Page 54 of The Raven and the Rose
He had never believed her lies about not being a virgin, and he had no intention of being too rough with her once he began to make love to her. But he was enjoying taunting her now, drawing out the minutes to savor every second of this mating dance.
He tore the gauzy garment from her beautiful body and tossed her onto the bed. Her magnificent hair spread all about her like sable fire, and he drank in her nakedness for long minutes. He towered above her and slowly began to strip.
She would never get used to his nakedness; his size shocked her above all things. Again he taunted, “Surely you’re not afraid of me?”
Her nervous laughter rang out. “Afraid? That’s one weakness you’ll not lay at my door!” He watched her bemused as she straightened her arms and legs and lay very still upon the bed.
“I’m ready!” she said in a shaky but determined voice.
Roger drew back the bed curtains all the way to let in the warmth and light of the fire. Roseanna lay rigid. She kept her eyes scrupulously averted from her husband’s nakedness. He was transfixed by her sacrificial position; she looked for all the world like a vestal virgin.
She repeated, “I’m ready. Hurry up!”
Her innocence touched him, and in that moment he vowed never to hurt her. He slipped into the wide bed and pulled the covers over them. The firelight reflecting against the deep red curtains covered her with a rosy glow; he longed to see the bared flesh of her breasts and thighs bathed in its flickering light.
“Can’t you just get it over with?” she asked.
“No, my love,” he said softly. “You don’t understand how your body works. If I penetrated you now, there would be only pain and blood and tears. Let me initiate you into the mysteries of lovemaking. Kissing and caressing begin the arousal. Then with my fingers and my lips I have needs of your own that I can fulfill. My pleasure is heightened by yours. It is an allowable intimacy between husband and wife,” he assured her.
He slipped his arm around her tiny waist and drew her into his embrace. He kissed her for an hour—gentle kisses, soft kisses, short quick kisses, and long, slow, melting kisses. Yet never once did he try to part her lips with his tongue and intrude it into her soft, exciting mouth. She did not respond with kisses of her own, yet she did not pull away from him or resist the warm persuasiveness of his mouth.
Roseanna was lulled by his magnetic closeness and by the delicious warmth of his body. His gentle lovemaking had not threatened her in any way, and the wine she had consumed and the heat from the fire made her relax against him as his kisses went on and on.A hundred, a thousand,she thought dreamily, floating on the edge of slumber.
He took his arm away, and she murmured a low protest. Very gently he slipped the covers down from her body so he could see her; then he took her in his arms again and drew her silken flesh against his body’s hardness. She stiffened and tried to pull back, but he stroked her back. With his lips against her temple he murmured, “Don’t be afraid, Roseanna.” He kept it up until he had lulled her into security again. He resumed his kissing. When she sighed with pleasure, he took another risk.
He allowed the tip of his tongue to touch her lips. When she parted them slightly, he went deeper to play with her tongue and taste the honey of her mouth. Roseanna was stunned. Her body had curved into his as if it belonged there. She had to use all her willpower to stem the urge to lie in his arms and let him go on kissing her forever. Her hands came up to push him away but came in contact with the rigid muscles of his unyielding chest. The strength she felt beneath her hands made her go weak. As her fingers touched the crisp dark hair, she thrilled with the knowledge that he had the widest chest of any man alive.
With infinite tenderness his hands curved around her breasts to caress and stroke them. His touch clearly showed that her breasts were precious to him. Her hair brushed his cheek, and he buried his face in it, breathing deeply of its delicious fragrance until his very senses reeled. Holding Roseanna in his arms wildly assaulted all of his senses; he groaned with the sheer, deep, unbelievable pleasure she brought him. He had waited all his life for this woman. At thirty-two he had grown cynical, especially where women were concerned; then suddenly, unexpectedly, between one heartbeat and the next, he had fallen madly in love.
Her hair affected him so sensually, he promised himself that before many nights were over, he would wrap himself in it so they would be bound together by the silken bonds. His hands on her body were awakening new sensations for Roseanna—all new and strange yet deeply pleasurable.
She knew that what they were doing was wicked. He had stirred her wicked juices, and they flowed hot along all her limbs, sending tingling sensations across her body, weakening her resolve, sapping every ounce of her strength so that she could not resist him.
His hands went lower to her thighs, stroking the swelling curves of her buttocks. Then he gradually moved his hands until his fingers caressed the insides of her silky thighs. The intimacy brought her up from the bed.
“No, Ravenspur, you must not!” she cried huskily.
His powerful arms pressed her down upon her back. “Call me Roger,” he demanded, his lips hot against her throat.
Her mouth went dry. She could feel his hard shaft throbbing against her thigh. Its size terrified her as it probed, seeking the center of her womanhood. She expected him to pounce on her and was flooded with warm, weakening relief when instead he began to kiss her again. His lovemaking was leisurely and his kisses long, slow, and melting, so there was no sense of urgency.
She drew in her breath on a quick sob as his fingers touched between her legs. Lightly he played with her triangle of curls, and a deep tingling ache spread upward from between her legs, through her belly, and up toward her breasts. She touched her own breasts and found her nipples standing erect like pointed little spears.
She must be different from other women, she thought. She enjoyed these wicked, shameful things he was doing to her! She knew she should fight him, but she would also have to fight herself, and the effort was too overwhelming to contemplate. She wanted to lie in the magic circle of his arms and let him evoke one sensation after another until every inch of her skin was sensitive to his touch.
Now the palm of his hand was massaging the high mount above her pubic bone, and she could hear herself making little moaning noises as the swirling sensations reached ever higher in intensity. Roger slipped one finger inside her warm womanliness. His heart wanted to burst with the joy of what he felt. He had been certain that Roseanna had known no man before him, but now he felt the little barrier that gave him proof. He slipped his finger from her; his mouth moved over her swelling breasts and closed possessively upon the nipple.
Roseanna was panting and breathless, expecting, wanting, needing, she knew not what. Roger’s long-starved passion was unleashed now. He had crossed the high point of no return.
He was aflame and lusting as he opened her thighs and lowered his weight onto her. He thrust hard and deep, and she cried out from the unfamiliar pleasure-pain, wondering wildly if she would be able to bear it. His mouth took complete possession of hers, demanding it open to his tongue as her body had opened to his hard, manly boldness. She stopped thinking. She only wanted to feel the fullness of him inside her. As he began to thrust, there came a budding, a blooming as if some rare exotic blossom inside her had opened its petals wider to receive him. Unfurling, uncurling, she arched against him wantonly until suddenly the blossom inside her exploded and splintered into a million fragments. Slowly her senses returned to the point where she again realized where she was.
Roger lay pressed against her as if they were fused together; his face was buried in her hair. Something cataclysmic had happened. Were they dead? she wondered briefly. After what seemed an eternity, Roger raised his head to look deep into her eyes. “My love,” he whispered raggedly. She could feel the thundering of his heartbeat against her naked breasts.
When he rolled to her side, strange feelings enveloped her. She was relieved, yet she felt bereft that they were not still joined. He watched her warmly; her scent filled his nostrils, that elusive fragrance that had haunted him every night since he had met her.
She raised shameful eyes to his. “You made me behave wickedly, Ravenspur! Are you satisfied?”
His dark face was intense. “I’ll never be satisfied, Roseanna; I’ll never have enough of you.”
