in a reflex of pain.
“Look at me, Celia,” he said huskily.
She stared into his eyes, mesmerized by the depths of shadowed blue. The ache between her legs faded, and she made no protest as he pushed forward again, filling her completely. They exhaled together, both aware of a sense that time had stopped, leaving the two of them alone in a world without boundaries. Griffin plunged and withdrew slowly, luxuriating in her soft body.
Celia held on to him desperately, knowing she should have clawed and fought him until the bitter end. It was madness to want him. But he demanded her pleasure, forced it from her with unforgivably gentle lips and hands. She slid her fingers into his hair, kept his mouth on hers while his kisses ravaged and feasted without inhibition. Her hips strained toward his, and with a low grunt he grasped her buttocks, showing her a circular movement that intensified the fire between them.
The half-sweet, half-painful rapture exploded inside her with stunning force. Helplessly she arched up to his thrusting hips and gasped against his chest, her mind blank except for the thought that she must be dying. Griffin lunged inside her a final time, every muscle in his long body tautening into fine-tempered steel. His beard scratched the soft skin of her neck, while the heat of his breath singed her nerve endings.
The embers of pleasure glowed for a long time afterward, while he held her trembling body against his and drew her head onto his shoulder. Celia was too weak to move. She felt herself slowly drifting into an exhausted slumber. Then for a few moments she felt the deepest peace shehad ever known, but it was soon eclipsed by shame. She could not deal with such feelings now though; she was too tired. She did not move from the warm circle of his arms, only rested more fully against him and let sleep overtake her.
Much later she was aware of a river of darkness that cradled and carried her in its slow current. Unable to decide if she was awake or lost in a dream, she abandoned herself to the sensation. Stealthy hands swept over her with devastating tenderness. A hard, expert mouth slid across hers. Her knees were parted easily, and she lay relaxed and drowsy as the force of him moved over and inside her.
Softly she moaned his name, unresisting as he pulled her legs up to his waist. Understanding her needs with terrifying accuracy, he adjusted his rhythm to accommodate her body, building and stoking the fire until her desire matched his. Later she would despise herself for letting it happen again, but for now there was only feeling, only sweet forgetfulness…and she craved it as she had craved nothing else in her life.
It was early in the morning, yet already the day was still and sultry. Celia crept outside cautiously, clasping the detested black shirt around her body. She kept quiet for fear of waking Griffin, who was still sleeping in the cottage. She had neither the strength nor the nerve to face him yet. As she made her way to the edge of the lake, she felt an unfamiliar soreness between her legs. The reminder of what had taken place last night caused her face to flame scarlet.
Nothing she had ever read, no gossip she had overheard, no religious doctrine, nor medical knowledge her father had imparted, nothing hadprepared her for what she had experienced last night. There were many who believed that a decent woman should not feel pleasure even in union with her husband. Certainly there was no excuse for her to have responded to a stranger as she had. And not only was Griffin a stranger, he was a pirate, a scavenger who killed and stole and ravened the wealth of others. She felt sick with guilt. It was incroyable that she should sink to such depths, not three days after Philippe had been murdered. She had never imagined there might be a bestial side to her own nature, and she hated herself for it—even more than she hated Griffin.
Celia found it difficult not to cry as she dropped the black
“Look at me, Celia,” he said huskily.
She stared into his eyes, mesmerized by the depths of shadowed blue. The ache between her legs faded, and she made no protest as he pushed forward again, filling her completely. They exhaled together, both aware of a sense that time had stopped, leaving the two of them alone in a world without boundaries. Griffin plunged and withdrew slowly, luxuriating in her soft body.
Celia held on to him desperately, knowing she should have clawed and fought him until the bitter end. It was madness to want him. But he demanded her pleasure, forced it from her with unforgivably gentle lips and hands. She slid her fingers into his hair, kept his mouth on hers while his kisses ravaged and feasted without inhibition. Her hips strained toward his, and with a low grunt he grasped her buttocks, showing her a circular movement that intensified the fire between them.
The half-sweet, half-painful rapture exploded inside her with stunning force. Helplessly she arched up to his thrusting hips and gasped against his chest, her mind blank except for the thought that she must be dying. Griffin lunged inside her a final time, every muscle in his long body tautening into fine-tempered steel. His beard scratched the soft skin of her neck, while the heat of his breath singed her nerve endings.
The embers of pleasure glowed for a long time afterward, while he held her trembling body against his and drew her head onto his shoulder. Celia was too weak to move. She felt herself slowly drifting into an exhausted slumber. Then for a few moments she felt the deepest peace shehad ever known, but it was soon eclipsed by shame. She could not deal with such feelings now though; she was too tired. She did not move from the warm circle of his arms, only rested more fully against him and let sleep overtake her.
Much later she was aware of a river of darkness that cradled and carried her in its slow current. Unable to decide if she was awake or lost in a dream, she abandoned herself to the sensation. Stealthy hands swept over her with devastating tenderness. A hard, expert mouth slid across hers. Her knees were parted easily, and she lay relaxed and drowsy as the force of him moved over and inside her.
Softly she moaned his name, unresisting as he pulled her legs up to his waist. Understanding her needs with terrifying accuracy, he adjusted his rhythm to accommodate her body, building and stoking the fire until her desire matched his. Later she would despise herself for letting it happen again, but for now there was only feeling, only sweet forgetfulness…and she craved it as she had craved nothing else in her life.
It was early in the morning, yet already the day was still and sultry. Celia crept outside cautiously, clasping the detested black shirt around her body. She kept quiet for fear of waking Griffin, who was still sleeping in the cottage. She had neither the strength nor the nerve to face him yet. As she made her way to the edge of the lake, she felt an unfamiliar soreness between her legs. The reminder of what had taken place last night caused her face to flame scarlet.
Nothing she had ever read, no gossip she had overheard, no religious doctrine, nor medical knowledge her father had imparted, nothing hadprepared her for what she had experienced last night. There were many who believed that a decent woman should not feel pleasure even in union with her husband. Certainly there was no excuse for her to have responded to a stranger as she had. And not only was Griffin a stranger, he was a pirate, a scavenger who killed and stole and ravened the wealth of others. She felt sick with guilt. It was incroyable that she should sink to such depths, not three days after Philippe had been murdered. She had never imagined there might be a bestial side to her own nature, and she hated herself for it—even more than she hated Griffin.
Celia found it difficult not to cry as she dropped the black
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