“Mmmm. Very little.” She curled up in his arms feeling warm and contented. “We can sleep now.”
With a yawn and a sleepy rub of her cheek against the fiery curls adorning his chest, she proceeded to let sleep reclaim her. Although she had never been a lazy person, waking in the morning had never been one of her favorite chores. She had never found it quite so difficult before, however. But then, she mused with sleepy amusement, her sleep had never been as broken before. Sleep and wedding nights were not really compatible. The pleasure of snuggling up to Thayer made her even more loathe to leave the haven of a warm bed.
Thayer had almost joined her in sleep when the same group that had attended the bedding ceremony arrived. A maid followed, carrying a tray laden with a hearty meal. When he was unable to wake Gytha, Thayer had to endure many a subtle ribald remark. The ceremony was carried out while they were still abed. To his consternation, he blushed when, roused by the disturbance, Gytha murmured his name, then moved within his hold in a blatantly sensual manner. The women fled the room blushing and giggling. To Thayer’s annoyance and consternation, the men were slower to leave and far less reticent.
When they were gone at last, he struggled for a while to eat while still holding the sleeping Gytha. His movements as well as the smell of the food worked as he had hoped. Gytha began to wake up. She sat up slowly, blinking a few times and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. He thought her adorable.
“You had best eat,” he said, setting the tray on his lap, “ere I down it all.”
Smiling sleepily, she helped herself to some food. Shyness engulfed her, tying her tongue, and even his occasional soft smiles did little to ease it. When he set the emptied tray aside, she huddled down beneath the covers.
Lying on his side, Thayer lightly traced the color that stained her cheeks with his fingers. “So quiet this morn. No kiss for your husband?”
Tentatively, she slid her arms round his neck, then tugged his face down to hers. For a moment he was satisfied with the shy, sweet, yet untrained kiss she gave him. Then he deepened it, dipping his tongue into the honied recesses of her mouth. By the time he lifted his head he was breathless. He was glad to see that she suffered the same condition.
“’Tis morning,” she murmured as he shed his robe, a little disgusted at how timid she sounded.
Grinning, he tugged her robe off of her. “Aye, little one, and I know just the way to celebrate the sun’s rising.”
Despite her shyness, as well as a soreness she was increasingly aware of, she did not push him away when he lay down in her arms. “You do not prefer the dark?”
Resting on his forearms, he looked her lithe body over with ill-concealed hunger. “Nay, not when it hides such loveliness from my eyes.”
He traced and teased the rosy tip of one breast with his finger, savoring the way it tautened beneath his touch. One reason he was eager to possess her in the stark, revealing light of day was to reassure himself that her passion was no dream. He wanted to see her response to him, to see it without the deceiving half-light of candles distorting his assumptions.
After the hell Elizabeth had dragged him through, he had sworn never again to get involved with a woman both lovely and gentle-bred. Now he found himself wed to one. Worse, there was a treacherous softening within him, a response to her every smile. When he touched his lips to her breast, he felt a fire seize him. He greatly feared he was going to make a fool of himself again.
Gytha shuddered with delight when he drew the hard apex of her breast into his mouth, drawing on it slowly. His tongue curled around, and stroked the tip. She moved her hands over his large muscular frame with a greater surety. With an increasingly eager abandonment, she began to squirm beneath him and edged her hand upwards along the inside of his thighs.
A hoarse cry broke from Thayer when her hand reached his aching maleness. His body shook with the force of his pleasure. She gave a gasp of surprise, then withdrew her hand. He quickly grasped that retreating hand, tugging it back to his groin.
“Aye, sweet Gytha, touch me.” Desire tautened his voice, put a ferocity behind his caresses. “’Tis a pleasure near to pain. Aye, loving, aye. Stroke me. Curl those pretty fingers round me.”
Despite his efforts at restraint, his passion grew wild. Her touch stirred him past all caution. To his delight, she caught his fever.
Gytha found only pleasure in his increasing ferocity, even though his lovemaking bordered on assault. His possession of her was nearly painful, but she reveled in it. When her release came, she knew he was with her.
It was a while before Thayer retrieved his senses. Propping himself up on his forearms, he gazed down at the woman he was still intimately entwined with. He winced when he saw the red marks left by his rough loving. Yet, her touch as she moved her hands over his chest and the smile she gave him revealed no anger or fear—only sated lethargy.
Idly, Gytha flattened some of the flame curls on his chest with her hand, watching as they curled back up again. She moved her legs up and down his, enjoying the feel of their hair-roughened strength. The unity of their bodies was something she savored.
“’Tis wondrous, is it not?”
“Wondrous?” He was not sure what “it” she referred to.
“We are so different, yet we fit together so perfectly.”
“Aye, we do.” Tracing the remnants of his lovemaking upon her breasts, he asked, “Did I hurt you?”
“Nay.” She gave him an impish look. “I begin to wonder if t’was not the men you fight in battle who dubbed you the Red Devil. Mayhaps t’was the women whose beds you have shared.”
“Witch.” He gave her a soft kiss. “You set me aflame, sweet Gytha. I fear I lose control.”
“I can understand that.”
“Can you now.”
“Aye, ’tis no lady I am at such a time.”
