Page 55 of The Darkland

Her mouth was full of mutton. “Nay,” she said, pushing his hand away when he tried to take a slab of meat. “This is all mine.”

He grinned and she batted at him, pushing him away and pretending to horde it all. In a flash, Kirk reached down and lifted her from the small chair, taking it himself. As Mara sputtered and shrieked, unable to protest with her mouth stuffed, he deposited her on his lap and took a helping of bread.

“There, you gluttonous wench,” he slopped the bread in gravy and took a healthy bite. “I will claim you and your food.”

She grinned at him, pieces of mutton on her lips. He kissed her, licking the debris clean. One kiss led to another, and still another. Before either one of them could control their actions, the food was back on the wooden trays and they were on the bed, continuing where they had left off before the intrusion of their meal.

The surcoat came off more quickly than before. And this time, Kirk pulled it completely free, leaving Mara naked beneath him. Between heated kisses, he somehow managed to remove his boots and finally, his damp hose. But Mara never noticed; as long as his mouth remained where it was the most pleasurable, she would pay little attention to anything else. When his hot, naked body covered her on the stale sheets, the only thing she was aware of was her own awakening desire.

Thunder rattled the walls as Kirk’s pace increased, his kisses fast and furious. Mara gasped with unrestrained delight, her experience with the drunken soldier all but forgotten. The rude introduction to desire had not scarred her so deeply that Kirk was not able to erase the memory with his scalding hands and searching mouth. Pulling, tugging, tasting; the delights multiplied as the night deepened.

His knees wedged between her slender thighs, sure fingers stroking her gently. Mara leapt with uncertainty but Kirk purred in her ear, words of desire and beauty that calmed her innocent heart. When his finger slipped inside her, discomfort was virtually unknown; she was slick, ready for his throbbing member. No pain, no fear; only rousing passion.

Thunder rolled again, filling the smelly room and all but drowning out Mara’s pants of pleasure. Kirk inserted another finger into her, listening to her groan and nearly exploding with his impatience. His tongue fondled her nipples and he could feel her slippery passage contracting around his fingers, a physical response to the timeless ritual of mating.

He removed his hand from her, no longer capable of restraining himself. Her soft, responsive body called to him and he was shaking withanticipation as he answered, placing his heavy arousal against her and pushing gently. Wet and pulsating, he slipped forward without effort.

He was anchored, sliding deeper by the moment. Mara squirmed, her pants of pleasure less evident as he gained headway. Kirk kissed her deeply, murmuring against her mouth and promising the pain would be momentary. She was so tiny that he was surprised with the ease thus far; still, it was becoming uncomfortable for her and he was acutely aware of the fact.

Gathering her tightly against him, he drew back and coiled his buttocks, driving into her again and feeling her maidenhood breach. Mara yelped into his mouth, the fingers clutching at him digging crescent-shaped wounds into his scalp. She continued to gasp with pain as he rolled onto his side to remove his tremendous weight off her. Holding her close and seated to the hilt, he did not realize that he was gasping, too.

“No… no more,” Mara groaned, feeling crushed and impaled by his huge body. “I do not want to do this anymore.”

He kissed her face, her hair. “The pain is over, lass, I promise,” he murmured tenderly. “You must trust me. ’Twill only become more pleasurable from now on.”

She struggled feebly with him but there was no possible way to escape; he had her tightly, his throbbing manroot clutched deep within her sugared walls. When she failed to respond to his soothing words, Kirk decided to show her what he meant. Holding her against his chest with one hand, the other cupped her heart-shaped bottom and he began to move.

Mara groaned miserably with the first couple of thrusts, feeling full and overwhelmed. But his gentle nurturing, his tender whispers, broke through her haze and instinctively she began to respond to him, experiencing the friction of his manroot as he penetrated deep. Soon enough, the discomfort gave way to a burgeoning fire that grew brighter by the moment.

But Mara’s fire was nothing compared to Kirk’s. He was far gone with passion, feeling her silken body in his embrace, experiencing every throb of her feminine core as the most erotic of caresses. Within seconds he had reached his peak, breathing her name as he released himself deep within her. But he continued to move, feeling the slippery wetness he had put in her, wondering fleetingly if she would be with child by the time they married. He was a selfish man in that he hoped so.

Mara felt his spasms, hearing her name on his strangled groan. But his thrusting continued as he reached between their sweating bodies, his fingers probing her wet curls. A gasping scream erupted from her lips as he gently pinched her throbbing nub, bringing her to a powerful release.Thrashing about as the waves of pleasure consumed her, Mara was vaguely aware of Kirk’s soft laughter.

“So you like this, my little hellion,” he murmured, kissing and nuzzling every inch of her face. “I thought you would.”

As the waves settled, Mara rasped for air. “My… my God, Kirk. What has happened?”

He laughed again, his trencher-sized hands caressing her buttocks. “Delicious, is it not?”

She swallowed, gasped, and swallowed again. She wasn’t sure how to answer him. “I feel so… weak. Weak and wonderful.”

He was still in her, cradling her trembling body against his broad chest. “Aye, lass, weak and wonderful describes me as well. As if I have waited for this moment all my life.”

Mara was silent a moment, listening to her heart pounding in her ears. Brushing the hair from her eyes, she lifted her gaze to meet his. “I had no idea that feelings like this were possible,” she said softly. “And I certainly would never have thought you capable of bringing them about.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “And why not?”

She smiled faintly, a gesture he found utterly beautiful. “Because I hated you, once.”

“You do not hate me now.”

She shook her head, slowly. “Nay,” she reached up, touching his stubbled cheek. He kissed her fingers, the warmth and tenderness of the moment evident. “I do not.”

The thunder rolled again and the rain pounded as he took her mouth with his own, kissing her tenderly until she fell asleep in his arms. More content than he had ever been in his life, sleep claimed him before he realized it.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Lord Lionel leVay, Baron Wyresdale, was a big man with bushy black eyebrows and gray hair. He greeted Kirk as one would a lost son, welcoming him into the Norman stronghold of Quernmore Castle. And the same warm greeting went for Lionel’s flame-haired daughter as well.