The Savage and the Saint

by L. C. Morgan

  My heart swelled with the odd show of affection, never knowing such patient tenderness.

  Where I came from, the daylight hours were meant for working, the night for repentance and reflection. Making love was sparse and between man and woman, which meant husband and wife, did it not? Was I wrong? Was it possible to make love for the first time to a man that wasn’t bound to you in the eyes of God?

  I didn’t know. No one ever discussed such things.

  All I knew was that John never looked at me like this, never touched me like this, never made me feel like this—the way this man did.

  “What are you doing to me?” I asked him, my palm sliding up the side of his neck to cradle his jaw. Leaning into me, he kissed the inside of my wrist.

  “I don’t even know your name.”

  The haze in his eyes lifted as they darted between mine in a desperate attempt to understand. I laid my hand on my chest.

  "Elizabeth," I introduced as well as I could, smiling at the crease in his brow when he lowered his gaze to my chest. Lifting his chin, I forced him to look up at me as I motioned to my chest again.

  "Elizabeth," I repeated, reaching the realization that it must have been too hard for him to say. I pointed again to my chest. "Beth."

  Lifting my free hand to his forehead, I thumbed the crease, my fingers tracing down the side of his handsome face then over his jaw to rest against his lips. His breath blew lightly against them, warming the pads and cooling the space in between.

  Say it.

  "Beth."

  My heart stuttered when he did, my name never sounding so right.

  Wrapping his hand around my wrist, he puckered against my fingers, pulling them away from his mouth to place them against his own chest.

  "Nashoba," he sounded slowly. I couldn't have hid my surprise if I'd tried, my brows lifting as he repeated it—once, twice—his fist pounding harder and harder against his chest each time.

  Sitting up, I wrapped one hand around his thick wrist as the other cradled his clean jaw.

  “Nashoba,” I tested, liking the way it tasted on my tongue. Letting go of his wrist, I laid my hand against his chest. “Nashoba. Nash.”

  My hand slid up to cup his jaw as he leaned in closer, pressing his lips against mine. It was soft at first, deepening once his chest touched my naked breasts, and I sighed into his mouth.

  My mind was in a frenzy as he kissed his way over my jaw and down my neck, his tongue peeking out every so often to taste my skin.

  Lips tender, he summoned an uncontrollable shiver from me as he lapped at the juncture of my neck and shoulder. Skin and bone were sensitive there, sending a shot of heat across my stomach straight to the achy space between my legs. It wasn't far from the feeling I got when I was about to start my monthly, only it was pleasurable. As if my body was getting itself ready to take a man. That time had always been the easiest time to consummate, the only time I ever remotely enjoyed it. However, John had not.

  Reaching down between my legs, I dipped my fingers into the wetness, surprised when I brought my hand back up to find them covered in a clear, sticky fluid. Relief and apprehension both filled me. Having such little experience, I wasn’t sure if this substance was offensive either until he lifted his head, sniffing my fingers before sticking them in his mouth. Biting the inside of my cheek, I punished myself for liking it, the warm, slippery wetness of his hungry tongue against the sticky tips.

  Everything about him was hungry from his eyes right down to the hardened length pressed against my thigh.

  My eyes darted down. I briefly closed them to the obscene sight before prying them back open. I had to if I wanted to experience this, and I wanted to experience this. I wanted to experience this with him. He had caused me to react to another’s body like no one ever had, in a way I never thought I could, and I wanted more. I wanted him. I wanted to touch him.

  Pulling my clean fingers from his mouth, I ran them down the side of his neck and over his chest, fascinated by the movement of muscle when I skimmed his stomach. It jumped below my fingers, coaxing a low growl from deep inside his throat—a sound I’d only ever heard come from the wildest of animals.

  This man was an animal—virile, feral, and savage—beast. Especially when he looked at me as he was, as if he were about to eat me alive.

  It excited me.

  I glanced from his dark eyes back down to the solidness sticking out from between his legs. I no longer found it perverse at all, in fact, I was quite taken by the size. It had grown, too long to stay covered by the cloth he wore. I ran one finger along the string holding it to his waist, and the appendage twitched. My eyes darted back up to his to make sure he was okay.

  His eyes were closed at first but fluttered open right before he kissed me hard, a newfound energy surging through his greedy lips. They swallowed me whole, mauling their way down my neck to skim my chest. I cried out in shock when they covered one nipple, licking and sucking. He soothed the supple flesh with his tongue before moving on to the other.

  Arching my back, I shamelessly offered my body to him—a man that wasn't my husband. God forgive me; he knew I wanted him more than I ever wanted that man.

  The warmth of his large palm splayed across my ribs, his thumb running along the underside of the breast he was tending. I closed my eyes as heat spread across my stomach, his hand traveling down my side to my hip. He squeezed, running his thumb over the protruding bone. I sucked in a silent breath as his fingers moved even lower, his feather light touches skimming my dark curls. All the air left my lungs when he touched the center between them, slowly sliding his fingers up and down the pink flesh. Something deep inside of me fluttered, my own body knowing that it wanted more. I just didn't know what, hoping beyond hope that he knew, that he could tend to this need, this unfamiliar ache.

  A shiver racked my hips, working its way up my spine when he swiped over an especially sensitive spot, running the same finger further down the center. I wanted him to touch me there again, but I was too embarrassed to ask, take initiative, grab his wrist and place him where I wanted him. Besides, he seemed to know what he was doing.

  I worried my lip as he circled my opening, summoning a sharp cry as he dipped the tip of his finger into the wetness just inside. Grasping his shoulders, my eyes shot open to meet his, my legs instinctively spreading wider as he pushed in deeper. I moaned helplessly as something inside me fluttered again, my weeping opening tightening around his finger. It pumped into me as if it were no different than the large appendage between his legs, making me feel more with one finger than John ever had.

  My nails dug into his skin as he quickened his motions, bringing me closer to the promise of something life altering. My lower half took on a mind of its own, meeting him thrust for thrust, the distinct sounds of my wetness only adding to my pleasure. I was begging him with my eyes, whimpering when he slowed instead, pushing further still, so much deeper inside.

  Frenzied beyond recognition, I swirled my hips, trying to indicate that I wished him to move, do what he was doing before. It was working; something was happening.

  My cheeks burned. I wondered if he wanted me to be more vocal, make more noises of encouragement. I wasn't sure how well I could please him, having always been told not to try. As a woman, I was taught to be passive, quiet, and respectful. The women I knew never discussed these things. The one man I'd been with never requested such reactions from me.

  My worries were put to rest as he lowered his mouth to my stomach, kissing his way down while simultaneously pushing into me. A delicious pressure filled my core, the ache worsening the harder he pressed.

  Lifting myself up, I leaned back on my elbows in an unladylike attempt to watch what he was doing.

  My lips parted as his did, pink and puckered with every kiss he laid atop my skin. My mouth dropped further open when he dipped further down, the tip of his tongue peeking out to lick at the sensitive spot that I'd forgotten. The two sensations together were incredibly agonizing. I ha
d so many new feelings taking over control of my body. I had to fight to keep my eyes open, my first and every inclination to let them roll into the back of my head. I didn’t want to miss any of this; there was nothing I didn’t want to see.

  I lost the battle with the first glance of glistening pink, the feverish, wet sound of his tongue against my flesh as it teased my ears, resounding noisily off the leathered walls.

  His thirst matched that of a wild beast’s as he licked and hungrily lapped at me.

  The idea that he could actually thirst for the fluids that leaked from between my legs caused a slight tingle in my toes. An alarming numbness crept its way up my inner thighs, the pressure building inside me suddenly subsiding in roaring waves.

  Throwing my head back, I fruitlessly fought for breath, a slur of incomprehensible syllables spilling from my lungs instead. Whimpering with the loss of his grounding hand, I reflexively bucked against his chest, writhing against him as he slowly crawled up my body to ground me with his weight.

  I didn’t ever want to stop feeling this way. I didn’t ever want him to quit, squeaking amusedly when he wrapped an arm protectively around my waist. I hugged his neck as he held me tight against him, calming me down from my shock with the set of his soothing lips to the side of my neck. My heart beat for them now. I didn’t ever want for him to not be kissing me.

  Everywhere.

  Chapter Eleven

  All my fears were realized when a loud cry sounded from just outside our tent. Nash’s growl vibrated through the bones in my chest, summoning a whole new feeling of carnal need. He was so close, lying between my spread legs, the tip of his length nestled just inside.

  The loss of both pressure and weight were monumental. Never in my life had I felt so empty and cold as when he pulled away, rising to his feet and turning away to poke his head out the entrance of the tent. Harsh words were exchanged, the already hardened muscles tensing throughout his back.

  Climbing to my feet, I padded across the flattened dirt to place my hand against his shoulder blade. Unaffected, he kept arguing with the man just outside our tent as my hand traveled down the center of his back and around his side. Trailing my other hand up his tense arm, I ran it back down his torso and across his chest to hug him from behind, a lazy smile pulling on the corners of my mouth when he placed his hand atop mine, right over his pounding heart.

  With one finalizing growl, Nash jerked the flap closed, his nose just brushing the leather. I loosened my grip to give him some room, but he held me flush, bringing my hand to his mouth. We embraced for a few moments, his breath blowing steadily against my palm before he lowered it, grabbing onto my wrist to pull me further into the tent.

  Gathering a couple of bowls from the corner of the tent, he sat with his legs crossed on the ground and set the bowls beside him before beckoning me closer. Without hesitation, I came to stand by his side, sucking in a sharp breath as one of his hands shot out to grab the bend of one of my knees, the other steadying me as he pulled me down to straddle his lap.

  With his large hand splayed across my lower back, he took my hand in his other, dipping my fingers into the bowl of mashed blackberries. Coating the pads, he brought them to his forehead, looking deep into my eyes as we dragged the sticky concoction down the center of his face.

  There was something solemn in the way we touched, how he slowly covered his striking features, still doing little to hide him from me. I saw it all in his eyes.

  Our lips came together as we finished the last streak, the sweet and sour mixture of the berries smearing against my mouth. I licked at them as he pulled away, cleaning off the remaining juice from my fingers. It branded his tongue, leaving an inky stain on my skin.

  My heart stuttered while he easily removed me from his lap and rose to his feet. I followed closely behind as he replaced the bowls, striding from one end of the tent to the other to gather miscellaneous things. His movements were rushed as he searched the grounds in thought, suddenly stopping to fall to his knees in front of a folded blanket. Lifting the edge, he pulled something out, looking it over before rising back up to his feet. My gaze darted from his eyes to the twine hanging from either side of his closed fist. I took the last step to close the distance, my eyes roaming over his handsome face before settling on the object in his open palm.

  I had seen it before on one lazy afternoon when the sun was high in the sky, so blue. The wind had nearly stopped blowing, sending us all into the shade of the trees. I found him crouched behind the trunk of a thick pine tree, gently holding a small piece of wood in his large hands. I just caught a glance of what he was whittling before a branch snapped from behind me causing him to turn.

  It was a hummingbird.

  The red wood was as dark as his skin, unfinished but still beautiful. Its wings were pointed up, the regal neck stretched to the side to emphasize the long beak.

  My hands shot up to hold back my hair as he held it up by the string. I turned my nose into his neck as he tied it around mine, pressing my lips into the beat of his heart. I could feel it.

  "Nash," I breathed against him, resting the palm of my hand over his heart to convey the words I couldn't say in his language.

  I love you.

  He made quick work of tying the fragile string, running his large hands over my shoulders and down either side of my naked back. I imagined what words he was repeating against my skin as he sunk to his knees, sliding his way down to kiss me over my heart.

  I jumped in his arms when a piercing cry broke the silence.

  He gave me one last squeeze before rising once more, not bothering to look back after he turned to walk out of the tent.

  "Nash!"

  My mind was in hysterics as I scrambled for a fur to wrap around my naked body. Barely covered and not caring, I followed him out into the hot midday sun, a familiar feeling of desolation heavy on my chest. I had first felt it the moment he captured me, and now once again as he mounted his horse, granting me one last look before fleeing.

  Chapter Twelve

  Days passed, one after the other, my heart growing significantly more melancholy for the man, yet bigger for his people. They embraced me as time ticked by: clothed me, fed me, taught me how to fend for self and family. The women had grown to become my friends, teaching me what words I could bring myself to understand.

  I spent my mornings down by the brook, wading into the rushing waters and squishing my toes deep into the muddy bank.

  The afternoons were spent gathering different nuts and berries.

  My evenings were spent by the fire, listening and laughing along as the children played and the women chatted.

  I saved my tears for solitude, late at night when I was all alone.

  I missed him desperately, prayed every night for him to return unharmed ... unchanged.

  My stomach turned on nearly a daily basis. The longer he was gone the more I feared he would return with another. If he did, I wouldn't have been able to handle it. I was filled with a glacier of insecurities as it was, only the surface of which he had started to chip away. Just the thought of losing him was damaging enough.

  The less sleep I got, the more unreasonable I became, growing to almost hate him. I convinced myself that I needed to be prepared, harden my heart so I wouldn't feel it shatter; the growing cracks were already too much for me to bear.

  With the changing of the season ripe in the air the harvest had slowed, leaving me with too much idle time on my hands. I had taken to disappearing on long walks around the many miles of surrounding treeline, imagining what would become of me when and if he ever returned, almost deceiving myself into believing I wouldn't care, that I could survive without him.

  Foolish, really.

  It was one cool afternoon while I was bathing behind our rock that I heard the echoing ruckus from a group of men. Adrenaline rushed through my veins: fear, hope. It could have been anybody sneaking up on the camp.

  I sent a prayer up to the heavens that it wasn’t just anybody, t
hat it was them and it was him—Nash, returning from wherever he’d gone. It seemed like so long ago that he had left, that he rode off into the sunset without as much as another glance back. He could be a different person by now. He could have forgotten all about me and what we shared, even if I hadn’t.

  Determination set itself into my bones as I made haste back through the rippling waters. Shame free and buck naked, I didn’t care who ended up spying me. I didn’t mind it so much anymore, actually felt the most beautiful in the nude. And that was all because of Nash. Not only did he teach me of pleasure, but he taught me of pain. Real and raw and dead-center-deep. Only he could ever touch me there—in my heart, my mind, my body, my soul.

  He was mine and I was his.

  Ask me and I would have sworn it.

  Sharp rock cut into the bottom of my feet as I waded my way to the muddy bank. I had half a mind to leave my leathers behind, break out of the forest at a full sprint and jump into his arms. However, upon rounding the large rock, I found myself relieved that I wouldn’t have to.

  The pain in my feet subsided with the sight of him—all filthy, just covered in faded blackberry paint and specks of what I hoped was another man's blood.

  All my pain was personified in his eyes. The longing I felt for him radiating onto me tenfold.

  Could it be that he missed me more, or at the very least, just as horribly?

  Taking off at full speed, I barely felt the jagged stone stabbing the bottom of my feet. They slipped in the mud, my arms wrapping around his neck as his large hands lifted me up to fully embrace me. His hug was crushing, the desperation of his lips and tongue suffocating me as they delved into my mouth. I needed them more than breathing. I needed him more than I needed to live.

  He was life.

  He was my life.

  His feet gave from underneath him, taking us both down onto the mud and muck, my shoulder blades sinking under his weight. His muscles were harder than I remembered, his chest showing more ribs than I had seen. I had a womanly urge to care for him, sit on his lap and feed him berries rather than paint him with them. I hated those streaks on his face. Hated them.