Medieval 03 - Enchanted

delicately as a sigh, teasing the seductive
mound whose heat rose to meet him. A low sound came from Ariane,
half moan, half whimper.
    And she moved toward Simon’s touch, not
away.
    His own breath became a groan. He wanted to wake
her, to take her, to watch her eyes shimmer with passion as he
sheathed himself deep within her body. He felt as though he had
wanted that all of his life.
    Simon dipped his fingers into the balm one last
time. With great care he rubbed the creamy mixture from
Ariane’s navel to her thighs. Her leg flexed more deeply. The
motion caused her hips to lift just a little.
    It was enough. Simon’s fingertips skimmed the
secret flesh that was flushed by desire. Ariane made a murmurous
sound of pleasure and stretched dreamily, stroking herself against
his fingers.
    Delicately he drew his fingertips between her
thighs, discovering and tracing her sultry softness in the same
hushed moments. He sensed the ripple of pleasure radiating through
her, heard it in her ragged sigh, saw it in the languid movement of
her hips.
    “What are your dreams, nightingale?”
Simon asked in a soft, rough voice. “Do you want me now the
way I wanted you the first time I saw you?”
    Very gently, Simon caressed the edges of
Ariane’s tightly furled petals. The hot, sensuous dew of her
response gilded his fingers and made his heartbeat quicken. With
exquisite care, he eased a fingertip just between the sultry folds.
His touch eased slowly forward, caressing and parting her at the
same time.
    At the peak of the caress, Simon discovered the
hidden pearl. It was sleek, firm, full. When his moist fingertip
circled, Ariane sighed brokenly. Her hips moved subtly,
luxuriously, as though seeking more.
    Simon’s hand withdrew until nothing of his
body was touching Ariane. She made a protesting sound and turned
her head from side to side with a languid restlessness that spoke
eloquently of both her desire and the healing thrall of the
dream.
    It was as Cassandra had said. Ariane will awaken feeling as though she has dreamed
deeply. And within the dream, she will also feel deeply. As will
you .
    “What are you feeling, nightingale?”
Simon asked huskily. “Is it disgust?”
    He ran his fingertips down the inside of
Ariane’s thigh. She arched up to him as though swimming
through heavy liquid. Each movement was slowed to a shadow of her
usual quickness. Each small motion was a sensuous reflection of her
dreams.
    “Nay, it isn’t disgust that moves
you,” Simon whispered. “Is it the heat swelling deep
within that drives you? Do you lift to me, knowing it is I who
stroke you?”
    His fingertips caressed petals that were no longer
so tightly furled. They were swollen, hot, and they wept with
Ariane’s desire.
    Simon’s breath hissed out as though he were
in pain.
    “I could test the depth of your heat,”
he whispered, “but I do not trust myself to be content with
the feel of your virginity snug around my finger. It would be too
easy to open you more and then still more, until I could press my
hungry sword deeply into your sheath.”
    Closing his eyes, Simon fought the desire that
clenched his whole being.
    “Do you wonder what it would feel like to
look at me and I at you while our hearts hammer and our bodies
strain to be locked ever more closely in loving combat?”
    Ariane didn’t awaken to answer Simon’s
question, though the flesh beneath his grazing, skimming caresses
was an answer in itself.
    She was hot, fevered.
    Nor was it the dry heat of illness whose presence
burned Simon’s fingertips. This was the liquid heat of a
woman whose hunger had been summoned by a lover’s touch.
    Simon opened his eyes and measured Ariane’s
arousal in the slow, voluptuous movements of her hips. The
heightened color brought by passion had flushed her lips and
nipples deep rose.
    Motionless, Simon sat on the bed, fighting himself
with every ragged breath he drew, knowing he should get up and
leave the enthralled girl who could say neither yes nor no.
    But I can choose for
her .
    The thought was agony.
    “Do you want me so deeply inside you that you
feelmy seed leaping as surely as I do?”
Simon asked in a raw whisper.
    Ariane’s answer was as silent as it was
unmistakable. Her body was no longer utterly languid. She was taut,
vibrant, open, lush with expectation. The scent of her desire sank
into him, setting his mind on fire.
    Simon made an anguished sound.
    By Christ’s blue eyes,
what is wrong with me? Why can’t