And this time, there was no holding back, no reticence, no control, no vestige of rational thought. Passion and desire bloomed, then ran riot. They were one-in mind, in thought, in deed. Pleasure for one was the other's delight. They gave themselves, again and again, and still found more to give.
And over and between ran the shimmering glory, stronger than steel and more precious than pearls.
When they crested the final wave, and clung to each other as the maelstrom took them, it intensified and filled them. Until all existence became that wondrous glow; as they drifted, deeply sated, into dreamless sleep, it settled over them.
A blessing-the most desired of benedictions.
What followed was entirely Myst's fault.
Vane woke, as he had once before, to discover the small cat once again curled on his chest, purring furiously. Sleepily sated, he scratched one grey ear while waiting for his senses to refocus. His limbs were heavy with deep satiation-a drugging glow still filled him. He glanced toward the window. The sky had started to lighten.
He and Patience needed to talk.
Vane lifted his hand from Myst's ear.
The cat promptly flexed her claws.
Vane hissed-and glared. 'Your claws are more lethal than your mistress's.'
'Hmm?' Heavy-eyed, Patience emerged from beneath the sheets.
Vane waved at Myst. 'I was about to ask if you'd consider removing your resident predator.'
Patience stared at him, then blinked, and looked down. 'Oh. Myst.' Fighting free of the tangled sheets, she leaned over and scooped Myst up. 'Off, Myst. Come on.' Wriggling, Patience slid fully across Vane-her hips slid over his-as Vane sucked in an agonized breath.
Patience grinned, and dropped Myst over the side of the bed. 'Off you go.' She watched the cat stalk off, offended, then, entirely deliberately, wriggled back across Vane.
And stopped halfway.
'Hmm.' Finding her lips level with one flat nipple, she stuck out her tongue and licked. The jolt that shook him made her smile. 'Interesting.'
She uttered the word as she wriggled some more, so her torso was more or less atop him, her legs sliding over his.
Vane frowned. 'Patience…'
Warm flesh encased in smooth satin slithered over his hips, over the rigid length of his erection. Vane blinked, several times, and tried to recall what he'd been about to say.
'Hmm?'
Patience's tone suggested she had other things on her mind: She was busily trailing warm, openmouthed kisses down his increasingly tense torso.
Jaw setting, Vane gathered his resolve-and reached for her. 'Patience, we need to-' A groan cut off his words-he was almost surprised to recognize it as his. Muscle after muscle tensed and locked. Lust roared through him-in response to her artless, inquisitive touch, to the husky chuckle she gave. Soft fingers trailed up his rigid length, then slid about him and tentatively closed. She traced and caressed, then explored further, squirming downward as she did-clearly delighted by his helpless reaction.
Rigid to his toes, Vane jerked as she circled his sensitive, swollen head. '
He dragged in a desperate breath, and reached down, fighting through the tangled sheets to try to capture her hand. She chuckled again and eluded him easily; he slumped back, breathing too fast. His limbs had turned heavy, weighted with lust, burning with desire.
'Don't you like it?' The teasing question, clearly rhetorical, floated up from under the sheets. Then she squirmed again. 'Perhaps you'd like this better.'
Vane did, but he wasn't about to say so. Gritting his teeth, he suffered the hot, wet sweep of her tongue, the gentle caress of her lips. She didn't have the faintest idea what she was doing-thank God. What she was doing was bad enough. If expertise was added to the equation, he'd be dead.
He tried to remind himself that the experience was hardly new to him-the rationalization didn't work. He couldn't distance himself from Patience's touch, couldn't imagine she was some faceless lady with whom he was sharing a bed. No logic seemed strong enough to quench or control the fire she was igniting.
He heard himself gasp. He licked lips suddenly dry. 'Where the devil did you get the idea…?'
'I heard some maids talking.'
Inwardly cursing all wanton maids, he summoned the last of his strength. She'd gone far enough. Jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached, he reached for her. Beneath the soft sheets, he found her head; he threaded his fingers through her hair, searching downward for her shoulders.
Beneath his hands, she shifted.
Hot wetness closed about him.
His fingers spasmed and clutched. The rest of his body reacted equally predictably. For one instant, Vane thought he'd die. Of heart failure. Then she released him. He groaned-and she took him into her mouth again. Eyes closed, he fell back on the pillows, and surrendered.
She had him at her mercy.
She knew it-she set about enjoying her newfound mastery. To the hilt. Extrapolating wantonly. Inventing with gay abandon.
Until, with a desperate groan, he was driven to expend his last ounce of strength and capture her, wrestle free, and find her waist and lift her. Over him. He lowered her, expertly nudging into the slick flesh between her thighs. Then he pulled her down, impaling her on the achingly urgent phallus she'd spent the last ten minutes inciting.
She gasped, then sank farther, her hands fastening tight about his forearms as she deliberately took him all. She rose on her knees immediately, pushing his hands from her, refusing to allow him to set the pace.
He acquiesced, filling his hands with her breasts instead, drawing the tight peaks to his mouth. She rode him with reckless abandon; he filled her and feasted, until, in a glorious, giddy rush, they fell over the edge of the world and, locked together, plunged into the selfless void.
They had no time to talk, no time to speak, no time to discuss anything at all. When, with the house waking about them, Vane, mildly irritated, left her, Patience was incapable of conscious thought.
Some four hours later, Patience sat at the breakfast table. Smiling. Glowingly. She'd seen the sight in her mirror, but hadn't been able to find any expression capable of disguising her joy.
She'd woken to find the tweeny quietly cleaning her grate, and Vane nowhere in sight. Which was undoubtedly just as well. The last sight she'd had of him would have driven the tweeny into hysterics. Lolling in her bed, which had looked like a whirlwind had struck it, she'd considered going and telling Minnie her news. But she'd decided against saying anything yet, not until she and Vane had discussed the details. From what she'd seen of the Cynsters, and what she knew of Minnie, once they made an announcement,
So she'd lolled some more, replaying Vane's declaration, committing every word, every nuance, to memory. No doubt of the veracity, or the strength of his feelings, could ever assail her-not with memories like that. She had, indeed, started to wonder if her desire to hear that particular assurance stated, in words, might, in the end, be too much to ask, an unrealistic expectation from a man like him. Men like the Cynsters did not set their tongue to that four-letter word lightly. 'Love' was not something they gave readily, and, as Minnie had warned her, even once given, they did not easily acknowledge it.
Vane had.
In simple words so laden with feeling she could not doubt, could not question. She'd wanted that, needed it, so he'd given it. No matter the cost.
Was it any wonder her heart was light, singing joyfully?
In contrast, the rest of the household remained subdued; Gerrard's empty place cast a pall over the conversation. Only Minnie and Timms, at the other end of the table, were unaffected; Patience beamed a happy smile up the board, and knew in her heart that Minnie understood.
