Shades of the Wind (17 page)

cupped her sex lightly—one finger tapping gently at her entrance.

“Oh my!” Catherine said with a groan. She could not stop her hips from lifting

upward, some strange, alien desire—some great
need
—making her want to impale

herself on that slowly tapping finger.

Not in all the years of his existence had Khenty known the tender flesh of a virgin.

Not once had he tasted the unspoiled plains of a budding woman’s heat until he had

tasted Catherine’s. He ached to know his wife’s scent, her taste, the unique fabric of her

inner warmth that beckoned him to enter once her maidenhead was broached.

Withdrawing his teeth from her nipple, he slanted his mouth across hers in an

intoxicating kiss that thrust his tongue deep into her moist recesses and tasted the slight

hint of plum wine. Ending the kiss, he peppered tiny little pecks down her chin, her

throat, between her breasts—lingering over the deep concavity of her bellybutton,

swirling his tongue there, nipping at the lower rim—before moving on to the top of her

wiry curls.

Catherine was forced to let go of his hair as he moved down on the bed, coming

over her to stretch out between her thighs. Gently he pushed her legs farther apart with

his elbows as he placed his hands on the tops of her thighs, his thumbs stroking the

damp curls lightly but not touching her heated flesh. Alternating his thumbs—one up,

one down—across those reddish-gold spikes, he lowered his head to blow gently upon

her core, his warm breath sending another quiver down her frame.

Her face flaming, Catherine was quivering. Digging her hands into the covers

beneath her, her heels into the mattress, she bit her lip for his fingers were slowly,

tenderly pulling the lips of her vagina apart and his warm breath was fanning over the

moist labia. His thumbnails dragged down the inside of the outer fold with excruciating

slowness and she writhed beneath him for the sensation set off an itch that was almost

more than she could bear.

“Lie still, bantling,” he said to her, his elbows pressing down upon her thighs to

keep her immobile. “I want to look at every inch of your precious body.”

She did not think she could lie still, Catherine thought. His thumbnails were doing

maddening things between her legs. She had a fleeting thought that she should be

mortified that a man was peering so closely at her intimate parts but that thought died

quickly when he touched some part of her that had her arching up from the bed like a

puppet on a string.

“You liked that, eh?” he asked with a laugh.

Whatever was being pinched gently between his fingers and rotated was driving

Catherine insane with desire. She was aware of something being pushed back and

something far too sensitive being touched, scratched tenderly, by his short fingernail.

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“Khenty, please!” she begged, wanting to wriggle but unable to do so for he had

increased the pressure of his elbows upon her thighs.

“Not yet, milady,” he whispered.

The moment his lips touched that ultrasensitive part of her, Catherine cried out and

nothing short of being tied spread-eagled to the bed could have kept her from thrusting

her hands into the prince’s hair and gripping it. But instead of pushing him away as he

suckled on that responsive part of her anatomy, she pressed him closer, unwilling to let

him escape. He was torturing her, but it was such sweet, precious torture and it was

sending wave after wave of undeniable pleasure through her lower body and making

her loins feel heavy, itchy and throbbing all at the same time.

He released his hold on that part of her that was driving her mad and used his

tongue to lap at the folds of her vagina—tasting her, laving her—that sturdy muscle

lapping at the moistness that had suddenly formed between her thighs.

“Sweet,” he pronounced. “So sweet and such a heady scent. I can only imagine how

much sweeter it will be when I have entered you for the first time.”

Catherine felt tingles rippling down her arms at his words. Heat crept into her

cheeks but she was lost. Whatever her man wanted to do to her, she was game. Her

need was building in leaps and bounds and she knew whatever it was that was coming

would shatter her world forever.

He thrust his tongue into her cunt and Catherine bucked beneath him. His hands

were holding her vaginal lips apart as he licked at her, pressed into her as far as he

could go. But it wasn’t enough for her and he knew it. From the tenseness of her body,

he knew she was rapidly approaching release and he wanted her to be completely

fulfilled when that penultimate moment came. With infinite care, he slipped a finger

deep into her warm sheath.

“Khenty!” she cried out, and ground against that wondrous invasion.

He turned his hand so the palm was up and slipped a second finger into her—going

deeper, seeking that inner part of her he knew would be the site of her greatest

pleasure. A third finger gently joined the other two and he felt the slight bump on the

roof of her vagina and stroked it.

Catherine bore down on his hand. A light gush of liquid spread over his fingers.

Ripples of spasms clutched her vaginal walls and she trilled as her release came like a

rocket. As he continued to stroke that mysterious part of her vagina, she continued to

come, her thighs quivering, her upper body jackknifed in the bed so that the small of

her back did not touch the mattress.

“Stop!” she cried out, unable to sustain the pleasure that was quaking through her

body. “Khenty, please stop!”

It was her first time with her completely aware, without being under his

enthrallment, and he had wanted it to be special for her. He had wanted it to last and to

show her what pleasures a couple could experience in the privacy of their bed. He had

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longed to teach her that sex could be not only a pleasurable experience but one that

drew a man and woman closer together.

He thought perhaps he had succeeded.

His wife lay spent, her legs splayed far apart, panting and trembling as he moved

up her body and gathered her into his arms. Her body was damp with perspiration and

her heart was thundering in her chest. The ragged breaths she drew into her lungs were

loud in the still room.

“Milady, you are almost a woman now,” he said softly, placing a light kiss to her

brow.

Although Catherine had been inexperienced, she knew her husband had not gained

pleasure from their mating. She knew until he had seated himself inside her, had

pierced her maidenhead, she would not truly be a woman. She could feel the stiffness of

his sex throbbing against her thigh. She knew he had put off his own satisfaction, his

own gratification to ensure hers. She wanted to give back to him a measure of the

supreme enjoyment he had shown her.

“Milord, tell me what to do to please you,” she said.

Another man might have grinned demonically at such innocent words but Khenty

only felt a great sense of honor. There were some things done in a marriage bed that

women found abhorrent and preferred not to do, things a man’s mistress might do to

hold onto him yet not really enjoy. He had always thought that when he chose a mate,

he would let his woman decide what she liked and felt comfortable doing.

“Look at me, bantling,” he said, and turned so that he lay flat on his back, his right

leg crooked, his hands behind his head.

Catherine sat up and stared down at the thrust of his penis. She was surprised at its

length and size in the state in which it seemed to have swollen. A tiny bead of pearly

moisture clung to its broad head.

“Would you like to touch me?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” she said, eager to slip her hand over his hard length. She put the tip of her

finger to that little drop of moisture. She looked up at him. “May I taste it?”

Khenty’s body clenched at her sweet question and he could do no more than nod,

afraid his voice would break like that of an adolescent if he were to try to speak.

Catherine captured that pearly drop and opened her mouth, touched his essence to

her tongue. Her gaze met his. “It is salty,” she said. “What do I taste like?”

He shrugged helplessly. “Starchy, I think,” he said. “But ultimately sweet.”

She looked back at his cock then circled him slowly with her fingers. His flesh

jumped beneath her touch and she smiled, one burgundy brow lifting. “He likes that.”

“Yes, he does,” Khenty said. His blood was throbbing so powerfully between his

temples he could hear it. His body was taut as he strove not to push her over and claim

her in one wild thrust.

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Her hand moved to his sac and she cupped him, weighing the wrinkled flesh. “He

seems to like that too,” she said with a giggle.

“He likes everything you are willing to do for him, milady,” he replied in a gruff

voice.

Khenty sucked in a harsh breath for his lady bent over and put the head of his rod

in her mouth, swirling her tongue over the slick bulb. As he had done with her nipples,

she suckled him and he was starting to fight the urgent need that was lashing him with

unsheathed talons.

“Milady, no,” he said, putting a hand to her head to push her gently away. “I am

near to bursting.”

“And you want to burst inside me?” she asked.

Her words sent quivers down his spine. “Yes, milady. More than anything I have

ever wanted.”

She moved to lie down beside him, opening her arms to him. “I wanted to taste you

as you tasted me,” she said with a pout.

“You can,” he said, not knowing how much longer he could stave off the thick need

growing in his cock. He moved over her, putting the tip of his rod to her warm

entrance. “It will sting but for only a moment as I break through your maidenhead.”

Her hands pulled him to her. “I have no fear of you, milord.”

Gently he pressed into her, widening her inch by slow torturous inch so he would

not hurt, would not bruise her virginal flesh. When he came to the obstruction of her

hymen, he drew in a breath and pressed slowly, surely against that frail barrier.

Catherine blinked as her maidenhead gave way. There was no sting, only a

sensation of stretching. She let out a breath she did not know she’d been holding and

realized her husband had done the same. They laughed together and instinct made her

lift her legs to grab his lean hips.

“Milady!” he said, shocked at what she had done but thrilled by it just the same.

“I’ve seen dogs holding onto their mates,” she said. “Can I not hold onto you?”

He couldn’t answer that for his body had taken off and was slowly pistoning in and

out of her of its own accord. His need was so great, his desire so full-grown that he was

finding it hard to do anything save thrust into her deeper and deeper. Her slickness, her

warmth was overpowering and he was caught like a fly in her web, struggling—not to

break free—but to reach paradise.

With her legs around his hips, her arms around his back, her naked breasts pressed

against his chest, Khenty was being locked to his lady, branded by her soft peaks. His

blood was stirring and when he felt her first tremor, he increased the speed and depth

of his thrusting and took her with him over the edge and to a climax that rocked them

both.

Hot spurts of liquid pulsed into Catherine’s womb and she felt the jerk of his flesh

inside her, the release of his seed. Her own tightening, releasing, tightening of pleasure

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vibrated through her loins and brought a cry from her lips as she dug her fingernails

into her husband’s back. His own cry echoed hers and when he collapsed atop her—

spent and drained—she gathered him to her, reveling in the weight of his strong body

pressing into hers.

“Can I taste you next time?” she asked.

Khenty laughed despite his tiredness, his depletion. He rolled over, dragging her

atop him and holding her as wriggled against his sweaty length. “You can do whatever

you want to me, milady.”

She cocked her head to one side. “Anything?”

“Anything,” he said.

“That will bear thinking on,” she said, and laid her head to his shoulder. “Will you

do the Taking now?”

He had all but forgotten the Third Taking. It was vitally important and should have

been done while he claimed her as his mate. “If you are prepared,” he answered.

She eased out of his arms and lay down, her arms to her side. “I am ready.”

He locked his eyes with hers for a moment then bent over her, his lips to her left

breast. He kissed her then his fangs extended so quickly it surprised him and stunned

her for those wicked, hollow canines pierced her flesh before she could put her hand to

his head.

There was pain, but it was not unbearable. It felt strange and almost as soon as it

had been given, the discomfort ceased, her body relaxing beneath a strange mellowness

that brought a gentle smile to her lips. She could feel the blood from her heart being

drawn up into his mouth but she knew it would not harm her. When Khenty lifted his

head, his fangs still curved over the fullness of his lower lip, she looked up into his eyes.