. She needed only Taric.

A being of magic, she knew no bliss like that of his touch. Silk and wool fell aside, baring skin to skin, fire to flame. Heavy and solid, Taric moved over her, stoking her internal blaze.
I burn.
The hairs on his legs pricked with unfamiliar coarseness across her tender thighs and she marveled at the scratch. So different yet so matched, her body curved to his like a scabbard to a sword.

Her heart galloped, speeding air through her lungs.
So sweet
. Desire twined tight inside her, coiling and coiling until her bones shook with the strain.

Fingers sliding into her quivering warmth, Taric stilled, his lips halting their dance with hers. He pulled back, his breath panting across her face, his chestnut-hued eyes wide in wonderment. Empty longing encompassed her when his hands left her flesh.

“Myla…I didn’t think…I can’t… You’re an innocent.”

“I am yours. Please, Taric.”

His head dropped to her breast, shaking in denial. “No. No more innocence lost here. I can’t.”

He started to draw away. Panic raked at her with sharpened claws. He couldn’t stop now.
So hot. So hungry. I burn. I need
. Lunging upward, she blazed her mouth across his. She tasted his reluctant sacrifice, his honor forcing him away. Innocent she may be but she had a soldier’s aim and determination.
Countermove. Initiative taken. Forward maneuver.

Imitating his caress, her palm circled his length and her fingers gripped firmly. His lids pinched closed and he sucked in a noisy breath. His hips lunged forward, sheathing him deeper into her hand. He’d stroked her melting flesh and she returned the motions, smoothing from base to tip until his head fell back. She caressed him, so different from her moist emptiness, iron to her cream. Tighter made him moan, softer brought a growl, slower hissed breath from his lips. Each reaction spiked her hunger.

Myla learned and was entranced. Spell-less power filled her. This was not summoned enchantment, this was a woman’s magic. She desperately wanted to be Taric’s woman, if only for one brief moment, to give him what no other could, to replace what Istimar had stolen from him. Peace. Hope. Innocence. Love.

His breath rang faster and harsher through the flickering darkness. Wrenching her hands from him, he brought his lips to her neck on a gasp.

“No more… I can’t take—”

“Take, Taric. It is freely given.”

He searched her eyes and she drowned in his gaze. “What do you give, Myla?”

“Everything that I am, I give to you. My peace, my innocence, my love.”

A quake tremored his frame. “I love you.”

His words touched her lips and his mouth branded them into her soul. Myla buried her fingers in his tawny hair, keeping his mouth to hers as he shifted, the scent of love wafting thick in the room. Welcoming thighs parted and cradled rigid flesh.

I want. I burn. I love.
She had always loved him but now, now she knew the difference between a woman’s love and the love of duty. One was a pale shadow of the other.

A single thrust joined them. Her gasp echoed into his kiss and her eyes flew open.
Burning. Filling. Possessing
. Her body shuddered at the invasion, gripping tightly. Taric’s own gasp locked his eyes with hers. One word reverberated from his spirit and into hers, an unbreakable link between them. It brushed her essence in a whispered baritone.
“Mine.”

No longer empty, she still ached. The ache increased to a rampant hunger. Her craving soared to voracious heights. Desire raked her with fangs of lust. Twisting beneath him, her body howled for relief.

His hands gripping her hips, he rocked into her, showed her how to sway back to him. The curl of need around her bones tightened, bit deep. Sweet, exquisite agony clenched each muscle and she vaulted into his dominance. Vibrations of ecstasy gripped her and his slick back moved under her clenching hands.
So hot. So hungry. So taut.

A flutter of fear lit in her belly.
Too much.
Like an overfull winesack struck with a blow, she would shatter and fly apart. Every thrust tightened the coils. She would break. She would explode.
There. So near
. Fright triggered a flight instinct and she bucked.

Taric caught her hands, laced his fingers with hers and pulled them above her head. Hot beside her cheek, his words came on a hoarse melody.

“Trust me, Myla. Let go and fly, my love. Trust me to catch you. I will. I promise.”

She could trust no other but Taric. Her body stretched tight and quivering, she obeyed his plea and let the blow fall as he moved within her. A single unknown force propelled her.

Her fear became reality in an eruption of erotic, pulsing sensations. Her molten core quivered around him.
Hot. Hungry. Sweet. Taric
. Fire exploded. She flew within his embrace, his name singing from lips unaware that they sung. Released in a wash of welling softness, each fiber twanged with joy, trembled with magic.

He caught her as he promised, his arms holding her through a haze of blistering flight. Dimly, she heard her name chanted before it too rose in a song of a deeper octave.

This is what it means to be whole, to be alive, to be complete. This is what it means to truly belong to someone
. For the first time Myla understood she belonged to Taric on every level. Magic did not bind her to him, love did.

a
b

“Stay with me.” Uttered in a voice gruff with sated passion, Taric’s request brought a smile to her lips and she fingered a front lock of his hair. She bent to press a gentle kiss against his mouth, her hair swinging forward. He smoothed it back with a gentle hand.

“I’m always with you.”

“No. Stay with me, beside me. I want to hold you while we sleep.”

Sleep?
Myla frowned in thought.
Do I sleep outside
? For Taric, she would do anything. Nodding with tenderness, she feathered golden silk away from his brow. His pallet was not meant for two but she curved into his body and his arms came around her. Nestled against his frame, she sighed. So much power between them, a beautiful charging rush of magnetic force that reaffirmed life and love.

“I love you, Myla.” His lips pressed to her crown and the words rumbled through his chest.

Surrounded by nothing but the feel of his skin and the cocoon of his love, Myla closed her human eyes and slept. The sleep was not different from her norm, simple blackness without thought. From somewhere deep, an image appeared. It began as a single splash of color, flaming fire orange against the midnight backdrop of her mind. It fluttered, mutated, shifted…then flew away.

Rainbow wings flittering along a sunburst of gold, yellow and amber…a hand floating across the fragile blooms, billows of sparkling pollen rising into the wind…blackberry clusters of sun-sweetened pleasure flowing across her tongue…lips like petals caressing hers…fingers against her cheek…a whisper in her ear…

“Taric!”

Myla jerked to wakefulness, her mind reaching for danger’s pulse.

Taric shielded her body. His chest heaved in sudden awareness and he snapped the blanket over her naked shoulder. “Damn it, Bry.”

Bryton gaped at them, his wide eyes flitting from Taric to her. Coldness seeped into his icy glare and his jaw firmed. “It’s nearly dawn. You wanted me to wake you.”

Taric nodded and ran a tongue across his lip but made no move to rise from beside her. Silent words chimed between the two men and although she could not read them, she sensed Taric’s stiffening before she felt it.

Bryton’s tone held frost. “You’ll do as you please but I’m captain here. If she walks among the men, find her some decent clothes and not that thin scrap of red that shows everything.”

“I don’t remember asking your opinion of her wardrobe,” Taric snapped.

“You wouldn’t have heard it anyway.” He stared at Taric’s naked flesh and spun on his booted heel. “I hope she was worth it, Your Highness, because you just condemned us all for a piece of make-believe ass.”

The tent shuddered with the force of his exit. Blowing out a sigh, Taric lay back beside her, his palm reaching for her shoulder.

Myla rose to her elbow and tilted her head. “He is angered. Why? Bryton has entered your tent before to find women in your bed. Why is this different?”