Page 11 of The Lyon and the Lamb

This room must be right in the middle of the building, as there was no light at all. But he didn’t need to think about that. The dream—or the reality—was about to get even better. As he made his way toward where he assumed the bed must be, a delightful aroma piqued his senses.

As he padded across the floor, his bare feet sank into the deep-piled carpet until his knees met a barrier of wood—the bed. He could hear the woman’s rapid breathing—she sounded anxious. This ought to be a time for speech, for discussion, and reassurance. But he was a man of his word, and he’d promised to remain silent. If he was going through with this, his body must do the talking.

Locating the edge of the bed, he perched on it and ran his hand over the coverlet. She was already underneath, which presumably meant he’d missed out on the pleasure of undressing her. Why? What did she have to hide?

Nothing really mattered, though, did it, in this sensuous dream which had so much to offer? Climbing in beside his hidden companion, he drew the sheet over them both and reached for her.

By Jove—not even a nightgown! She was gloriously, unbelievably, naked. How did one begin when such a delicious treat was, as it were, handed to one on a plate? Especially when words were not permitted. He ought to begin slowly, and make sure to enjoy every moment.

Moving his hand to where he expected her face to be, he located and caressed her cheek, then pushed his hands into her loosened hair. It felt rich, heavy, and soft, and he was seized by the urge to bury his face in it. His manhood twitched in anticipation—but he must proceed with caution. First, he needed to make her happy. He could worry about himself later.

Brushing his thumb across her cheek, he heard her soft intake of breath and hoped it was pleasure rather than dislike. He moved his thumb down to her lips and traced their rich fullness, enjoying the delicate bow of her upper lip. She wasn’t smiling, alas—was this nothing more than a business transaction for her? Now that he had committed himself, he intended to make it so much more.

He kissed her gently, teasingly. No response. Was this woman not used to being kissed? He touched his mouth to hers again and nuzzled behind her ear. A delicious scent thrilled his senses. It was nothing he recognized—not rose, not lilac, nor lavender. There was something musky and exotic about it.

Perhaps his wife-to-be was exotic too. The idea fired his blood. Warming to his work, he licked the rim of her ear, then nibbled gently on the lobe, and tugged at it with his teeth.

She exhaled the briefest of sighs—which he took to be a good sign. Was she as aware of the places where their naked flesh met as he was? She didn’t shy away from him, so he edged closer, increasing the contact. Gods! Was that the press of a breast against his chest? It was firm but unbelievably soft. Surely, he was the luckiest of men!

He went to brush her lips again and met the tip of her nose. Smiling, he chuckled, then kissed her nose deliberately, and then her cheek, her temple, and finally, her mouth again. His free hand tangled in her hair, maintaining a rhythmic stroking to soothe her into accepting him.

Curse the fact that he was sworn to silence! He couldn’t ask her what she wanted, or what she would permit. Making love to a stranger in the darkness was more intense than he could ever have imagined, and he needed all his concentration. He was having to battle the soporific laziness that kept threatening to steal over him, the result of whatever he’d unwittingly drunk.

He let out a soft sigh, then sought the mystery woman’s mouth again. This time, there was some movement, and he increased the pressure. How could he make her kiss him back? He let out a soft moan of pleasure, as if her lips were the most wonderful thing he’d ever tasted, and thought her mouth smiled against his.

He turned his attention to her ear again and was relieved when she turned her head a little, giving him more access to her neck. Distracting her with a series of nibbled kisses down toward her shoulder, he moved his hand to her waist, and let it rest there, his fingers pressing gently against her side—not demanding, just comforting. As soon as his lips reached her shoulder, he moved back up to her ear again and repeated the process.

She sighed and shifted against him.

He stroked her hip, gently, and then harder. Perhaps this time, when he sought her mouth, she would kiss him back. Yes! She was responding, moving her lips over his as if exploring them. How much experience had this damsel had? Was she a virgin, or an experienced widow? Or even an inexperienced one.

He could feel his interest piquing, his manhood rising in anticipation.

But it was too soon—far too soon. He pulled away a little but kept his mouth firmly on hers. How he longed to feel her beneath him, the full length of their bodies touching! What must he do to make her feel the same?

She seemed to be distracted by his kiss—her mouth was opening now, and her tongue darted out to meet his. He deepened the kiss, his hand stroking lightly across her breast, stalling briefly against her erect nipple, before moving to her shoulder again.

The way she lay rigid on the bed, like some wooden doll, perturbed him. She responded to him, yet she didn’t hold him. He was used to more participation on the woman’s part. He touched her breast again, and caressed it tenderly, then stroked her face. Her skin was smooth, and he explored her face with a light, deft touch. Yes, she was younger than he’d expected, but how young, he couldn’t tell. Her nose felt exactly the size that a nose should be. Her mouth was exactly the right shape, her ears had the correct curve, and her eyes . . . if only there were light, so he could see the color of her eyes! He kissed her eyelids in a loving salute, before returning to her lips again.

Maybe it was time to tease her. Pulling back, he let the cool air flow between their bodies. She’d miss his warmth and want him back. After a moment’s stillness, her hand touched his elbow, and awareness shot through him. The joy of her response, the power of that touch! There were other places he needed her touch, but that would, alas, have to wait. He was the master here—he had to control both himself and her. For the time being.

He rolled her onto her side, facing him. Much better—this felt more like it. He brought her hand to his lips in a tender salute, then kissed each one of her fingertips. Her little fingers felt slightly crooked and he adored the fact that she wasn’t perfect—because perfect would have been dull.

She moved against him then, her interest awakened. He followed another slow, languorous kiss with what must have seemed like a chance touch on her breast and her nipple. Then he drew her close, and closer still, until the whole, hard length of him pressed against her.

A shudder ran through her—desire, he hoped. He stroked her back, feeling and appreciating every expanse, every curve until the goosebumps rose on her flesh, and her nipples hardened against his chest.

Kissing her again, his hand trailed across the dip of her waist and the swell of her bottom. She was a fresh peach, sensuous and luscious, and he longed to taste her.

When her hips pushed against his, he knew a moment of pure, masculine triumph. He rolled her onto her back again, and she went willingly, but still, her hands did no exploration of their own. He pushed aside his disappointment—there would be plenty of time in their life together for him to teach her what she might do to please him, and in doing so, please herself.

Leo discovered that he was grinning like an idiot—just as well it was dark! This was the best thing that happened to him in years—he couldn’t remember when he’d last felt so happy. He’d vowed to be celibate after the loss of Elinora, thinking it a fitting sacrifice not to tarnish her memory by allowing any other woman into his heart.

Ah, Elinora. He paused and hung his head. What would she have thought of this high-stakes gamble? She’d tell him to go straight out and sober up, have a cold bath and stop being a fool.

He was being a fool! Who knew what manner of trap he’d stumbled into? If only he could clear his head—but his blood was thundering around his body in a fresh onslaught of lust, and it was impossible to think straight.

It was at that moment when his resolve hung in the balance that his lover’s hands reached for him and tugged gently at his hair. She wanted another kiss. Well, he was a gentleman, and who was he to refuse a lady’s request? He lowered himself down to her, allowing her to feel some of his weight, and helped himself to her mouth again, driving in more deeply, possessing her more thoroughly. Finally, wonderfully, she began to move beneath him, that almost-unconscious and inviting pushing of the hips.