Moonlit Desire

by Carolann Camillo

  “Now where were we?” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Ah, yes.” He slid his hand up her leg from just below her knee to midway up her thigh, taking the hem of her shift with him.

  As he worked the garment higher, completely exposing her legs, her earlier boldness evaporated. The hem barely concealed that part of her body, so intimate and unutterably private, where silky down centered at the juncture of her thighs. She wondered if he intended to expose that, too. Once eager to touch and be touched, she now kept her arms—stiff as broomsticks—close to her sides and communicated only with her eyes. She clenched her jaw. Now, finally, he would do it, but she wished he had not waited so long or insisted upon taking off his clothes. Her moment had passed, and she feared it would not return again.

  * * * *

  He had never been so patient with a woman. Weeks ago, he had determined that if—when—he made love to her, he would practice all restraint, to make her first time as pleasurable for her as he intended it to be for himself. His motive was not entirely selfless. He wished to ensure that the next time, and every time thereafter for the rest of their lives, she would welcome him eagerly to her bed. Now, he suspected her idea of lovemaking bore little resemblance to his own. Being unprepared, she more than likely expected her body, as well as her husband’s, would be chastely concealed under night clothes or, in this case, any other clothing they happened to find themselves wearing. Obviously, she had no idea how a man made a woman ready for him. Yet, if ever a woman was created for lovemaking, it was his wife. Had she not demonstrated such only moments ago?

  He kissed the side of her neck and felt the vein in her throat pulse against his lips. Then he planted a light kiss on the tips of each breast and worked his way slowly down to her stomach. He felt her give a little inward jump, which he took as a good sign. Edging closer, he draped one of his legs over hers. He was becoming fully aroused, and in no time would be rock hard. Still, he must follow the course he had set. To do otherwise would be a catastrophe. He must place his fate in the hands of reason, for he knew his body would require little, if any, coaxing to betray him. Still, he didn’t think he could take all night to go about this.

  “Hmm ... sweetheart. I think we had best tackle lesson two.”

  “Oh? And what is that?”

  “Lesson two is most clear: nothing should ever come between a husband and his wife.”

  “Nothing?” She blinked.

  “Exactly.” He hooked his thumbs under the hem of her shift and slowly began to raise it. It glided over her hips, then her stomach and finally her breasts. She sighed and gave a little shudder, perhaps from the tactile swish of the fabric as it lightly raked her body or, better yet, the renewal of her desire. When he gave her upper arms a slight nudge, she raised them obediently, and he peeled the garment over her head and tossed it to the foot of the bed.

  “That, my love,” he rasped against her ear, “is lesson two.”

  He spread her hair across the pillow and kissed her brow. He reminded himself to abandon haste and hold in abeyance the lust that consumed him, although he had not the least inkling how long his restraint might last. Taking her hand, he kissed her wrist and the hollow in the crook of her elbow. Then he stroked her foot with the underside of his. In the glow of the fire, her skin took on the palest pink hue; he wanted more than anything to touch her everywhere. After all, she was his wife and he had the right.

  He started by sliding his hands along the outside of her thighs and following the curve of her slim hips and tiny waist. His fingers glided over her ribs, and he bent his head and kissed the silky flesh there. She gave a little quiver, which some perverse god must have instigated to drive him mad. When he reached her breasts, he employed the lightest touch and stroked the underside of each one. Her nipples peaked and she pulled in her breath with a deep sigh. His hands cupped each perfectly rounded breast. Lifting one to his mouth, he caught the nipple lightly between his teeth and flicked his tongue against the swollen tip. She yelped; then her back arched and she pushed closer, as if offering herself to him, and clasped her hands about his arms. Yes, his wife was definitely created for lovemaking.

  The slightest movement of his knee opened a space between hers. The flesh inside her thigh was satin soft, and he moved along it with his thumb, gliding slowly upward. He touched her with slow, feather-light strokes, then with more urgency. Where he had found the fortitude to hold back this long and not take her like a randy goat, he couldn’t begin to guess. As he probed, she gave a little, musical shriek and, with no bidding from him, opened her legs farther. Could he be so fortunate that, of all the feminine arts, his wife would excel at making love? He continued to stroke her with his thumb before probing deeper. His gaze locked with hers and the desire that sent his body and mind spinning almost out of control must have shown in his eyes.

  * * * *

  Catherine felt as one must after coming into contact with lightning. Little fires flared all along her body. The most exquisite sensation no instruction could have prepared her for spread through her breasts and multiplied in intensity where he probed the deepest part of her. Somehow, her feet had become entangled with his, and still he managed to keep stroking the underside of her foot. She wanted to clasp his hand—the one between her legs—but not to draw him away. No, that would never do, not when what she wanted was to draw him deep inside her. Her blood pulsed in a hot stream, and she felt a deliciously maddening ache tighten every muscle of her body. The ache thrust her closer to him; she could not control the tremble that shook her.

  When his mouth moved to claim hers once again, she reached up and clung to his shoulders, fully aware now of the passion she had aroused in him. She answered his passion with her lips, pressing them against his with eagerness, while the kiss grew deeper and deeper still. With renewed boldness, she trailed her fingers over his back. Her leg brushed against him and she felt the hard shaft of his manhood, which came as a bit of a shock. She wished she had not led so sheltered a life, wished she understood the workings of a man. There was no time now to wonder; there was only this moment and what he was doing to her. If truth be told, she wanted him never to stop. Yet, her instinct told her this was only the prelude to something even more intimate, the act by which a woman conceived a child. She could hardly wait for it. Ah, but in the meantime ...

  After a long while, he broke the kiss and whispered her name. Then he brushed her cheek with his lips. “I have a hunger that only one feast can satisfy.”

  Her sigh, a breathy whisper, brushed his lips. “Then take your fill, for there is no one here inclined to stop you.”

  His hand tangled in her hair, and he combed his fingers through it, spreading it across the pillow. The fire crackled and a log hissed and split, sending a shower of sparks leaping up the flue. He nibbled her ear, teasing the lobe with his teeth. “You invite plunder, and I am not a man to do things by half.”

  Catherine’s fingers swept through his hair. Her lips brushed the vein that jumped in his temple. “’Tis just as well, for I would have no half measures from you this night.”

  He moved over her and brought his hands down her sides to clasp her buttocks. When he lifted her slightly and positioned himself between her knees, she shivered.

  “I shall try not to hurt you.” As he stroked her inner thighs, she opened them still farther for him. “If I cause you pain, it will be for only a short while. Then I shall bring you the most extraordinary pleasure.” His fingers probed gently, searching for entrance into the moist warm heat of her body.

  His entry, when it came, was unhurried. He paused as if to allow her time to accept him, then pushed deeper into her and stroked with a light touch. Since she was innocent, she was grateful for his gentle thrusts. She dug her nails into his back. After a while, her body began to move with a slow rhythm. When he came across the virginal boundary that set up a wall between them, she felt him push deeper and harder until finally he plunged through. She cried out, and he waited at least for a moment or two until
she overcame the shock of it. Then there was nothing to hold either back.

  Now, with her complete surrender, his passion spilled from his lips with words no poet had yet set to paper. He rained kisses over her face, her throat, the tips of each breast.

  “You are my wife and my true love. No matter what the future brings, I shall never love you less than I do now.”

  Raw instinct fashioned her response. She tightened her arms and legs about him, and when he brought her to a higher point of arousal, each rippling sensation sent waves of pleasure tearing through her. It amazed her that she could continue breathing. Yet, somehow she managed to whisper her love for him. Then, with her fingers laced behind his neck, she brought her lips ever closer to his. When he kissed her, her lips clung to his, and she gave herself up to the maddeningly exquisite pleasure flooding her body, holding him deeply within her and greeting all he did with an abandon she had not dreamed possible. He lifted her again and again to the brink of passion and she was sucked into the vortex of her own desire.

  Chapter 28

  A pale beam of sunlight splashed through the open drape and spilled across Catherine’s face, half waking her from an untroubled, dreamless sleep. Her lids fluttered and closed again, filtering out the light. Gradually, the warmth that lit her cheeks spread in delicious currents throughout her body. It filled her with a sense of well-being and brought an unconscious smile to her lips. Stretching languidly, she curled her toes around the linen sheet that lay twisted beneath her feet and, arching her back, worked her sore muscles in small circular movements. For a moment, she neither knew nor cared where she was, grateful only that the biting cold had subsided and her earlier fear had vanished.

  Still in a state of semi-wakefulness, she sighed deeply and had almost given in to the urge to sink back into sleep when a niggling thought intruded. Once there, it took root until a rush of memory sent her eyes flying open and her hands fluttering to her naked bosom. Everything about the previous night passed before her eyes with such clarity as to deepen the flush she knew must already color her face. Turning her head, she surveyed the empty space beside her in the bed and trailed her hand along the sheet. It still bore the faint impression of the man who had recently lain there. Finding herself alone, she panicked, sitting up with a start and glancing about the room.

  Rive stood by the window, hands braced on either side of the frame, staring down into the garden. He didn’t seem to realize that she had awakened, for he neither spoke nor moved. He did not give the impression that he felt the least self-conscious standing there stark naked. If so, upon rising, he would have donned his breeches. Now that she had caught him unawares, she let her eyes wander down the long, beautifully proportioned length of his body, as if seeing it for the first time. With her arms propped against her raised knees, she felt content just to watch him, to familiarize herself again with his lean, well-muscled frame. Even in inactivity, he exuded a fierce magnetism. Over the course of the past months, she had oftentimes submitted to his will. His ability to secure her complete surrender to his physical being, bringing her to unimaginable depths of passion, filled her with wonder.

  “I was beginning to think you would sleep forever,” he said, keeping his gaze on the garden below. Then he turned and walked to the foot of the bed, casting his eyes on her as if eager to devour her naked flesh.

  “Lovemaking has turned my wife into a lazy wench.” Leaning over, he placed a kiss on her bare toe.

  Catherine’s blood bubbled and rushed, like a molten stream of lava, to her head. The remnants of her former shy self still seemed to linger near the surface for, in the face of his blatant assessment, her embarrassment returned. He had caught her naked. She reached for the sheet bunched at the foot of the bed and began to draw it up over her legs.

  He disengaged her fingers and sent the cover billowing to the floor. His hand roved the length of her arm. His gaze clearly implied that he had not yet had his fill of her, nor, perhaps, would he ever.

  “Your propriety comes too late. I have been awake these past two hours.”

  The gist of the remark was not lost on her, nor was the obvious fact that he seemed ready to make love to her again. Now a delicious thought occurred to her. It was her turn to play the tease. After all, he was her husband, and should there not be some banter between a man and his wife?

  “I think you could have found a better way to spend your time than playing the voyeur.” She found it impossible to completely suppress a smile. “I had not thought such occupation to be to your taste.”

  He knelt on the bed, leaned forward and cupped the back of her head with his hand. His fingers splayed through her hair, sifting the tangle of thick golden curls. “You have judged me correctly,” he said, his voice turned husky with emotion, “and must therefore reward my patience.”

  “Do you seek a boon, sir?” Her lids dropped languidly; then she raised them to stare into his eyes. Their emerald color had deepened, perhaps from his desire. She could not be sure yet. It was all too new for her.

  “A boon, yes. Would you deny me?”

  Her gaze strayed from his, downward over his well-muscled chest, and down a little farther. “That, sir, I do believe to be pointless.”

  “Ah, amongst other things, my wife is clairvoyant.”

  Tilting her head back, he brought his mouth down on hers. Her response was immediate. They tumbled back onto the bed, lips and bodies clinging, breaths mingling with the stirrings of passion. He stroked her back, her hips, her buttocks, sending hot waves of pleasure streaking through her body.

  After he freed her lips, she could not resist just one more tease. “I suppose you think yourself quite good at this.” That she found the breath to utter these words surprised her.

  He kissed the tips of her fingers. “I never gave it much thought. That is something you will have to judge for yourself.”

  “Oh, I already have, but to ensure no error in judgment will require far more experience than I have had to date. Years and years, I think, in order to give an honest appraisal.”

  With that he took her mouth again. She greeted him wantonly and heard his sharp intake of breath as her hands traveled down his back and onto his hips. Light exploded beneath her closed lids. Then there was only desire—desire to please this man who had become her husband, this man who had awakened within her a fierce longing and then forced her to acknowledge it.

  Rolling onto his back, he pulled her on top of him. Every muscle in her body clenched; her feet arched and her toes curled in anticipation of what was to come. She braced her arms beside his head and leaned down to kiss his throat, scoring the hollow at the base of it with her tongue and trailing the moist tip over his chest. His hips thrust upward and he gave a grinding moan. She had unleashed a demon, indeed, one that would not be put to rest until the mounting desire that surged through them both had been slaked.

  Time moved slowly, and it seemed neither of them wished to see its end. After what seemed like an eternity, he tumbled her onto her back. She melted under the heat of his touch while he explored her body, his supple hands lingering on the insides of her thighs, then on her stiff, engorged nipples.

  A little humming sound came from deep inside her throat.

  “Mon petit chaton, are you purring?”

  “Hmm. Little kitten, you say.” She rubbed her cheek against his and raked her nails across his back. “I am purring, indeed.”

  Then he touched her again where only a husband had the right and roused her to a pitch that sent her body straining against his. His name fell from her lips, and he silenced her with fevered kisses. He parted her thighs and entered her, gently at first, then with ever deepening thrusts that created and nurtured the most exquisite sensations within her. Her body seemed to move of its own volition, matching itself to the rhythm of his; she felt her skin glow under a thin sheen of moisture. When finally she reached a state of total fulfillment, she cried out and lay beneath him, her body spent, her fingers digging into his shoulders.r />
  He had not arrived at the same place, for what she thought was his withdrawal was only a prelude to deeper, quicker thrusts. They sparked something new in her, for every sensation she thought could not be surpassed flooded her body once more. She brought her knees to the sides of his hips and squeezed hard—rocking, rising and falling in perfect cadence with his body’s rhythm. She thought she could not stand another moment of the intense feeling that sent every part of her thrumming like a harp string. Then he cried out her name, not once but twice. She felt him shudder, and his release came at the same moment as her own. After a while, he rolled onto his back and reached for her. She nestled snugly into his embrace so he could cradle her in the shelter of his arms.

  “You please me so.” She traced the line of his jaw, the clearly defined bones that sculpted his cheeks, then his nose, his lips and finally the lobe of one ear, probing gently with her fingers as if committing to memory each small detail. “Considering your expertise with a woman—this woman, the last you shall ever have—I shall take it as my right to reserve all judgment. As I said, an accurate assessment of—well, you know—will require much more time—”

  “A lifetime,” he assured her.

  “Oh, yes, definitely a full and complete lifetime.”

  They lay together quietly for a while, and she dozed for a bit. When she awakened, she kissed his cheek and then his lips. She sighed. “Rive, I was thinking ...”

  He kissed her brow. “What were you thinking, my love?”

  She took a moment to search for the right words. In this case it seemed devilishly tricky, so she just blurted out, “About what we did last night and just now—”

  “Did?” He glanced down at her. “What we just did, my pet, is make love.”

  “Yes, of course, I know.”

  “How else might I enlighten you?”