“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I do not know what to do.”
“Hush,” he said softly, “ ’tis I who am as fledgling as an untried boy.”
He felt her shake her head against his shoulder.
“You are soft and pleasing, Kassia, and I wanted you very much. Soon, I promise you, you will want me equally.”
He could picture the bewildered question in her eyes at his words. He kissed her gently, and rolled onto his side, bringing her with him.
She fell asleep with the very strange feeling of his manhood resting inside her.
Kassia awoke at dawn, her eyes drawn to the bright slivers of pinkish light coming through the shutters. She stirred slightly, and quieted quickly, aware that she was half-lying on Graelam, his thigh between her legs, her cheek pillowed against the mat of thick hair on his chest. She blinked away the remnants of sleep, allowing a procession of images from the night before to flow slowly through her mind. With the intimate images came a flood of feelings. She blinked, startled at herself, but still did not move. She felt the thick muscles in his thigh pressing up against her and the feelings were no longer memories. She felt a stirring deep within her, awakening her body as surely as she had awakened with the dawn, making her move slowly and quietly against him. She
slid the palm of her hand over his chest, and felt the slow, regular pounding of his heart. She breathed deeply, relieved that he slept. She should move away from him, she thought, but her body had no intention of obeying her. Her hand slipped down through the hair on his chest to his flat, hard belly. Her fingers stroked the ridges of smooth muscle, and moved still lower. Feeling the edge of the scar at his groin, she followed its roughness over his thigh. When her arm brushed against his manhood, lying soft against him, a surge of warmth spurted through her, making her move once more against his thigh. She squeezed her eyes shut at the unbelievable sensations it brought. Her breathing quickened, and her body continued its sensuous movements, knowing instinctively what to do.
She realized that she wanted to touch him, to feel the texture of his flesh, to try to understand why his body, with no effort from him, was making her feel the way she was. Slowly, tentatively, her heart pounding loudly in the silence of the chamber, her fingers closed around him, and she cradled him in her hand.
She did not realize that she was moving rhythmically against his thigh, deepening the pressure. But Graelam did. He did not move. When her fingers closed over him he thought he would jerk upward, but he held himself still. He lifted his thigh very slowly, and the pressing, upward motion brought a small cry from her lips. Never had she taken the initiative, and he smiled with pleasure, then grimaced in the next moment, not certain how long he could remain quietly under her touch.
In a moment her hand could no longer close over him. Her head flew up to his face, and she saw him regarding her intently.
“You are awake,” she said stupidly.
“Aye,” he said, forcing himself to hold still.
A soft moan came unbidden from her mouth, and she flushed, her eyes widening in bewilderment and embarrassment. “I . . . Your leg, it makes me feel so . . .”
He moved his thigh against her, feeling the growing moistness, and reveling in it. “You feel so what?”
She smiled, ducking her head and pressing it against his chest. “I do not think I can stop moving against you,” she whispered.
Her fingers fell away from her manhood, and he drew in a deep breath in disappointment. He thought vaguely that men were utterly physical, with no modesty over their bodies—born, it seemed, with the need to have a woman stroke them and caress them. Whilst women . . . The thought left him when Kassia moaned softly again, now kneading her fingers in his belly.
He gently lifted her onto her back. Her eyes flew to his face, but he only kissed her lightly on her mouth, teasing her with his tongue, but not forcing himself upon her. His hand cupped her breast, his thumb stroking over her nipple, and still she stared up at him, unmoving. He smiled down at her, knowing well what she needed. His fingers found her, and he sucked in his breath at the warmth and wetness of her. His stroking was rhythmic, his fingers pressing deeply, then lightly teasing her, making her wail in mounting frustration.
“Graelam,” she cried, clutching his shoulders frantically.
“Aye?” he asked softly, watching her face.
“I . . . I cannot bear it,” she gasped. Her hips lurched upward against his fingers, and he moved more quickly and surely against her.
He had pleasured women many times in this fashion, but never had he felt so . . . involved, as if all he felt depended upon her feelings. He felt the tenseness in her legs, and slowly thrust his tongue into her mouth. She gasped with the pleasure of it.
“Kassia,” he murmured, and the sound of her name on his lips sent her spinning into a realm of sensation that she had never imagined existed. She writhed against him, sharp cries bursting from her throat.
He watched every expression on her face, from the utter surprise in her eyes to the dazed, vague sheen when the deep pleasure tore through her, making her unaware of him, unaware of everything except the pounding, radiating sensations coming from beneath his fingers. At the height of her release, she cried out his name, and he moaned softly with the pleasure of it.
For a moment, she seemed senseless. He kissed her gently, feeding on her soft mouth, enjoying her small, jagged gasps of breath. To his immense delight, he felt her quiver anew when he cupped his hand over her, gently pressing his palm against her. She seemed hardly aware that she was moaning softly again, arching her back upward, moving jerkily against him. He brought her to pleasure again, and this time she clutched him to her, sobbing into his shoulder.
She was filled with passion, he thought, so utterly responsive to him. He wondered if he could bring her to pleasure yet again, but decided against it this time. She was unused to the feelings that were rampaging through her body. Soon, he thought, gathering her against him and stroking her back, he would test the depths of her passion.
He realized that he had not thought of his own need even once. You are becoming a half-wit, he told himself, yet he was smiling when he gently kissed her ear and pressed her against the length of his body. He did not fall asleep again, but Kassia did, a deep, sated sleep.
. . . whilst women, his thinking of many moments before continued, women were more complex. At least Kassia was. He realized that she had to trust him completely before her body could open to him. But what man cared about a woman’s trust? What man cared if a woman enjoyed coupling? He did, unfortunately, and he knew well that he could not retreat from her now.
24
Graelam smiled at the sound of Kassia’s bright laugh. No longer was she the pale, silent little ghost of the week before. She was full of energy, full of laughter, and full of desire for him. He had never before wanted to be with a woman, other than to couple with her, but everything seemed different now. He enjoyed her teasing, enjoyed watching her care for Wolffeton and all its people, enjoyed the softened look in her eyes whenever she met his gaze. Invariably when that happened, she blushed, and he would smile wickedly and whisper intimate words to her, causing her to blush even more furiously.