Savage Illusions

This sim­p­le, yet sen­su­al act ca­used Jole­na to sway so­mew­hat and swal­low hard, ha­ving grown wet her­self whe­re the cen­ter of her de­si­re throb­bed with want of him in­si­de her.

Then she felt his eyes on her and sto­od as still as a sta­tue might, al­lo­wing him to to­uch her ever­y­w­he­re with his dark eyes, enj­oying it as tho­ugh it we­re his fin­gers or his ton­gue ple­asu­ring her.

Spotted Eag­le sto­od with his legs spre­ad wi­de, fe­eling the he­at of his man­ho­od as it throb­bed un­mer­ci­ful­ly with ne­ed of be­ing crad­led wit­hin her, ta­king com­fort from her warmth and tig­h­t­ness as he to­ok his rhythmic stro­kes wit­hin her. He ga­zed at length in­to her eyes, fe­eling as tho­ugh he was re­ac­hing cle­an in­to her so­ul, dis­co­ve­ring aga­in her true tho­ughts and lo­ve for him.

He swept his eyes slowly dow­n­ward to whe­re the swell of her bre­asts ga­ve way in a smo­oth des­cent to her flat, firm belly and the tri­an­g­le of soft, fe­at­he­ring black ha­ir that ga­ve him much ple­asu­re.

Hardly ab­le to stand any fur­t­her wa­iting, Spot­ted Eag­le went to her and nes­t­led her bre­asts wit­hin his hands, fin­ding them aga­in so warm and oh, so sup­ple.

Bending, he flic­ked his ton­gue over one and then the ot­her, he­aring her gasp of ple­asu­re kin­d­ling his own fi­res.

Waiting not even to kiss her, he swept her up in­to his arms and be­gan wal­king her in­to the ri­ver, her he­ad aga­inst his chest, one arm twi­ned aro­und his neck. He co­uld he­ar her une­ven, an­xi­o­us bre­at­hing, which mat­c­hed his own.

And then he was star­t­led as she lur­c­hed and le­aned away from him, pe­ering wi­de-eyed up at him. "The so­ap," she mur­mu­red. "It's still in the poc­ket of my skirt."

"Now do you truly be­li­eve that so­ap is ne­ces­sary?" Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, not he­si­ta­ting even one mo­ment as he con­ti­nu­ed wal­king in­to de­eper wa­ter. "My wo­man, when ha­ve you ever truly ne­eded so­ap? I ha­ve ne­ver be­en ne­ar you when you ha­ve not smel­led li­ke wild ro­ses of the fo­rest. Even now, if I kiss yo­ur bre­ast, it will tas­te no less li­ke a ro­se than af­ter you co­ver yo­ur body with the fal­se aro­mas of so­ap."

He shif­ted his arms and hands, brin­ging her next to him aga­in, re­lis­hing the to­uch of her flesh aga­inst his, es­pe­ci­al­ly whe­re her bre­ast res­ted aga­inst his chest. "And, my wo­man, when you be­co­me a part of my vil­la­ge, li­ving as the Blac­k­fo­ot wo­men li­ve, ra­rely will you ha­ve so­ap that is scen­ted for bat­hing," he sa­id. "Will you be ab­le to ac­cept a li­fe that do­es not al­low such pam­pe­ring as that? Will you ac­cept that which yo­ur Blac­k­fo­ot hus­band wo­uld supply you? As my wi­fe, the­re wo­uld not be too many ways to spo­il you, ex­cept that I wo­uld of­fer my lo­ving to you both day and night and even so­me­ti­mes in bet­we­en, sho­uld ti­me and cir­cum­s­tan­ce al­low. Wo­uld that be eno­ugh?"

Jolena's bre­ath was sto­len and her eyes we­re wi­de with won­der as he con­ti­nu­ed tal­king abo­ut how it wo­uld be we­re she his wi­fe, when he had not ac­tu­al­ly as­ked her to marry him!

Perhaps this was the way it was do­ne by the In­di­ans.

It did not mat­ter how, or even if, a pro­po­sal was ever of­fe­red her. The fact that he was spe­aking to her as tho­ugh it we­re as­su­med that she wo­uld be his wi­fe ama­zed her, yet she knew de­eply wit­hin her­self, whe­re her ho­pes and de­si­res we­re for­med, that she did not ha­ve to be as­ked!

She wan­ted to be his wi­fe, now and fo­re­ver­mo­re. She wan­ted the dre­ams that she had of him so of­ten to ce­ase be­ing a sa­va­ge il­lu­si­on, but in­s­te­ad be very, very re­al.

At this mo­ment in her li­fe, her lo­yalty to the only fat­her she had ever known was dim­ming wit­hin her he­art. She knew now that if she had to cho­ose whet­her to re­turn to be a de­vo­ted da­ug­h­ter to Bryce Ed­monds, or stay in the Mon­ta­na Ter­ri­tory and be a du­ti­ful wi­fe to Spot­ted Eag­le, the­re wo­uld be no qu­ar­rel wit­hin her.

Spotted Eag­le was her des­tiny, map­ped out from the be­gin­ning of ti­me, even be­fo­re she had snug­gled in the womb of her mot­her, ta­king bre­ath and li­fe from her.

It had be­en God's plan to bring her and Spot­ted Eag­le to­get­her, and she wo­uld let no man or thing stop this bon­ding.

Not even Bryce Ed­monds, who­se li­fe now se­emed cen­te­red on a da­ug­h­ter whom he had per­haps fe­ared lo­sing from the very day he had ta­ken her from the arms of her de­ad mot­her.

Spotted Eag­le stop­ped whe­re the wa­ter was just brus­hing aga­inst Jole­na's bre­asts. He eased her to her fe­et, on­to the peb­bled flo­or of the ri­ver, then en­cir­c­led her wit­hin his arms and drew her clo­se. He ga­zed down at her in­ten­sely.

"You ha­ve not an­s­we­red my qu­es­ti­ons," he sa­id, his vo­ice drawn. "Are they too much of a chal­len­ge? We­re they un­ti­mely spo­ken? Had they be­en as­ked la­ter, af­ter you ha­ve be­en ab­le to test the strength of yo­ur lo­ve for me, wo­uld you then ha­ve gi­ven me a qu­ick res­pon­se?"

Jolena re­ac­hed her hands to his ha­ir and stro­ked it away from his brow, then pla­ced her hands on each si­de of his fa­ce. "My dar­ling, I ne­ed no mo­re ti­me to know the strength of my lo­ve for you," she mur­mu­red. "The re­ason you did not get qu­ick an­s­wers was be­ca­use you stun­ned me with what you we­re sa­yin­g­not so much with the qu­es­ti­ons as the way you tal­ked so mat­ter-of-factly of how it will be when we are mar­ri­ed."

"My lod­ge is go­od, my par­f­lec­hes are ne­ver empty," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id softly, yet with much me­aning and emo­ti­on. "The­re are al­ways

plenty of tan­ned ro­bes and soft furs for win­ters in my lod­ge. The­se will be yo­urs."

She tra­ced his lips with her fin­ger­tips, then le­aned up and softly kis­sed him. "I lo­ve you so much," she then whis­pe­red aga­inst his lips. "I'm so happy that you want me to be yo­ur wi­fe. I want to be with you, my han­d­so­me war­ri­or, fo­re­ver. When you talk of all to­mor­rows, ple­ase al­ways in­c­lu­de me, for I want to be the­re even when we are old and fe­eb­le. I want to grow old with you, my dar­ling. I want to fe­el the joy of be­ing a gran­d­pa­rent with you."

She ga­zed thro­ugh a ha­ze of joyo­us te­ars up at him. "Ma­ke lo­ve to me, dar­ling," she mur­mu­red. "Oh, how I want you."

Spotted Eag­le fra­med her fa­ce bet­we­en his hands and kis­sed her pas­si­ona­tely, trem­b­ling with ple­asu­re as her hands so­ught out that part of him that had be­co­me de­li­ca­tely ten­der in its wa­iting for such ca­res­ses.

When her fin­gers be­gan mo­ving on him, the wa­ter warm and ca­res­sing in it­self, a ke­en eup­ho­ria be­gan cla­iming him. Slip­ping his hands down her body, fin­ding the soft cur­ves of her but­tocks, he spla­yed his fin­gers aga­inst her and lif­ted her up, so­on thrus­ting his thick shaft wit­hin her.

Jolena re­ac­hed aro­und and sank her fin­gers in­to the flesh of his but­tocks, ur­ging him mo­re de­eply in­to her as she ga­ve him a gen­t­le sho­ve. Then she twi­ned her arms aro­und his neck and pla­ced her legs aro­und his wa­ist, loc­king her legs to­get­her at her an­k­les.

She clo­sed her eyes as the ec­s­tasy be­gan swim­ming thro­ugh her.

Spotted Eag­le gro­aned as he felt the ple­asu­re ri­sing… ri­sing… spre­ading… spre­ading, this ti­me much mo­re qu­ickly than the ot­hers. He thrust him­self over and over aga­in in­si­de her, the he­at scor­c­hing his in­si­des, his de­si­re a sharp, hot pa­in in his lo­ins.