“Mine,” he rasped, ripping open the front of her dress and pushing up her breasts and nuzzling them. He took a nipple with his teeth and tugged on it before suckling fiercely. Candice cried out, convulsing. Never, never, never had she thought it could be like this between a man and a woman …
He knelt between her thighs, pushing her dress up. She moaned, panting, wanting. She felt this hands slide across her swollen, pink flesh and she cried out again, arching against his hand.
“Ahh, God.” He groaned, and then he lowered his head and began to tongue her.
Candice grasped his head, anchoring it, and began to sob. Convulsing waves swept through her. Escalating, intensifying. His tongue was so deft, laving the swollen nub, exploring the slick folds … she couldn’t stand it.…
She cried out as her world exploded.
Abruptly he drove into her, again and again, his hands on her hips, claiming her in the most primitive way possible. And then he was collapsing on top of her, shuddering violently, his face buried in her neck, and the groan that sounded said, “Mine.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
He shifted off her, onto his back. She could hear his harsh breathing begin to slow, and she could hear hers. She rolled onto her side, sanity flooding her.Oh, God.
She closed her eyes and recalled the magnificence of being possessed by this man. She had wanted him. She had wanted him with an uncontrollable passion. She had been mindless beneath his touch, his mouth. She had enjoyed every minute. No—that word could not possibly convey what she had been feeling. Ecstasy. Physical ecstasy.What is happening to me?
She had enjoyed a man’s lovemaking, a man who was not her husband and who was half Indian. Oh, dear God. She clutched her hand to her mouth to prevent the choked sound from escaping.
You belong to me.
Mine.
Those words echoed in her mind. They brought a hot flush of shameful elation. She tried to refute the statement, thinking, I belong to no man—and certainly not to him. Then she would remember how he had fought Hayilkah and nearly killed him. She would remember how he had looked at her over Datiye’s head, his face wet with sweat and blood, his eyes hot and proud and vitally victorious. Then she would remember how he had pulled her down into the dirt, not caring who might see, and driven himself into her, claiming her, again and again. And she could still hear her own shameless cries of pleasure and surrender.
“Candice?”
His voice was questioning in her ear, his breath warm. His hand closed on her waist. She bit her lip, hesitating, then turned to meet his gaze.
What she didn’t expect was the soft look in his eyes, or the way his hand touched her face tenderly. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek more fully into his palm. She felt lus mouth brush her temple, and then he was standing.
She sat up, holding the torn front of her dress together, blushing. He was pulling up his pants and tying the drawstring. She felt the shame again—rutting in the dirt like animals—and looked away. Her heart had picked up its beat. What should she do? How should she act? What in God’s name was going to happen next?
What was wrong with her?
“Let’s go back to camp,” he said without inflection, and when she glanced at him, the softness had gone from his eyes. She could not read his expression. His gaze flicked to her torn dress. “I’ll get you a needle and some sinew, thread if I can.”
She blushed more brightly.
He left her with Luz and the other women all day. Candice helped them to prepare foodstuffs, but with half her attention on what she was doing. She was utterly distracted. Every time she thought about the morning she grew hot with embarrassment and all kinds of jumbled emotions—including something no lady should be feeling—excitement. She knew only one thing to be true—she couldn’t wait to get back to civilization. Back home. And what would happen then?
If her reputation had been damaged before, this time …
She didn’t dare think about it.
That night they ate with Shozkay and Luz again. Candice found herself looking at Jack, looking and remembering. He didn’t return her gaze. It was almost as if he were avoiding the haphazard meeting of their eyes. But once, just once, he looked up and their glances caught, held, locked. The brightness in his eyes almost knocked her backward. She couldn’t think, just feel. And anticipate.
They walked back to theirgohwahin silence. At the shelter he held the flap to let her precede him. She paused, her heart thudding wildly, her skin flushed and warm, and all she could think of—wish for—was that he was going to stay with her tonight—wasn’t he? She turned to him.
He met her gaze fully but didn’t speak. He held the flap open, waiting. She wet her lips nervously, ashamed, and knew she had hopelessly fallen into sin. “Will you come in?”
His jaw flexed. For one instant he didn’t move. “Do you understand what you’re asking?” His voice was husky, and it flooded her with liquid heat.
“Yes,” she breathed. She ducked in, he followed. She hesitated, unbearably shy, but her chest was so tight with wanting him that she thought it might explode. He did mean what she thought he meant, didn’t he? Or should she take her clothes off?
Like some whore.
She grimaced at the ugliness of that thought, and then he touched her.
