WesternWind 4 - Tears of the Reaper (26 page)

He swallowed. “But I will teach you.”

She put her hands on his bare waist then wedged her fingertips beneath the waistband of his pants when he stood for her, began to slowly push them down over his hips. “And how to fashion them again?”

“Aye,” he said, his heart pounding furiously.

The leather seemed to have shrunk on his body, refusing to leave it easily. He knew that was in part because he was sweating with desire and the material was sticking to his flesh but he also had a suspicion other—more extra-worldly—forces were at work, making them work for what was coming. Rachel must have surmised the same thing for he heard her muttering beneath her breath.

“He’s mine and I am going to claim him so stop interfering!”

She managed to work the leather down his long legs and as he braced a hand on her shoulder to lift his foot free of the garment, she felt his fingers tense and looked up.

“I am yours,” he stated.

“Of course you are,” she agreed.

The pants were folded neatly like the silk shirt and put aside. He stood there before her as naked as the day he had come from his mother’s womb, heat suffusing his cheeks, his cock throbbing wildly.

“Wave your hand and make these clothes depart,” she ordered him, running a tongue over her upper lip.

“No,” Owen said, and his entire body clenched at the sight of that slick tongue. “Turnaround is fair play, wench. You undressed me now I will undress you.”

She made a little moue with her lips but sat on the bed so he could take off her boots. That done, slowly and with great care he undid the black shirt as she sat there looking up at him with such calm acceptance. He held out his hand to draw her to her feet then slid the opened shirt from her slender shoulders. The black leather pants she told him were beginning to grow on her he unbuttoned with extra care then peeled them down her beautiful legs. Unlike his lady-wife, Owen cast the garments aside carelessly, never noticing the prim press of her lips at his cavalier treatment of the garments.

“We will discuss your slovenly habits later, my Owen,” she commented.

The only discussion Owen wanted to have was with the delectable body that was now revealed to him. Scars that would have marred the perfection of that sweet body had all been removed by Morrigunia’s hand.

“You paid a high price that they were,” she said, easily reading his thoughts.

“Shush, my Rachel,” he said sternly, but his eyes belied the reprimand as he drew her to him, pressing her full-length against his own naked flesh. He ground his erection against her. “Let him do all the talking.”

“I’m listening,” she said, giggling.

He bent his head to claim her mouth and thrust a possessive tongue between her lips. For just a split second he realized he was going too fast, being too worldly for her, and would have withdrawn, but she lightly caught his tongue between her teeth and held it, staring into his eyes with a challenge he found drove straight to his loins.

Rachel knew nothing of men or of what excited them but she was more than willing to learn. She wanted Owen’s body to crave hers in a way that would never allow his eye to wander. Though it was extremely uncommon for men of the Colony to stray, some had and she had no intention of allowing her man to ever feel the need to do so. She vowed to give him whatever he wanted to keep him satisfied.

Owen intercepted that wayward thought and pulled back from her, smiling as she released his tongue. “I have in my arms what will satisfy me, sweeting.”

“Aye, but I am not a porcelain figurine, my Owen. I will not break if you handle me a bit roughly.” She gazed at him from beneath her long eyelashes. “Truth be told, I would welcome a firm hold.”

The Reaper’s eyes flared at her words. He ached to know the sweeping passion he suspected Cynyr and Aingeal shared, the all-encompassing desire he often glimpsed in Arawn’s eyes when the Prime watched Danielle. He wanted to experience the same building lust he saw mirrored in Bevyn’s gaze when Lea entered a room. He knew those men did not treat their mates like hothouse plants nor fragile glass statues that would break with a bit of hard handling. Yet he also knew the mates of his fellow Reapers had not been brought up as Rachel had in a restrictive environment where sex was a taboo subject and not meant to be enjoyed by the female in the equation.

“My Owen,” Rachel said with an exasperated sigh, “you think entirely too much!”

That said, she reached down and cupped his staff, wrapping her slender fingers around it tightly, giving it a slight tug as she maneuvered him so that the backs of his thighs touched the mattress edge.

“Lie down and let’s get on with the business at hand!” she said, and her fingers tightened even more around his cock.

His arms were still around her and he fell backward, putting a bare heel to the bed to slide them farther up into the center of the mattress. She had hold of him and seemed to have no intention of releasing that firm grip. Her arms were trapped between them and he reveled in the pressure that position brought to his lower belly. Lifting his legs, he wrapped them around her calves, imprisoning her against him.

“Wench, I think…”

“Please, stop thinking!” she hissed at him. “Stop talking. Stop everything but this!”

She was milking his shaft with her fingers, caressing him so firmly it seemed to him he was growing harder and longer in her grasp. Her fingertips were grazing his balls each time she loosened and tightened her grip, the short nails scratching delicately against his flesh. That action was sending wave after wave of sensuous delight down his legs.

Wiggling against him, she let him know she wanted to move freely and he reluctantly slid his legs from hers. She pushed up in the bed to kneel between his spread thighs, gazing down at his bare chest at her hands smoothed over the wiry hair growing there.

“I want to touch you all over,” she said, running her tongue over her upper lip. “I want to know every inch of you.” Her gaze grew hot. “Every mole, every freckle, every scar, everything.” She trailed her fingers down his side.

He felt like a sacrifice as he lay there while she studied his body. Where her gaze touched upon him, it felt as though heat were pouring from her eyes. He wanted to writhe beneath that fervent inspection but he held himself still as she started at his face and moved downward, her close scrutiny of every inch of his upper body making him pant with need. By the time she was staring avidly at his engorged cock, he began to sweat.

“Are all men as large as you, my Owen?” she asked, and stroked him, running the tip of her finger over the tip where pearly liquid had formed.

“I don’t…” He blushed to the roots of his hair. “I guess.”

“How long are you?” she asked. It was an innocent question but it was one he could answer with pride.

“Ten inches,” he said, remembering the day he had measured his fully erect cock and been punished for daring to touch himself.

She continued to stroke him, unaware he was gritting his teeth and that perspiration was dripping down his temples as he strove to keep from coming under her gentle touch.

“Does this please you?” she asked, lightly scratching her short nails under his scrotum.

“Aye,” he breathed. “Very much.” His body was beginning to quiver and he longed to wrap his arms around her, flip her over and drive into her mercilessly.

As though she had caught that intoxicating thought, she smiled slyly and lightly raked her fingernails down his taut thigh. “And this?”

“Wench, please!” he whimpered. “I am dying here!”

Rachel was becoming good at reading his mind and she slipped past his defenses to see what carnal thoughts were invading him to cause him to tremble so at her touch. In his mind she saw a faceless woman bending over him, her mouth wrapped around his shaft, her actions making it plain that she was drawing on his flesh. From Owen’s memories she surmised he enjoyed such a thing and bent over him, bringing his flesh to her mouth and before he could stop her, taking him between her lips.

“Rachel!” he cried out, his fingers entwining in her hair to hold her head still. He had not expected for her to kneel there looking up at him over the curly hairs of his lower abdomen and wink at him. He was shocked to the very foundations of his soul!

Rachel eased her mouth from his throbbing flesh. “Does that not please you, my Owen?” she asked.

“Aye, but…” His heart was pounding so fast he could barely think.

“Then shush,” she said, and lowered her head once more, his fingers still tight in her hair as she slid her tongue along his shaft as she had gleaned from his memories of whatever woman had relieved him.

Owen squeezed his eyes shut as her mouth worked magic on his swollen cock. She was taking the way of it from his thoughts—he understood that—and realized she did not find the act revolting. Her only objective was to give him pleasure and to her there was no disgust or stigma attached to what she was doing. If anything, she seemed to be enjoying it.

“I am,” she whispered in his mind.

But it was more pleasure than Owen could comfortably stand and he knew how quick his shaft would react if allowed any more freedom. He tugged at her hair. When she pulled back and licked her lips, it was almost his undoing. Before he unmanned himself in front of her, he slapped his hands to her shoulders, gripped them and pushed her over, flinging a leg over her as he reared up, his fingertips sliding to the sweet mounds of her breasts.

“I am ripe to bursting, wench,” he said through clenched teeth. “If I don’t… If we don’t…”

“There you go talking again,” she said, and she put her arms around him to pull him to her. “Do you ever hush?”

Owen shifted between her knees, thrusting her thighs farther apart. “I believe I have one last thing to say.”

Rachel opened her mouth to protest but never got the chance for he slid into her with such firm resolve it took away her breath. He was hard and full and filled her to capacity, stretching muscles that wrapped around him, clung to him, and began to ache at his entry. There was slight discomfort, a bit of a burn, but then her body was reacting to his sweet invasion and her juices began to flow over his hard flesh. He was like velvet wrapped around steel as he gently moved within her, his hips swiveling slowly as he allowed her to grow accustomed to his length and breadth. He pulled back just a little and slid in again, never going as deep as she feared he could.

Her nails scratched lightly at his sides as he ground against her, his hands sliding under her rump to lift her toward him.

“I like this, my Owen,” she whispered to him, and when their eyes met, she smiled broadly. “I like this a lot!”

Owen threw back his head and laughed. That he was giving her pleasure—that she could actually feel that pleasure—filled him with such delight he felt like crying.

Rachel knew he had worried about whether or not the sexual act would bring her enjoyment. Although she remembered the violence done her, the pain she had experienced, she supposed it was like that of the women who had borne children and spoken covertly of it to the younger women who had not. There had been pain, they said, but they could not remember it because the delight of the child in their arms had wiped away all the unpleasantness and agony involved in the birthing process. She likened holding Owen as she was at the moment to be the same thing. The pleasure of his body had glossed over, had wiped away, the sting of the pain that had come before. There was only the good now and the bad was but a fading memory.

“There you go thinking again,” Owen growled at her. “Do you ever stop?”

She squeezed him tightly and lifted her legs as he had done to wrap them—not around his calves as he had done with her—but around his waist, jailing him within their silky confines.

“I’d like it a bit harder, my Owen,” she said.

“My cock or the thrusts?” he challenged, and his hips began to piston a bit faster, his cock going a bit deeper with each third or fourth thrust.

“Both,” she affirmed. Her nails dug into his back, spurring him on.

It was as though a dam burst inside Owen and a fire had been lit within him. His thrusts became deeper and harder and as her legs tightened almost to the point of pain around him, those thrusts became more frenzied until sweat was dripping down into her face from his brow and she was arching up to meet him, plunge for plunge.

Rachel felt something gathering deep inside her womb and it was building to such a point she thought it was would shatter her when it arrived. She was clutching him, scrambling to hold on to his sweaty body as he slammed into her with such force the bed rocked beneath them.

When the minute vibrations began, the quivers of her inner muscles alerted her to something spectacular about to crash over her, Rachel stopped breathing, concentrating every ounce of her awareness in the connection between their two bodies. She thought of that hard length going in and out of her and then the sweetest of pleasures rippled through her with such intensity she screamed as her release spiraled in undulating wave after wave of the most wondrous pleasure she’d ever known.

Her climax seemed to go on and on and around him and Owen was caught up in that maelstrom of delight. It took him with hard squeezes that milked the cum from his cock and he spurted long and hard, his head back to howl his pleasure as the clenches around his shaft came again and again until he was drained. He stiffened as one last spurt left him then he collapsed atop her, panting for breath, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it thundering in his ears.