Chapter Thirty-Three

Raven growled as she screamed his name over and over again and considered it a benediction. Then and there, he knew there would never be any other woman for him. Her every reaction became an aphrodisiac. He prepared to ascend into sublime bliss, plunged his manhood into her again and again, and before he could exercise any control, released his seed. Each thrust seemed to reward them with multiple orgasms. His voice roared in strong satisfaction, desperate to breathe in gulps of air.

She was velvet.

He was iron.

The look of passion on her sweet face pleasured him. This experience didn’t disappoint. Not what he expected, and perhaps too much more. Raven felt her muscle tighten around him and contract, tighten, and then bind him yet again. She coiled around his shaft. Paradise attained.

He didn’t want the moment to end. What man would?

After a few long moments, he rolled off her and brought her close to him, their bodies naked and moist from their lovemaking. “I hope I wasn’t too heavy. Admittedly, I dealt with a few unexpected issues.” He kissed her forehead and fondled her silken hair.

Raven gazed at her face when she leaned back in repose, skin kissed by the moonlight, her lips rose-colored and lust-swollen. Her hair now pooled into strands of red curls wound in laziness and reminded him of a burning forest fire as it crested. The flames of the fireplace’s glowing embers cast a color spell of reds, orange and yellow on her tresses, radiating and beckoning his fingers to romp through. He knew the touch of it would feel like silken threads.

Fascinated, he stared as her finger teased a wayward tendril away.

“Ah.” He inhaled the sweet scent of her. She took on the appearance of a goddess glowing with sensuality—and attainment…a woman who enjoyed her first tumbling. The sound of her quickening breath endeared him. He engaged those languorous jeweled eyes. This ability of hers to make love to him with hers amazed him. It was incredibly tantalizing to be able to speak without words. She gave a new definition to the word—sensuality incarnate. Like a dream weaver, he was captured by her spell. He thought her good at it—too good. He noticed the flecks of amber in her irises. Continuing his gaze, he exhaled, but those orbs still invited him to explore their depth. They offered much, and promised more. It touched him as never before.

To him, she represented a total siren—utterly female—who exuded an undeniable invitation to explore the depths of their mutual carnal desires. And carnal it was. Very carnal.

He took her hand, kissed her fingertips, and his tongue found its journey to oblivion as he skimmed her palm, not to entice, but to welcome her into his new world—a warm longed-for awakening. Yes, his arousal was prominent, again. Every base urge prodded him to devour her lips, succulent breasts, and navel—pausing for a moment, his tongue laving and heightening the desire for him to enter her once more. If the sensation was indeed base, he held no guilt. He had denied himself too long. Of course, he would see she peaked before he released his seed once more. His every thought was for her enjoyment of this new awakening. For it was more than that; it was a metamorphosis into the seductive arts of love with him as her guide.

Raven moved back up her body, so his lips sought hers—swollen with lust.

Samantha opened her mouth in urgent acceptance. Her needy body melded to his in exquisite cycles of plunging and withdrawing. Torture sought release. Her body thrummed, her senses assailed, at his taste, his touch, and his taunting tease. How much more could she endure without further satisfaction? Then blessedly, his cock was again positioned at her entrance.

“Gaze at us together in lustful wants and need. See what lovers do,” Raven said.

She wasn’t sure she’d heard. Just before his entry, without real intent, she moved her hands lower and skimmed her fingers over his ballocks. His surprise startled her when his voice roared. There was an insistent ache between her legs, and an overwhelming need for relief. His firm shaft was the instrument that would satisfy. Her gaze wandered to the shiny bead of his seed before his penis entered her.

“Now. Now, I beg of you.” Then a remarkable thing happened again. “Ahh,” she purred.

She searched his glazed eyes and at that moment, he released his manhood into her moist folds, and she murmured, “Yes.”

“Yes,” he thundered. “Oh, yes.”

Glorious, momentous, gratification satiated. Samantha glided through the imaginary clouds, an ethereal being, flying toward the moonbeam lights, fairy-like. She drifted back into reality, and it appeared the room dimmed. She extended her hand in gentle languor, and savored the pleasant effect, wanting to say so much, yet the glowing aftermath remained. She gazed and watched his expressions. So this is what married life could be about and what had been denied her?

The welcoming euphoria lingered like an old friend. Raven’s unusual lips always appealed to her because of their beauty. Delineated and with temptation, they invited inspection and perhaps a kiss or two or three. She could write a sonnet about his lips, and it still would not be representative of their handsomeness.

Her eyes became drawn to a birthmark on his upper right thigh. Samantha traced the ragged edges with her finger. “It looks almost like a disjointed heart.”

“All Ravensmere males are born with it. We prefer to call it our signature birthmark and believe that the male genes cause it. Once in a while, it transmutes to a female.”

“I find that a fascination, and quite beautiful.” She removed her hand and smiled up at him. Before she could think, Samantha kissed him in sweet lingering passion.

Raven smiled at her. “In a few minutes, as I recover, I expect you to explain how you are a virgin widow. To accept a former married woman’s invitation to be bedded is not uncommon. It’s quite another to discover that the woman is a virgin. A truly noble gentlman would never deflower a maiden.” A part of him anguished at the deed done and he traced her puffy lips with the pad of his fingers. So incredibly beautiful and sensual. Tingling bolts of desire invaded and tempted once more. Easy, old chap. Take time to absorb all of this and recover.

He removed his body from her side, walked to the wash-basin, immersed the cloth, cleansed himself with meticulous care, and returned with clean wet linen to wipe her down with much tenderness.

“Oh, the cloth is cold,” she shivered.

He showed her the evidence of blood.

“I was the first,” he said with pride that she knew no other man in the biblical sense. But there was also shame.

Raven tried to absorb the incontrovertible evidence. “Virgin blood,” he said, and he covered her with the immensity of the comforter, reached for his breeches, and donned them. Had this just happened to him?

“You have indeed given me a rare gift, Samantha. This act deserves a strong libation for it does not sit well.” He sauntered to the table. “Wine or Madeira?” All the while he stared at her and shook his head in disbelief.

“Do you have a brandy?” she asked.

He poured and handed her the glass, motioned, and said, “You may start your story now. I’m anxious to hear this.”

Raven lay on top of the comforter, his left elbow on the bed and listened with intent as she spoke.

How in everything that was holy and noble had he committed such a sin? The devil’s torment, and if it was truly wrong, why was it so pleasurable and feel so right?