Page 78 of My Hero
His voice was harsh, and his hands were uncompromising on her wrists, but as she gazed into his eyes, she saw something entirely different.
A plea…a desperate plea. He wanted her to prove him wrong.
“Nay,” she breathed. “That isn’t true. You have enough for me. You’ve always—”
“Nay!” he said, shaking her once. “You don’t know. You can’t know.”
“Can’t know what?” she persisted. “That you suffer pangs of desire? You tell me I must not refuse the gift that God has given me, and yet you refuse the manhood He has given you. Would you deny that you feel the cravings of any mortal man?”
“But I’m not a man!” he blurted, turning with her then and pinning her against the stone wall, his face contorting in anguish. “I’m only half a man!”
She didn’t know what he meant. But she could see pain in his eyes as profound as the sea. And she wanted nothing more than to ease that pain.
“Then let me make you whole,” she whispered.
The tiniest flicker of hope entered his eyes before he lowered his gaze to her lips, focusing there with the savage hunger of a wolf. His tongue flitted quickly over his lower lip, and his nostrils flared.
“Let me make you—” she repeated, but already his mouth had found hers.
He kissed her ravenously, fiercely, as if he feared it might be his last chance. Groaning, he swept his tongue fully across her lips, parting them. She moaned as he released her wrists and tangled his fingers in her hair, tilting her head to gain entrance to her mouth, plunging his tongue inside to mate with hers.
Lord, he was strong, stronger than John had ever been, stronger than Philip would ever be, so strong that a thrill of something akin to fear coursed up her spine.
Suddenly, her limbs felt worthless, and she grew as limp as a cloth doll. Somehow, she clung to his cassock as he laid siege to her lips, but how she stayed on her feet, she couldn’t tell. The place between her legs swelled with yearning, as if she might burst. Once, his thigh brushed against her there, and she gasped with the painful pleasure of it. Vaguely, she grew aware of the pressure against her belly as Garth hardened.
She let her fingers slip down then to scrabble at his belt, but she was too distracted to untangle the knot. She murmured a curse against his mouth.
He untied it himself, his lips never leaving hers, and when he opened his cassock, she let her fingers drift through the crisp curls he revealed. There she discovered, with a hushed gasp of wonder, his hard, warm staff, almost menacing in its size. With a shiver, she enclosed him gently in her palm. He drew in a rough breath, and his fingers tightened on her shoulders. She closed her eyes and nearly swooned, imagining that silken length inside her.
Then, with a soft cry, she hiked up her skirts, laying her head back upon the stones. He heaved one awe-filled sigh and lifted her up, bracing her against the wall. His well-muscled thighs felt like fire as they spread hers. His breath rasped against her ear, murmuring endearments, begging entrance.
She sighed in answer.
And then he was there, impossibly huge, impossibly hot, poised to penetrate her.
She couldn’t wait. Inch by slow inch, she sheathed him herself, reveling in his low groan as her skin pulled taut and her muscles strained to contain him. Dear God—she feared she might explode. And yet, there was something about the tightness, something about the way he slid against her…
“Oh!”
He pressed deeply up into her, and she shuddered with pleasure, her fingers digging into the thick muscle of his shoulders.
“Oh, God,” he growled. “Cynthia.”
To her astonishment, tears gathered in her eyes. She wanted to stay here forever, joined with this man, filled by him. She wanted to bask in their completeness.
But such was not the way of things with men, in her experience. This sweet lethargy wouldn’t last long. She had to work quickly.
She drew away, biting her lip at the exquisite friction of his flesh gliding against hers. Then, ignoring her selfish desires and that instinctive, languorous rhythm that called to her, she initiated the brisk pattern of motion she knew well.
Garth clenched his teeth against the incredible sensation. It had been four years since he’d been enveloped by warm womanflesh. And yet mating with Mariana had been nothing like this. Cynthia was far softer, sweeter, comforting. Faith, if she didn’t slow down…
“Wait,” he managed to gasp.
Everything was happening too fast, with too much intensity. He’d be spent in another instant, leaving her behind, if she continued moving so quickly.
“Wait!”
Using sheer willpower and against all his instincts, he stopped her frenzied thrashing, hoisting her in one easy movement from the wall onto the grassy bench carved into the sod. He swooped down upon her, trapping every silky, lissome, soul-wrenching bit of her beneath him. Then he plunged with languid grace into her wet, welcoming haven.
