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Christina tried to protest. "Lyon, I must—"
"Get your clothes off," Lyon interrupted. He was already pulling apart the
fastenings on the back of her gown.
No, she hadn't meant to say that. But her thoughts got confused inside her
mind. Lyon had pulled her gown down to her waist. His hands cupped her
breasts, his thumbs rubbed her nipples, forced her response. His mouth had
never seemed so warm, so inviting.
There was more water on the floor than in the tub. Lyon didn't seem to mind.
He was determined, and he had Christina stripped out of her soggy clothes in
little time.
Christina didn't want to struggle. She put her arms around his neck and let
out a soft sigh. "The water isn't very hot," she whispered against his ear.
"I am."
"What?"
"Hot."
"Lyon? I want—"
"Me, inside you," Lyon whispered. His mouth feasted on the side of her neck.
His warm breath sent shivers down her spine. "You want to feel me inside you,"
he rasped out. "Hard. Hot. I'll try to go slow, but you'll want me harder,
faster, until I'm touching your womb and you're begging me for release."
Christina's head fell back so that Lyon could kiss more of her throat. His
dark promise of what was to come made her throat tighten and her heartbeat
quicken. "I'll stay inside you until I'm hard again, won't I, Christina? And
then I'll pleasure you again."
His mouth settled on hers for another long, drugging kiss. "That's what you
want, isn't it, my sweet?"
"Yes," Christina answered. She sighed against his mouth. "It's what I want."
"Then marry me. Now," Lyon demanded. He kissed her again as a precaution
against any protest. "Hurry, Christina. I want to… Christina, don't
move like that," Lyon ground out. "It's torture."
"You like it."
She whispered the truth against his shoulder, then nipped his skin with her
teeth, her nails. She moved again to straddle his hips, rubbing her breasts
against his chest.
Yet when she tried to take Lyon inside her, he wouldn't allow it. His hands
settled on the sides of her hips, holding her away from his arousal.
"Not yet, Christina," he groaned. "Are we still divorced inside your head?"
"Lyon, please," Christina begged.
He drew her up against him until her heat rested on the flat of his stomach.
His fingers found her, slowly penetrated her. "Do you want me to stop?" he
asked with a growl.
"No, don't stop."
"Are we married?"
Christina gave in. "Yes, Lyon. You were supposed to court me first." She
moaned when he increased the pressure. She bit his bottom lip, then opened her
mouth for him again.
"Compromise," Lyon whispered as he slowly pushed her downward and began to
penetrate her.
She didn't understand what he was saying to her, thought to at least try to
question him, but Lyon suddenly shifted.
His movement was forceful, deliberate. Christina couldn't speak, couldn't
think. Lyon was pulling her into the sun. Soon, when she could bear the
scorching heat no longer, he would give her sweet release. Christina clung to
her warrior in blissful surrender.
"We should have gone downstairs for dinner. I don't want your mother to think
she can hide in her bedroom. She must eat all her meals with us in future,
husband."
Lyon ignored his wife's comments. He pulled her up against his side, draped
the bed covers over her legs when he noticed she was trembling, then began to
tickle her shoulder with his fingers.
"Christina? Didn't your father ever yell at you when you were a little girl?"
She turned and rested her chin on his chest before she answered him. "That's
an odd question to put to me. Yes, Father did yell."
"But never in front of others?" Lyon asked.
"Well, there was one time when he lost his temper," she admitted. "I was too
little to remember the incident, but my mother and the shaman liked to tell
the story."
"Shaman?"
"Our holy man," Christina explained. "Like the one who married us. My shaman
doesn't ever wear a cone on his head, though." She ended her comment with a
dainty shrug.
"What was the reason for your father to lose his temper?" Lyon asked.
"You'll not laugh?"
"I won't laugh."
Christina turned her gaze to stare at his chest so that his golden eyes
wouldn't break her concentration. "My brother carried home a beautiful snake.
Father was very pleased."
"He was?"
"It was a fine snake, Lyon."
"I see."
She could hear the smile in his voice but didn't take exception. "Mother was
also pleased. I must have watched the way my brother held his prize, and the
shaman said I was envious of the attention given my brother, too, for I went
out to capture a snake of my own. No one could find me for several hours. I
was very little and in constant mischief."
"Ah, so that is why your father lost his temper," Lyon announced. "Your
disappearance must have—"
"No, that isn't the reason," Christina interjected. "Though of course he was
unhappy that I'd left the safety of the village."
"Well, then?" Lyon prodded when she didn't immediately continue with her
story.
"Everyone was frantically searching for me when I strutted back into the
village. Mama said I always strutted because I tried to imitate my brother's
swagger. White Eagle walked like a proud warrior, you see."
The memory of the story she'd heard so many times during her growing years
made her smile. "And did you have a snake with you when you strutted back into [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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Christina tried to protest. "Lyon, I must—"
"Get your clothes off," Lyon interrupted. He was already pulling apart the
fastenings on the back of her gown.
No, she hadn't meant to say that. But her thoughts got confused inside her
mind. Lyon had pulled her gown down to her waist. His hands cupped her
breasts, his thumbs rubbed her nipples, forced her response. His mouth had
never seemed so warm, so inviting.
There was more water on the floor than in the tub. Lyon didn't seem to mind.
He was determined, and he had Christina stripped out of her soggy clothes in
little time.
Christina didn't want to struggle. She put her arms around his neck and let
out a soft sigh. "The water isn't very hot," she whispered against his ear.
"I am."
"What?"
"Hot."
"Lyon? I want—"
"Me, inside you," Lyon whispered. His mouth feasted on the side of her neck.
His warm breath sent shivers down her spine. "You want to feel me inside you,"
he rasped out. "Hard. Hot. I'll try to go slow, but you'll want me harder,
faster, until I'm touching your womb and you're begging me for release."
Christina's head fell back so that Lyon could kiss more of her throat. His
dark promise of what was to come made her throat tighten and her heartbeat
quicken. "I'll stay inside you until I'm hard again, won't I, Christina? And
then I'll pleasure you again."
His mouth settled on hers for another long, drugging kiss. "That's what you
want, isn't it, my sweet?"
"Yes," Christina answered. She sighed against his mouth. "It's what I want."
"Then marry me. Now," Lyon demanded. He kissed her again as a precaution
against any protest. "Hurry, Christina. I want to… Christina, don't
move like that," Lyon ground out. "It's torture."
"You like it."
She whispered the truth against his shoulder, then nipped his skin with her
teeth, her nails. She moved again to straddle his hips, rubbing her breasts
against his chest.
Yet when she tried to take Lyon inside her, he wouldn't allow it. His hands
settled on the sides of her hips, holding her away from his arousal.
"Not yet, Christina," he groaned. "Are we still divorced inside your head?"
"Lyon, please," Christina begged.
He drew her up against him until her heat rested on the flat of his stomach.
His fingers found her, slowly penetrated her. "Do you want me to stop?" he
asked with a growl.
"No, don't stop."
"Are we married?"
Christina gave in. "Yes, Lyon. You were supposed to court me first." She
moaned when he increased the pressure. She bit his bottom lip, then opened her
mouth for him again.
"Compromise," Lyon whispered as he slowly pushed her downward and began to
penetrate her.
She didn't understand what he was saying to her, thought to at least try to
question him, but Lyon suddenly shifted.
His movement was forceful, deliberate. Christina couldn't speak, couldn't
think. Lyon was pulling her into the sun. Soon, when she could bear the
scorching heat no longer, he would give her sweet release. Christina clung to
her warrior in blissful surrender.
"We should have gone downstairs for dinner. I don't want your mother to think
she can hide in her bedroom. She must eat all her meals with us in future,
husband."
Lyon ignored his wife's comments. He pulled her up against his side, draped
the bed covers over her legs when he noticed she was trembling, then began to
tickle her shoulder with his fingers.
"Christina? Didn't your father ever yell at you when you were a little girl?"
She turned and rested her chin on his chest before she answered him. "That's
an odd question to put to me. Yes, Father did yell."
"But never in front of others?" Lyon asked.
"Well, there was one time when he lost his temper," she admitted. "I was too
little to remember the incident, but my mother and the shaman liked to tell
the story."
"Shaman?"
"Our holy man," Christina explained. "Like the one who married us. My shaman
doesn't ever wear a cone on his head, though." She ended her comment with a
dainty shrug.
"What was the reason for your father to lose his temper?" Lyon asked.
"You'll not laugh?"
"I won't laugh."
Christina turned her gaze to stare at his chest so that his golden eyes
wouldn't break her concentration. "My brother carried home a beautiful snake.
Father was very pleased."
"He was?"
"It was a fine snake, Lyon."
"I see."
She could hear the smile in his voice but didn't take exception. "Mother was
also pleased. I must have watched the way my brother held his prize, and the
shaman said I was envious of the attention given my brother, too, for I went
out to capture a snake of my own. No one could find me for several hours. I
was very little and in constant mischief."
"Ah, so that is why your father lost his temper," Lyon announced. "Your
disappearance must have—"
"No, that isn't the reason," Christina interjected. "Though of course he was
unhappy that I'd left the safety of the village."
"Well, then?" Lyon prodded when she didn't immediately continue with her
story.
"Everyone was frantically searching for me when I strutted back into the
village. Mama said I always strutted because I tried to imitate my brother's
swagger. White Eagle walked like a proud warrior, you see."
The memory of the story she'd heard so many times during her growing years
made her smile. "And did you have a snake with you when you strutted back into [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]