Dream of Me/Believe in Me

His mouth drifted down over the smoothness of her belly. She whimpered and yanked hard on his hair, wringing a laugh that turned to a groan when he tasted the essence of her. She went rigid in his arms and for a moment her hands pushed hard against his shoulders, struggling to unseat him. An instant later she melted, crying out softly as she fell back against the blanket.
    Krysta opened her eyes to the cloudless helmet of heaven but did not see it. She could only hear the thudding of her own heart and feel the reverberations of ecstasy she had never known existed. Hawk moved above her and where she had not seen sun or sky, she saw him. Saw the man, solid and real, fierce and tender, so powerful that he could overwhelm her without effort, yet waiting … his eyes meeting hers, questioning.
    A moment more she hesitated, her head tilting back, savoring the echoes of virgin pleasure taken without price. It was not enough. She reached out, her touch lingering over the contours of his massive shoulders and chest to his flat abdomen and beyond. Gently, she cupped him, feeling his heat and strength. Deep within her, joy stirred. She bent her legs, making a place for him, and felt him fit it perfectly.
    “Krysta …”He lingered over her name as he lingered over her, going slowly, watching her every moment. His gaze never lessened, nor did hers, as he penetrated the virgin barrier, wincing as he did so as though the pain was his. She saw that and her heart opened with her body. Clasping her to him, cradling his head against her breasts, she rushed toward the power unfolding within her and took him with her.
    I T WAS AN INTERESTING THING, HAWK THOUGHT, TO get this far in a life filled with challenge and adventure, and realize he hadn't ever suspected what he was actually capable of experiencing. Pleasure certainly, he was no stranger to that, yet pleasure was but a faint taste of the soul-shattering ecstasy from which he was only slowly emerging. Interesting, too, to think at all, since for very long moments he was quite sure he had been capable of doing nothing of the sort. He turned his head, mildly surprised he could manage that as well, and saw Krysta lying beside him. Her eyes were closed, her mouth curved in a gentle smile. She looked well pleased with herself … and with him. He leaned on his side and stroked a finger along the damask curve of her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open.
    “I've got something for you,” he said. She looked surprised. He reached into the sack he'd brought along but kept what he withdrew from it concealed in his hand. “Close your eyes,” he directed. She did so but promptlytried to peer from beneath her lashes. “No peeking,” he chided and waited until she obliged.
    Something teased at her nose. Krysta tried to wiggle it away but it was back in an instant. She flicked her hand at it, wondering what was taking so long. The gift itself mattered not at all, it was the notion that he had thought of such a thing. Added to all that had just happened, it heaped upon her dazed senses so much gladness as scarcely to be borne.
    What
was
that tickling her nose? She forgot her promise, opened her eyes, and found herself staring at …
    Her breath caught. A hair ribbon danced before her, a length of brushed velvet the exact shade of green as she knew her eyes to be. “Oh, Hawk …”
    The way she said his name, that aching whisper of sheer delight, made his throat tighten. He wondered when the last time was anyone had given her a gift and felt a surge of gladness that he was the man to do it. As she twined the ribbon through her fingers, staring at it as though it were the loveliest thing she had ever seen, he reached back into the sack and drew out handfuls of hair ribbons, ribbons in every possible color, ribbons of velvet and rarest silk, embroidered ribbons and bejeweled ribbons showering down upon her like fragments of a rainbow.
    She gasped and laughed, all at once, trying to catch them as they fell over her breasts and belly, over the sleek smoothness of her thighs, into her hair, and all around her. She fell back against the blanket, gazing up at him, a look in her eyes as though he had given her the world. Just then, he felt he could.
    They lingered on the beach, enjoying the repast Aelfgyth had packed, then swam again. Heartbeat to heartbeat, they surrendered to their need for constant, small touches, the brush of lips, the stroke of fingertips, skin touching skin, a language words could