Savage Heat (33 page)

Wide green eyes never leaving it, she said, “I want to touch you.”

“Do it.”

Martay shyly reached out, wrapped tentative fingers around him, and gasped when he jerked involuntarily within her grasp. Amazed by the heat and hardness and texture, she lifted her other hand to him and began, quite innocently, to eagerly run exploring fingers up and down the hard, impressive length of him. Night Sun was delighted. Martay was, without realizing it, proving to him she was exactly the kind of woman he thought. No inexperienced, innocent girl would be as bold as the blond beauty who was, at this moment, looking down at his straining erection as though it were something good to eat and driving him half crazy with her warm, practiced hands. Night Sun, looking forward to a long, hot night of lovemaking, abruptly jerked her hands away and pulled her back into his arms.

And again they danced there in the moonlight. The two of them; she in her knee-high moccasins and black velvet neckpiece. He in his copper arm bands and shell anklets and red headband. If dancing had been pleasurable before, now it was paradise. Unfettered by clothes, they swayed and pressed and undulated, their bare awakened bodies enjoying a degree of sensitivity unlike any either had ever before known.

While they danced there naked in the moonlight, Night Sun, his reserve totally swept away by the wine and whiskey and peyote and passion, honestly admitted to Martay that he wanted the night to be a very special one. That he wanted the two of them to stay naked in each other’s arms until the breaking of dawn turned the silvery light now bathing them to the glaring sunshine of day.

He said he was going to make himself wait to take her completely for as long as he possibly could stand it, that he wanted them both to become so passionately uninhibited and highly aroused that by the time they fully surrendered to total possession and he entered her at last, they would be suffering a sweet, prolonged agony.

Martay, a total innocent in the ways of lovemaking, presumed she would grow no more excited than she was at this moment, dancing nude in his arms, feeling the throbbing, naked power against her belly; and since she was enjoying this gloriously erotic exercise in desire, she murmured her enthusiastic agreement to his plans.

They continued to dance, much, much slower now, barely lifting their feet, the shell anklets on Night Sun’s feet hardly tinkling. He kissed her as they danced, short, brushing kisses at the beginning. Teasing little caresses, his mouth playing with hers, teeth raking across her full, soft lips.

But her prominent breasts were brushing tantalizingly against his chest and those soft silvered curls between her thighs and the warm satin flesh of her belly were cradling his tumescence so that he could hardly bear it. His hands slipped down from her waist to cup her bare buttocks and his open mouth came down aggressively on hers. Martay’s opened to accept his kiss. Their teeth touched, his tongue caressed her lips.

Martay sighed as his kiss deepened and she felt the thrusting of his tongue deep inside her mouth. Clinging to him, she kissed him back with all the love and passion she felt for him. They kissed and kissed, each kiss growing longer, hotter, deeper. Their fevered breaths were loud in the quiet tipi, and their hands roamed anxiously and frantically gripped at slippery, naked flesh as they changed positions again and again, unable to get close enough.

Wildly, hotly, they kissed, their legs growing so weak with desire, they slowly slipped to the floor. Kneeling there in the moonlight, they continued to kiss as though they could never get enough of each other. Night Sun’s hands were again cupping Martay’s bare bottom, urging her to him as he kissed her greedily, hungrily, his tongue filling her mouth.

When finally their lips separated, Night Sun said raggedly, “Maybe it’s time I take you to my bed.”

“Yes,” Martay agreed breathlessly, and trembled with pleasure when he sat back on his heels, bent to her, and pressed his lips to her left breast. “Night Sun,” she gasped excitedly as his hot mouth enclosed the aching nipple in a gently sucking kiss. He allowed the wet little bud to pop out of his mouth, kissed the soft undercurve of her breast, then raised his head.

Lifting her easily up into his arms, Night Sun carried her to his soft bed of furs, gently placing her down. Martay leaned back, supporting her weight on stiff arms, and watched as Night Sun, on his knees beside the bed, pulled her long moccasins down her legs and off her feet, kissing each high instep as he bared them. He reached for the streamer of the black velvet tied around her neck, gave it a quick jerk, and slowly slid it from her throat.

He removed the copper bracelets from his arms, the shell anklets from his feet, leaving only the red band around his raven hair. He moved to her then, stretching out beside her in the moonlight, cupping a warm, full breast in his hand.

He said, “Now. Finally.”

She asked, “We’ve waited as long as we can to make love?”

His rough thumb brushed her sensitive nipple. “No, sweetheart. I mean finally we are both completely naked. Isn’t this better?”

“It is, but I …” Her eyes went to that heated rod of power jerking on his belly. “How long can you … I mean, will that … will you stay …”

His black eyes took on that fierce, intense expression. “Martay, never forget I am Indian. Indians are controlled and patient. Indians can wait forever.” His expression softened then, and he added, “I didn’t mean that I won’t make love to you. I will.” His hand slid up to cup the side of her neck, “I’ll give you pleasure, sweetheart. What I said was, I’d like us to postpone reaching total fulfillment for a long time.” He leaned to her and covered her parted lips with his own, easing her down onto her back as they kissed.

And then Martay found out what Night Sun meant when he said he would make love to her, would give her pleasure.

Like a master musician with a fine priceless instrument, he lovingly touched and stroked her body until she thought she would scream with the exquisite enjoyment. There was none of her flesh his warm, masterful hands did not claim, and she found herself anxiously arching toward the lean, brown fingers as they swept slowly, enticingly over her, his touch so light, it felt as if delicate rose petals were being scattered over her burning skin.

She lay there on his soft fur bed in the moonlight, her eyes opening and closing, while Night Sun stroked the gleaming hair of her head, her face, her throat. He touched her shoulders, skimmed his fingertips down the insides of her arms, and then back up. He circled both breasts, and ran the tip of his middle finger over each pointing, aching nipple.

And all the while he lay lazily on his side, looking at her with hot black eyes and murmuring encouragement and endearments in a seductive blend of English and Lakota, his deep voice as caressing as his hand.

His fingers swept down her flat stomach, her trembling belly, her long legs. He caressed her ankles, her bare feet, her toes. He pressed kisses to her open lips and told her that she was beautiful, so beautiful, he wanted to keep her like this, naked in his tipi forever, his sweetly willing prisoner of passion.

Completely in love and burning with desire, Martay assured him nothing would please her more. She said she wanted to be naked and beautiful for him always, to have his hands on her forever.

Night Sun eased her up and turned her on her side, so that she lay back against him, in the same position he was in, his body supporting hers. Martay sighed when he kissed the curve of her neck and shoulder. She lay comfortably back against his smooth, hard chest and instinctively squirmed her bottom closer to the heat and promise of that still-rigid shaft of extraordinary male power.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he said into her hair, “where you want my hand now.”

Martay couldn’t bring herself to answer. But she didn’t have to. Night Sun’s arm came around her and his warm palm flattened on her belly, then moved slowly down until it covered the golden curls between her thighs.

Martay put up no objection when he urged her left leg up and draped back it over his own legs, hooking it loosely, comfortably over his supportive calf.

His hand squeezed her knee, then moved slowly down to the inside of her thigh. Martay softly gasped when his fingers reached the thick triangle of curls, then slipped between to search out that tiny sensitive nub of female flesh. Her eyes closed with surprised ecstasy and her head dropped back on his shoulder as his fingers began their tender coaxing. Her healthy young body, stirred by his practiced, prolonged method of arousal, had produced a silky wetness that made his long, lean fingers glide easily over the fiery flesh and Martay experienced pleasure of a kind she had never known existed.

It was a form of splendid torture, and feeling as if she wanted it to last for eternity and at the same time praying for it to end at once, she writhed against him, shocked at what was happening to her, wondering fearfully what would happen if he should suddenly desert her, take his magical hand from her.

As though he had read her mind, Night Sun murmured against her ear, “We’ve all night. And all day. Let me love you,
Wicincala.
There’s nothing I’d rather do than touch you this way.”

It started then, triggered by his words. The sweet, frightening climax that caused Martay to cry out in dazed wonder. “Night Sun!” she sobbed as the fierce throbbing grew so strong, she was spiraling up into unbearable ecstasy.

“Yes, baby,” he soothed, his fingers sliding faster, deeper, surer, giving her what she needed. Her arm flew back around his neck and her hand clutched frantically at the thick hair of his head.

“Night Sunnnnn!” she screamed as she exploded with heat and joy, feeling wave after wave of incredible tremors wash through her entire body.

“Good. Good, sweetheart,” he praised, staying with her until her release was total. Then he hugged her tightly back against him, murmuring, “I’ve got you, sweetheart. Ah, that’s good. Yes. Yes, baby.”

When her slender body slumped tiredly against him, he gently turned her to face him. He kissed her tenderly, sweetly, cradling her head on his shoulder. Martay, exhausted, feeling all she wanted was to go to sleep, lay there limp in his arms while he kissed her repeatedly.

“Night Sun,” she whispered against his moving lips, “I … I’m sorry. I don’t think I can stay awake any …”

“I know, sweetheart,” he said, continuing to take soft, plucking little kisses from her open lips. “It’s all right. All right.”

“Mmmmm,” she murmured, and no one could have been more surprised than she when, a half hour later, with him continuing to cradle her in his arms and kiss her lips, her throat, her breasts, she was again stirring eagerly to his touch.

She was more than agreeable when he suggested she lie on her stomach. She gave his mouth a licking kiss and promptly stretched out on her bare belly, resting her weight on bent elbows.

Gently pushing her long, heavy hair to one side, Night Sun bent, kissed each rising shoulder blade, then climbed astride her. She didn’t question him. She sighed and purred and laid her head on a bent arm while he leaned to her and kissed her back. Slowly, slowly he slid down her body, kissing her buttocks, her legs, her feet, his lips and hands setting her afire again.

Finally, he turned her over.

He sat back on his heels astride her, a beautiful naked savage. His black eyes gleamed and blue highlights played in his raven hair. His bronzed shoulders glistened with sweat and the white scar slashing down his smooth chest appeared to be of white satin.

That old familiar mix of fear and attraction was strong as Martay watched him poised there, waiting, staring unblinkingly.

Swallowing hard, she said, “I’m burning up again.”

The fiercely beautiful savage leaned down, kissed her, and said into her mouth, “Me too, sweetheart.”

Swiftly he moved inside her legs. “Never,” he told her truthfully, “have I wanted a woman the way I want you right now.”

Still he held back for a time, kissing her lips, her breasts, making sure she was ready. And when he finally thrust into her, he was so burning hot, he didn’t, couldn’t, care when he found that she was a virgin. The perplexing realization did jangle alarmingly in his brain for a split second, but then it was gone as the sweetness of her hot, tight body drove out all logical thought.

Martay was shocked by the white, hot pain she experienced and felt betrayed by her lover. But not for long. In moments, glorious pleasure made her forget there had been any discomfort. She opened her eyes to look at the dark, handsome face above hers as Night Sun moved his slim hips rhythmically, erotically, taking her with slow, insistent thrusts of his hard, aroused body. He clasped her hips and lifted her to him, tutoring her, guiding her. Martay learned quickly. When he drove into her, she eagerly tilted her pelvis, accepting him fully, wanting all he had to give.

They moved in slow, heated splendor, Night Sun repeatedly sliding almost all the way in, then retreating, holding back until he felt her release beginning, the spasming, the delicious clasping and gripping of her body around him. Only then did he change the tempo, speeding his movements, thrusting deeper, giving it all to her.

When it happened, she cried out, and cried out yet again when Night Sun, knowing she was there, finally let himself go. Martay felt the hot pumping liquid of love fill her, then overflow, and she gloried in the wonderful sensation. She wrapped her legs tightly around his back to draw him closer, hugging him to her while she kissed his dark jaw, murmuring, “Darling, my darling.”

And through her mind flitted the giddy thought that she did indeed feel oh so new and good and different. Never again would she be as before. She belonged to Night Sun. She was owned, body and soul, by this handsome half-breed.

Would belong to him forever.

30

R
egina Darlington, standing before the pier glass in her luxurious bedroom, felt a twinge of apprehension as she carefully examined herself. The doubt was not caused by the reflection she saw in the looking glass. She was, she knew, quite beautiful. The fashionable gown she had chosen for the evening, a shimmering bronze satin, had come straight from Paris. Her rich auburn hair was dressed elaborately atop her head with ropes of gold and pearls intertwined through the gleaming curls.