Morrigan's Cross
Page 53

He molded the shape of her with his hands, steeped himself in it. She found his mouth again, avidly. He heard the shudder of her breath as she stepped back. The candlelight washed over her as she reached up, began to unbutton her shirt.
She wore something white and lacy beneath it that seemed to hold her br**sts like an offering. There was more white lace when her pants slid down her hips, an alluring triangle that rode low on her belly, high on her legs.
“Women are the canniest creatures,” he mused out loud, and reached out to skim a fingertip over the lace. When she trembled, he smiled. “I like these clothes. Are you always wearing these under the others?”
“No. It depends on my mood.”
“I like this mood.” He took his thumbs, brushed them up over the lace on her br**sts.
Her head fell back. “Oh God.”
“That pleasures you. What of this?” He did the same with the lace that sat snug below her belly, and watched the arousal slide over her face.
Soft skin, delicate and smooth. But there was muscle under it. Fascinating. “Just let me touch. Your body is beautiful. Just let me touch.”
She reached back, gripped the bedpost. “Help yourself.”
His fingers skimmed over her, made her skin quiver. Then pressed and made her moan. She could feel her own bones going to liquid, and her muscles to putty as he explored her. She gave herself to it, to the slow, enervating pleasure that was both triumph and surrender.
“Is this the fastener then?”
She opened heavy eyes as he fiddled with the front hook of her bra. But when she started to undo it, he brushed her hands aside.
“I’ll figure it out on my own in a minute. Ah yes, there it is.” As he unhooked it, her br**sts spilled out and into his hands. “Clever. Beautiful.” He lowered his head to them, tasted soft, warm flesh.
He wanted to savor; he wanted to rush.
“And the other part? Where is the fastener?” He ran his hands down her.
“They don’t—” And over her. Her breath caught, a half cry as her fingers dug into his shoulders.
“Aye, look at me. Just like that.” He skimmed his hands over the lace, under it. “Glenna Ward, who is mine tonight.”
And she came where she stood, her body exploding and her eyes trapped by his.
Her head went limp on his shoulder as she shuddered, shuddered. “I want you on me, I want you in me.” She dragged at the sweatshirt he wore, drawing it up and away. Now she found muscle and flesh with her hands, with her lips. Now the power seeped back into her as she pulled him with her onto the bed.
“Inside me. Inside me.”
Her mouth crushed hungrily to his, hips arching and offering. He fought with the rest of his clothes, struggled to devour more of her as the heat pumped off them both.
When he plunged into her, the fire roared, and the candle flames shot up like arrows.
Passion and power whipped through them, spurring them on toward madness. Still she locked herself around him, stared at him even as tears glazed her eyes.
A wind stirred her hair, bright as fire against the bed. He felt her gather beneath him, tighten like a bow. When the light burst through him, he could only breathe her name.
She felt alight, as if whatever they had ignited between them burned still. She wondered she didn’t see beams of its gilded light shooting out of her fingertips.
In the hearth, the fire had settled down to a quiet simmer; another afterglow. But the heat that had bloomed from it, and from them, dewed her skin. Even now her heart moved at a gallop.
His head rested there, on her heart, and her hand on his head.
“Have you ever... ”
His lips brushed her breast, lightly. “No.”
She combed her fingers through his hair. “Neither have I. Maybe it was because it was the first time, or because some of what we made earlier was still stored up.”
We’re stronger together. Her own words echoed in her mind.
“Where do we go from here?”
When he lifted his head, she shook hers. “An expression,” she explained. “And it doesn’t matter now. Your bruises are gone.”
“I know. Thank you.”
“I don’t know that I did it.”
“You did. You touched my face when we joined.” He took her hand, brought it to his lips. “There’s magic in your hands, and in your heart. And still your eyes are troubled.”
“Just tired.”
“Do you want me to leave you?”
“No, I don’t.” And wasn’t that the problem? “I want you to stay.”
“Here then.” He shifted, bringing her with him, tucking up sheet and blanket. “I have a question.”
“Mmm.”
“You have a brand, here.” He traced his fingers over the small of her back. “A pentagram. Are witches marked so in this time?”
“No. It’s a tattoo—my choice. I wanted to wear a symbol of what I am, even when I was skyclad.”
“Ah. I mean no disrespect to your purpose, or your symbol, but I found it... alluring.”
She smiled to herself. “Good. Then it performed its secondary purpose.”
“I feel whole again,” he said. “I feel myself again.”
“So do I.”
But tired, he thought. He could hear it in her voice. “We’ll sleep awhile.”
She tilted her head up so their eyes met. “You said when you took me to bed you wouldn’t give me any sleep.”
“This once.”
She rested her head on his shoulder, but didn’t close her eyes, even when he dimmed the candles. “Hoyt. Whatever happens, this was precious.”
“For me as well. And for the first time, Glenna, I believe not only that we must win, but that we can. I believe that because you’re with me.”
Now she closed her eyes for just a moment, on the pang just under her heart. He spoke of war, she thought. And she’d spoken of love.
She woke to rain, and his warmth. Glenna lay, listening to the patter, absorbing the good, natural feel of a man’s body beside hers.
She’d had to lecture herself during the night. What she had with Hoyt was a gift, one that should be treasured and appreciated. There was no point in cursing because it wasn’t enough.
And what good did it do to question why it had happened? To wonder if whatever was driving them to the battleground had brought them together, had ignited that passion and need, and yes, love, because they were stronger with it?