be afeard of me, sweeting. I mean only to pleasure ye,” he whispered, brushing soft kisses over her cheeks.
“Pleasure yourself, ye mean,” she grumbled, but felt an odd tingling where his lips touched her skin.
“Aye, but ye as weel, Aimil. Just relax and give yourself over to me.”
“I will give ye naught.” She hoped he believed her protests for she had no wish to let him know she was there for reasons other than his bargain.
“Oh, ye will, Aimil Mengue.” He trailed kisses down her nose to her mouth. “Aye, ye will.”
When his lips brushed and nibbled at hers, she almost sighed. It was very nice, conjuring up a pleasant warmth within her. Soon her mouth itched for something more, and she felt her hands creeping to his broad shoulders. When his tongue probed for entry, her eyes flew open in surprise for she was unsure of what he was doing.
“Part your lips for me, sweeting. I crave the honey of your mouth.”
“There is none there. My teeth are rotted and oozing.”
Parlan laughed softly. “Such a liar ye are, Aimil Mengue. Part your lips.”
Another shiver tore through her when his tongue eased between her lips to caress the inside of her mouth. Each kiss grew hungrier. He paused briefly between each, letting her catch her breath while teasing her slim throat with gentle kisses. She burrowed her hands into his thick hair even as her body arched, seeking his. The slow warmth that had begun in her started to grow. Tender noises of pleasure escaped her as she succumbed to the heady persuasion of his kisses. The sudden removal of her shift broke through the fog he had created in her mind.
“Nay,” she protested in a soft, husky voice, trying to cover her breasts with her oddly limp arms, embarrassment dimming her growing passion.
“Aye,” he growled as he gently tugged her arms away to gaze at her breasts with ill-concealed hunger. “So lovely.”
Her body bucked slightly when his tongue flickered over each taut nipple. Pure white heat shot straight to her loins. As his hands cupped and fondled the soft flesh, his kisses touching their every curve, she returned her hands to his hair. She pressed his head closer when his mouth closed over one hard, aching tip to draw upon it slowly. A litany of pleasure’s sounds escaped her throat, but she was too caught up in delight to restrain them. She ran her hands over the warm skin of his back. The way he groaned and trembled slightly only heightened her pleasure. She was glad when he tore off his robe for now she could touch even more of him.
As he heatedly spread kisses over her satiny midriff, Parlan reveled in her response. She was fire beneath his hands, far more than he had dared hope for. When he began to remove her hose, his hands touched the warm silken skin of her thighs and before he bent to kiss her there, he found that he had barely skimmed the surface of her passion.
Aimil nearly flew off the bed when he touched her bare legs. Parlan took quick advantage of her sensitivity there, his hands and lips moving over her greedily, leaving no spot upon her long, slim legs untouched. The pleasure grew so intense Aimil thought he would kill her with it. His large calloused hands both caressed her legs and held them steady so that he could kiss her, lick her, and nibble her. When he finally made his slow way up her body, his hand slipping between her thighs, Aimil was too frenzied to do more than twitch when he touched her so intimately.
Feeling that faint sign of rejection, Parlan lifted his head from her breasts only to hear her make a sound much like a purr and to see her open for his touch. “God, so lovely. Ye are melting for me.” He moved his mouth greedily over her breasts as he stroked her and probed her secrets. “Aye, lass,” he groaned against her throat, “let your sweetness flow. I mean to taste it soon. Nae this night but soon.”
“Please, please,” she moaned, having no idea for what she begged but only certain that he could give her what her body now craved.
“I must hurt ye the first time but t’will pass,” he rasped as he readied himself to possess her.
She did not really hear him but moved her hips against his in a way that made him shudder. He took her with one hard thrust in the hope that quicker was better. Feeling the shield of her innocence rend before his charge, he savored the proof that he was the first, even as he flinched in sympathy with the pain he had caused her.
Aimil shuddered beneath the onslaught, but the sharp pain was gone as quickly as it had come. All she could think of was that there was more. She moved her hands to his taut buttocks as her legs clasped him tightly, urging him to move with both actions.
“Oh,” she sighed, her whole body shuddering with delight as he moved with slow, measured strokes. “So fine. ’Tis so nice.”
“Nice? Sweet Mary, ’tis heaven. Move with me, sweeting. Aye,” he gasped when she parried his next thrust. “That is the way of it.” He encircled her hips with his arm to press her closer as he brushed fevered kisses over her face. “Aye, take it all. Take me in deep, lassie. God, ’tis sweet.”
After kissing her hungrily, he watched her as his motions grew fiercer. He was barely able to appreciate the way her body convulsed with her release when his own seized him. A hoarse cry of exultation escaped him as he drove deeply within her to spill his seed, a gift of passion that her body accepted with trembling greed. She continued to shake and to squirm slightly with lingering pleasure after he collapsed upon her. Parlan found her subtle movements arousing, despite how sated he felt.
Aimil felt as if she drifted down from the clouds slowly and was amazed that she was still alive. That something extraordinary had happened was evident by her furious heartbeat and her gasping breaths. Her whole body tingled, yet she felt heavy and langorous. It had been all she had hoped for and more. She realized once was not enough. Since her maidenhead was now lost, she decided it would matter little if he did it again. She found herself hoping that he would.
Easing himself away from her slightly, Parlan grinned at her. “There now, didnae I say I would give ye pleasure?”
It struck her that he looked very much like a small boy who had found the bean in the twelfth-night cake. She felt sure that his experience with women allowed him to know exactly what he had stirred in her. Aimil sincerely doubted she was the only one to gain such pleasure in his arms. There was no way she was going to pronounce him bean-king and add to his already lofty opinion of himself, not when he was supposed to think her there solely because of their bargain. She gazed at her fingernails with an air of boredom.
“I have never suffered such a lack of entertainment in all my short life,” she drawled.
Parlan roared with laughter, not in the least insulted for he knew of the pleasure he had given her. He held her close as he laughed, and she soon joined in for it was a contagious sound. Aimil also knew that she had not fooled him.
As their laughter died away, she was seized by a feeling of deep exhaustion. A great deal had happened to her in the past twenty-four hours, indeed, in the last week. Her body had clearly decided that, if she did not have enough sense to rest, it would take the decision out of her hands.
Parlan sensed the sudden laxness in her and raised himself up on his elbows to look at her with a crooked grin, knowing she needed to rest but wanting her again. “Are ye betrothed, Aimil?” he asked, feeling a strong need to know if some man had a claim to her.
She tried to open her eyes to look at him but gave up. “Since the cradle. I am to be wed at summer’s end.”
