This, however, was something different. He took his time, savoring the taste of her, breathing in the small sounds she made as if they alone could give him life. She reached for him, but this was not the hot need from just that morning; rather, her hands trailed over his shoulders, his arms, his chest, as if she would memorize him.
Their tongues twined, their breaths mingling. And then her hands were unbuttoning the flap of his fall front breeches.
“Ash, I need you,” she whispered into his mouth.
He gasped, his body bursting into flames as a sudden urgency flared between them. He rolled onto his back, the better to protect her from the hard ground, and pulled her atop him. After only a moment’s hesitation she came eagerly, straddling him, hiking her skirts up to her waist. And then she freed him, grasping his member, positioning him at her entrance, and slid down.
She was heaven. He arched his head back as the feel of her over and around him overwhelmed his senses.
“My God, Bronwyn,” he rasped, his hands finding her thighs, the feel of her garters driving him nearly wild. She remained still, her hands planted on his chest, her thighs trembling on either side of his waist. In a haze he realized she might be uncertain what to do and would need instruction.
But one look at her face and he knew that was not it at all. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed, mouth open in a small oval, a mirror of the same overwhelming ecstasy that was quickly taking over him. And then she began to move, hesitantly at first, then more certain, the rhythm of her hips driving him half out of his mind. Everything in him urged a quick release, to grasp her about the waist and pump into her until he was spent.
But no, he did not want to miss a bit of this exquisite moment. He closed his eyes, savoring each rise and fall of her body over his, the achingly beautiful slide of flesh on flesh. But, more than that, he savored the connection between them. It was as if she was burying herself inside him, straight to his soul.
Suddenly her movements quickened, her breath coming faster and more ragged. Gasping, he opened his eyes, desperate to see her in her release. The beauty of her features, transformed as she reached the pinnacle, sent him over the edge. As her muscles squeezed about him, he gripped her hips and thrust up into her, his own climax taking him over, their cries of completion ringing across the ancient waters of the Elven Pools.
***
Ash didn’t realize he had fallen asleep until he opened his eyes to find that the sun had passed its zenith and was now beginning its leisurely descent toward the horizon. The air around the Elven Pools was still pleasantly warm, the chirp of birds and the lazy call of insects humming in the air, mingling with the melodic sound of splashing water to create a kind of lullaby. He yawned, his body deliciously sated, more relaxed than he could ever recall being. It was no wonder he had drifted off.
He lurched upright, a kind of panic taking over him. Bronwyn. Where the devil was she? Yet was there any reason to panic? It wasn’t as if she couldn’t do as she pleased. And he could certainly find his own way back to Caulnedy. She had not abandoned him, for goodness’ sake.
Yet when he scanned the landscape and spied her not far away, sitting cross-legged beside the pool, bent industriously over a notebook, the relief that rushed through him was strong enough to make him light-headed.
She must have heard him stir, for she suddenly looked up. “Oh, hello. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
Shaken by his peculiar reaction, he pointedly ignored it and shifted so he could peer over her shoulder at her notebook. “What is that you’re doing?”
She smiled shyly, holding the book up for his inspection. “I thought of a way to revise my scientific paper on that new subspecies of tansy beetle and wanted to get it down before I forgot.”
He peered at the open notebook, his eyes scanning over the jumble of words, most of which he could not decipher or understand until they came to rest on a small, incredibly detailed sketch in the corner.
“Bronwyn,” he murmured, more than a bit awed, “that is beautiful.”
Her cheeks burned red and she snapped the book closed. “Nonsense,” she mumbled, reaching over to tuck the book into the bag she had brought with her.
He stopped her with a hand on her arm, then gently took the book from her and began to flip through the pages. Illustration after illustration leapt up at him, each one more detailed and lifelike than the last, and each accompanied by carefully listed instructions on color, movement, habitat. He had known she was passionate about entomology. But he had not fully understood it until now.
“You are brilliant,” he said in awe.
“Nonsense,” she replied again, though this time the word was barely a whisper.
He recalled then what she had said the day before, when he had come upon her with the tansy beetles in the meadow. Her parents had destroyed her work? They’d had the gall to look upon such talent and strip her of every means she had to put her work out in the world? What monsters were they to do such a thing?
Well, he would not allow her to squander her talents. He glanced at her. “When will you send in your paper to the Royal Society?”
She shrugged, quickly busying herself in packing up their things. “Eventually,” she replied evasively. “It is not yet up to the caliber of work they publish. If I can refine my paper, it might be worthy of consideration.” Her lips twisted. “And I shall need to create new finished illustrations, of course; the ones I had managed to complete are gone now, along with the rest of my things.”
Again that fury at what she had been forced to endure at the hands of her parents. But now was not the time. He looked back to Bronwyn’s illustrations, impressive even in this rough state, and the carefully penned notations, and he knew without a doubt that her decision to delay sending in her work was only partly due to the loss of her equipment and supplies. No, the main reason for her hesitation had to do with her own feelings of self-worth. Or, rather, lack of them.
“I am not a naturalist, of course,” he murmured. “But I think they would be foolish to refuse you. You have an incredible talent.”
To his shock, the look she sent his way was tight with hurt. “You needn’t patronize me.”
He blinked at the venom in her voice. “I assure you, I am not patronizing you.”
But she shook her head furiously. “You flipped through a single notebook. You cannot possibly know if my work is worthy of publication.” And then, in a voice so quiet he nearly didn’t hear it, “I don’t like to be lied to, Ash. I am not a fool.”