Phantom Bride

by Cach, Lisa

  He stepped back and yanked at his clothes, showing none of the slow deliberation he had asked of her. Her body tingled as she saw each bit of his body unwrapped, knowing that it soon would be pressed against hers, skin to skin. Her lips crooked as he hopped on one foot, removing stockings, her own reaction surprising her. She had not thought there would be room in her for humor during lovemaking.

  The smile lasted but a moment, as that was all it took for him to divest himself of the remainder of his clothing. Her eyes moved down his body, familiar to her yet not, its angles and lines endlessly fascinating and new. Her gaze came to rest on his manhood, engorged and pointing upward toward her. She felt a flush of answering wetness deep within her, a contraction of muscles that said her body knew where he belonged.

  She closed the short distance between them, her arms going lightly around his chest, and they held each other, their bodies lightly touching. She looked into his dark sapphire eyes, level with hers, as he gazed back, holding her eyes with his own for several long moments. It reminded her of when they had passed through each other in the hall, each learning the nuances of the other’s soul—only this time it was an intentional learning, anchored in what was real and possible.

  She broke their gaze and closed her eyes, laying her head upon his shoulder, her face tucked into his neck. She could feel the hair on his chest brushing her breasts and nipples, a soft tickling that made her move against him, increasing the sensation. He laid his own head against hers, his hands going up and down her back, stroking her, calming her remaining nerves at the same time he aroused her. His manhood was a warm rod against her lower abdomen, his thighs strong and rough with hair against her own smooth legs, scissored between them.

  Some primal part of her knew that this was right, this was how a man and a woman should be together, skin to skin, body to body. Clothing and the shyness that went with it were mere obstacles to overcome.

  As if given some silent cue, they separated and went to the bed. Alex took her folded clothes and set them on the chair, then pulled back the covers, revealing the clean sheets, their bare whiteness a silent invitation.

  The truth of what she was about to do began to send sharp jabs of nervousness through Serena. She had no cares at this moment for what was morally right or wrong; it was the sheer vulnerability of laying her body open to the intimate touches of a man that made her hesitate, a quiver working through her nerves to betray her hesitation.

  As if sensing that she needed help in making that motion of acceptance, Alex wrapped her in his arms again, and kissed her gently on the lips. His lips caught and released hers, distracting and soothing her as he pulled her with him slowly down onto the bed, his hands stroking over her back and down her buttocks to her thighs.

  She let him persuade her, let him take charge, needing the assurance that he knew what he was doing and would guide her.

  She lay beside him, feeling him shift as he shoved the covers down to the foot of the bed; then, with his arms around her, he rolled her on top of him, her thighs parting over his. Her hair draped in a curtain around their faces as she lifted her head to look down at him.

  “Kiss me, Serena,” he told her.

  She obeyed, tilting her head to the side and lowering her mouth to his, mimicking the gentle way he had kissed her. Alex shivered.

  He broke away then and moved her body up until her breasts were near his mouth. She supported herself on her elbows as he reached down and let his fingertips play with her from behind, stroking her lightly, and the pleasure of it made her forget the awkwardness of the position and turn her cheek against the crown of his head. Her lips parted as she breathed, her eyelids shut. All her concentration was on those fingertips, and the swirling, stroking patterns they made on her. She felt him touch the opening to her core, his fingertip gently exploring the sensitive, untried flesh.

  He rolled her onto her back again, and kissed his way down her body, swirling his tongue in her navel, making her smile at the playfulness of the gesture. She loved the look of the top of his head, the black waves of his hair so dark against her skin. She brought her hands down to run them through his hair as he trailed kisses over her stomach, making her squirm with the sensation.

  The part of her that burned with need for him was pressed against his chest, and she could feel the top of her sex rubbing against his skin as he moved, the friction rough with his chest hair. She liked the way she was hidden against him, and yet so intimately revealed.

  He slid lower, and her eyes widened as he lifted her thighs over his shoulders, his face between them. She squirmed, embarrassed, but he held her still, looking up at her from between her legs, commanding her with his eyes to submit.

  “Alex, please,” she pleaded, feeling exposed.

  He looked down at her, and she felt his fingers parting her folds, moving aside the curls that covered her, the air cool on her damp warmth. She closed her eyes and turned her head to the side, unable to watch.

  Suddenly a warm, wet touch stroked her, and her eyes came open. The stroke came again, then centered on her most sensitive point, an infusion of liquid heat surrounding the working of that magical touch. She looked down, seeing only the top of Alex’s head, but knowing now that it was his mouth he used on her, exchanging kisses with her sex as he had with her mouth.

  Thoughts of embarrassment fled from her mind as his tongue and lips massaged and suckled her, the sensations overwhelming her ability to think or feel anything but pleasure. She dropped her head back down, her eyes closed, her neck arching. She didn’t care what he did to her, as long as he kept on doing this.

  The pleasure built inside her, making her strain her muscles against him, as if reaching for that peak she knew existed. Just when she was sure it was in sight, he took his mouth from her.

  She wanted to protest, but already he was moving up her body, his hips holding her thighs wide. He rested one elbow beside her, and with his other hand brushed a few stray hairs back from her face. He looked into her eyes, then reached down between them, and a moment later she felt something hard and blunt pressing against her.

  Alex kissed her gently on the mouth, and she was aware of her own faintly salty, woodsy scent on his skin. When he raised his head, he looked into her eyes again, as if asking her to trust him, to stay there with him as he completed this act they had begun. She clung to that look, keeping her own eyes wide open as he pressed harder against her, her body reluctant to open to this new force.

  She felt a burning pain as he pushed his way inside her, and clenched her jaw hard against it. He held still, half in her, and kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, and then her mouth. He pulled out slightly, then moved back inside her, deeper this time. The hand that had been directing his manhood moved up to tease at the nub of her sex, creating new pleasure to mix with the pain of his entry.

  She didn’t know whether she wanted him to stop or to continue, his fingers creating a maddening desire in her for the blunt force that was burning its way inside her. The stretching discomfort of his entry was somehow also the answer to the tingling desire roused by his fingers. Yes, do it, she silently urged, and lifted herself against him. Take me, break me, ride me… She surrendered, giving herself over to him, her heart begging him to fill her and end forever the loneliness of being the solitary soul inside her body.

  He groaned and thrust all the way home. His hand left her, his weight coming down on both arms now on either side of her. He shifted his hips, moving them up her body slightly to a new angle, and started slow strokes. She found herself moving against him, his position allowing her to massage her most sensitive places against him, the discomfort not absent but mingled with the pleasure.

  She wrapped her arms around his back, and entwined her legs with his, joining him stroke for stroke, her muscles tensing once again in pursuit of the peak. His thrusts grew fast and hard, and she urged him on with her fingers digging into his back, her hips rising to meet him.

  He reached down and touched her, setting h
er off just before he himself reached his own peak. He clasped her to him, squeezing her tightly as he held himself within her, his mouth finding hers and kissing her frantically between gasping breaths. She felt the pulsing waves of his release in her delicate flesh, the waves mingling with the rhythmic contractions of her own pleasure.

  Yes, yes, yes! So this is what it is to know a man…

  “Serena,” he said into her hair, still holding tight, and then he relaxed on top of her, his weight greater than she had expected, pressing her down into the mattress. A moment later he rolled to his side, taking her with him. He was still inside her. “I didn’t mean to crush you,” he whispered.

  “You didn’t,” she said equally softly. A smile pulled at her lips: She was damp and sore, definitely deflowered, and gloriously, wonderfully happy about it. “If you have not noticed, I am not a fragile little thing.”

  He chuckled and kissed her. She felt his manhood begin to withdraw from her, softening now that it was spent. It was a peculiar sensation, and when she wriggled slightly it came all the way free, nestling between them as she tucked one of her thighs between his. They rested that way, the silence between them warm and full.

  “You are bold and beautiful,” he said to her when their sweat had dried and their breathing slowed, and he kissed the scar on her forehead, where it began.

  “Not that,” she said, tucking her face down.

  “Yes, that, too. It makes you look rather like a pirate. Did I ever tell you that when I was a boy I had a fascination with pirates? Especially female ones.”

  “I know nothing of pirates,” she whispered.

  “If you tell me about your scar, I will tell you about them.”

  She reached up and pulled the pillow more comfortably under her cheek, where it rested on Alex’s arm. She still felt the hesitation in her chest that had kept her from speaking of the scar, but it was not so strong now. He had seen it and wanted her anyway. She could not believe that indifference completely, but it was so much better than loathing that it seemed worth the risk to talk of it.

  “I was training with my brothers in the use of swords, and in fighting. I didn’t enjoy it much—have you ever been near a true sword fight, or a battle?”

  “No, fortunately not. Only fencing done more as an art than for practical use.”

  “Then perhaps you do not know how frightening it is, the clash of metal on metal, and sharp edges swinging through the air, wielded by a powerful arm. You sense how vulnerable your flesh is, how easy it would be to become seriously injured in even a mock fight.”

  “Why were you joining in? Surely your family did not expect that of you.”

  “They didn’t think much of females. Life was better for me when they saw me as an untried youth rather than as a girl, and when they competed with me as if I were one of them, only a very poor specimen with weak arms. The treatment they gave me as a bumbling boy was better than the sneers they gave a horse-like, graceless girl, too big and hale to rouse their masculine urge to protect and cherish. My father remembered my gender only when he thought of possible alliances he might make by marrying me off.”

  “What of your mother?”

  “She died when I was very young. It was a household of men, with the occasional serving wench or spinning woman thrown in, and I am afraid I did not do much to encourage the motherly attentions of those few women at the keep. I saw soon enough that favor fell to the strong, not the weak.”

  “And so the sword practice,” he said.

  “Yes. I was as tall as, or taller than, most of them, which made it all the more amusing for them to see me eating dirt when I tried to play at their games. One thing at which I excelled, however, was archery. On a hot, sunny afternoon, after he had called me a clumsy cow one too many times, I challenged my brother William to a match. He was the second oldest, and had a fearsome pride.”

  “You beat him,” Alex predicted.

  “Oh, yes. To the cheering and jeering of half the keep. One of his arrows had missed the target entirely, while I had one of those days of marksmanship where it seems that no arrow can fly wrong. Even so, I was tired by the end, for he had insisted on going two out of three, three out of five, and on and on until the humiliation of it became too great.

  “All was fine that night, although William was more sullen than usual, quieter. He was not one to take the jibes of others well.

  “The next day on the practice field, he insisted on being my training partner, although I was admittedly poor with a sword. However much practice I had, I could not be as strong as any of my brothers, and my arm tired quickly. I was still worn out from the contest the day before, too, and could not defend myself well.” The old feelings of hurt and shame bubbled up from the darkest recesses of her heart as she replayed the memory of that day. “William wanted to prove that he was still better than I was, the archery contest be damned. It took him little time to knock my sword from my hand time and again, and to throw me to the dirt. I begged mercy, but he wouldn’t give it. He made me get up again and again, and raise my sword with a shaking arm. He called me a weakling who must do better, and swung at me. I hadn’t the strength to raise my blade in time, and… he accidentally struck me upon the face.”

  “Accidentally?” Alex asked.

  She snuggled more closely against him. “‘Tis why I do not like to speak of it. I do not like to think that my own brother scarred me on purpose.”

  “Was he punished?”

  She closed her eyes. That, perhaps, had been the worst of it: the realization that no one was on her side, no one would stand up for her, defend her, comfort her. It was when she’d seen how truly alone and unloved she was. “Father ignored William, and gave me a scolding for reducing my worth as trade goods. He added a whipping for being so stupid as to try to fight with men, and forbid me from practicing with them again.” She shrugged, trying to shake off the pain. Without even the semblance of acceptance her brothers had given her on the practice field, she’d had nothing, and no one. Her years of isolation as a ghost at Maiden Castle had been but a continuation of her life: she had been an outsider, from beginning to end. “Years later I watched William die during the Pestilence. With his last words, he cursed that I should again be the one besting him, this time by surviving.”

  “Bastard. I hope he suffered,” Alex said darkly. He pressed a long kiss to her forehead, then lightened his tone. “We should have exchanged houses, you and I. I thought I was in hell surrounded by nagging, primping, manipulating girls who would rather I had been a caged canary than a brother.”

  Serena chuckled at the thought of Alex hounded by twittering females, a childhood at such odds with — and yet a parallel of — her own youth. Her painful memories of her brutish family broke apart, falling back into the past, where they belonged. “Is that why you had a household of men here?”

  “It was an experiment meant to produce peace and quiet. I had not, of course, counted upon you.”

  She laughed.

  “Do you want to hear about the pirates now?” he asked, stifling a yawn.

  She stroked her fingers along his side, enjoying the lazy, comfortable feel of their embrace. When had she ever been at such ease with a person? So close, in heart and body? Never. She could rest here in this bed beside him for eternity. “You can tell me later,” she said. “Sleep now, if you want.”

  He smiled and his eyes closed, and within minutes she heard his breathing deepen. She gazed tenderly upon him, his face unspeakably precious to her. She brushed her fingertips over his thick lashes in a caress, feeling the ache of her feelings for him in her heart. This was love, then. At long last, the falling star had fulfilled its promise and brought her Alex, her mad astrologer, a man worth waiting centuries for. She would wait those centuries over again, suffer again all she had suffered, to have this moment.

  If it lasted no more than a day, was that not as much of an eternity as one could steal from life? In the vast span of the universe and time, so Alex had taug
ht her, a human life was as nothing. A day might as well be a year, for all the stars knew. What mattered was that she had at last known what it was to love a man.

  She felt lassitude creeping through her own limbs, and knew it had nothing to do with sleep. She had remained “real” for far longer than she ever had, draining energy from her tree. There was too little time left in its branches for her to squander them, gazing lovingly at Alex’s sleeping face.

  Warmth and security were hers in Alex’s arms, but it was a comfort she would dole out to herself in sparing portions. She surely had only a few hours left with him, and she would spend them carefully.

  She faded from his arms.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  When Serena roused, she found herself standing in the garden, as she always did when she came back to the conscious world. She was not certain how long she had been drifting in the realm of nothingness as she let her tree recoup some of its losses. That nowhere world was as timeless as it was formless.

  The season had already stripped the tree of its leaves, so they could give her no clue to its state. She ran her hands over the trunk, and felt that there was still a pulse of life within it: not as strong as it had once been, but neither quite as feeble as it had been after she had slept with Alex.

  She had no precise gauge for these things, but she doubted she would be able to expend herself in such a way more than two or three times more. What would happen to her then, she did not know.

  The garden looked far closer to winter dormancy than it had when last she’d seen it, and a frisson of worry went up her spine. Had she been out for only days, or was it weeks that had passed? What would Alex be thinking?

  She made her way quickly to the castle, noting that night was falling. She went through the kitchen, pausing briefly to observe the staff assembled for the evening meal.