And she found herself spun beneath him, caged within his arms. But unlike before, no inexplicable tension swathed her, for Ernest only gave pleasure, no pain or terror, and she furrowed his hair with errant fingers, yanked his head down for a kiss.
“Do what you will,” she whispered. “For I want you too.”
With a groan, he slammed into her, pushing the breath from her lungs. But the sensation… It overwhelmed her, and now she kept her gaze wide open.
To the stars above. To Ernest. To his bitten lips and grunting gasps.
To his muffled curses of want and desire. To his honest eyes and pounding hips.
He was lost in passion. To her. His demands rough and fierce, and she loved it.
That rapture coiled yet again, and she tightened her legs upon him, scored his firm buttocks and followed his punishing rhythm till the stars blurred and his hips jerked in a harsh cadence.
“Hebe,” he roared, head flung back and throat corded, hair damp with excursion and chest heaving.
And a last fierce thrust likewise sent her spinning to the heavens once more, violent and explosive. Shimmering and peaceful.
With lean frame brutally shuddering, Ernest shoved his head to the lee of her shoulder and neck, but she had no energy to lift even a finger, all strength stolen from her.
Little by little, their breaths slackened, an evening breeze cooled their bodies and the stars twinkled in clandestine innocence.
Without a word, he flung himself over, arms embracing and tugging her to his chest.
This too was unknown to her. Intimacy with a man. And she felt unsure what to do as Ernest’s hands stroked in firm but meandering patterns upon her spine and buttocks. Did they now go their separate ways? Was there an etiquette to this moment that wasn’t found within rule books?
“Your hair is glorious,” he muttered, twisting his hands through it.
“You can comb it tomorrow then. As I suspect it will be a mess of knots.”
“It would be a pleasure. I’ve always been rather good at de-knotting horses’ tails.”
“Why you…” She leaned up to find a grin upon his lips. The cheeky whelp. But it calmed her nerves and she grinned back. This was still kind, droll Ernest and now she knew that not only was he compassionate in nature, but also a tender lover when needed, a rough and urgent one when wanted.
Frowning, she noticed the posy upon the stone floor. “I noticed all the doors have different posies. Do they have meaning?”
He lazily reached out and plucked a purple flower. “They all represent hope for the future. For the return of their blooms each year. But each flower is chosen with care.” He rolled her body and placed the purple spray upon her stomach. “Heliotrope is for devotion.” A heady sweetness of cherry wafted as he laid another flower upon her breast.
“And honeysuckle?”
A bloom met the seam of her lips, its heavy scent lingering. Then Ernest kissed her, not in adieu as she thought might be the etiquette for this moment, but deep and passionate.
“The flames of desire…” The flowers were crushed between their bodies, scent rising to the stars as he tangled his fingers in her hair once more, arousal brushing her hip.
“What of the red carnation?” she barely gasped.
His whispered reply was mouthed to her skin and lost on the breeze.
And then she forgot all about the flowers…
28
SLEIGHT OF HAND
Never had Ernest particularly sought love.
Yet here, now, as he brushed the tangled curls from Hebe’s sleek shoulder, the faint dawn kissing her fair skin, he knew he’d at last tumbled into that mysterious pool below the waterfall – her vulnerability yet courage last night humbling him to its depths, her passion and touch fetching him to the surface.
And the pool wasn’t drowning but warm and life-affirming.
