Medieval 03 - Enchanted

the
tips of her breasts. Her nipples budded in a velvet rush that made
Simon’s whole body clench.
    Ariane cried out softly and covered his hands with
her own. Simon froze, expecting her to pull away. Instead she
swayed subtly, pressing against his hands, caught in the sensual
thrall of his touch.
    “Who taught you?” Simon repeated
against her ear.
    Then his tongue thrust down again. The burst of
sensation that went through Ariane made it impossible to think,
much less to speak.
    “I dreamed—it was—done to
me,” she whispered.
    A ripple of hunger went through Simon at the
thought that Ariane might have shared his sensual dream.
    “Did it disgust you in your dream?” he
whispered.
    “Dear God, no.”
    “And now?”
    Simon caught the tight velvet peaks of
Ariane’s breasts and rolled them lovingly between his
fingertips.
    “Does this disgust you?” he
whispered.
    “Nay.”
    Ariane made a ragged sound as Simon’s tongue
andteeth caressed her ear. Dimly she realized
that her hands were covering his as they roamed over her breasts,
flicking and squeezing and arousing until her nipples pouted,
flushed with heat.
    Then he bent his head and curled his tongue around
a taut pink bud. The amethyst cloth served to magnify rather than
diminish the sensuality of the caress. Her head rolled back on her
neck and she shivered as his mouth suckled her.
    “Are you afraid?” Simon whispered.
    “Aye. Nay. I…do not know. I feel like a
bud must at the first touch of the sun. Flushed and quivering on
the edge of…something.”
    Simon took a deep, steadying breath and
straightened until he could see Ariane’s face. Her eyes were
both shadowed and sultry, caught like her between nightmare and
dream.
    “What else did you dream?” Simon
whispered. “Tell me, nightingale.”
    “I cannot!” Ariane whispered.
    The heat of her blush radiated out to Simon through
the thin cloth that was all she wore.
    “Then show me,” Simon said, smiling
against Ariane’s ear.
    She shook her head. “It will shock
you.”
    “If I faint, bring me wine.”
    The thought of being able to fell with mere words
the man whose body flexed powerfully beneath her hands disarmed
Ariane. She dipped up some more balm and resumed rubbing it into
Simon’s body.
    When her fingers swept over his nipples, he groaned
softly. She repeated the caress, thrilling to the sense of power it
gave her to so affect him.
    “Tell me your dream,” Simon said
huskily.
    “You tempt me, my lord.”
    “How can I? ’Tis your hand on the
reins, not mine.”
    The reminder quivered through Ariane, a brightness
that pushed her dark fears back a bit more.
    “Tempt me, nightingale. Share the dream that
makes you blush like the dawn.”
    Delicately Simon plucked at Ariane’s nipples,
which still thrust hungrily between his fingers. He felt again the
heat of the blood rushing from Ariane’s breasts to her
forehead. Slowly he released her nipples from sensuous
captivity.
    She gave a ragged sigh and leaned her forehead
against Simon’s shoulder. The tips of her breasts brushed
against his chest. It both soothed her and made her restless.
    “In my dream…” Ariane
whispered.
    “Yes?” he encouraged.
    “I can’t say it.”
    “Then show me.”
    “On your body?” she asked.
    “Would it be easier that way?”
    “I don’t know. Simon…”
    “Yes?”
    “Would it disgust you to be
touched?”
    “By you? Never.”
    “I mean…” Ariane took a swift
breath, gathered her courage, and ran her hands down Simon’s
torso. “Here.”
    “ Mother of
God ,” he said through clenched teeth.
    Ariane snatched back her hands.
    “I’m sorry,” she said unhappily.

“I warned you that you would be disgusted but you
didn’t listen.”
    Breath hissed back in through Simon’s
teeth.
    “You misunderstand,” he said
raggedly.
    “Nay, ’tis you who don’t
understand!”
    Simon put his forehead against Ariane’s.
    “Again, nightingale.”
    “What?”
    “Touch me again.”
    “There?”
    “Aye.”
    “Are you certain?”
    “By all the saints, yes .”
    Hesitantly Ariane’s hands slid down to
Simon’s waist,then skimmed over his
abdomen to a point between his legs. Her thumbs went back up,
tracing the blunt flesh that poked out above the waist of his
breeches.
    “You are very hard,” she whispered.
    “How can you tell?” he asked huskily.
“Your touch is light as a butterfly’s.”
    When Ariane ran her hands over Simon again, he
groaned and moved