Chapter Eleven #2
It was incredible. The same wild, drowning sensation that Dunstan had conjured out in the rain, rushed through her, and Marion welcomed it.
She lifted her arms and circled his neck, enjoying the strange feel of her bare breasts pressing into his hard chest. His hands ran down her back, closed over her buttocks and then lifted her to meet him.
Marion felt the floor drop away and the dizzying pressure of his manhood as he fitted her to him at the same time that he deepened his kiss, his mouth hot and open upon hers, devouring her.
She had no idea how long she clung to him breathlessly, adrift in a maelstrom of passion, but eventually she became aware that Dunstan was lifting her legs to his hips.
Then, he slid an arm around her and bent, with amazing ease, to pick up the blanket.
Still holding her, Dunstan tossed the material over the straw and fell onto the mattress.
With a gasp, Marion took some of his great weight before he settled himself over her.
Then he was upon her, his heat torching her skin, his callused palms running over her as his lips reclaimed hers.
He cupped her breasts, kneading and lifting, rubbing the nipples with his thumbs until Marion whimpered and shivered.
“Ah, wren. Ah, yes,” Dunstan muttered before his hand moved lower, caressing her thighs and closing tightly around her buttocks.
Blinking up at him, Marion saw that his handsome face looked dark and fierce in the dim glow of the fire.
It gleamed off a lock of drying hair that fell across his cheek, and her blood sang in her ears at the sight of him, beautiful and untamed.
When he touched her between her legs, Marion flinched at the contact, but he murmured a rough assurance in her ear.
“Yes, wren, I must… Ah, God, you are already wet.” And it was true, though where the moisture came from, Marion had no idea.
It was there, and he was spreading it on her, stroking her with his great, callused hand.
Who would ever have imagined such a thing?
As if of their own accord, Marion’s hips lifted to his questing touch, and then one of his large, long fingers slipped inside her.
Marion gasped at the bizarre intimacy. He probed her, and she let him, but just as she was becoming accustomed to the foreign presence, Dunstan removed it and settled himself between her thighs.
With a shock, she realized that he was guiding himself into her now, and she was dizzy with a mixture of shock and forbidden pleasure.
To think of Dunstan de Burgh inside her body.
It was as startling as it was seductive, and then he was entering her, huge and hard, and Marion felt too full of him.
She cried out, and he stopped his uncomfortable progress.
His breath was a harsh rhythm above her, his face taut, his eyes closed.
Had she done something wrong? She had no idea how to ease this increasingly painful union.
“Ah, Marion, Marion,” he said, his voice catching oddly. “You are a maid.”
“Of course,” she murmured, confused by his words.
“Ah, God, I did not…” Dunstan sucked in air in a low hiss. “I must go deeper, wren,” he muttered, and she realized that he was gritting his teeth, as if he, too, were suffering.
“No!” Marion protested, alarmed.
“Yes. Yes, take all of me, wren.” The speech seemed torn from his throat, then he surged forward, and pain seared through her like a hot lance. Marion cried out with the force of it, sure that he had rent her asunder.
“Day of God,” Dunstan muttered. As she stared up at him in mute horror, he opened his eyes and met her accusing gaze.
“Ah, wren, do not look at me like that. I would make you tremble again.” He lifted a handful of her hair and ran his fingers through its thickness.
“I will make you tremble again for me. Only me.”
Growling out the promise, Dunstan moved inside of her, and Marion would have balked but for the rapturous expression on his face.
Small beads of sweat formed on his brow as he withdrew and then thrust, slowly at first, and then faster.
He made wonderful sounds that made her feel all weak and warm inside, and yet she sensed the Wolf was tightly reined.
Then, abruptly, he slid a big hand to her buttocks and lifted her to meet him, straining, in a gesture of fierce possession.
He would devour her. Marion felt again that thin thread of alarm at his ferocious plundering, but her body knew no fear.
It rose to greet him, and passion returned with a vengeance.
Suddenly, she was as wild and desperate as the Wolf himself.
When his fingers dug into her, forcing her closer while he thrust deeper, Marion answered by sobbing his name.
“Dunstan!” she screamed as piercing pleasure so sharp as to be painful shattered her, and then, as if through a haze, she saw the Wolf’s great body shudder violently before it fell heavily on top of her.
She was nearly crushed for a moment before he seemed to come back to his senses and rolled to the side, taking her with him.
“Ah, wren, so good. So good…” he whispered against the top of her head.
Marion tried to reply, but she could find no words to describe what had happened between them, the passion and the glory and the wonder…. I love you, Dunstan de Burgh, she wanted to say, but instead she blinked back tears and snuggled closer to the amazing heat of him.
For once, Marion did not worry about tomorrow or escape or Baddersly. She thought only of Dunstan, and she let the even sound of his breathing lull her to sleep.
* * *
Marion was dreaming of butterflies. They fluttered across her skin as she lay naked in the sun, blessedly warm and fascinated by the sensation of their wings touching her bare flesh.
Bare flesh? Confused, Marion felt the dream fade, to be replaced by a reality even more delightful: tender, moist kisses were being placed all over her body.
She opened her eyes, startled to see the dark head of Dunstan de Burgh poised over her until remembrance flooded back, heating her blood and her cheeks.
The fire cast his features in gold and shadow, making him look fierce, as usual, but Marion was surprised to see his green eyes were narrowed and his jaw clenched.
“I did that,” he said. Marion was at a loss as to his meaning until she followed his intent gaze to her upper arms, marked with bruises that were of his making.
“Not…recently,” she whispered, her face flushing crimson.
He grunted in response, and Marion would have admitted that her skin bruised easily, but the words stopped in her throat.
As she watched, the Wolf lowered his head and placed his lips to the discolored flesh.
His kiss was utterly gentle, warm and tantalizing, and then she felt the slow sweep of sensation when he touched his tongue to her.
Marion sighed as all her senses reawakened, clamoring to life for the Wolf. He lavished his attention first on one arm, then the other, and then he returned to hover over her chest, a secretive smile, full of dark promise, curving his lips before he leaned forward and put his mouth to her breast.
She shivered, although her body was aflame, alive and wanting.
Dunstan growled in triumph, his tongue darting out to taste her, and its touch seemed to delve beyond the surface of her skin to reach deep inside of her.
Helplessly, Marion entwined her fingers in his hair and arched upward until he took her nipple into his mouth, suckling her like an infant.
Just when she thought she could stand no more, he took her other breast, and Marion moved against him restlessly, hungry for the surcease she had known before.
If all this was designed to make her want him inside of her again, it was working, she thought, for she wanted him, needed him, had to have him… .
When his lips left her breast, Marion was bereft, but he moved down her stomach, teasing her flesh, fueling her desire.
She felt him part her legs, and he kissed the inside of her thighs, drifting closer and closer to the apex.
And then he took her bottom in his big hands and lifted her to his mouth.
Marion gasped when his tongue touched her so intimately. It stroked her, flicking against her secrets and making forays inside her until she was shivering uncontrollably at this strange, new torment. “Mercy!” she cried, breathlessly.
“Yes, love, yes! Tremble for me,” Dunstan whispered heatedly.
The rough stubble of his cheeks rasped against her skin wickedly as he spoke, and his fingers tightened upon her buttocks.
He lifted his head to look at her, and Marion, through the dark mane of his hair, saw his eyes glinting with a feral light.
His parted lips glistened with a sheen of moisture before he bent his head to her again.
Suddenly, everything seemed to converge in that spot between her legs: each breath, each beat of her heart, each drop of blood, each fiber of muscle.
Closing her eyes, Marion threw back her head, and gasping wildly, pushed against the mouth that eagerly met her.
Then she came apart, shattering into a million pieces even as she clutched at Dunstan and cried out at the unimaginable pleasure that rent her flesh.
Vaguely, Marion became aware of him nudging at her body, gaining entrance, and filling her with his great member as she became whole again.
This time there was no pain, only a biting hot sensation of fullness, and then Dunstan was moving, sliding nearly out of her until she demanded his return and he buried himself deep again.
It felt so good that Marion was soon wild, so consumed with new passion that she did not even know she had spoken aloud until Dunstan echoed her.