Windstar by Charlotte Boyett-Compo Page B

of you every day I was in that cell,” he told her while they lay in bed with the silence of the mountains surrounding them. “You were always with me. I couldn’t have made it without you, doll.”
    “And I never gave up hope we’d be together again,” she confessed, her hands tender on his cheeks.
    He made love to her then--slowly, sweetly, and with such tenderness it brought tears to her eyes. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t while looking over their shoulder for a bullet to find them. It was with all the time in the world and all the love in his heart.
    His hands shook as he pushed down the bodice of the silk slip she’d worn to bed. “We’ll have to make a trip to Windemere and get you a proper nightgown,” he vowed. He laid his palm over her bare breast. “I dreamed of doing this.”
    She ran her fingers through his short hair and held his head to her as his lips closed around her aching nipple. His teeth grazed the tender flesh and he suckled her, drew upon her, and laved her with his warm tongue while he held her breast captive in his strong hand, kneading it gently. Against her thigh, his shaft grew hard and flexed, the tip moistly straining to have a taste of her, as well.
    He shifted his attention to the breast closest to his broad chest and ran his hand down her belly and spiked his fingers through the wiry curls that grew at her thighs. His palm caressed her, his middle finger dipping amongst the curls to touch that sensitive pearl that brought a deep intake of breath into her lungs.
    “Oh, Seannie,” she whispered and he lifted his head, looking up into her eyes with such need, such wondrous intent that she wanted to cry.
    “I love you with all my heart and all my soul, Maeveen,” he told her and she caught just a hint of the brogue he’d worked so hard to vanquish. “Marry me.”
    Her heart did a funny little flip in her chest and her hands tightened in his hair. “Yes, Seannie. Yes!”
    His smile was a million watts of pure sensuality as he lowered his head to kiss his way down her belly. He scooted down in the bed and nudged her thighs apart, taking her in his mouth to torture her with his tongue.
    She arched her hips against him and he hooked his hands under her rump to lift her up to his sultry invasion. He worked her like an expert--sliding his tongue along her folds, thrusting it quickly and with heat into her cunt, suckling upon her clit--until she was writhing beneath him, aching for something more solid than his flashing tongue stabbing into her moistness.
    “God, you taste so good,” he breathed against her core and she held his head in a tight grip as he licked her from top to bottom and then up again.
    “Seannie, please!” she begged him and felt the tip of his finger probing lightly at her entrance.
    “This what you want, doll?” he asked and slowly pushed inside.
    “Yes!” she cried out and wriggled against him, striving to bring him all the way into her channel. She heard him laugh wickedly and then felt another finger being inserted inside her. Her eyelids fluttered, her head whipped to and fro on the pillow.
    Her lover was adept at what he did and as his fingers worked her, eliciting honeyed juices that coated his flesh so he might draw them out of her to lick away the sweetness, she drew up her knees and allowed her legs to splay apart, giving him all the room and encouragement he needed.
    “Love me, Seannie,” she demanded, her voice husky. “I want to feel you on me and in me and ….”
    She got no further for he withdrew his fingers and slid over her, putting a hand to his cock to guide it firmly inside her, pushing deep, going all the way in, filling her to the brim, stretching her, pushing against her very womb.
    He laughed again as her legs came around his waist and she pulled him closer to her, seating his rod as far inside her as it would go. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, his hair, and his lips moved to her breast as he drew upon her flesh, rocking