Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

ftness and ambiguity of sleep, yet her body sought consciousness, sought the unbelievable pleasure. Suddenly her eyes flew open, and she felt her body convulse. She cried out, not understanding what was happening to her, only feeling and wanting more.

Brent could see her face now in the dim light of dawn. He saw her look of utter bewilderment as she reached her climax. “That’s it,” he said, coaxing her to feel more and more. Before her pleasure subsided, he eased between her legs and came into her. He felt her muscles tighten about him, drawing him deeper.

Byrony came abruptly awake. She stared up at him, felt him deep inside her. She cried out, the feelings still streaking through her, and wrapped her arms about his back. She wondered if she would die from the pleasure of it.

Brent felt her passion swirl around him, felt her giving, her need. He drove his full length and let himself go. He fell on her, straining, panting.

He closed his eyes, felt the deep-seated sensation of belonging, a need so long buried inside him that he’d forgotten its existence. I’ve come home, he thought, somewhat dazed by his insight.

“Byrony,” he said, her name sounding wonderful to his ears.

He kissed her face, eased his tongue into her mouth, felt her arms still tight around his back. “Byrony,” he said again, and fell asleep, sated, his head on the pillow beside her.

Byrony was stunned. She didn’t move. He was heavy on top of her, yet she didn’t want to shove him away. He was still inside her, and she marveled at the feel of him. You have been properly loved, she thought, and closed her eyes. She’d never imagined that such feelings existed. Feelings so strong, so powerful, that nothing else was important. She felt the relaxed muscles in his smooth back. Slowly she ran her hands down his back, then upward again. So different from her, she thought, so very different. He moved slightly and she felt a sharp jolt of pleasure. She blinked into the gray morning light, trying to quash it. But it wouldn’t stop. She wanted him. Again, yet for the first time.

Her body seemed to know what to do. She moved beneath him, arching upward, and she felt him grow inside her.

Brent responded quickly, for he’d wanted her so long, so powerfully. He reared up over her, nearly withdrawing, then thrust deeply, his fingers going between them to find her. He heard her sob, her face pressed against his neck. She nearly bucked him off her.

When he felt her stiffen and convulse in her climax, he kissed her deeply, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as his sex was thrusting inside her belly. Then he was beyond her, yet at one with her in his own pleasure.

“Ah, Byrony,” he said, and drew her tightly against him.

TWENTY

Byrony’s nose twitched away from the rough hair on his chest. Very slowly she raised her head and looked down at his sleeping face. His dark hair was messed, a thick lock falling over his forehead, his jaws covered with black stubble. He looked exquisite. She even admired his ears.

She realized that her leg was over his groin, one of his arms under her, even in his sleep holding her firmly, his fingers splayed on her hip.

My husband, she thought. He is my husband. She held herself very still, remembering the previous night—no, morning. He’d known she would be more cooperative if he waited until she slept. And she had. She was still stunned at her wild response to him. She’d had no idea, no inkling from Aunt Ida or her mother that such feelings existed. Byrony grinned, thinking of the look on Aunt Ida’s pleasantly thin face were she to say, “Yes, Aunt, and then I yelled and squirmed about and never wanted him to stop. Oh yes, Aunt, to have a man deep inside you, filling you, moving over you, kissing you—” She let herself marvel at it for a few moments before she set herself to thinking clearly again. She needed to get away from him now, physically, but was afraid to move. He would wake up and probably make love to her again. Make love. What a curious thing to say, but that is what he called their wild coupling. She felt sticky between her thighs. His seed. Inside of her. Never before in her life had she felt her womanness as she did now, now that she knew what it was men wanted of women, and, she added silently, still marveling, what women wanted of men. She lifted her leg, easing away from him. He muttered something unintelligible and tightened his arm about her back.

“Byrony,” he said suddenly, opening his eyes. He looked up into her face and smiled. “Good morning, wife. Come closer, you’re warm and soft, very soft.”

He brought her tight against his side again.

“Did you sleep well?” His question was filled with satisfaction. She felt the warmth of his breath against her temple.

“Yes,” she said.

He turned to face her and held her against him. She felt his sex swelling against her leg and drew in her breath. “Surely—” she began.

“Surely what?” He nibbled at her ear. She heard rich amusement in his voice. He knew he’d won, but she thought suddenly, hadn’t she won also? But what of last night? she wanted to ask him. Had anything changed?

“I don’t know.”

“Make you speechless, do I?” His grin was irresistible, and her mouth curved in response. She felt his hand glide over her stomach and cup her.

“Oh. Brent, surely you—”

“So warm,” he said.

“And sticky. From you.”

She was amazed when he closed his eyes a moment as his fingers probed, searched and found her. “Yes,” he said softly, “from me.” She felt him tremble and for a brief instant knew a moment of power over this man. Then she was on her back and he was easing into her. She gasped at the feel of him, and he stopped cold. “Am I hurting you, Byrony? Are you too sore for me?”

She looked into his eyes, seeing the sudden worry for her, and was lost. “No.” She arched up to take more of him.

But he was frowning, and for one of the few times in his adult life, concern for another took precedence over his own lust. Very slowly he began to ease out of her, but she locked her arms about his back, holding him to her.