Dream of Me/Believe in Me

suspected it was one of the reasons Hawk had chosen to shelter her from the ways of her people.
    “I wish there were another way,” she said quietly. He had loosened his grip on her arm but not let go. His fingers moved gently over her skin, stroking her.
    “You are too tender-hearted.” His tone robbed the words of any sting. He bent his dark head and lightly brushed his lips down her throat.
    “Are you hungry?” he murmured, tracing the curveof her cheek to nuzzle her just behind the lobe of her ear where he knew her to be exquisitely sensitive.
    A tremor ran through her.
Hungry … food … supper.
She was supposed to have done something about that but she couldn't seem to remember— “No,” she whispered, as he clasped her hips, moving her against him, letting her feel his need.
    He raised his head, silvery eyes faintly mocking. “No?”
    “No, I'm not hungry … for food.”
    His beautiful, hard mouth curved in the intimate smile that never failed to make her knees go weak. “Good.” He was pleased, arrogantly so, for having been able to distract her from her duties. He was also relieved, for there had been a moment, just then, when she seemed on the verge of saying something … serious, something he did not especially wish to hear. Life should be simple, elsewise it could not be controlled. Most especially, he wished no complications with his Saxon bride. Controlling her was vital for the peace that was his greatest dream and, too, for his pride as a man.
    Cymbra gave a little yelp as the ground gave way beneath her feet. Swept into the Wolf's strong arms, she was carried in long, swift strides across the field and into their lodge.
    The jarl and his wife did not appear at supper that eve. They left the timbered great hall to their retainers, servants, and slaves. Dragon, realizing before the others did, broke out in hearty laughter and raised a cup to his absent brother.
    It was as well there was good ale to drink, for the food was truly appalling. Even the normally oblivious men grumbled a bit before getting sensibly drunk.
    W OLF DREW A RAGGED BREATH AGAINST WHAT felt like a band of metal constricting his chest, andcontinued the slow, skilled caress that was relentlessly driving his lovely wife to madness. He watched, fascinated, as her head tossed back and forth across the pillows. Soft cries broke from her and a fine sheen of perspiration glistened on her creamy skin.
    Their first coupling, scant minutes after gaining the lodge, had been as hasty as it was fulfilling. With the worst of his urgency slaked but his desire only heightened, Wolf was doing what he had not managed to do since their marriage. He lingered over his wife, savoring her beauty and her passion, exploring her body with gentle thoroughness, drawing out her pleasure until she dug her nails into his shoulders and cried his name.
    “Wolf!”
    He laughed, a raspy sound of male triumph, and moved up her body, taking her mouth, his tongue thrusting possessively even as he guided himself into her. She tightened around him reflexively, the pleasure of this most intimate caress so intense it teetered on the edge of pain. He groaned and moved within her, unable to hold back any longer, driving them both to wave after wave of release.
    Afterward, holding his wife in the crook of his arm, with her head resting on his shoulder and her hand lying just above his heart, Wolf reflected that there was much to be said for lingering. He chuckled softly.
    Cymbra raised her head and looked at him uncertainly. “What?”
    “I'm meditating on the virtue of patience.”
    It took her just a moment to realize what he meant. Fiery color moved over her face. She sighed elaborately and reclined against him. “Oh,
that
was patience.”
    Wolf stiffened but only until he heard her teasing tone. He smacked her bottom very lightly. “Perhaps it was not enough. Would you prefer for me to draw out your pleasure even longer?”
    She ran a long-fingered hand up his thigh, her nailsscratching him just enough to send a quiver along his spine. “Perhaps you would like to consider how a woman might take vengeance for such a thing.”
    “Vengeance? My sweet, gentle,
obedient
wife?” His wolf's eyes widened in mock astonishment.
    “No,” Cymbra said dryly. “The wife you actually have.” And proceeded to show him just what she meant.
    It was very late when next Wolf stirred, surpassingly content. Never had he expected his bride of scarcely a week to prove