Her ripped clothes became quickly shredded. He eased her down on her torn gown and found he couldn’t wait. He came over her, parting her legs, bending her knees, and he nuzzled her white belly, kissing her, nipping light kisses, his hands stroking up and down the backs of her thighs, widening her legs, drawing nearer and nearer, and she was lifting her hips, wanting him there, closer . . .
When his mouth touched her, she cried out and lurched up. His breath was hot on her flesh, or perhaps she was the one who was hot, for her need was beyond what she could have imagined, the roiling sensations were pushing her, making her twist and arch her back, making her legs tremble uncontrollably. It was beyond anything she could understand, and when he pressed his palm against her belly to hold her still, she lay there staring up at the sunlight that filtered through the oak leaves like silver spears. It was so beautiful, she thought, so very beautiful. But it wasn’t the glistening sunlight that filled her senses, it was his mouth on her flesh, and she wanted more and more. Her breasts were heaving and her hands kneading his shoulders, pulling his head closer to her, and suddenly she spun out of herself, crying out again and again. Roland held her thighs, feeling the rippling spasms, the tightening of the sleek muscles. At each wrenching cry, he felt himself grow and swell, both his spirit and his sex, for he reveled in her pleasure, the pleasure he was giving her. He was throbbing with need, but her release was more important, this wild pleasure of hers that went on and on and drew him into her, sending both of them beyond all thought. He gentled his mouth on her, drawing softly and slowly now, feeling her legs relax, feeling her entire body loosen, and he came up between her legs and said, “Daria, open your eyes. Look at me. I want you to see me coming into you.”
He came into her powerfully, his entire body shuddering, not slowing in his pace, and he wrapped his arms around her thighs, lifting her and sending himself deeper inside her. His rhythm was hard and fast and deep, and he felt so frenzied, so out of control, he thought
he would die of it. Suddenly he came out of her, the sensations too much, driving him too quickly. He lurched back and gently eased her legs off his shoulders. He pulled her upright to her knees, facing him. “I want to kiss you whilst I take you,” he said, and pulled her legs around him and eased her down on his member. He closed his eyes at the feel of her. He kissed her, his tongue deep in her mouth just as his sex was deep in her belly. So deep inside her he was, she thought, and he was hers, in this precious moment he was hers and he was part of her, and there was nothing but him, and she was filled with him, and she was crying with the wonder of it.
He buried his face against her neck as he gained his release, trembling, then tensing incredibly, moaning against her throat, and she felt the wet of him deep within her and she held him as tightly as she could.
Roland lazily kissed her throat until his heart had slowed its furious pounding. Gently he eased her back onto the ground, covering her, his member still deep inside her. He lay over her, balancing himself on his elbows, looking down into her face. Her eyes were more green now than before, and he wondered how this could be so; green and vague and soft, and he saw himself reflected in her eyes and wondered if he filled her mind as he filled her belly. He prayed so, for she filled him. Her hair was tangled with stray twigs and bits of grass and small clods of dirt. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips warm and swelled. “You’re beautiful,” he said. He kissed her mouth, remembering now when he’d first kissed her, he hadn’t wanted to stop.
Very slowly he slid deep inside her, then withdrew almost completely, smiling when she lifted her hips to bring him back into her again.
“Can I give you pleasure again?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, and pulled his head down. To kiss him. She loved his mouth, the texture of his flesh, the scent of him, as much as he craved her. Her body moved with his.
“I like the sound of that,” he said, and eased his hand between them. To his besotted surprise, the moment his fingertips touched her, she cried out, twisting and bucking, nearly throwing him off her. And she was quaking with the nearly painful feelings that held her, and he doubted there was a more beautiful sight in the world.
She shouted out his name in the moment of her release, and in that same instant he was unable to wait, unable to do anything except to surrender to this joining, this incredible mating with her, with his wife.
It was many minutes before he could raise himself on his elbows. His muscles felt fluid. “I think you’ve killed me, wife.”
To his pleasure, she flushed, and he laughed. He dipped his head down and kissed her mouth. How he loved to kiss her. It was many minutes before he raised his head again.
“I like to see you blush. It pleases me, but know, Daria, that a wife is expected to lose her head over her husband. It’s a requirement of marriage, I understand, this display of lust. Now, it appears you’ve twice lost your head, and that makes me feel like a conquering warrior.”
“What about your head?”
“It wasn’t my head I lost, dearling. It was my seed.” She ducked her face into his chest and she breathed in deeply. He smelled of sweat and of the sweet earth and of her as well.
“What is this? Embarrassment from the most wanton of my women?”
“Women? I am your only woman, Roland.”
“Aye, the females hereabout aren’t all that comely, so perhaps I shall have to rely on you for my pleasure.” He kissed her again, marveling as he did so how she drew him, charmed him with her mouth, her taste, and how he’d forgotten that during the past months, how he’d kept himself apart from her, not wanting to think of her, not wanting her to touch him in any way. He frowned as memories razed through his mind, memories he didn’t want now.
She poked him in the ribs, bringing him back to her. “Nay, don’t move, Roland.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry, sweetling, but I must rest for a while and garner my strength. Then you can have your way with me again.”
“All right,” she said, and snuggled against him. After a moment she raised her head and gave him a siren’s smile, her green eyes so wicked he was again utterly charmed with her. “Will you need much time?”
He groaned loudly; then, because her mouth was there, just inches from his, he kissed her.
They were silent for some moments; then Roland said, “Rollo is a huge fellow, a rock of a man, and stronger than an ox. Also, he is slow of foot and of reaction. That is what evens the contest.”
“I don’t wish to speak of that. I made a fool of myself.”
She could feel him smiling. His entire body seemed to warm with his humor. “True, but had he been a knave, why, then, you would have saved me. Rather than being a fool, you would have been a heroine.”
“I’m a fool and I can’t go back. And look at me—my clothes are in tatters. Everyone will know what you have done to me. But your clothes are in nearly as sorry a state. Nay, they’ll know what we’ve done.”
“That is a problem—the condition of our clothes. I will set my mind to finding a solution.”
In the next moment, he was snoring loudly.
“Roland. Stop that. You’re pretending.”