Page 97 of Native Hawk
She drifted in a sensual haze while he caressed her with the delicacy of a sheer lawn petticoat. When his fingers slipped slyly between her thighs, she squeezed her eyes shut, shivering at the delicious invasion.
His breath was ragged against her ear when he whispered one last time, “You’re certain?”
She nodded. She’d never been more sure of anything in her life. There was an aching deep within her, a craving in her body as well as her soul. She wanted to join with him, not just for physical relief, but to be intimately bound to him.
He retrieved one of the feather pillows and tucked it under her hips, coaxing her thighs apart.
For a moment, she felt too vulnerable, too exposed. Her face warmed as she experienced a moment of doubt and an overwhelming urge to slam her legs together again.
But she realized she trusted Drew. He’d asked her to be his wife. He loved her. He would do nothing to harm her.
Careful of his wound, Drew eased on top of her then, supporting his weight on one forearm as he settled his legs between hers. She felt his hard length pulsing against her.
“I don’t mean to hurt you,” he murmured, “but it might sting, just for a bit.”
She opened her eyes to look at him. She’d heard all about it from the ladies at The Parlor. And she could see in his dark and caring eyes that he was trying to temper his own passion for the sake of her comfort. That moved her beyond words. No pain could diminish her joy at becoming one with him.
“I understand,” she whispered.
He aroused her then with deft fingers until she was desperate and sobbing with need. By the time he entered her, the pinch of pain was no more than the brief poke of a sewing needle.
As he hovered over her with a soft apology, she relaxed under him. Already the sting was subsiding, and a compelling urgency was taking its place.
He moved within slowly, still guarding his injury, and she moaned at the strange fullness inside her. His leisurely, languorous motions incited her to greater heights. Soon, despite her intentions to lie quiet, she was responding to his movement, twisting and arching to match him, thrust for thrust.
His growls of passion fueled her own, sending her spiraling upward. She clenched her fists in the bedclothes and rocked her head across the pillow. It felt like she was dancing in a full and beautiful dress of shimmering silk. As they spun together, faster and faster, it was as if the folds of cloth compressed, hugging her tightly, so tightly she couldn’t breathe. And then, as if he’d suddenly set her free with a great cry, she swirled away in an exuberant explosion of skirts, twirling and twirling until the music stopped and she slowed to a gentle turn.
He covered her face with breathless kisses until she was laughing with relief and amusement. Then, though she made a mew of protest, he cautiously withdrew, collapsing on his back with a pleased grin on his face.
She couldn’t help but smile back.
Then he furrowed his brow in concern. “I didn’t hurt you too badly?”
She shook her head, deciding, “Making the sex? I think this is even better than eatingtartufi.”
He arched a sarcastic brow at her. “Better than chewin’ on a soft brown lump that pigs dig up from under the ground? I’m flattered.”
She gave him a playful shove.
They clasped hands, and as they lounged on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, Catalina thought she’d never been happier.
“I am glad we seized the day,” she said.
“Me too.”
“I would like to seize every day.”
He chuckled. “I don’t think you can afford it.”
She blinked. “What?”
“The way I figure, you owe me twenty dollars for makin’ the sex with you.”
“What?” She swatted his shoulder. She could see by the sparkle in his eyes that he was teasing her.
“I hear that’s the goin’ rate,” he said.
“If I had twenty dollars a day, I would definitely spend it on you, Mr. Drew Hawk.”
