Bertrice Small - Besieged

"God's blood, lass, you are surely the most beautiful woman I have ever known." His two hands clasping themselves about her waist he lifted her up slowly, lowering her just enough so he might kiss her moss rose nipples.

"I must bathe," she protested softly.

His tongue began to lick at her flesh. "You're salty," he said with a small chuckle. Then he ceased his teasing, and set her down in her tub. Kneeling by her side he took up the washing cloth, and soaping it began to smooth it over her back and shoulders, using his big hand as a cup to rinse her. Then one arm. The cloth slid down the silken skin from neck to hand. He rinsed her, and kissed each fingertip. The second arm was identically served, but this time he sucked on her fingers slowly, and with deliberate meaning.

"You are a poor maid," she said low. "You have washed neither my neck, or my ears, Kieran Devers."

In reply he bent and placed a kiss on the nape of her neck before running the soapy cloth over it. "You have always had the most graceful neck, and tempting nape, madame," he murmured. The hand holding the cloth dipped below the water, surfaced, was wrung out, and then gently scoured each small ear, the lobe of which he kissed as he finished.

The cloth was moistened, and squeezed out again. He soaped it lavishly, and wiped it across her chest, sliding beneath the water to cleanse her ripe breasts, teasing the nipples with the flannel cloth until they puckered and thrust forward in the warm water. "Stand up," he said in a thick voice.

"I can do the rest," she assured him. Her heart was beating wildly. The look in his eyes was so passionate.

"Stand up!" he repeated through gritted teeth.

Fortune stood.

From his kneeling position he almost looked like a supplicant at the foot of a goddess, and he felt like one. He had promised her he would be faithful, and he had been. He had not lain with any woman since he had last lain with his wife. His beautiful, seductive, lush wife. Kieran was almost trembling with anticipation. His manhood was already rock hard in his breeches with his desire for Fortune. He wondered if she felt the same way, and looked up into her face.

When their eyes met Fortune felt the prudently banked fires in her loins spring up and threaten to suffocate her in the conflagration. She could actually feel her nipples thrusting and tingling with anticipation. Her legs felt weak, and yet she stood straight as the cloth laved gently over her belly, and down each shapely limb. Her blue-green eyes never left his dark green ones. She could not have, even if her very life depended upon it, looked away. The look overwhelmed her with its hungry craving, its intense need, its blazing desire.

His finger spread her nether lips open to his view. For a long, hot moment he stared at the sweet flesh filling his gaze. Then the cloth swept over it, washing, teasing, making her long for him even as he longed for her. She whimpered as he leaned forward and began to tongue her. She felt heat licking at her center of being. "Kieran!" She half-sobbed his name as his hands cupped her buttocks drawing her into a most intimate conjunction with his lips.

The taste of her! The scent of her! It maddened him with lust. How many months? How many years since he had last held her in his arms? Had made passionate love to her? He rubbed his cheek against her belly, his fingers digging into the flesh of her derriere as he forced back the lust that threatened to consume him. He wanted it perfect tonight of all nights. They had waited for so long, and now within their own home he would take her slowly, and with love. He stood.

Fortune's fingers clumsily began to unlace his shirt. Her hands were practically shaking in their eagerness. She pushed the fabric from him, her lips touching his heated skin. She felt a chill as the night air touched her wet body, and remembered she was standing in her tub. Bending she kissed his chest and belly frantically. She was aching to possess him. This love play was utter torture. Her fingers fumbled at his breeches, and he laughed, helping her, but then she swore impatiently.

"You've still got your damned boots on," she said, straightening up, and glaring at him.

In reply he pulled her close again, but this time his fingers sought her out. "You're an eager wench," he said softly, and two of his fingers pushed themselves into her sheath.

Fortune shuddered with pure pleasure. "Ahhh, yes!" she sighed.

The fingers thrust deliberately, tauntingly into her fevered body, and Fortune squirmed frantically to make the conjunction between them even closer than it was, her fingers tangling themselves in his dark hair, pulling at it to force his head down, and then their lips met in a hungry kiss, their tongues frantically playing. She shivered as a frisson of pleasure was released by his teasing fingers.

"There, you delightfully greedy little bitch, that should hold you for a moment or two while I divest myself of the rest of my clothing." The fingers slid from her body, and looking into her sloed eyes he put them into his mouth, murmuring appreciatively. "You taste quite delicious, my darling lass."

She couldn't move for the longest time. She stood there in the warm water of her tub enjoying the wonderful feelings of pure pleasure that he had unleashed in her. It had been too long. But it would never be that long again, the voice in her head assured her.

His back to her, he drew off the remainder of his garments. "Now, wife," he said to her, "it is your turn to bathe me."

"Kieran, I am dying for you," she pleaded with him.

"As I am for you," he replied, and turned about.

She moaned lustfully at the sight of his manhood, fully engorged with his hunger for her, thrusting out from its nest of black curls.

"You must learn the fine art of compromise, Fortune," he told her, climbing into the tub. Seating himself carefully, he pulled her down.

Fortune gasped with both surprise and pleasure to find herself impaled on his love lance as he seated her opposite him.

"Now, my love," he said calmly, handing her the flannel washing cloth, "wash me." The dark green eyes gazed at her.

She could hardly breathe as she attempted to ply the soft cloth over his chest. The sensation of him filling her was so terribly acute. He throbbed with desire within her hot, tight sheath. She ached. She was both hot and cold at the same time. Finally, drawing a deep breath, she washed him with an almost grim determination, leaning over his shoulders to wipe at his broad back. The slightest movement she made was so intense that she was close to shrieking her need for him, particularly when he began to fondle her breasts, playing in leisurely fashion with the sensitive globes, tweaking at the nipples until she begged him to cease, or she would shatter into a thousand pieces.

In response he lifted her off his love lance, and stood, drawing her up with him. "I remember another time like this," he said softly as he stepped from the water, and drew her out as well. Taking the large towel on the rack by the fire he dried her as she frantically took the edge of the towel to dry him. "Enough," he said finally, and pushed her onto the bed.

Fortune didn't need further instructions. She opened herself to him immediately, crying out with undisguised pleasure as he entered her with a single, smooth movement. "Yes!" she almost wept. "Yes!"

It was almost too much. When her legs wrapped themselves about him Kieran shuddered with delight. He delved deeply into her soft welcoming passage, thrusting again, and again, and again. The walls of her love channel closed about his manhood, tightening, releasing, tightening, releasing until he could no longer bear it, and his long pent-up lust for Fortune exploded in a rush of boiling love juices so profuse that she could not contain it all, and it oozed from her body to dampen the lavender-scented sheets. "Ilove you!" he cried out to her.

"As I love you," she sobbed. "Oh, my darling, never leave me again. Until this moment I did not fully realize how desperately I had missed you, and how much I needed you, Kieran."

They kissed hungrily, passionately, their lips mashing frantically as if they could not get enough of each other.

"I want more," he growled in her ear.

"Oh, please, yes!" Fortune answered him, as their bodies uncoupled for a short time. "More, and more and more!"

He laughed, and brushed a lock of her hair that had come undone in their passionate encounter. "For some reason, my love, I do not find that prospect unpleasant. We shall never be parted again, Fortune."

"Never!" she agreed.

The walls of Fortune's Fancy were plastered. The floors were sanded, and then polished. Tapestries were hung. The India carpets were laid. The furniture Fortune had brought from England was set about. The Irish colonists were invited to a celebration at Lammastide by their sponsor, Kieran Devers. They came to eat, and to drink, and to dance. They stood solemnly as Father White, Leonard Calvert's Jesuit priest, blessed Fortune's Fancy. The feeling of community was strong.

Mistress Happeth Jones, the physician, brought Fortune a special gift of two rosebushes. "I brought a dozen from Ireland," she explained, "and they have taken to this climate well. Come and see me soon, m'lady, and I will give you a strengthening potion for you and the babe you are now carrying. There will be a number of births come next spring." Her brown eyes twinkled behind her spectacles. "It would seem all the husbands were happy to see their wives again, m'lady."