“Merryn! Damn you, woman, come back here. It’s dark, there are wild animals and—”
Of course she couldn’t hear him. What was wrong with him? He was harder than the wall of the cave he’d been leaning against. He was pounding with need—no, he should be honest about it, he was drowning in his own lust, and it was pushing him and he knew he
had to have her, knew that soon she would be his wife and so it wouldn’t matter if he impregnated her. Wouldn’t matter, wouldn’t—God would surely forgive him.
He yelled her name over and over as he chased after her. He saw her running toward Fearless, who was looking at her, shaking his great head. No, she wouldn’t steal his horse, would she?
He grabbed her leg just as she managed to swing up onto Fearless’s broad back.
He jerked her hard and she fell against him. He held her close. Oh, God, it wasn’t the first time he’d held her, felt her breasts against him, but now it was more. He wanted those breasts of hers naked, he wanted her flesh against his mouth. He wanted her long legs pressed against his, and he could feel every bit of her. He was breathing so hard he almost couldn’t speak.
She was hitting him, his chest, his shoulders, and now she smacked her fist on his jaw. She didn’t have any leverage, so it didn’t hurt much. Not like those two slaps from the black hole. Actually, he didn’t notice. Just the feel of her, her breath coming in gasps, fanning his face, and it was simply too much.
He finally realized that she was afraid of him. He’d shocked her, frightened her with his talk. He had to do something, he couldn’t just throw her to the ground and take her. He grabbed her shoulders, shook her until her head fell back. He wanted to kiss that mouth of hers, but he yelled, “What is the matter with you? You will be my wife. There is nothing wrong with lying with me. It matters not that a priest hasn’t yet blessed us. It will happen, Merryn. Stop fighting me. Don’t be afraid. You’re a strong girl, you shouldn’t be afraid of anything. I just want to take you, surely you want that too, don’t you? Can’t you see how bad it is?”
“How bad what is?” she shouted in his face and slammed her fists against his chest.
Her words made no sense at all. He’d said his piece, and now it was time for him to take her. “Tell me you’re not afraid anymore. Tell me you want me.”
He was hard against her belly. He knew she could feel him clearly, the shape of him, the size of him, and he knew it scared her. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered except getting between her legs. Now.
“Tell me.”
She pressed her palms against the sides of his head, harder, until she got his attention, at least a bit of his attention. “Listen to me. You will be my husband for as long as I live, if the curse doesn’t strike you down. Ah, that stupid, evil curse.”
He kissed her. Merryn felt something really quite nice settling low in her belly. She cradled his face between her hands and kissed him back. The feelings were bolting through her belly again, spreading through her insides up into her breasts, and surely that was strange. And now she was having trouble breathing. Just because she felt his sex against her, shoving against her? Now his hands were on her hips and he was cupping her, raising her and pushing himself against her, and he didn’t stop. And his kisses, she never wanted him to stop kissing her. His tongue pressed against her lips and she parted them. Her brain nearly stopped when his tongue touched hers.
She yelled, then slammed her mouth back against his for more. By all of Saint Jude’s finger bones, it was too much, and yet not enough, not nearly enough. She didn’t know what was happening, but she didn’t want it to stop. In the small part of her brain that was still thinking, she realized she knew what men and women did to each other, and she’d always thought it was ridiculous, horribly embarrassing, surely an abomination to the woman. That part of him was harder than it had been just the moment before, and it was pushing against her, and she felt his length. He closed his arms around her and pulled her close, pressed her so tightly against him she was almost part of him. She wanted to get closer. It was overwhelming, this need to push and shove herself against him. And touch him. She wanted to touch him, even that part of him that was molding against her. She felt the pounding of his heart and it seemed to connect to her own heart and now she was panting and breathing hard, wanting, wanting.
“This is a wonderful thing,” she said just before his mouth closed over hers again and he not only swallowed her words but took what they were deep inside him. She came up onto her toes, trying to get closer to him, yanking at his hair to bring his mouth down.
“Forget the curse,” she said, and yelled again.
Bishop was pounding with lust. Dear God, her mouth, her breasts, all of her. It was too late. Nothing else mattered. He would have her, right now. He jerked her feet off the ground and carried her back into the cave, her arms around his neck, his mouth on hers. He stumbled over a rock and nearly went down. Since he was swimming in lust, it wouldn’t have mattered. She was squirming against him. He couldn’t stop kissing her, nor, it seemed, could she stop kissing him. She was his and now he would have her. She would be his wife.
He realized just before he came down over her, in some sane corner of his brain, that despite four husbands, she was innocent, she was a virgin, but even though he knew it, recognized what that meant, it simply made no difference. He had to have her, right now, not an instant from now. She didn’t yell—this time she moaned.
He pressed her down upon her back and jerked her gown up. He saw a stretch of white legs, shoved her shift out of the way and saw the red curls that covered her woman’s mound. Oh, God. He nearly swallowed his tongue.
“You’re mine,” he said, freed himself of his trousers and came over her.
“Bishop?”
Her voice was a thread of a sound. He heard uncertainty in her voice. He forced his eyes away from her belly and looked into her eyes. “I don’t want you to be afraid. I’ll try to slow down, but I think it’s too late, Merryn. I’m sorry.” He bent her legs, spread them wide. He was hard and ready and he wanted his sex shoving inside her.
He sucked in his breath when suddenly she hit his elbows with the sides of her hands and he collapsed on top of her. He was too stunned to move. Then she grabbed his head, fisting her hands in his hair, and brought him down to her. She kissed any part of him she could reach—his ear, his jaw, the tip of his nose, his chin. “I’m not afraid now. Do you hear me?” He felt her naked against him, felt her heat or maybe it was his or both of theirs, and he wanted to explode, it was that close. No, he had to get inside of her first, then he could die. He had to—
“You’re not afraid?”
“No,” she whispered in his ear.
“Naked,” he said into her mouth. “You’re naked and I want to come inside you, Merryn. Now. I must.”
He tried to rear up again between her legs so he could come into her, but she came up with him, her arms wound around his neck, holding as tightly as she could. He couldn’t free himself. She was kissing him again, all over his face.
When his tongue was in her mouth, he was saying, “Your hair is as red as the hair on your head. I can feel you against me, and it’s making me—I’ve got to touch you, taste you—”
She was whimpering, not understanding, but she knew what she wanted—his tongue in her mouth, his warm breath fanning her hot flesh. And his heat—she wanted all that wondrous heat on her, covering her, inside her. His hands, they seemed to be everywhere and what parts of her they touched made her frantic. She wasn’t about to let him go. She couldn’t get enough of his mouth, of his breath warming her to the soles of her leather slippers, one falling off her foot.