Page 77 of Tempted
She moved the lantern closer, and its light spilled across his groin, making deep shadows in the dark pelt and highlighting his phallus, which rose up like a tree trunk from a forest. His eyes licked over her like a candle flame, scorching her mouth, the tips of her breasts, and her mons. All the while the ship rocked gently, lulling them with its rhythmic undulations
She forced her eyes away from his man’s center and examined the long gash she had stitched. He had healed amazingly well in such a short time, and she felt a pang of regret that he had not suffered more. Carefully she began to cut the silken threads and pick out the stitches, proud that her handiwork would leave no permanent scar.
With her hands upon him, his shaft began to buck. “Be still,” she murmured.
“I’m not making it do that—ye are,” he explained.
“That is a lie, Douglas. ‘Tis your own impure thoughts make you like a ram in rutting season.”
“My god, vixen, you kneel before me naked, tormenting my flesh until I know not if ye are angel or devil then accuse me of impure thoughts. They’re not impure, they’re profligate!”
“Degenerate Douglas,” she purred, the tip of her tongue between her teeth as she almost reached the end of the stitches.
He grabbed for her, dragging her between his thighs, his mouth taking hers prisoner, capturing the delicious tip of her tongue. The point of the dirk went in and spurt blood, but he was oblivious to anything save the fiery temptress who aroused him to madness. His hot mouth moved down her throat, kissing, sucking, licking. He lifted her body higher so that his mouth was on her delicate breasts, tasting, biting, stroking her silken curves with his tongue, curling it about the hard little fruits that thrust so impudently into the hot wetness of his mouth.
He tongued her dimpled navel and ran his lips down the gentle curve of her belly, making her cry out with the intensity of his mouth on her golden flesh. He turned with her and laid her back upon the berth, spreading her copper tresses across the pillows, then when he had gazed his fill, he knew he must taste her honeypot or go mad.
He threaded his fingers through the curls on her triangle of fire, and she arched into his hand, longing to be filled. He dipped his dark head and kissed the soft flesh on the inside of her knees, then ran his tongue along the silken insides of her thighs.
Tina’s hands could not resist his midnight black hair and the long tendrils curled about her fingers in thick spirals. His kisses lingered on her upper thighs, then suddenly she knew where his lips would go next. She cried her shocked protest, her cheeks aflame, her blushes reaching all the way to her breasts. Her cries changed to low moans as he opened the delicate folds between her legs with his thumbs and ran the tip of his tongue around her tiny bud. It became erect and swollen as he toyed with it, licking and tasting and caressing the very center of her womanhood.
Her fingers clutched his hair as the feelings and sensations intensified. The intimate thing he did to her was so exquisite, she could not tell him to stop. When she thought she could bear no more, when she felt her bud must surely explode into a dark blossom, he thrust his tongue inside her like a searing spear. She screamed his name, “Ram!”
It was the first time she’d said it, and it brought his mouth up to hers to taste it upon her lips. Tina tasted herself upon his lips, and it was the most intimate, private thing she had ever experienced. He braced himself above her, and she held her breath as she saw the stark, compelling, obsessive look upon his face. One second before he boldly plunged down, she saw his blood spurt onto her.
With the stormy urgency that was becoming familiar to her, he began to move his powerful body into hers. At first his blood ran onto her thigh, but as his thrusts became more powerful, it spurt upon her belly. To her great surprise it aroused her unbearably, and she knew the meaning of bloodlust. She arched her neck and reached her mouth up to his, kissing him deeply, all her body clinging to him, moving with him. Together they stepped off the precipice into infinite space. They knew not if it was the chant of life or the dance of death, and they cared not at all.
After a long time, when they could again think coherently, Tina said, “You are bleeding again—the sheets will look like a battlefield.”
“And so they are,” he murmured, drawing her close. “Ye only nicked me, it will heal by morning.”
“What if it infects?” she asked seriously.
“It won’t. Wounds heal well at sea and never infect.” He searched her face with wondering eyes. “Ye are concerned over my least scratch. It is most novel for me tae have someone who cares.”
Her conscience pricked her sorely. She pretended to care about his minor wounds so that he would leave himself vulnerable enough for her to inflict a mortal wound.
He gestured toward a decanter. “Fetch me the whisky.”
As she turned back to the bed with the decanter in her hand, she caught his look of unguarded vulnerability. He masked it immediately and reached for the liquor. She shook her head playfully. “Allow me—I enjoy inflicting pain upon you.”
She splashed the whisky into the open cut and he yelped in mock agony. She surveyed the bunk in dismay. The well-used sheets were covered in blood and whisky. “My God, we’ll have to burn the sheets before anyone sees them. They look and smell like we had a drunken orgy.”
“And what do ye know of orgies, my honeypot?” he asked, stretching out full length with his arms behind his head.
“Not half as much as you, I warrant,” she challenged, reaching out a finger to touch his male flesh. His shaft began to grow. She experienced the delicious feeling of her power over him. “‘Tis a most curious weapon. I’m abysmally ignorant, Douglas.”
“Call me Ram as ye did before,” he commanded.
“I never, ever called you that.”
“You did,” he insisted, “in the throes of passion.”
“Rubbish! I don’t recall saying it,” she lied.
He had her on her back in a flash, spreading her legs. “I recall exactly what it takes tae make ye cry Ram,” and he proceded to show her most graphically.
“Ram, Ram,” she cried, “not again!”
