Gently he parted her thighs and settled between them. Radulf sighed with contentment, as if this was where he had wanted to be all his life.
“Are you ready for me?” His voice seared her.
Lily had a frightening yet comforting sense of great strength held in check, awaiting her answer.
But what did he mean? She had not understood women, like men, could be prepared for the act of mating. She had believed it was a woman’s duty to endure, as she had endured Vorgen. Now, with her body hot and aching, she knew better.
She gasped, involuntarily lifting her hips against him, her body giving him her answer without words.
He entered her with a single deep thrust—he was so big, he had always found swiftness the best way. Time enough once he was inside to gentle matters. In a haze of pleasure he heard her soft scream, felt her body convulsing. There was an exquisitely tight, almost untried resistance. He checked, wishing he had not been so hasty. She was young; he had not realized she had been so long a widow.
But Lily was more than ready, her discomfort already fading. She moaned as her body stretched to take all of him, welcoming him. Radulf’s mouth closed on hers, his tongue diverting her while she adjusted to his size. His skin, beneath her palms, was as hot as fever.
“Are you ready for me, lady?” He asked it again, his breath against her ear making her shiver, and this time she understood his meaning.
“I am,” she panted, and then gasped as he began to move.
Long, slow thrusts at first, then quickly increasing in speed and strength, teaching her with his hands and body to match his rhythm. Lily learned quickly, eager to be the mistress of her own pleasure.
And then Radulf began to lose his control. His mighty arms shook, and he bent to suck on her breasts, groan her name. It didn’t matter. Lily was more than willing to follow him, wherever he was taking her.
In some far corner of his mind, where his wits were residing, Radulf remembered to see to Lily’s pleasure before he took his own. He slid his hand down between their slippery bodies, stroking firmly on that swollen nub. She went rigid with surprise—he almost laughed aloud at the amazement in her gray eyes—and then she was convulsing and crying out as if she had never reached that peak before. She was still gasping and clinging to him as he thrust deeply into her, once, twice, and with a harsh groan, followed her over the mountain.
Lily felt as if her soul had left her body and drifted away to some brighter place. She lay snug and warm in Radulf’s arms, her shoulder to his chest, her hip against his belly. What had passed between them was beyond words. She only knew that she had made a wondrous discovery, one she had every intention of revisiting with Radulf as soon and as often as possible.
Lily smiled at the pledge and opened her eyes.
Radulf was looking down at her, his warrior’s face alert and watchful. Again the directness of his gaze startled her, but only momentarily, and then she reached up and stroked his cheek, gently tracing the puckered skin of the old scar.
“How came you by this, my lord?” she whispered.
He shuddered, as if her touch were hurting him, but when she, remembering again Vorgen’s cruel taunts, would have withdrawn, he turned his face and gently nibbled at her fingers. “A fight with a brave man,” he murmured. “I deserved what he gave me, and much more.” He began to kiss her palm, his mouth hot and hungry.
Lily watched him, holding her breath. This was Radulf, her great enemy, the man she had been fleeing. This was Radulf, the terror of the north.
And he was hers.
A great relief filled her, and with it an incredible tenderness for the man beside her. He was hers, and Lily had learned to fiercely protect what belonged to her, be it flesh and blood or sticks and mortar.
She lifted herself on her elbow, stretching to meet his lips with her own. Radulf’s tongue delved into her mouth. His hand still clasped hers, and now he drew it down to his groin. She stiffened, trying to pull back, but he laughed and held her tighter. His manhood was already hard again, and he seemed proud of the fact. “My lord,” she gasped, as he rolled her over onto her back, straddling her. He raised her hands above her head, pinning them there with a satisfied smile, so that she was powerless to stop his kisses even had she wanted to.
She didn’t.
“I feel besieged,” she whispered.
He laughed arrogantly. “The castles I besiege always surrender to me. They open their gates”—he slid his thighs between hers, opening them—“and surrender.” His manhood prodded her entrance. “Do you open to me, lady?” he teased huskily. “Do you surrender yourself into my care?”
And Lily, afire again, could only gasp her assent.
It was not until they had caught their breaths once more that Radulf moved to pull the covers over them both. Lily felt him tense. The warm tenderness turned chill. He turned his dark eyes on her, and although they were blank and unreadable, Lily sensed his growing anger. She was reminded with a sharp, prickling awareness that although Radulf was her lover, he was still Radulf.
“Lady, you have lied to me.” His voice was as quiet as an assassin.
Lily stared back at him, gray eyes huge, wondering what he had discovered, and how.
His soft voice went on. “You told me you were married and that your husband was dead.”
“I was married, and my husband is dead,” she managed, her throat dry.
