The Tigresse and the Raven (The Friendship Series Book 1)

by Julia Donner

  Cassandra stopped fighting. She fell back on the counterpane and stared up at the canopy overhead as an immobilizing thrill streaked along her limbs. The wanton being within used her grip on his wrist to increase the pace and gliding rhythm of his fingers, pulling him deeper and faster, needing him closer and larger to fill a yawning hole of indescribable longing.

  She closed her eyes and groaned in disappointment when his fingers slipped free. Curiosity about the dull, popping sounds of buttons being torn open lifted her heavy eyelids. She vaguely thought he would never fit inside her and then felt the ruthless pressure of his entry. The incredible feeling of his flesh within her, relentlessly pushing deeper, was too intense for stillness. Frantic, she reached to pull him closer. He mistook her flailing, caught her hands and pressed her wrists to the counterpane.

  Cassandra wrapped her legs around his waist and strained up for more. She heard muffled words and his heated breath against her chest and then at her ear. He moved in swift, shallow strokes. Pleasure coiled, twisted and broke. The thick glide of his tongue slipped through her parted lips to capture her moan.

  He released her wrists and crushed her to his chest. With a final, rough shove, he entered all the way. Cassandra gasped and held him close to soak up his shuddering pleasure, awed by his presence inside her body and the heat of his seed pooling against her womb.

  She muffled a sob at the idea of a child created from the wonder of this experience over too soon. She’d hoped it would take longer to lose the wager. A restless emptiness writhed inside. She wanted more.

  Tender kisses were being pressed across her damp temple. His lips trailed a loving path over her face and lowered to briefly suckle a breast before returning to her mouth. Something wet and cool landed on her cheek.

  Cassandra framed his face with her hands. She forced his head up. She frowned when another tear slipped free and landed on her chin. Using her nails, she gently raked back his disordered waves and curls.

  He answered the question in her eyes with a crooked grin and a voice made hoarse from sated passion. “Not to worry. Just a mixture of relief and love. It was that good.”

  “You win the bet.” She bit her lip and wriggled her bottom experimentally. “Is there a possibility that I could lose again before dinner?”

  He remained deeply buried within her. The reverberations of his laughter sent a delicious frisson along her spine. He playfully growled and nipped her lower lip.

  “I sent a message downstairs that neither of us would be at dinner. Told Pridd to tell them that we’re busy with Fleet.”

  She felt her body relax under his. “Thank you, Ravenswold. For everything. Especially for Fleet. Is there anything I can do or say? Please, Rave, let me show you how grateful I am.”

  She felt physically bereft when he withdrew and helped her to sit up. He pulled off his breeches and stockings before moving around the room to light lamps and tapers. The sun had gone down without their noticing. He picked up a candle and offered his hand.

  Cassandra placed her fingers in his palm and slipped off the edge of the bed. “Your body is so impressive. All my life I’ve felt like a giant. You make me feel petite.”

  “Blame it on the raiding Norsemen.”

  He inhaled sharply when she looked down and slid her fingers into the dense nest of hair below his waist.

  She whispered, “I guess I should thank them for this, too.”

  He cleared his throat. “Actually, I believe that is a family trait descended from an Irish ancestor.”

  “Hmmm…And I always thought the Irish were known for their horseflesh."

  “Indeed. Mama always said that Father was a horse’s ass.”

  Her raucous laugh surprised and thrilled him. He set the candle down and carried her into the dressing room, where he stopped her laughter by dropping her into the tepid bath water he’d not had time to use. She stayed quiet—most of the time—while he taught her some of the finer points of hand-to-hand combat with soap and water.

  Chapter 29

  Cassandra drizzled scented water across her chest. She watched its trickling path over skin beginning to look pruny. Glassware and cutlery noises came from behind the closed dressing room door. She stood up and reached for the bath blanket Rave draped across a chair beside his immense bathtub.

  After searching through a commode drawer of various toilette items, she found a length of ribbon. Since the unexpected item didn’t appear in any way feminine, she decided to let her Ferdie live.

  While braiding her hair, she investigated an armoire as high as the ceiling. It revealed a selection of nightwear and lounging robes. She tried on a crimson oriental robe that seemed out of place among Rave’s sober colors. The hem pooled in layers around her feet. Rolled up, the sleeves and cuffs were unmanageable. She puffed a disgusted sigh. After tossing the robe over a chair, she slipped on a linen shirt. It hung below her knees. She silently laughed, loving the new experience of feeling petite.

  She eased open the dressing room door and peeked through the gap. Ravenswold in a properly fitting robe leaned against the fireplace mantel, stabbing the coals with a poker. Firelight and shadow flickered across his brooding expression.

  A table had been set up in front of the fire. A warm draft slid by as she opened the door wider. Luscious aromas drew her into the bedchamber. At the small table, Ravenswold pulled out a chair.

  Cassandra’s mouth watered as she pushed up the baggy sleeves to free her hands for eating. “This is lovely. I’m famished!”

  Rave sat across from her, content to watch her eat. She surprised him when she speared a chunk of fluffy white meat from a bowl of iced lobster and prawns. Her eyes sparkled as she surveyed the array of delicacies, which included a selection of the plain foods he preferred.

  “Oh, Rave, the lobster is perfect. Crisp and with a hint of lemon.”

  “I had that sent up for me. You said you hated it.”

  “Did I? I wonder why. This is delightful. I’ll have some of that bread, if you please. Be a love and butter it. I do so adore fresh butter! Aren’t you going to eat?”

  “If there’s anything left. It’s a dining experience merely watching you.” He extended a slice of dark bread smeared with butter. “Have I prepared this to your liking?”

  She sank her teeth in it, closed her eyes and made a sensuous noise. “This bread is scrumptious! Will you pass the fruit?”

  Licking her lips, she opened her eyes and made a search of the table’s fare in preparation for the next attack. She dished sliced peaches and oranges onto her plate and pulled a covered, silver bowl closer. She bit her lower lip in anticipation, and after lifting the lid, searched for a serving spoon.

  “You must taste this yummy dish for me, Rave. It looks marvelously like dessert, and I don’t want to spoil my appetite. Do you see something to use as a server?”

  He grabbed her wrist. He shook it to free her fingers of the last bite of bread, then plunged her fingertips into the chilled pudding. He drew her hand to his mouth and tasted her little finger. Pausing, he answered her question with a grin before moving on to the remaining coated fingers.

  “Cook knows all my favorites. This is cream custard.”

  Cassandra stared in open-mouthed awe as he sucked each of her fingers clean. When he was done, she yanked her hand free, stuck it in the pudding, and extended it for a repeat performance.

  He accommodated, paying exquisite attention to every curve, mound and crevice of her fingers and palm. Food forgotten, she moved to stick her other hand into the bowl.

  Rave stopped her by slapping the lid into place. “Greedy girl. Let’s save the custard for later. Now it’s my turn. Take off that shirt.”

  She glanced around the room. “What shall I wear?”

  His answer was a level stare. Color bloomed on her cheeks. “Oh, you mean for me to wear nothing.”

  Cassandra thought about the oddness of sitting nude at a small dining table. He’d made it clear earlier that he liked how she loo
ked without clothes. She shrugged, thinking that it was too late to be shy. She stood to remove the shirt. She draped it across the backrest, sat down and began to eat the fruit she’d dished out earlier.

  Looking across the table, she noticed his attention fixed on her chest. “Eat something, Rave. The night is just beginning.”

  He smiled and sliced a bite from a slab of rare sirloin. “I’ve never seen anyone enjoy food the way you do.”

  “I’ve never felt this ravenous. Does it have something to do with making love? Even my skin feels different.”

  She watched him think about his answer as he methodically chewed the beef. He did everything with studied precision. She used to wonder if there could be a problem with mental dullness. Time in his company revealed that he was habitually careful and savored everything about life. She learned to appreciate his indolent manner during her recent bath. His soap-slick hands had investigated every inch of her with tormenting but ultimately satisfying slowness.

  “Rave, does that exploding feeling happen to you?”

  “Exploding?”

  “You know. What happened in bed and then in the bath. Although, you didn’t in the bath. You just made it happen for me again using your hand. What is that? Is there a name for it?”

  He poured wine and checked for cork before handing her the goblet. “The French call it a little death.”

  “Oh my, but that’s accurate. Why didn’t you—in the bath—I mean?”

  “Men require time to recoup.”

  “How much time?”

  He ruefully laughed. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On the woman’s experience or perhaps how tired he is. Any number of things. But women are fortunate in that they are not limited. In other words, you could die over and over, all night long.”

  He watched her sip wine, her attention focused inward. Her flesh glowed with the erotic ripeness that follows sensual release. Thoughts of what he was going to do to her once she finished dinner began to form and evolve. He mustn’t let her overeat.

  “Rave, I would like to ask you something.”

  “Please do.”

  “It’s not about lovemaking.”

  “Then I’m not interested. Actually, I would much rather talk about you.”

  She waved a hand in negligent dismissal. “I’m the most uninteresting person I know.”

  “Not to men. Before tonight, you were stunning, but now, keeping the men away is going to take up a large part of my day.”

  “Oh, foot! I’ve never heard such foolishness. Why men are so fascinated with women’s exteriors is beyond my comprehension. Don’t they realize that we are more than our surface coverings?”

  “Of course it’s silly, but it’s the way God made us. But I was speaking of something more than mere surface covering.”

  She sent him a skeptical frown and slathered butter on a second slice of bread. Chewing, she turned her attention to the fire, her way of silently rejecting the subject.

  “Cass, believe me, you will never look or be the same. Men will know, especially now that we’ve been together.”

  That got her attention. “Why? I’m not about to tell everyone I meet.”

  “You won’t have to. You’ve freed the sensual element of your nature. It’s a mysterious thing, almost unexplainable, but from now on, you’re going to look irresistible. If you thought you had problems with men trailing after you before, now it will be impossible.”

  “It shows that much?”

  “With you it does.”

  Disgusted, she clucked before taking another bite of bread. She thoughtlessly sucked butter from her thumb. Rave steeled himself from showing an outward flinch and quietly suffered the heat building in his groin from her unconscious sensuality.

  She said, “It’s a lot of silliness if you ask me. Why can’t men be more like women?”

  “Be sensible, Cass. That would be boring. And I like the differences. Is that what you wanted to ask me?”

  “No. It’s about children. You see, I want a lot of them. At least seven.”

  He arranged his face into a serious expression to hide his delight. “That many. You plan to keep me busy with this project?”

  “Stop roasting me. It’s not a funning matter, Rave. You grew up with siblings. I was alone, if not for Tessa. I always thought it would be nice to have children of my own to play with, since I had so few around when I was young.”

  “Playing with your own children? You will set all of London on its ear, but you give me visions of a cricket team.”

  She laughed and threw a chunk of unbuttered bread at his head. “Only if you allow the girls to play.”

  He popped the piece of bread he’d caught into his mouth. “Sounds fair. But it might be awkward for the little ones if they end up born on the other side of the blanket. Considering tonight’s activities, I believe you should set aside some time from tomorrow’s schedule to get married. I’ll supply the witnesses, a preacher, and an eager groom.”

  He remained still, tensely waiting. She eased his worry that she would cry off with a tender smile. “I believe we must wait until luncheon, Rave. Aunt Duncan doesn’t rise before ten. Although, for my wedding, I would expect her up with the birds.”

  “You sounded sad when you said wedding.” He reached across the table and brushed his fingers along the side of her cheek. He didn’t want to offer her a way out, but for the sake of their future happiness, he took the chance. “Want to cry craven?”

  She shook her head. “Only a little frightened. Not sad.”

  “What frightens you, Cass?”

  “Disappointing you. And Aunt and Uncle Duncan. They’ve been so good to me.”

  “You could never disappoint me, Cass, and this is dreary talk for our nuptial eve. Let’s talk some more about food and making love.”

  “Don’t men ever think about anything else?”

  “Don’t be silly, Cass. Of course, we think of other things. There’s hunting and shooting, which field to plow, which to lie fallow. I used to wonder if Mistress So-and-so would feel me up under the table linens if I sat next to her at dinner. Recently, I’ve been wondering if my bride-to-be will notice that the dining table is a few inches higher on my side due to my lack of disappointment in her charms.”

  Cassandra smiled at him when she stopped laughing. “I like it that you can make me laugh, Ferdie.”

  “You look demmed fine in the altogether, Countess Ravenswold. Ready to do some more exploding?”

  Her eyes glittered with teasing lights. “That depends.”

  Sizzling anticipation tingled down Cassandra’s arms. She leapt up, but he swerved around the table before she could take another step. He hoisted her up onto his hip and grabbed the silver bowl of pudding with his free hand.

  Cassandra squealed at the awkward angle and the startling sight of his erection jutting through the gap in his robe. The air was knocked out of her when he tossed her onto the bed. She rolled onto her back in time to see him set the bowl on the bedside table.

  She crowed a taunting laugh when a carved ivory button on his robe refused to come free. “Does carrying off a shrieking maiden have anything to do with your Norseman ancestry, Ferdie?”

  He skinned off the robe without unfastening it and launched on top of her when she scrambled to the opposite side of the bed to escape. He flipped her onto her back and sprawled his weight across her, imprisoning her against the counterpane.

  Shaking with excited laughter, she struggled to free her wrists. He tightened his grip. She tried to squirm out from underneath him. He arrested her attention when he licked the blushing color surrounding the nipple under his nose. Then he blew lightly, enticing the flesh to pucker and draw tighter. Heat flashed across her skin when he stopped to watch her breasts tighten in response.

  “Oh, Rave. That works so much better than the Viking act.”

  His rumbling laugh vibrated against her belly. “You called me the bad name, Cass. Now you mus
t be punished. You need to learn discipline.”

  “Ooh, I’m so frightened! Come on, Ferdie, you’ll have to do better than that to scare the likes of me.”

  “Your voice gives you away, love. It’s shaking. You want the little death now, but you have to take your punishment first.”

  “La, horrible master, what are you going to do?”

  “Cream custard torture. I’m going to make you my sweet dish.”

  “Will you call us even, if I put some on the part of you from Ireland and lick it off?”

  She felt his hardened flesh stir against her inner thigh and wriggled her hips. The blunt end connected with her open wetness. She lifted up, straining to take him inside. Her eagerness broke his control. He groaned under his breath and shuddered when she shoved her hips higher.

  She nipped his chin. “What are you waiting for? Save the custard for later.”

  He freed her wrists and planted his hands beside her head. His thrusting entry seared a path of sizzling pleasure all the way to her toes. She locked her ankles behind his hips and flung her arms wide, relishing the exquisite impact of each lunging shove of his body into hers. Her frantic demand for release coiled tighter, nearing the point of screaming pain. Beyond the point of shame, she begged for relief and clutched his shoulders. The hardness of his straining muscles under sweat-damp skin refused to allow purchase. Her fingers slipped free. She dug her nails into the counterpane and hung on when he hauled her up by the hips and began a ramming rhythm. The ache in her groin clenched, split and broke free, wrenching from him a final grinding thrust and long shudder of release.

  The black oblivion of bliss slowly receded. Cassandra came back to earth. When the room came into focus, she searched for her voice. “Rave, is this behavior normal?”

  He was too tired to laugh and fell onto his side. “Only with you.”

  After they were snuggled under the covers, she asked, “Does that mean I’m not very good at this?”

  “No, Cass, it means you’re wonderful.”

  Rave thought he heard a snicker. He hauled her closer. A few minutes later, her body relaxed against his and a hand slid across his chest.