Stronger than Yearning

by Penny Jordan

  When James moved between her thighs her body welcomed the male heat of him, her fingers clutching on to his shoulders as he kissed her deeply, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, his hands cupping the aching weight of her breasts. Her nipples were deeply pink and throbbed when he touched them.

  She could feel the hard tension of his arousal against her body and ached to experience it more intimately. In her dream, she had not experienced beyond this point and now she ached to do so with a savage compulsiveness that overwhelmed her. Her body arched demandingly against his and she felt his corresponding tension. He released her mouth to expel a fierce deep breath and then she could feel the slow thrust of his body inside her.

  Panic clawed briefly inside her, reality breaking through her desire-induced daze. Her body tensed, recoiling in anticipation of pain and against her ear James murmured soothing words of comfort.

  ‘It’s all right…I know it’s been a long time…I promise I won’t hurt you,’ Jenna heard him say, and, astonishingly, it was enough to make her relax and allow the flood tide of desire to roll back inside her so that apart from a brief momentary pain her body welcomed the fierce surge of his within it. He paused and as though in answer to some unspoken command Jenna arched against him, rubbing her breasts against the dark hairs covering his chest.

  James’s breathing became fiercely harsh, tremors racking his body. He thrust deeper within her, unleashing a molten heat inside her that made her hips lift and writhe tormentedly against him, her slim legs gripping him to her as she felt him move rhythmically deep inside her until her body pulsed with aching tension that wanted only one release.

  She was conscious of crying out his name, of burying her mouth against the flesh of his shoulder and wildly tasting the salt tang of his skin.

  Waves of pleasure beat against her breaking over her in faster and fiercer tumult, the only sound in the room that of their mutually agonised breathing. She felt the waves break over her, submerging her, drowning her in pleasure and cried out in release, feeling the final powerful thrust of James’s body within her own and then his swift release, his mouth locking on hers, draining all the sweetness from it as their breathing and heartbeats slowly returned to normal.

  Now, when it was too late, she was assailed by a flood of guilt and self-hatred so intense that her body ached with it. The fulfilment of her driving need for release had brought her a momentary physical satisfaction, but it had also brought her an intensity of self-loathing and disgust that blotted out everything else as successfully as her desire had done earlier.

  ‘Jenna…’ She felt James reach out towards her and curl her into the curve of his body, but she pulled away, revolted to the point of nausea by the thought of any physical contact with him.

  ‘Come on…it’s a little late for that now,’ he told her sardonically. ‘You wanted me, Jenna, and——’

  ‘Only because you made me want you,’ she spat at him. ‘And I hate you for it, James…do you hear? I hate you.’

  She moved as close to the edge of the bed as she could, waiting only until she heard the deeply even rise and fall of his breathing to slip out of it and into the bathroom where she scoured her skin until it glowed, hating the ripe fullness of her breasts and the soft satiny sheen on her skin because it betrayed the fact that James had spoken the truth. She had wanted him. But only because of her dream, she told herself fiercely. She had confused James with her dream lover and that was why.

  James. Her mouth curled in disgust. He hadn’t even realised that she was a virgin. Was? Had been, she reminded herself bitterly. She almost wished now that he had physically forced her and that her body bore the bruises to prove it; at least that way she would have something with which to quiet her conscience. As it was…Suddenly, she was so tired that she could have fallen asleep where she was in the bath. Getting out she dried herself lethargically and, wrapped in a clean towel, made her way back to bed. It was too much of an effort to hunt round for a nightdress now. All she wanted to do was to sleep—for ever if that could possibly be arranged.

  As she fell asleep the last memory she had was of James telling her he wanted her. He had hidden that want very skilfully from her before their marriage.

  * * *

  Towards dawn she started to dream, shatteringly erotic dreams in which the man in the portrait and James became inexplicably one person. She tried to escape, to deny the potent immediacy of the desire conjured from her flesh and felt as though she were trapped, sinking into quicksands that refused to let her free.

  She woke briefly, immediately conscious of James’s arm beneath her breasts. He was lying on his side facing her, still deeply asleep, but even in sleep he refused to let her go, she thought bitterly. God, how she hated herself now! Her flesh crawled with self-disgust. How could she have wanted him? And with such a mindless intensity that even now it appalled her to contemplate its power.

  Gradually she drifted back to sleep, waking again much later, immediately conscious of being alone in the bed. Somehow, she knew that James was not even in the suite and she let her mind toy wearily with that knowledge, wondering how she had come by it, how he managed to weave himself so intimately into her senses that already they were acutely aware of his absence.

  She felt lethargic and drained. Her head ached appallingly and she was thirsty. Memories came surging back and she remembered the champagne and wine she had drunk. That knowledge was reassuring. It helped to banish at least some of her inner self-loathing. She was not totally responsible for her abandoned response to James’s love-making. It made her writhe in tortured humiliation to think of how she had responded to him, how she…She pressed her fingertips to her aching temples and then reached for the phone. She knew quite well that she had no aspirins with her, but perhaps room service might be able to send some up.

  The liquid sound of English spoken with a Caribbean accent soothed her tightly stretched nerves. She ordered coffee and Perrier water and asked if it would be possible for her to have some headache tablets.

  The girl apologised profusely that they were not allowed to supply any form of medication however mild, adding that there was a chemist’s concession within the shopping complex on the ground floor. Jenna expelled her breath on a faintly weary sigh. She felt too exhausted to get dressed and go downstairs.

  Rather hesitantly the girl paused and then continued, ‘Many people suffer from tension brought on by jet lag, if I might make a suggestion, the beauty shop provides an aromatherapy massage which is very relaxing and soothing.’

  It sounded bliss, but as Jenna tiredly pointed out, she did not have the energy to make it down to the ground floor beauty salon.

  Oh, but there was no need for that, the girl assured her. If she rang down to the beauty salon they would send a girl up to her room.

  It was a tempting thought. Jenna had had an aromatherapy massage once before at The Sanctuary, an exclusive London health club, and it had been a most relaxing and pleasant experience. Before she could change her mind she dialled the beauty shop number and was answered by another liquid-voiced Caribbean girl.

  Rather hesitantly she explained about her headache, adding that room service had suggested a massage might be beneficial to her. The girl on the other end of the line was instantly enthusiastic, offering to send their aromatherapy specialist up immediately.

  As luck would have it, the girl arrived at the same time as the waiter with Jenna’s coffee and Perrier.

  As Jenna let her in and motioned to the waiter to put the tray down the girl smiled at her, shaking her head ruefully over the hot drink but approving the water. She was a pale-coffee-coloured, beautifully featured girl with a pronounced American accent, her trim pale green robe embroidered with the name of the hotel. She was carrying a wicker basket packed tight with bottles.

  ‘Belle told me that you have a headache.’ She indicated her basket and said with a smile, ‘I have brought several oils with me which have a beneficial effect on tension.’

  The
y went through into the bedroom where Jenna pulled back the exquisite silk cover not wanting it to be marked by the oil.

  ‘A towel would be a good idea, I think,’ the masseuse commented. ‘Shall I get one?’

  Jenna thanked her and sat on her bed while she walked into the bathroom.

  ‘This is a lovely suite. The only private one in the hotel.’

  ‘Yes, my husband owned the land on which the complex was built,’ Jenna told her. It gave her a funny feeling to describe James as her husband and to know that this was now the truth in all contexts. Where was he? Did she really care? She had expected to wake up this morning ready to do battle with him and tell him how much she resented what he had done to her, but what she actually felt was a growing reluctance to see him at all.

  How could she present him with an angry, contemptuous resentment of what he had done, when she was unpleasantly aware of how easily he could retaliate, simply by reminding her that in the end she had gone more than willingly to him? She didn’t credit him with the sensitivity to understand how she must be feeling this morning though. He could not have left her alone for her sake. Her mouth tightened. Where had he gone? Had the desire he claimed to feel for her been extinguished already? Had the discovery that she was a virgin—and she was sure he must have realised now he had had time to think about it, because there had been no mistaking that deliberate pause once his body had penetrated hers—perhaps shocked him?

  Jenna bit her lip. Dear God, how could she have overlooked that! He must know that Lucy was not her child. The pain in her head increased as she automatically tensed her body, and it took the brief touch of the masseuse’s hand on her arm to disperse her unhappy thoughts.

  ‘Please call me Layla,’ the girl invited when she had spread a large bathsheet on the bed. ‘If you will please lie down…

  ‘I think I will use a rose essence mixed with lavender,’ she told Jenna. ‘This is very soothing, very relaxing, very, very good for tension.’

  Jenna lay face down on the bed, her forehead pillowed on her hands. She heard Layla mixing the oil and closed her eyes willing her tense muscles to relax. It was clear that they had not done so as she jumped when Layla gently touched her foot, and then started to massage it firmly.

  The scent of roses and lavender wafted round the bed, and Jenna drank it in. As Layla expertly massaged her way up over the backs of her legs, Jenna could feel the tension easing from her.

  Nearly an hour later when she was finally massaging the tension spots beneath her shoulders and at the top of her spine Jenna felt as though she were slowly dissolving into the mattress, her body so light and relaxed she could almost have floated upwards off the bed.

  ‘If you would like to turn over, I…’

  Slowly, Jenna shook her head. ‘I’m too relaxed now to even think of moving,’ she told her with a smile. ‘If you don’t mind, Layla, I think I’ll just have half an hour’s sleep.’

  She smiled as the girl nodded her head, and picked up her basket. ‘I can let myself out,’ she assured Jenna. ‘I am so glad you are feeling better. You were very tense.’

  Yes, and it hadn’t all been caused by jet lag, Jenna thought sleepily as she heard the main door to the suite close behind Layla. Heavens, she couldn’t remember when she had last felt so relaxed…so good about herself. She stretched experimentally, feeling her muscles move in perfect fluid symmetry beneath her skin. She stretched again like a small cat and then yawned succumbing to the waves of sleep.

  Something touched her spine. Something teasing and yet pleasurable making her want to arch and stretch, sending tiny shivers of delight racing over her skin. She murmured in her sleep, torn between clinging to sleep and the tantalising invitation of that light rippling touch.

  ‘You smell good…what have you been doing?’

  She knew the voice, and she stretched sensuously at the sound of it, still keeping her eyes closed.

  The ripples of delight tormenting her spine continued, and she felt sleep receding abandoned to the need to explore a little further the delicious sensation building up inside her. Something pleasantly warm touched her bottom, caressing one gently rounded cheek, stroking the soft skin. She sighed in luxurious contentment, curling her toes like a cat kneading its paws before it starts purring.

  ‘Well, well, here’s a change!’

  There was a hint of laughter in the familiar voice now and it made her frown slightly, and open her eyes as she rolled on to her side.

  “Hello, James…’

  He had obviously just showered. She could smell the clean piney scent of his soap and his hair was still wet. In the deep vee of the white towelling robe he had on she could see the honey-burnished sheen of his skin.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Jenna asked sleepily.

  ‘Swimming. Have you missed me?’

  He was watching her closely, but Jenna felt too relaxed and pleasantly floaty to heed the voice of warning urging her to remember all sorts of things she would rather forget. The oils Layla used on her body seemed to have done more than simply relax her body; they had relaxed her mind as well.

  ‘Why should I?’ She pouted up at him, the teasing glint in her eyes darkening to shock as he leaned over her mock menacingly, grasping her shoulder and droplets of ice-cold water from his wet hair splashed down on to her skin, raising immediate goosebumps and a tiny shriek of anguish.

  One fell against her breast and hung there like a tiny diamond, suspended, trembling with the deep breath she took.

  James made a sound deep in his throat that her senses immediately recognised and responded to. She closed her eyes as he bent his head, her body totally supine and obedient to his will. His mouth caught the tiny drop of water, savouring the coolness of it against the heat of her skin.

  ‘You taste of roses and lavender,’ he whispered huskily against her breast. ‘Did you know that?’

  In spite of herself, Jenna giggled.

  ‘It’s the massage oil,’ she told him. ‘I had a headache when I woke up and instead of aspirin the girl on room service recommended a massage…’

  ‘Did she now…’ His eyes darkened, saying things to hers that there was no need to put into words. She was lying on her side and his hands stroked slowly up from her bottom, absorbing the texture of her oil-warmed skin.

  When he touched her breasts with his oil-slick hands, slowly massaging and caressing them, Jenna felt the now familiar slide down into intense desire begin. She was too relaxed even to think of resisting it. The bitter thoughts she had had that morning might never have been. It must be the oil, she thought hazily, it must possess some magical aphrodisiac powers. Either that or the way James’s eyes hypnotised her senses. Whatever it was, it was all-powerful, subduing every lesser emotion, lifting her breathlessly above the mundane and into a world bounded only by the limits of her emotions and feelings, by the knowledge that this slowly rising, whirling tide of feeling inside her was something James was experiencing as well. She felt her heart thud crazily in longing. Her breasts felt heavy, taut with the desire conjured by James’s slowly deliberate caresses. Her nipples ached, burning a deep rose red against the paleness of her skin.

  James brushed one with his thumb, watching it quiver and flood with dark, passionate colour.

  ‘Beautiful.’ Jenna’s head arched back, her throat tight and raw with furious need as his tongue curled delicately round one rose-red tip, his fingers gently caressing the other.

  The ache in the pit of Jenna’s stomach grew too much to bear. She reached up and locked her hands behind James’s head, drawing him down against her body, tiny shudders fluttering through her as her hands slid from his neck to his shoulders, investigating the warmth of his skin beneath his robe. It felt like silk, sleek and yet firm. All at once she wanted to know more of him, to see what she was touching. Her fingers sought and found the belt of his robe, inexpertly she tugged at the knot, a tiny sound of satisfaction escaping her throat as she worked it free.

  James had stopped m
oving but she didn’t register that fact. Her eyes were all over his body as she pushed back his robe from his shoulders, and it fell free of him. She wanted to absorb every tiny detail of him into herself…she wanted to see…to touch…to know, with every sense she possessed, everything about him. The desire to do so was a feverish urgency inside her, a racing tide of heat that flooded her body and blotted out everything else. She was panting slightly, drawing in short husky breaths.

  Her fingers locked in his hair and slid down to his shoulders, her nails making deep imprints in his skin as the pressure of his mouth against her breasts bent her backwards until she felt her spine would crack.

  Her body was aching for more than the delicate caress of his fingers. It seemed possessed by a raging frustration; wanting the deep thrust of him within her. Her mouth found the smooth flesh of his shoulder and bit deeply into the salt-flecked skin, her hands stroking feverishly downward, seeking and finding the hard core of maleness that throbbed maddeningly against her.

  James groaned against her breast, releasing the quivering tip he had been suckling. His hands linked behind her back and round her rib cage slowly lowering her on to the bed, and Jenna acquiesced mindlessly content to let him do what he willed with her just so long as it ended in his possession of her body.

  He was kneeling between her parted thighs, his hands still on her waist. Impotently Jenna stretched her arms out to him but could not reach. He bent over her, kissing her slowly, shuddering deeply as her hands stroked his skin, feverishly exploring the ridged arch of his ribs, the soft line of body hair that narrowed and then widened where it met his maleness. His body throbbed madly where she touched him, his mouth hardening on hers, and then he was pushing her slightly away from him, his hands running smoothly down over her body, stopping when they reached the top of her thighs, sliding beneath her to stroke and then lift her body. Desire, molten hot and sweet roared through her.

  Jenna closed her eyes, aching for him to complete their union, shocked into one stunned gasp of denial when she felt his mouth against the most intimate part of her, his tongue stroking, circling, pressing against her until she was convulsed by a wild trembling that made her cry out, caught between anguish and ecstasy, so that when James started to move slowly up over her body, kissing and caressing her, she felt she could hardly bear the exquisite torment of his touch and yet knew she would die if it was withdrawn.