Comanche passion, p.25
Comanche Passion, page 25
Marriage to Thomas would be good. Thomas was a good man and a reliable man. She would feel differently when she was with him again. Had the war changed him?
She sighed and wondered what Red Hawk was doing. Did he hold some other woman now? The thought was tormenting and Savannah knew sleep was lost. She pulled the rocker to the window and sat down to rock in the breeze, mulling over her protests to Adela about being in love with him, yet knowing she didn’t want to acknowledge what was happening. She was falling in love with him, hopelessly, impossibly, deeply in love.
The dinner party with fourteen guests was planned for Friday. On Sunday afternoon, they were invited to the Ashman’s house. Thursday afternoon a storm blew in, with thunder booming in the sky and a sudden deluge that turned the streets to rivers of mud. The weather was no more stormy than Red Hawk’s feelings.
He had spent too much time beneath the same roof with Savannah, and his nerves were worn ragged. While she seemed oblivious of the tension and the effort he made to control himself and keep from reaching for her, he was suffering like the damned.
He rode home in the rain, its cold drops pounding him, yet he barely noticed. He sat hunched over, his broad-brimmed hat protecting his face. His thoughts were storm winds, churning his emotions. He wanted Savannah, wanted to possess and know her, to have the memory—all he would ever have of her.
He had mentally listed more than a hundred times all the reasons to leave her alone. They were becoming empty arguments, tiny grains of sand flung at a rushing wave. He wanted to make love to her, to hold her in his arms all night long, to kiss her and not have her stop him or pull away.
He strode into the house, sweeping off his hat, drenched and tracking mud into the kitchen that smelled temptingly of succulent frying chicken and collard greens boiling on the stove. Savannah looked around at him.
“Great heavens! Look at you.”
“It’s pouring,” he said, staring at her. She wore a new dress that was some kind of frilly material patterned in blues and greens that made her hair seem more red and her eyes more green. The tiny puffed sleeves left her slender arms bare and the neck had enough of a vee that his imagination stripped away the rest of the bodice.
“Where’s Matilda?” he asked, looking for the new cook.
“When this rain started, I told her to go home while she could. Adela is staying at Bertrice’s. They sent a servant over to tell me. They say the streets are mud and, judging from the looks of you, they are.”
He pulled off his boots with only one thought pounding through him. Tonight, he had Savannah alone. All to himself. He tried to think of Thomas Sievert—but failed.
Red Hawk stripped off his wet shirt and hung it on the doorknob, where it dripped in small silvery puddles on the floor.
He should not take another man’s woman while the man was away fighting a war. How many times he had told himself that, yet how little his heart was listening.
He was wet, he was muddy, and he was tired of waiting and doing what he knew he should do. He stood dripping in puddles on the floor while she bustled around him with her cooking. The kitchen was warm from baking, the windows steamed over, but nothing was as hot and steaming as Red Hawk felt. His emotions were tattered by longing.
Savannah was temptation and passion and he wanted her. She wasn’t wildly in love with Thomas Sievert. Red Hawk was certain that when they kissed, she forgot Sievert completely, but she was determined to hold to the old pledge made by her father.
She loved comfort and material things, another chasm between them. She had made it clear that she couldn’t understand why he would consider returning to his father’s people. She would never want the Comanche way of life, yet she teased and flirted and he knew she felt something when she was with him. From that first hour, there had been a crackling tension between them any time they were together.
She was bustling around the kitchen, talking about plans she had made, stirring pots of food. He removed his belt and placed it on a chair.
“It’s cool with the storm, and I thought this would be a good time to cook chicken and peas. Are you—” She glanced at him, her gaze flicking down over his chest and then back up to meet his eyes. The words died in her throat.
Chapter Sixteen
His eyes had darkened to the blackness of midnight, but in their depths flames of desire burned. Surprised, she halted.
His look devoured her. The intensity in his demeanor and expression, even though he wasn’t moving a muscle, startled her.
As if pulled against her will, her gaze drifted down across his broad bare chest, and she wanted to be in his arms. Why was it when she was with him, she seemed complete? Why was it when he was away, her thoughts were constantly on him?
He crossed the room.
Her pulse drummed as she watched him. In silence, he passed her to carefully put out the fires on the stove. His strong brown hands moved over the stove with deliberation, and the supper she was cooking went on delay. Her pulse drummed as loudly as the rain.
The air in the room seemed to grow thick and hot. With his broad shoulders, Red Hawk filled the empty spaces and made the room narrow.
In a flash, she wondered if the years stretching ahead of her would be empty and dull. When he rode out of her life, would he take with him the excitement, this breathtaking attraction that sizzled between them?
Rain beat against the windows and drummed on the house, a dull whisper next to the pounding of her heart as he turned to look at her.
“Supper won’t burn.”
She couldn’t answer him. She didn’t care about supper. She wanted him. Right or wrong, he was the only man who had ever touched her heart, the only man who had brought her to life as a woman.
He crossed to her, closing the space between them with deliberation. His intent was as plain in his eyes as if he had announced it. Now was the time to stop him, a dim voice warned, but she ignored the fading voice of reason.
Red Hawk’s arm slipped around her waist, tightened, and drew her to him. His dark eyes were intense, and she lost herself, pulled into a darkness that held promises of pleasure.
His gaze lowered to her mouth, and she wanted his kisses, wanted him. With a moan, she tilted her head, her lashes coming down as he leaned forward. His mouth covered hers, his tongue plunging over hers. Her insides tightened and then seemed to let go like a free fall into a deep chasm.
His tongue stroked hers. She slipped her arms around him, feeling the solid hardness of him, the marvelous breadth of his powerful chest, the narrow width of his hips, his height that made her tilt her head back to kiss him, to look up at him.
In that moment, she knew what love was for a woman. I love him, she thought, all doubts vanquished. On one level she was aware of the depth of her feelings. On another, thought and logic were vanishing as his hands and mouth awakened her physically and brought her quivering to life.
It was right to be in his arms. This was the man who made her heart leap. He melted her with his kisses; he brought her to a trembling brink of need. They were of two different worlds, his wild and savage, a world where he took what he wanted. Hers was the old world of parlors and teas and polite customs. Yet in his arms, it all burned away in the hot sun of passion. Her desire now was as raw and primitive as his.
He leaned over her, kissing her hard, and her blood pounded. His hungry kisses told her how badly he wanted her; her response had to reveal how much she wanted him. She wound her fingers in his thick, coarse hair, and her other hand ran across his shoulders.
His fingers tugged at the buttons of her dress. In minutes, he pushed it over her shoulders and down. With a rush of cool air, it fell in a heap around her ankles. He stepped back to look at her, and she trembled beneath his hot, possessive gaze.
Red Hawk tugged off her chemise, then knelt to remove her shoes. He leaned closer and kissed her through the thin cotton undergarments, planting kisses on her belly and causing dizzying sensations to streak in her. With her eyes closed, she clung to him, her breath coming in short gasps. She could not believe she was in his arms, letting him kiss her. At the same time, it seemed more right than anything else she had done.
Her fingers tugged at his clothes. She wanted to touch him, to look at him, to please him. At the same time, shyness enveloped her and battled desire. She ran her hands over his hips, down his hard thighs, and felt the rough denim of his pants beneath her palms. He placed his hands on her waist and stepped back.
Savannah trembled as his dark eyes roamed slowly over her. He cupped her breasts in his large hands and his thumbs encircled her nipples, sending wave after wave of exquisite torment pulsing in her.
Once again she reached out to tug at the buttons on his pants. He stepped back and unfastened them, watching her with that smoldering look that was as devastating as a caress.
As Red Hawk drank in her pale beauty, her cascade of fiery hair, her green eyes darkened with passion. Her lush breasts were high and soft enough to push his control closer to the edge. Touching her burned away his bones and his will.
He could no more resist her or stop caressing her now than he could stop breathing. For this night, she was his woman. It didn’t matter what she thought about his future or his life or his past. It didn’t matter about her own future. At this hour and this place, he could let his feelings and desire show.
He stood before her naked, aroused until he thought he would burst with his need for her. A red flush crept up her cheeks, yet she gazed at him openly and then trailed her fingers over his shaft. The touch almost shattered his control.
He shook. Remembering to be gentle with her, he turned her palm up and kissed her hand, trailing his tongue over her warm flesh. She gasped and stroked his chest, and he reached out to cup her breasts. They were buttery soft in his hands, making him shake again with a need that tore at him.
He wanted to shove her to the floor now and take her, to thrust into her warmth and lose himself, but she was virginal, innocent, and he knew for her sake he couldn’t do as he pleased.
He leaned down to take her nipple in his mouth, sucking on the hard bud, hearing her moan of pleasure and feeling a tremor run through her. The more he aroused and excited her, the more it excited him. He wanted to pleasure her until she lost the last edge of holding back, until all blushes were gone and she was pushed beyond that brink of civilization into pure need and desire. He wanted her beneath him, crying out in passion.
He flicked his tongue over her nipple. At her moan, he picked her up to carry her to the next room. She had a fire built in the grate in the parlor, and he put her down on the braided rug, looking at her as he moved between her knees.
He trailed kisses over her stomach. His hands stroked her inner thighs, and then his fingers moved up, finding her softness, her feminine warmth, the bud of her desire. He watched her as he rubbed his hand over her again and again. As she moaned, he wondered if he could last.
Sweat popped out on his forehead, and he pushed her thighs wider, moving so his tongue could stroke and tease where his hand had been. She cried out in passion, her hands gripping him, her hips arched as her body finally rocked and spasmed in a release that was only a beginning.
He scooped her into his arms, kissing her hard and long. She returned it as wildly, and he knew he had pushed her beyond the brink. Her inhibitions were gone now, her hands tearing at him. And then she bent, sending him a slanted look as old as the first woman seductress. Her tongue flicked over his manhood and he gasped, winding his hands in her hair as she took him fully into her mouth.
His control slipped. Pushing her down, he moved between her pale legs, watching her as he lowered himself. While her long legs locked around him, pulling him closer, her hands ran over his back, tugging on his hips.
Savannah’s heart pounded so loudly, she only dimly heard her own voice when she cried out. He was aroused, ready, his shaft thick and hard and his dark eyes glowing with need. He lowered himself and his shaft touched her. She gasped and arched against him. He didn’t move, and the torment made her writhe and tug at his hips.
“Please,” she whispered.
He thrust slowly, easing into her. Pain tore at her, yet at the same time, desire pulsed like devouring flames.
He moved slowly, and Savannah tightened her legs around him. As her hips thrust rhythmically against him, she cried out and clutched his shoulders.
Sweat poured off him and he tried to take as long as possible, moving slowly, rocking with her, wanting to build up the need in her until she was ready to burst, just as he was. His control began to shatter and he had to move, thrusting and withdrawing, plunging deep and moving with her.
She joined him, rocking together, her cries mingling with his, earth and reality disappearing.
“My woman,” he cried. “Ekahuutsu!”
His hoarse cries were dim in Savannah’s ears, her own pounding pulse drowning out her cries as well. They moved wildly together and rapture burst in her as she cried out in ecstasy.
She was lost in sensation, clinging to his broad shoulders. For now, this moment in time was theirs. He was in her arms; they were one.
She would take the moment, treasure it, hold it forever in memory and be thankful she had it.
Their dance of passion slowed, their breathing came in ragged gasps. Long strands of her hair were matted to her face from perspiration that dotted her skin.
While their pounding hearts slowed to normal, he showered kisses over her face and throat and murmured endearments. She stroked his back and marveled in his powerful body that was joined with hers. Awed by the power in his lovemaking and the ecstasy that had consumed her, she was complete.
“My love,” she whispered softly, knowing he could not hear, knowing that she could never have much more of him than she had at this moment.
She ran her hands over his smooth back, down to his small waist, over firm buttocks and the backs of his muscled thighs.
His body was a marvel to her, so different from her own—hard and powerful and able to drive every thought from her mind.
He rolled on his side, taking her with him, their legs entwined, their bodies melded together while he looked at her with burning dark eyes, something unfathomable in their depths, yet pleasure wreathing his face in a smile.
Ekahuutsu,” he said, stroking her head and lifting locks of her hair. “Beautiful.”
He ran his fingers across her lips. “Soft, so soft. How I dreamed of this moment when I was on those damned battlefields.”
“So any woman would have—”
His finger pressed her lips to silence and his eyes focused on her fully, losing their faraway gaze. “No,” he said flatly. “From the moment I saw you on that boat, I wanted you in my arms like this. And the more I knew you, the more I wanted you.”
While her heart jumped with delight, she warned herself not to take his words seriously. They were being said in the glow of passion.
“You were insolent, bold, looking at me as if you were peeling away my dress.”
He gave a deep chuckle. “That is exactly what I was doing. And I liked what I saw,” he said, trailing his finger down her cheek to her shoulder, down over her breast while he watched her.
The moment his fingertip trailed over her breast and touched her nipple, she gasped and closed her eyes and tightened her arms around him. His manhood responded, still within her, coming to life again.
Startled, her eyes flew open and his dark expression took her breath. He leaned forward and kissed her hard, his arms tightening around her.
He rolled to his back and she was impaled, his shaft thick and hard within her. She sat astride him, her gaze locked with his and then his lowered, drifting down as he cupped her breast with one hand, the other hand going down between her thighs to stroke her.
She began to rock as his hips moved, the two of them moving in unison. The rhythm increased, the tension and need built swiftly, making her heart pound again and her pulse roar. She tilted her head; her eyes closed as she rode him furiously.
This time the white-hot pleasure seared and scalded and drove her to a frenzy, her hands gripping him as he moved and held her hips.
The climax burst within her. She screamed with pleasure as he cried out and his hot seed spilled in her. She came down over him, clinging to him as his strong arms wrapped around her and held her against his heart.
“My lovely,” he whispered, stroking her head, his hoarse whisper ground out while he gasped for breath.
Finally she rolled beside him and he turned to hold her and stroke her.
Twice more they loved and fell sated, burnt to cinders, locked in each other’s embrace.
“You are a greedy little wench, Ekahuutsu,” he said, pleasure thickening his voice.
“I’m not the only greedy one,” she whispered back, biting his earlobe playfully. He turned his head quickly and his mouth covered hers as he kissed her long and hard. He held her close and when their kiss ended, he stared at her, smiling, stroking hair away from her face.
She sat up and stared at him solemnly. He gazed back as soberly, both aware they would say good-bye soon.
He took her hand in his and brushed his lips across her fingers while he watched her. Closing her eyes and tilting back her head, she relished his warm breath on her hand and his lips touching her fingers so lightly. The gesture was caring, and she wondered about the depth of his feelings. She knew she would never know, just as he would never know the extent of her feelings for him.
She wasn’t certain she knew them herself. She opened her eyes to look at him, realizing they had spent nearly all their waking time together since that first encounter in Vicksburg weeks earlier. How much of her heart would he take away with him when he left?
It frightened her to think how much, and she closed her mind to any thoughts about the future. She would face that when she had to. Right now, he was here with her, his hip pressed against her knee, his fingers trailing over her languidly, stirring new fires like molten heat pouring through her veins.
