their sakes, clarified the situation with, “You have to guide me into you, Gwen. All I’m finding is your hip socket. Unless this . . .” He concentrated for a moment. She stiffened, her eyes startled. “No, that doesn’t seem to be right, either.”
“Most definitely is not right,” she said, and reached between them to position him. “Go!”
He went. Straight to heaven, is what he would have told her had it been in his power to speak at that moment of absolute bliss. Her muscles rippled around him, gripping him in a way that he had never imagined possible, and frankly didn’t know if he would survive. Slowly he sank into her, her breath caught in his mouth as he kissed her, the sensation of both just about spelling an end to him.
But when she started to move on him, her legs flexing as she found a rhythm that left him feeling as if he was made up of flowing lava in the form of a man, he knew that he hadn’t long to last.
“Gwen. My darling. My sweet. My heaven and earth and stars. If you move like that again—no, the other way—yes, that—I’m afraid that I will be doomed to disappoint you.”
Her heels dug into his buttocks as she stiffened against him, her nails scratching his back at the same time she yelled into his mouth.
That was all he needed. Her climax caused her muscles to grip him with the force of a velvety hot vise, sending him well past what any mere mortal could endure.
“It is a good thing,” he panted some minutes later, when they lay damp and exhausted on the bedrolls, a light linen sheet covering them from view of passing sheep, deer, and the odd occasional rabbit, “that I’m not mortal, because that would definitely have stopped my heart.”
Gwen lay draped over him, her limbs tangled with his, her wet hair splayed across his neck and chest.
He’d never felt more wonderful in all his sixty-four years.
She lifted her head. “You can talk.”
“Yes. So can you.” He trailed his fingers down the silky softness of her ass. “I love your derriere. Have I mentioned that?”
“Actual words. You can say them.” She squinted at him. “You’re thinking thoughts, aren’t you? Don’t deny it; I can see you are. I can’t do anything more than quiver with little aftershocks of sheer, unadulterated rapture from what was, hands down, the best sex that has ever been performed in the whole history of mankind, and possibly the universe, and you’re there indulging in brain processes, and talking, and touching my butt just like nothing happened.”
“Oh, something happened, my sweet one,” he said with a leer.
“Gah!” she said, and slapped his chest before rolling off him, pillowing her head on his arm in a manner that he knew would leave the latter numb in a few minutes. He didn’t care. A few pins and needles would be worth it.
She stared up at the sky, now dusky with both the oncoming evening and the red haze that grew darker and more intense as they neared the battlefield.
He smiled at her. “It was pretty damned good, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, yes,” she said on a sigh. “There’s only one thing that could make me happier . . .”
He sat up and stared down at where she lay. “Woman,” he said in his sternest voice, “I have pleasured you as I have pleasured no other woman, almost to the point of my demise. You yourself state that you are even now experiencing aftershocks. You do not aftershock if the experience is in any way less than absolute perfection. Therefore, there is nothing that could make you happier, and I will thank you to retract your complaint about my performance!”
“It wasn’t a complaint—” she started to say, but he would brook no objection.
“Slur, then. It was a slur upon my manhood.”
She lifted the sheet and looked under it. “Goddess! I didn’t realize you were that large. Even all tuckered out you’re . . . wow. Gregory, I can say in all honesty that I have no slur to make against your manhood. The only thing that would make me happier is if you’d feed me. I’m exhausted with all the aftershocks, and so hungry I could eat Bottom. Well, not literally, but you know what I mean.”
“Please imagine that I am even now making a risque play on words concerning your bottom,” he said, mollified enough that he offered her a plate of food.
“Done. Oooh, is that a crab quiche?”
“Apparently so. And this appears to be some sort of rolls stuffed with various meats. Grapes?”
They dined happily, although Gwen insisted that they put on clothing just in case someone strolled past them.
“How are you going to steal the things that Aaron wants you to steal?” Gwen asked him some time later as they lay snuggled together, watching the stars overhead emerge from the velvety darkness to twinkle down on them.
Gregory had never been one to see the romance of the night sky—so far as he was concerned, it was simply a moon and light reflected from astral bodies too far away for him to easily understand. And yet at that moment, with Gwen warm in his arms, the softness of her body pressed against his, he could have sworn that the arrangement of stars and moon was created just for them.
“Gregory?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you thinking about sex?”
He blinked at the stars, then looked down at the top of her head where it lay on his chest. One of her hands rested on his breastbone, not stroking him, just lying there. It felt right. “I wasn’t until you asked that, but now I am.”
She laughed, pressing a kiss into his chest. “Then what were you thinking about that was so consuming you couldn’t answer my perfectly reasonable question?”
“I was considering whether or not I should attempt to write a poem to just how beautiful you are lying naked under the stars. Now I shall have to change that to an ode on making love to you.”
“I don’t think my heart could stand it,” she said lightly.
He froze, wondering if she had, unbeknownst to him, abilities to read his thoughts. Did she sense the warm feelings that had been growing with each hour of her acquaintance? He’d been careful to not acknowledge them, even to himself, lest he hurt either or both of them. He hadn’t ever been one to give his heart easily, and he knew with the knowledge born of man that in Gwen he’d found a woman who could destroy him should she so desire.
No, it was far better to keep things unemotional. Lust was fine. Sexual appreciation was appropriate. Desire was welcomed. But anything else . . . no. It was better this way.
She lifted her head and grinned at him, at the same time tweaking his nipple. “You’re not the only one who almost croaked because the sex was so good. So, how are you going to steal the stuff?”
He relaxed. She wasn’t making a declaration of his emotions after all. “I don’t know. I’ve never stolen anything before. I guess I’ll check out the camp and locate the items first, then make a plan.”
“My moms are there. I’ll have a chat with them and see if they can help. I’m sure they would. I think they’ll like you.” He felt inordinately pleased until she added, “They always cotton to the most inappropriate people. I can’t tell you how many times over the years I’ve had to separate them from bad influences.”
He pinched her ass. “That is no way to talk about a master thief, madam. Go to sleep. You’re going to need your strength.”
She sighed heavily into his chest and snuggled closer. “Yes, I know. I have that stupid armor to wear, and when we get to the camp Doug will probably make me fight right away.”
“I was referring to the method by which I am intending to awaken you,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. He’d never felt so happy in all his life. He had Gwen, and that was all he wanted.
On the heels of that thought came another one, much more disquieting. . . . How on earth was he going to keep her?
TEN
