The Warrior

“Ariane?” Ranulf murmured into the silence.

“I am here,” she replied unsteadily.

His lips curved upward in a grin when he heard the slight catch in her voice. It seemed thatshe was as nervous as he. He closed the distance to the bed. His heart pounding, he parted the drawn curtains to find his bride lying in wait for him, her pale copper hair cascading across the pillows, the covers turned down invitingly. She wore nothing but a wedding garland of roses, and Ranulf inhaled sharply to see her slender white body gleaming in the soft glow of candlelight. Arousal flared within him, insistent and urgent.

Controlling his fierce need with willpower alone, he turned away to pour a silver goblet full of wine. Returning to the bed, he sat beside her, settling a tautly muscled flank against her hip. His position reminded Ariane of the first night Ranulf had alarmed her by invading her bedchamber, and yet this time, she was not frightened of him, only of the powerful, overwhelming, helpless way he made her feel.

She drank in the sight of his beautiful, scarred body, with its rippling muscle and sinew, his broad chest with its furring of raven hair. . . . Her gaze lowered to the goblet, hesitating quizzically.

“I scarcely drank a drop the entire day,” Ranulf explained, “and I find I have a great thirst.” Yet from the smoldering flames in his eyes, she did not think his thirst had aught to do with wine.

“Perhaps you intend to ply me with wine,” Ariane suggested with a teasing glance, “in order to render me more malleable.”

He smiled that rare, tender smile that she loved so dearly. “Ah, no, never, my lady. I wish you to be in possession of all your senses tonight. I mean for you to feel every nuance of everything I do to you.” His sensual, provocative tone made her pulse skitter. He glanced down at her lips. “I thought we would begin with a lesson in wifely conduct.”

“Indeed?” She smiled uncertainly. “What sort of lesson?”

“One on how to please your husband. I am your husband now, am I not?”

“Yes . . .” Ariane answered breathlessly.

Ranulf’s hand slowly rose to touch her cheek. Holding her gaze, he began to caress her, his long fingers tracing the delicate line of her jaw, the smooth column of her throat, the ridge of her collarbone, stroking lightly, clearly intent on seduction. Ariane responded to his touch like a blossom opening to the sun; beneath his sensitive fingertips, she felt her flesh ripple with warmth.

“Will you drink, sweeting?” he asked as her passion-heavy eyelids began to drift shut. Bringing the goblet to her mouth, he let her sip for a moment. Then taking it away, Ranulf slowly bent and, covering her mouth with his, drank the wine from her lips.

Ariane gave a soft moan from deep within her throat at the delicious taste of Ranulf mingled with wine. Yet he would do no more than let her taste.

Drawing back, he slowly dipped his forefinger into the cup and brought it back to her parted lips, gliding over the moist surface till her mouth was red and wet and dewed with wine. Ariane could be acquiescent no longer. Urgently, she captured his hand and pressed a kiss against his palm.

“Yes, Ranulf,” she whispered. “Teach me how to please you.”

“You do. . . . You please me greatly, dearling.”

The endearment warmed her heart, even as his scorching look warmed her flesh and sent the blood racing through her veins. But he would not allow her to participate in her own seduction.

“Lie still,” he urged huskily as his fingers splayed gently over her throat, his palm resting on the thickly beating pulse.

Weakly, she nodded, prepared to give Ranulf his way—at least until the ecstasy became too unbearable.

She lay completely still as once more he dipped his finger and trailed it indolently down her throat to her left breast, making the nipple tighten and contract with sensation as the cool liquid touched her heated flesh. Then, with exquisite care, he bent to lick the drop off the taut peak with the tip of his tongue.

Ariane whimpered at the spark of fire that fanned through her—and whimpered again as his mouth closed over her nipple and sucked gently. She did not want gentleness. She wanted fierceness, wanted his powerful body thrusting hard into hers, wanted Ranulf’s desire to match her own.

Her fingers twined in his thick ebony hair to draw his head closer, while her back arched, offering her aching breast to him willingly. And still Ranulf would not rush the moment. His hot mouth and rough, wet tongue pleasured her unhurriedly, almost lazily, evidently intent on driving her mad with wanting. They played passionately over her straining nipple, tugging the crest, deliberately arousing, his slow, erotic suckling bringing her to a feverish pitch.

Hot and shivering, Ariane gritted her teeth and moved her head restlessly on the pillow. Her cheeks were flushed, her breath coming in soft pants, by the time he at last drew back.

With a smile that held a wicked promise, Ranulf dipped his finger again into the wine.

She knew what pleasure came next, even before he sought the hidden recess between her thighs. At his exquisite touch, her senses went wild. Her hips arched helplessly in agitation, until Ranulf’s husky command came again, telling her to be still. His brow furrowed in concentration as he properly attended the woman’s flesh exposed to his gaze . . . stroking her tenderly . . . rubbing the wet nubbin with wine . . . boldly parting the quivering folds . . . gliding his fingers deep, deep within her . . . encouraging her soft moans of passion.

Flames shot through Ariane, radiating heat through her, heat that centered around his probing fingers in an intense pool. Gasping and shuddering, she clamped her legs around the caressing hand that tortured her so exquisitely.

Finally, as if sensing how near she was to the edge, Ranulf bent to set the goblet on the night table and then leaned over her, his hot, open lips pressing into the musky warmth beneath her breast . . . her flat, trembling belly . . . the silken curls that shielded her womanhood.

“Ranulf . . . please . . .” she begged in a gasping plea as her hips thrust wantonly against his hot mouth, craving his possession.

Parting her legs wider, he kissed her there, relishing the slick, swollen sweetness, inhaling her fragrance, letting his tongue stroke and explore and caress her to madness.