In the cool dark of night, many hours later, Alissende lay on her side, sleepless within the gauzy curtains of their bed. She tried to keep from rolling onto her back to look at Damien, tried to pretend that he wasn’t stretched out a mere arm’s length behind her. If she imagined hard enough, she could almost sense his warmth soaking into the thin coverlet that was spread atop them. She could feel his strong hands slipping up her back in a gentle caress and then sliding forward at her waist to rest, palm splayed, warmly against her belly.
Almost…
Ah, but she ached to feel Damien, to hold him…to love him again.
She’d felt the sharpness of that yearning more than ever tonight, when he’d placed his pride in her hands and agreed to undertake lessons in reading and writing with her. She had not been certain he would do it. When she’d seen his expression upon entering the chamber, she’d wondered if he would simply turn around and leave again. But he had risen to her challenge—an offer she’d made him in a far different manner from what he’d tendered to her, with his erotic teasing—but perhaps for not so very different reasons.
Whether he wanted to admit it or nay, Damien still felt the pull of the bond they had once known with each other. She’d realized it from their first night together at Glenheim, and his latest teasing games with her had only revealed that truth more fully.
What she’d had to come to terms with herself, though, was how much the knowledge that she still wantedhim,regardless of the painful stipulations he had placed upon the term of their agreement together or her determination to keep her heart her own, free from any man. Her desire for him tempted her, aching sweetly, even though she knew in all logic that emotion was futile. He was driven by darker demons than she would ever know, and he’d abandoned his faith in God, risking his immortal soul with such a blatant rejection. To open herself up to him again in body or soul would be to blind herself to those immutable truths, would it not?
But she wanted him still, wrong as it was.
That overwhelming realization had struck her as she’d watched him struggle with the unfamiliar skills she’d begun teaching him tonight. His brow had been furrowed with concentration, his long, elegant fingers curved around the quill as he’d labored to scratch out the same loops and lines she’d demonstrated on the vellum. A lock of his dark gold hair had fallen onto his brow as he’d bent over the page, but his focus had been so strong that he had not appeared to notice.
She had. It had been all she’d been able to do not to reach out and brush it back. To proceed, then, with many other far more wanton things. She had wanted to touch him as badly as she’d ever wanted anything in her life. But she had forced herself to keep her hand clenched at her side.
In truth, when the lesson was complete, it had almost been a relief, and not because he had not been an apt student—just the opposite, in fact. Nay, it had been because at least in the shelter of their bed, she could turn to her side and avoid the temptation of looking at him. She could pretend to sleep and know that she need not torment herself with the erotically charged interplay of conversation they seemed to share whenever they were together.
It was driving her slowly mad.
She felt like she might jump out of her own skin, so fiercely did she desire him. Tonight, when her torment was making her feel more desperate than ever before, she was actually considering rising, dressing, and making her way in the dark to the chapel for some much needed prayer and reflection.
It must be close to dawn. Making her way to the village church this early might draw attention from a few meddlesome gossips, but it was not so strange that she might not be able to—
Alissende froze. For a moment she thought that she had finally lost her hold on reality. Either that or else she had somehow fallen asleep and was dreaming. There could be no other answer for it.
Damien was touching her.
His hand was beneath the coverlet and stroking up the length of her back. Her naked back, since as was customary, she wore naught to bed, even though in their years apart Damien had taken to wearing at least his braies and sometimes his shirt as well.
His caress was smooth and deliberate. His fingers paused just below her shoulders, the tips kneading and stroking in a pattern that eased all the stiffness from tension and the aching left behind from the demands of her training, in a way that felt so, so wonderful. She closed her eyes and instinctively stretched into his touch, too surprised and overwhelmed to do aught else. Tingles of pleasure swept over her back and down her arms, traveling to the front of her, and she felt her nipples tightening to aching buds in response.
Merciful heaven…
Was he asleep? If he was aware of what he was doing, then why was he doing it? Perhaps she should—
She made a sound deep in her throat, moaning softly, all rational thought fleeing as his palm swept forward to encircle her breast, his hand curving over her there with practiced ease. It was as if the intervening years had never come between them, and she was being swept back in time, to the countless, blissful moments of lovemaking they had shared together.
It was too much. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she started to roll to her back, to awaken him if indeed he was doing this to her in the throes of some passionate dream. But then with another sensual movement, he flicked his thumb expertly over her hardened nipple, making her gasp again and sending a rush of molten heat from that aching point down to the now lightly throbbing place between her legs.
Her mind was awhirl, her body consumed with the delicious sensations he unleashed in her. As if with uncanny awareness of what she needed, what she desired most of all, he took several tantalizing moments in stroking his palm in smooth descent down her ribs and over her belly…culminating that one, long caress by gently cupping the lightly-furred curve of her sex.
She gasped aloud, then, arching into his hand almost against her will as he slid one finger between the silky folds of flesh, rubbing over the swollen nub at the apex and making her see stars from the pleasure of it.
“Damien, please, you must awa—” she began to say, before breaking off into a sound that was a soft cry and a moan blended together, when he gave a gentle tug to roll her onto her back, and that probing finger found its mark more easily. Her legs parted almost against her will, as with a swiftness that stole her breath, he used the wider, blunt tips of two fingers to press and rub in perfect, slow circles over that most sensitive point of her arousal.
“Shhh, Alissende…only surrender to the feeling…”
He murmured that tempting command in her ear, before his lips nibbled a tingling path down her neck, toward the tightened tips of her breasts, even as his hand kept up its delicious torment between her legs.
“But we cannot,” she managed to say on a gasping breath. Hot, sparkling jolts of sensations were building from the persistent stroking of his fingers, spreading upward into her belly, then to her aching nipples. “Our agreement, Damien—you said…”
“Aye, lady, I know,” he said quietly. From deep within the fog of her own arousal she was aware that his voice sounded hoarse with the same, building need, still unsatisfied, that gripped her so tightly. Yet her thoughts seemed to come only in fragments, allowing her to grasp naught but pieces—not enough to make sense or to speak further in any meaningful way.
Damien slowed his tender ravishment of her throat and breasts and lifted his head. The intensity of his touch gentled, his pace slowing so that she nearly arched up into his hand again, using her body in a silent plea not to stop. Drawing in a deep, shuddering breath to aid her in keeping still, she tilted her head on the bolster to meet his gaze.
“We need not make love fully, Alissende,” he said, his words a bit halting. He stared down at her through the dusky heat of pure and heady need that enveloped them. “I remember other ways,” he whispered. “Other pleasures we can share, if only you are willing. But to go on alone, trying not to touch you and pretending to feel nothing…”
