Rain

by Taryn Kincaid

  He immediately shifted position, easing her to the sand and drawing her bent knee over his shoulder, as he laid her back. “I am at my lady’s command.”

  “Then stop talking,” she said.

  “Done.”

  “I don’t think so. I may not know a lot. But I know enough to guess you have barely begun.”

  He leaned closer, trying to go slower, to take more care. Drawing her arms above her head, he stripped off her shirt and sucked in a breath. He explored her breasts with his hands and mouth, her nipples pebbling under the sweeps of his tongue.

  He’d been without a woman for a long time, and he didn’t know if he was capable of gentleness anymore. The things he’d seen. The things he’d done. He shook his head, staggered by her faith in him. Her misplaced faith. His heart had shriveled to the size of a walnut. But, now, what remained of that hard, black nugget belonged to her. It expanded within his chest with each of her sighs, every small, sharp inhalation of breath. Was this what Nicodemus had meant? That she would save him? Could she fill the cavernous hole within? Melt his frozen soul? Bring him back to life?

  When she gripped his hair and pressed his head between her juicy thighs, he lost the ability to think. He stripped out of his clothing, trying to arrange the material on the sand beneath them, no fine, costly fabric, but perhaps one day. For now, the makeshift bed was the best he could manage. He covered her with his body, the rub of his chest hair sliding on the satin of her skin, the friction of flesh against flesh whipping them both into a frenzy. He had to pause to set a slower pace.

  “Do you trust me, princess?”

  She stiffened a little. Whether because he’d used her title or demanded her faith, he could not be sure.

  She hissed out a response. “I trust no one.”

  “As it should be. But I need your certainty now. Accept my guidance in this.”

  Her fingers curled into him, her grip tightening. She nodded, and he expelled the breath he had not realized he’d been holding.

  Inching down her body, he worshipped every bit of hers until he had her writhing beneath him with unbridled want. He brought her to peak after peak of need but never allowed her to crest. Pressing his mouth to her hot core, he savored her essence on his lips, on his tongue, taking her fragrance into himself in a way that branded her a part of him. Sucking, nibbling, stroking, stroking…this way, that way, he played his mouth over her, toying, teasing, the variety infinite, the pleasure endless and profound. Drawing intricate patterns over her swollen nub then switching to long, broad caresses. Drinking deeply from her. Wet, silky. On fire and made for him.

  She thrashed in his arms, panting, her cries of delight stark in the silent night, her voice hoarse with his name. He eased a finger into her slowly then another, stretching her before withdrawing. Repeating the pattern over and over until she relaxed, he pumped his fingers in an erotic rhythm so sensual his cock nearly erupted. Desperate, he held back. He could not yet spill his seed.

  At last, when he thought neither of them could withstand another second, he let her soar over the top. Her body went taut then she arched upward and shattered in his arms.

  While the fierce tremors of her orgasm still shook her, he withdrew his fingers and took his throbbing cock in his hand, guiding it to her entrance. He rubbed the head over her liquid heat, the bead of moisture at the tip mingling with hers. With excruciating care, he eased into her a bit at a time. When her eyes closed and she bit her lower lip, he hesitated, hovering above her. Her hand covered his.

  “Stop?” he inquired.

  “I want you, Clay,” she assured him. “I’ve dreamed of this.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “I know.” She bucked her hips upward, and a sharp gasp hissed between her teeth. But then he was fully inside her, his thick, hard length pulsing.

  He tilted his forehead to hers. “Are you okay, baby?”

  “Yes.”

  He remained as still as possible, drawing in breath after breath, sweat trickling down his cheeks, until she grew accustomed to his invasion.

  “I did not want to hurt you, princess.”

  “Because of the curse?”

  “No. No,” he mumbled. “Because no man should hurt a woman her first time. He should cherish her.”

  Her lips curved into a dazzling smile. Had he managed to say something that particularly delighted her? His brow furrowed. Fuck me if I know what I said. He was not the sort of man who knew what the hell it was that women wanted. He had nothing to offer except patience. He tried to be generous.

  “Perhaps we have broken the curse,” she whispered, her forefinger sketching a pattern on his ear.

  He lifted an eyebrow in confusion. Nicodemus had not painted the ending of their story yet. But other of his tales were rife with curses broken by true love. Was this that then? No question the woman had touched his soul. And he had not even finished fucking her. No, making love to her.

  “Remarkably, though you have stabbed me with your most lethal of blades, I am neither dead nor in a slumber from which I cannot wake,” she said, in explanation. “Though I am wondering if this might be another of my dreams.” She rubbed her breasts against his chest and the urge to move nearly annihilated him. But he didn’t think she was quite yet ready for that. He gripped her hips more tightly.

  “No, it’s very real.” He grunted. “But if you don’t stop wiggling, you will kill me. I have only so much control.”

  “I have never met a man with so much.” She gazed up at him, her eyes alight. “You should lose it.”

  He groaned. He could not bear any more. His body urged him to do as she asked, tense and insistent, his cock full and throbbing. “I will treasure this gift, princess,” he growled, his voice harsh and hoarse, ragged with desire. “As I treasure you. Always.”

  He reached a hand between them, to the place where they were joined, his thumb flicking lightly over her clit until she peaked again, her inner muscles gripping him when another orgasm rocked her. Smoothly withdrawing, he glided back into her. Again and again. Pushing her over the top yet once more. Her fingers dug into his back, sliding lower to grip his ass as she shook with her third orgasm, blasting his slow, sensual rhythm and gentle pace to hell.

  He clasped her even more tightly to him, raising her hips for better position. His dick took over. And then he was pounding into her, far beyond rational thought.

  A glowing smile spread across her face, lighting up the night, when he surged into her with a roar, finding his own explosive release.

  “You are no burden to me,” he told her later, enclosing her in his arms and holding her close to his thundering heart. “You are the missing piece of my soul.”

  Chapter Six

  Welded to Clay’s side, Rosina woke to the blaze of the hot sun furious on her face. Sand scratched her in out-of-the-way places, and all of her muscles shrieked from overuse. His muscular thigh draped over her hip, and his arms pressed her to his naked body, sheened in sweat.

  New sweat from the oppressive heat of the early morning. The lather they’d whipped each other into during the long, passionate night had dissipated hours ago in the coolness of the dark.

  He’d woken her several times before dawn and taken exquisite care with her, aware she remained sore after his first hard riding, the initial rip of pain giving way to such remarkable pleasure, she craved the invasion of his throbbing cock, pumping inside of her, growing, stretching her, filling her, touching each nerve ending. He’d completely captured her heart.

  Starting slowly and with gentleness she’d not have believed him capable of a day earlier, he introduced her to each new erotic delight and position. But, every time he made love to her, his rigid control snapped, and he ended wildly, savagely pounding into her. His balls slapped against her backside. The friction of his toughened flesh strafed her untested body. Skin glided over skin, his chest to her aching breasts. Her thighs spread wide to accommodate his broad shoulders and narrow hips, to cradle hi
m. His cock hit her tingling sweet spot. His long, muscled legs intertwined with hers, as their bodies rubbed rhythmically against each other, melding, melting, pulsing and aflame with need…utterly sublime.

  She sighed, her cheeks warming with the memory.

  Her belly fluttered, and she grew wet between her legs when she recalled those times he took her from behind, his chest to her back, his body heat cocooning her, her fingers clutching fistfuls of sand as one of his hands reached around to toy with her nipple, the other insistent and relentless as his fingers found her clit. He’d grazed the side of her neck with his teeth, claiming, branding, possessing. Making her scream. Making her crazy with the sheer rapture of thrilling orgasm after mind-blowing orgasm. Of the wonder of sex. Of the exciting beauty of it…with him.

  Clay.

  Rosina turned to watch him sleeping. He’d fallen into a slumber so deep and he held her so tightly, she could barely twist around to glide her fingertips over his toned body. With the harsh lines of his face relaxed and his absurdly long eyelashes fringing his cheeks, he looked like a boy, rather than the hard, rugged man who’d repeatedly proven how inexhaustibly he desired her.

  He’d fucked her again and again with fierce, raw passion until she thought her head might explode, thought her sated, drained, and wilting body might break apart into specks of glowing, love-soaked energy and dissolve into the sand. And then he’d do it all over again.

  Once, when she’d screamed for him to fuck her harder, he’d complied, kissing her speechless, his mouth unrelenting on hers until he finished with a roar of satisfaction and collapsed on her breast, panting raggedly, gluing his lips to the curve between her shoulder and neck. Nibbling. Whispering into her ear.

  “Lovemaking,” he corrected, his voice emerging graveled and gruff, so raw after so many hours of erotic grunting and groaning above her it was barely audible. “Not fucking.”

  “By the thorn, Clay! You’re a soldier. You know what this is. Something this amazing and wild, this unbridled, this rough and primal, this…this…powerful…it’s fucking.”

  He drew in long, replenishing breaths, his hard mouth curving into a rare smile. “Expert, are you?” he teased, running his hand over her feverish body, sparking her ready response.

  “No, but—”

  “No. It’s because I’m with you. Another woman might get me off. But that would be that. You…renew me. Recharge me. Awaken me. I feel the energy pulsing inside me.”

  “It’s energy that’s pulsing?” She swallowed her laugh when his features set into stern, tense lines. The grimness around his mouth alerted her to tread lightly. But she loved playing with him, loved talking to him, loved—

  “Being with you….” His words echoed her thoughts. “I’ll never have enough of you. Never. You make me—”

  “Insanely potent?” She could not help herself, could not help teasing this unyielding, formidable man.

  “Yes.”

  “Insatiable?”

  She finally cracked through his brittle façade. His bark of laughter split the night. “Let’s see.” Without warning, he drove into her. In seconds, she was far beyond teasing. Fucking, lovemaking, whatever.

  As long as he never stopped.

  But, now? How did she face him now?

  Careful not to wake him, Rosina moved his heavy arm and tried to wiggle out of his grasp. She shifted in minute increments until she worked her leg from between his. Past time for him to return to his men.

  She craved him, above all things. But she was not sure she could face him in the light of day.

  And they still had to wrest answers from Nicodemus.

  Gathering her clothes with difficulty, she slipped into them, scanning the horizon. Over the dunes and beyond the great expanse of desert, she spied their camp, dotted with tents the size of pinheads. From the distance, the scene resembled a miniature panorama, set up as the backdrop for a child’s toy soldiers.

  Her stomach rumbled. She wanted breakfast. But, even more than that, she wanted a bath. Loathe as she was to wash Clay’s essence from her body, she had to rinse away the sand abrading her skin before it did her damage.

  She really should wake him, she thought. But looking at him sleeping so peacefully gave her pause. He got so little sleep. Far less than the rest of them.

  “Clay,” she murmured from a few feet away, testing the depth of his slumber.

  He did not move, and a smile teased her lips. She could shake him, she thought. Grab his arms and jostle him. Jolt him awake the way he’d roused her. Well, not entirely the way he roused her. A fiery warmth spread over her, the fires of lust once more coursing through her veins.

  Would she ever have enough of the man?

  Never. Not in this or in any other lifetime. Not in one hundred years.

  Rosina watched him for a time, his chest rising and falling in easy, rhythmic waves. Reluctant as she was to wake him, she could not leave him out here, either, alone, naked, unarmed, and vulnerable in sleep.

  Sitting down beside him, she ran her hand over his bare leg, massaging thick bulges in his calves and ropes of sinew in his thigh, toying with the whorls of sand-colored hair. She smoothed her palm upward over his skin to his fine ass, patting his rump, remembering how she’d dug her fingers into taut, hard muscle when he’d pumped into her.

  Turning slightly, she looked westward. A dense copse of briars taunted her. Where there were brambles or other vegetation, there had to be water. A powerful thirst seized her, further drying out her mouth, her parched throat. Each grain of sand trapped in her clothing felt like a boulder irritating her sensitive skin. But, still, she would not leave him.

  “Clay,” she tried again. He seemed lost to the world.

  Where there was water, perhaps there were roving bands of marauders. And she and Clay were out here alone, virtually cut off from his troops. The encampment was so far away, across the wide expanse of desert. There was too much danger lurking behind every dune.

  “No,” she murmured. Tranquil as he looked, she could not continue to let him sleep.

  “Clay. Wake up now, Clay.”

  She shook his shoulder. But still he did not move. She thought of their exertions during the night, how many times he’d made her come, how she had exhausted him. How she’d clung to those broad, beefy shoulders when he’d driven in and out of her. Another fierce flood of warmth coursed through her.

  Picking up one of his discarded boots, she upended it. A lethal-looking knife fell onto the sand. As she’d guessed, he’d hidden a weapon. Snatching it up, she focused westward, searching for danger.

  She would guard him as he’d always guarded her.

  “Please, Clay, wake up, Major. You can sleep later in your tent.” Her words reminded her of his, of what he’d said to her when trying to drag her from the impending downpour.

  No.

  A sharp, acrid tang in the air suddenly stung her eyes, burned her nose. She tasted the acid on her tongue.

  Rain.

  No. By the thorn. No.

  Rain was coming.

  “Clay. Please, Clay.” She pressed her lips to his. He stirred and she peppered his face with kisses. “Yes, my love. Wake for me now, and I’ll never stop kissing you. Never.” He murmured in his sleep and wrapped his arms around her, dragging her closer, so tightly she could barely breathe.

  “No, Clay. Not now. I would stay in your arms forever, my darling. But we have to go.” With difficulty, she extricated herself from his embrace.

  Tears streamed down her face. He’d sworn to her all night long he was making love to her. Not merely fucking her. That she’d totally engaged what remained of his heart, a part of his very soul. But perhaps the wondrous night of sizzling, torrid sex, as sensational as that had been, was not a great love for the ages. Not unique or profound. Not storied. Not true. Her desperate kiss could not wake him at a moment of such danger.

  True love’s kiss would wake him, wouldn’t it? But she loved him. ’Twas their destiny. She knew tha
t from the depth of her bones. They were destined to be lovers, to be together, whether or not he returned her fierce emotion.

  By the thorn! Why doesn’t he wake?

  “Damn it, Major! We have to go!”

  She couldn’t leave him so exposed. Although he had responded to her kisses, he slumbered on, apparently insensible. Grabbing his huge T-shirt and other discarded clothes, she arranged the material over his bare torso as best she could.

  The harsh sun vanished, replaced by evil back clouds. The sky opened and lethal rain pelted down. Too late. No place to run. And she would not leave him. If this was the day she would meet her fate, she wanted to be as close to her love as she could get. She wanted to feel his breath in her ear, the beat of his heart against her own.

  Rosina threw herself over Clay’s sleeping body.

  The first stinging slashes cut into her like knives.

  Chapter Seven

  Bramble and briars covered the earth. Endless vines and clumps of twisted vegetation crept across the world and stretched as far as the eye could see, choking all else in its path. The ground, so recently comprised of hot, dry desert sands, now resembled a more loamy soil that might once have given hope for the future. But nothing else grew. Nothing else could before being swallowed up by dangerous kudzu, thorns plentiful and thick, long as knives. The herbaceous monsters climbed over rocks, splitting apart both sediment and boulders, trailing across parapets and over ruins, sneaking into any crevice to be found between bricks.

  Clay’s machete hacked a narrow walkway through the wide, entwined ropes.

  His men followed resolutely after him as they always had, single file, cutting their way through the jungles of bushes and overgrowth that sprang up again as soon as it was cut down. The men had nowhere else to go. But follow him they would. To hell and back, if he gave the word.

  The wars were over. There were no skirmishes left to be fought because there was no speck of cleared battlefield on which to wage them. Just angry vegetation.