Heaven's Fire

by Patricia Ryan

  He sat beside her and whipped his shirt off over his head, then untied his chausses and kicked them off.

  God, he’s magnificent! She sat up, staring openly as he kneeled before her, gathering her shift in his clutched hands. From wide, sinuous shoulders, his torso was carved in a graceful contour, sloping dramatically toward narrow hips. He was the epitome of masculine strength and beauty.

  Rainulf pulled the nightgown over her head and smiled. For a few hushed moments, they just looked at each other, naked together for the first time.

  Rainulf’s lean body vibrated with immense strength held in reserve. His arms and legs, banded with muscle, might have been those of a stonecutter. His flat belly was strikingly ridged; on one side of his lower abdomen, just beneath the taut surface, a single vein snaked from hipbone to pubic hair. Her gaze was drawn to the straining organ rising from that hair. It gleamed silkily in the lamplight, a tiny teardrop at the tip. So... arousal makes him wet, too. It seemed she had much to learn about men, after all.

  Rainulf reached out almost tentatively and trailed his fingertips over her face, her throat, her shoulders, breasts, belly, and hips. “God, you are so beautiful,” he whispered. “I can’t believe how beautiful you are.”

  “So are you.” She ran her fingers through the impossibly soft fur that blanketed his solid chest, following it down to the dense tangle between his legs. He sucked in a breath when her hand brushed his rampant sex. She lightly touched it, and he gripped her shoulders hard. Drawing her hand up its taut length, she smoothed the hot little droplet with her fingertips.

  He growled low in his throat. “Corliss...” She glided her moist fingers down the quivering shaft, and up again. He groaned and grabbed her wrist, then seized her by the back of the head and took her mouth in a hard, searing kiss, his beard abrading the tender skin around her lips. The rhythmic invasion of his tongue felt so frankly sexual that she moved her body against him; he grabbed her hips and thrust hard against her belly. She wrapped her arms around him—flinching when his chest hair came in contact with her dagger wound.

  He backed away sharply. “Corliss! God, I’m such an ass. What am I doing?”

  “What I want you to do.” She tried to embrace him, but he held her at arm’s length.

  “I can’t. ‘Twill hurt you.”

  She laughed incredulously and grabbed him around the neck, pulling him down on top of her as she fell backward onto the bed. “If you don’t, I’ll hurt you!”

  He chuckled as he lowered himself carefully, holding himself up on his elbows to keep his weight off her. It so gratified her to hear his easy laughter; to see the way he looked at her with such longing; and to feel him hot and hard and ready between her legs. She was ready, too; she throbbed with need. He nudged her wet opening. She closed her hands over his shoulders and arched against him, begging him wordlessly to fill her. Now.

  “Nay,” he whispered, poised to enter her but making no move to do so. Beneath her hands, the hard muscles of his shoulders quivered with strain. His face was darkly flushed and the little vein on his forehead pulsed.

  “Rainulf... Oh, God...” Frustration swelled in her throat, tears stung her eyes. Had he changed his mind? After all those years of celibacy, had he decided, at the last moment, that he couldn’t do this?

  He shook his head. “Corliss, I can’t—”

  “No!”

  “—without telling you—”

  “Don’t do this!” The tears spilled out; her chest shook. “God, Rainulf, don’t stop now.”

  “Stop?” An astonished huff of laughter escaped him. “I couldn’t stop now. I just need you to know that I love you.” His voice caught. To her astonishment, his eyes shimmered wetly. “I love you, Corliss. I’m in love with you.”

  He flexed his hips. She felt the broad, wet tip of him inch into her, just enough to stretch her open.

  “Oh, God...” She laughed and cried as he paused and then pressed in again—a delicious, almost painful intrusion, sharply pleasurable. “I love you, too.” Taking his face between her hands, she kissed him. “I love you.” And again. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

  Rainulf watched the tears spill down her cheeks: hers and his, mingling together. She loves me! Corliss loves me!

  She threw her head back, her eyes half-closed in ecstasy, smiling that guilelessly joyful smile of hers. He should have known that she’d approach lovemaking as she did the rest of life: eagerly and uninhibitedly, with an awe-inspiring sense of wonder.

  And she loved him! She loved him!

  Painfully aroused, he longed to drive himself into her with one fierce stab, but she was so extremely tight that he worried about hurting her. Instead, he gritted his teeth against that urge and pushed in slowly, again and again, easing farther and farther into her as she stretched around his unyielding thickness.

  Her hips trembled, her breath came in frantic little pants. Just seeing her like this—half-delirious with pleasure as her climax approached—nearly stripped him of his resolve to go slowly. That resolve vanished altogether when she reached around him to slide her hands from the small of his back to his buttocks, pressing down hard—a wordless but eloquent entreaty, and one that he couldn’t resist.

  Bracing himself on one forearm, he reached beneath her and tilted her hips up. He withdrew to the tip, then thrust forcefully, sheathing himself completely within her. They groaned in unison. God, it was incredible, being buried deep inside her—even better than he’d imagined it would be, better than all his exaggerated memories of women from his past. He did feel virginal. This might as well have been the first time he’d ever lain with a woman. It felt extraordinary—the slick, tight heat and maddening pressure, compelling him all too swiftly toward completion.

  Pulling almost all the way out, he sank in again to the hilt.

  “Oh, God...” She grew rigid, clutching his back.

  With his next thrust, she cried out—a raw, womanly cry of fulfillment—as her body convulsed, rocking beneath him. From deep within her, a succession of spasms gripped him, like a slippery hand stroking, pulling, squeezing...

  Not yet... not yet... Gripping her hair in his fists, he tried to hold still, to make it last, but her ecstatic cries and movements, and the rhythmic contractions pumping him from within, undid him. His body took over—tightening, arching, ramming deep, deep inside her. Pleasure gathered, drew up, erupted, shooting into her with astonishing force, wracking him with its power.

  For a few endless moments, he couldn’t think or see or hear. His blood ceased to flow; his lungs ceased to breathe. He came with luxurious intensity, as if his entire body were coming, filling her with his essence, his seed, his love.

  When his ears stopped ringing and his body stopped quaking, he became aware of hands on his shoulders, pushing. He opened his eyes to find himself lying heavy and sated atop Corliss, his head limp in the crook of her neck, his face buried in her fragrant hair. She was trying to push him off her...

  Her cut! He was hurting her. “Oh, God.” He levered himself up, taking his weight on his arms. “Corliss, I’m sor—”

  Pressing her fingertips to his mouth, she smiled. “Shh.” She caressed his beard-roughened cheek and jaw and chin.

  “I wish I’d shaved for you,” he said.

  “Nay, I like it.” She grinned and bit her lip. “I like the way it scratches me.” She stretched like a cat, then pressed down again on his buttocks. “And I love feeling you inside me. I want you to stay inside me forever.”

  “I’d give anything if that were possible.”

  For a moment, he sobered, as the reality of their situation intruded on his bliss. They were lovers now, he and Corliss. Lovers, and in more than a physical sense. He loved her. He needed her, wanted her.

  He also needed and wanted the chancellorship, to which he would be appointed within the next few weeks. A man with a mistress might teach, if he were willing to forsake higher administrative posts, but he could not hold the position of Chancell
or of Oxford. And any attempt to keep a secret lover—in or out of his home—was pointless, of course. He’d seen colleagues ruined more than once over a woman they were convinced would never be discovered.

  Her hand lightly stroking his furrowed brow drew him out of his dark ruminations. “You mustn’t be sad,” she gently scolded.

  He expelled a long, troubled sigh, and rested his forehead against hers. “But what are we—”

  “Shh.” She caressed his hair, his neck and shoulders. “We’re going to love each other. For as long as it lasts.”

  “But I want it to last forever.”

  “So do I. I wish it could.” She did, desperately. But the unalterable truth was that it couldn’t. It was a painful truth, unbearably painful, and one that she couldn’t bear to contemplate right now, with his arms around her, his body inside hers. “Promise me,” she said, “that you won’t think of these things while we’re together. We only have until the end of the summer, when the chancellorship is decided. Let’s spend that time making each other happy.” Smiling, she wrapped her legs around his waist. “Let’s spend it making love.”

  He smiled, too. “Vixen. You’ve always been adept at changing the subject.” Slipping an arm beneath her, he scooped her up—still intimately connected to him, with her legs encircling him—and sat back on his heels. She laughed delightedly, never having conceived that a man and a woman could be joined in such a position.

  Gripping her hips, he drove into her, quick and fierce. “I want to feel you come again,” he whispered gruffly. His erection had waned, of course, but he was still mostly hard, and the friction of his thrusts against her slippery-wet sex was incredibly stimulating. Closing her eyes, she held on to his shoulders and arched her back, matching his vigorous strokes with her own.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” he rasped. “So beautiful.”

  They connected with increasing urgency, the bed ropes creaking in time to their ragged gasps. He moaned, and she realized he’d grown fully erect again. His shoulders felt slippery beneath her hands, like rain-slicked rocks. Opening her eyes, she saw that he was wet with perspiration. So was she; he could barely keep a grip on her hips. He had his head thrown back, his expression one of excruciating pleasure, the cords on his neck standing out in sharp relief.

  “Oh... oh, God...” With a guttural growl, he shuddered, his fingers digging into her hips. He rammed her down hard on his pulsing organ. She felt the hot jetting of his seed inside her, and then her own climax was upon her, exploding from their joined flesh and rolling throughout her, shaking her senseless.

  Oh, yes, she thought as the tremors diminished and he eased her down to lie next to him, their bodies, breathless and soaking wet, still joined, his arms gathering her to him, his kisses all over her face hot and sweet and a little rough, a little unbearably, heartbreakingly scratchy... I want him to stay inside me forever. Forever and ever...

  * * *

  Rainulf awoke, blinking at the brilliant sunrise that glowed through the closed, saffron bed curtains. After being awake most of the night, he wanted nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep, but it was far too bright.

  He turned his head and smiled. Corliss lay on her back beneath the sheet, her face and arms golden in the diffuse yellow light. Like a child, she slept in awkward elegance, one arm thrown over her head, her legs at impossible angles. Her breathing was slow and steady, lips slightly parted, showing the edges of her perfect teeth. Across her forehead lay a wriggly lock of hair, enhancing the image of sensual dishevelment. She smelled warm and sleepy and deliciously sexual.

  Last night had been a feast of passion after eleven years of famine. Rainulf had been as indefatigable as a randy youth, eager to do everything he’d denied himself for so long. He’d taken her from behind; he’d taken her against the wall. The variety of positions had amazed Corliss, but she’d been eager to learn, eager to please. She had pleased him, profoundly. There was no pretense about her, no pointless effort to act the blushing lady even in the throes of passion, as had been the case with too many of his youthful conquests. He’d come to think of them as willing vessels, whereas Corliss was much more an eager participant—wonderfully uninhibited, not bothering to temper her reactions or stifle her cries of pleasure.

  The only thing he’d done last night that had shocked her—truly shocked her—was when he lowered his mouth to the damp, intoxicating nest of curls between her thighs. Speechless at first, she shoved him away. He went slowly then, persuading her with gentle entreaties and the skillful coaxing of his lips and tongue (funny the things one never forgets how to do!) into giving this strange new pleasure a chance. Gradually her murmurs of distaste were replaced by sighs of gratification; her resistance mellowed, her legs opened, her fingers clutched his hair... Her ecstasy became his ecstasy, his satisfaction. Afterward, she turned the tables on him, stunning him by pleasuring him with her mouth as he had pleasured her. He’d roused to her for the fifth time, but finished inside her, making slow, dreamy love, as if they had all the time in the world, as if they truly could be united in sensual bliss forever.

  Remembering last night made the blood rush fast and hot to his groin. Reaching beneath the sheet, he touched his distended flesh gingerly. After last night’s excesses, it felt as raw as if it had been sanded, yet still it throbbed with the need to reclaim its territory, to penetrate, to possess.

  Reclining next to the sleeping Corliss, he reached out and gradually lowered his hand over the sheet covering her chest. He barely grazed the finely woven linen, which tickled his palm and fingertips. Slowly—so slowly—he smoothed his hand over the subtle rise of one breast and then the other, feeling their warmth and softness through the sheet. It was strangely mesmerizing to touch her this way, while she slept unaware. As he softly stroked her, her nipples began to stiffen.

  He trailed his hand down over the gentle slope of her belly, feeling the drum-tight flesh and the tiny, oddly seductive indentation of her navel. From there, he let his hand drift down between her parted legs, caressing her with aching gentleness until she grew hot and damp through the thin sheet. His touch was airy as a feather, and she slept through this as well, although her breathing quickened.

  She moved slightly, snuggling into the feather mattress and arching her hips, just once. With careful movements he rolled on top of her, entering her in one long, smooth stroke. Her only acknowledgment of this was a contented exhalation. She was still asleep! Holding himself stiff-armed above her, he thrust very slowly, too sore in any case to do otherwise.

  Her eyelids fluttered. “Rainulf...” He liked the way she said his name, all sleepy-gruff, like the growl of a kitten. Her eyes crinkled with pleasure when she realized he was inside her. She bent her knees and raised her hips, meeting his languid strokes.

  He touched her where they were joined, and she writhed, transported. “Yes...” she breathed. “Yes... yes...”

  He teased her sensitive flesh, backing off occasionally to add an element of frustration to her escalating arousal, wanting to drive her half-mad with desire before granting her release. It worked; she thrashed beneath him, fairly whimpering with her need.

  A door opened. Footsteps thudded on the stairs.

  They froze.

  “Luella!” Corliss whispered.

  Rainulf groaned deep in his throat. God, he was on the verge of climax! So was Corliss. He tried to lie still, but his body betrayed him, the muscles of his buttocks tensing and releasing and tensing again.

  “Father Rainulf!” the housekeeper hollered from the main hall. “Are you home, Father?”

  He couldn’t stop, not now. Cupping Corliss’s small bottom, he thrust again, and again—slowly, so as not to make the bed ropes complain—as he forced his groans back down into his chest. The woman in his arms trembled violently. She stilled, her body taut and shivering, her nails sinking into his back.

  “Corliss?” Luella called. Rainulf heard the leather curtain being swept aside, heard the old woman’s heavy f
ootsteps as she entered the chamber. She was in the room with them, separated only by the bed curtains!

  Corliss opened her mouth in a wordless scream. She felt her internal contractions squeeze him, and then his own body convulsed suddenly, fiercely, discharging a torrent of seed deep into her heat.

  As his orgasm waned, he slumped down, taking his weight on his elbows, and drew in a long, calming breath. Shuddering, they held each other as Luella slowly shuffled out of the chamber and reclosed the curtain.

  “Do you think she heard us?” Corliss whispered.

  “I don’t know.”

  She frowned.

  He recalled what she’d told him last night, about leaving here if anyone else discovered her true sex, and quickly amended his answer: “Nay. She didn’t hear. These curtains are heavy.”

  Corliss glanced at the curtains, as if to verify that assessment. He held his breath until she nodded, her lower lip between her teeth.

  Luella’s footsteps slowly descended the stairs. The door opened and closed. Her voice rose from the street as she greeted a neighbor, telling him she was going marketing.

  Rainulf drew himself slowly out of Corliss, and she flinched. “You’re sore, too,” he said, sitting up.

  She sat facing him. “A little. ‘Twas worth it.” She smiled, but her eyes were sad.

  He lightly stroked her face with his fingertips. “What is it?”

  “I should leave now, you know. I should move out of here and get my own—”

  “Nay! Luella doesn’t know, she doesn’t! And if we’re discreet, she needn’t—”

  “I know that.”

  “Then why leave? You said you’d stay until people started suspecting—”

  “That was before. Before we...” She looked around at the mammoth bed, with its rumpled sheets and scattered pillows. “Before this.” She shook her head miserably. “It was dangerous enough before, but now...”