Forever in Your Embrace

  Tyrone chuckled softly. “I’m sure you know better than I what is proper for a woman to wear to functions of that nature, madam. Besides, I haven’t yet seen you garbed in anything that hasn’t taken my breath away.”

  Synnovea was both surprised and pleased by his compliment. “Your exhibitions on horseback take mine away.”

  Her husband grinned and cocked his head curiously aslant as his eyes delved into hers, but he was promptly reminded of his tasks when the horse nickered. He had definitely lost the desire to complete his chores alone now that he had a companion who looked so fetching. “Would you do me a favor?”

  Synnovea would have eagerly complied with almost anything he had in mind at that moment. “Certainly.”

  Tyrone inclined his head toward the end of the stall where he had left a wooden bucket he had earlier filled with water. “Can you bring that pail over here and dribble the contents over the horse’s tail while I rinse it? It’s rather unhandy doing all of this by myself.”

  Synnovea lifted the ponderous pail and tugged at a bottom lip as she carried it forward. Near the horse’s rump, she braced her feet apart and lifted the bucket to comply with her husband’s directive. Affected by the nearness of the man and the curious little bubbles of pleasure coursing through her being, she gave no heed to the puddle that was steadily growing beneath her feet.

  “Synnovea, look what you’re doing. You’re getting your slippers wet,” Tyrone gently admonished. Reaching out, he took the pail from her. “You’d better go in and get another pair before you catch your death.”

  “No…please…” She shook her head, reluctant to leave. The moment was rare indeed when her husband was in a tractable mood, and she didn’t want to miss the occasion, no matter how frigid the water seeping into her slippers. “I’ll just take these off.” Retreating to the far end of the stall, she kicked them off and lifted her skirts and petticoats to doff her stockings.

  Tyrone was hardly aware of the puddle he was creating beneath his own shoes as he became enthralled with the sights. Her bare limbs were so lithe and shapely, one glimpse demanded his full attention.

  Synnovea pulled the back of her gown and petticoats forward between her thighs and tucked the hems into her waistband before she tiptoed shivering through the icy water. Returning once more to the horse’s rump, she reached out to take the bucket from her husband and promptly laughed when she noticed the pool he had created. “You’re no handier than I am, sir.”

  “Aye,” Tyrone agreed with a lopsided grin. “But if you come down sick, Natasha will blame me.”

  The green-brown eyes glowed with a hint of mischief. “Don’t tell me a big, stalwart man like you is afraid of a little woman.”

  His grin broadened as he briefly lifted wide shoulders. “Not afraid, only reluctant to bestir Natasha’s displeasure.”

  Synnovea was surprised at the sudden twinge of jealousy that tweaked her good humor. Since Tyrone had returned to work, she had been reluctant to join him at the morning meal for fear of angering him, yet from what Danika had said in all innocence, those sunrise tete-a-tetes which he shared with Natasha seemed quite jovial. The fact that the cook couldn’t understand English had allowed Synnovea to hope that the two were merely talking as friends. Yet at times she was wont to fret. Natasha was quite beautiful and still very, very appealing to men, and not so long ago she had lauded Tyrone’s praises as if genuinely attracted to him. “You must admire Natasha very much. Even in so short a time, it has become obvious to all the servants that you enjoy her company more than mine.”

  Tyrone stared at his wife in amazement, thoroughly taken aback by her premise. Then the humor of her accusation struck him, and he began to laugh in hearty amusement. “Good heavens, Synnovea, all we ever talk about is you. Between Natasha and Ali, I’ve learned more about you than either one of them.”

  Synnovea lifted her dainty chin in some annoyance. “By now you must understand me quite well, then.”

  Her husband scoffed at such a farfetched notion. “The workings of your mind, madam, are far too complicated for a mere man to comprehend. But then, perhaps I’m not the only one you’re able to confuse. At times I think you completely baffle your closest friends and, if I may be allowed to venture a guess, yourself as well.”

  His wife was a bit astounded by his conjecture, but then, she had to admit there was some truth in what he had said. She hadn’t always been able to clearly discern her own emotions. Not so terribly long ago, she had been certain that she wanted nothing to do with Tyrone Rycroft. His audacity had totally repulsed her, or so she had thought, yet she had been unable to cast him from her mind. Now here she was, yearning for him to be just as bold as he had been in the bathhouse.

  The sight of his hardened chest drew her forward as if she had no will of her own. Though wary of provoking his ire again, she lifted a hand and stroked it admiringly over the muscular expanse. She could feel his heart thudding beneath her palm and wondered if she had the ability to spur it to a swifter rhythm. Searching the luminous orbs above her own, she pushed the shirt off his shoulders and dragged it down his arms. She had elicited his wrath much too often for her to feel at ease with her seduction, but this time she found no hint of a frown and was encouraged by his quiescent stillness. She traced her fingers admiringly over his lightly furred chest and followed the ridge of hair that trailed downward to the top of his breeches, making him catch his breath. Lifting smoldering eyes to his, she silently beseeched him as she slipped her hand beneath the breeches and took hold of the rapidly thickening flesh.

  Tyrone’s heart leapt as if jolted by a lightning bolt. His awakened senses were completely alert to every detail of the feminine form that leaned into him. With some difficulty he released a halting breath as he met her inquiring gaze.

  “Is something wrong?” Synnovea queried, feigning a smile. She was on pins and needles, awaiting his reaction.

  Tyrone was reluctant to consider the gut-wrenching agony that would be inflicted upon him if he rejected her overtures. Fires had been lit that could be assuaged only by making love to her. Yet he worried at the control she’d have over him if he submitted to her seduction. In a halfhearted attempt to break the spell which bound him, he murmured huskily, “I think I’d better finish rinsing the horse’s tail.”

  Synnovea’s heart nearly crumpled with disappointment, but her pride had been vanquished weeks ago, and she was not above beseeching him. The warm flesh in her grasp encouraged her to be bold. “Please, Ty, don’t deny me the pleasure of touching you,” she breathed in plaintive appeal. “I couldn’t bear it if you did. Am I not your wife? Do I not have the right to make a claim on you? You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to do this. I’m beset by cravings you have awakened within me. I yearn for your touch…for your husbandly affection. How long must I wait? When will you let me touch you without fear of being chided? Or are you intent upon punishing me for the whole of our marriage?”

  “Punish you?” Tyrone rasped. His whole body was shaking from the intensity of his needs, and he gave up his futile efforts to keep his resolve. Sweeping an arm around her, he snatched her close in sudden ardor. “Nay, I’m the one who has been punished.”

  His mouth swooped down upon hers in frenzied greed, snatching her breath with the sweet, brutal intensity of his passion. His face slanted across hers as his tongue plundered the warm, sweet cavity of her mouth. It was a wild, rapacious search, unrivaled by anything that Synnovea had ever experienced before, yet she felt driven to answer him with her own craving hunger. With a softly muted moan, she looped her arms tightly around his neck and molded her womanly form against his steely body, hoping to drive him beyond the point of resistance. She had no need to worry. His fingers were already slipping the ties of her blouse free, and soon he was baring her breasts and pressing her backward over an encompassing arm. His open mouth claimed a pliant peak and nearly devoured her bosom with ravenous hunger, halting her breath at the sheer ecstasy of his stroking tongue and su
ckling caresses. In the depths of her body there bloomed a heightening craving that yearned to be sated as sparks sizzled upward from her loins in quickly flaring bursts of ecstasy.

  Tyrone raised his head, his features sharply chiseled with his lusting need. His gaze plunged into hers, searching out her true intent. If this was another game, he would know it now rather than later. “Is this what you really want?”

  “Oh, yes…yes,” Synnovea whispered, fearing he would leave her bereft of his manly attention. She didn’t want to give him time to mull over the matter and remember what she had done to him. Eagerly plucking open his breeches, she clasped the hot flesh once again and began to pleasure him in a more daring manner than she had tentatively done weeks ago.

  “What are you doing to me?” he rasped huskily.

  “Only what you once instructed me to do,” she breathed, drawing him backward toward a darkened corner of the stable and the large mound of fresh hay that she knew was there.

  “We’ll be discovered,” Tyrone cautioned, finding no will to resist. It seemed a recurring dream he was having. She had him by the gutstrings of his being, and he was following much as he had done before, like a bleating lamb to slaughter.

  “Natasha is off visiting Prince Adolphe and his daughter and won’t be back until late,” Synnovea whispered warmly. “Stenka and Jozef have taken Ali to the marketplace to fetch some things for Danika. The door is locked, and we’re quite alone, my darling.”

  The desperate catch in her voice conveyed desires that were no different from his own, Tyrone realized. Upon reaching the haystack, she sank back upon the sweetly scented grass and smiled up at him as she released the tail of her skirt from her waistband and let it fall away from her thighs. As he watched in mounting enthrallment, she doffed her clothes and spread them beneath her before lying back in all of her naked glory. Her smile was inviting as she wrapped her arms beneath her breasts, thrusting their delicately hued peaks upward in an invitation for him to taste and fondle. The lustrous orbs glowed in the dim light, like lush melons just waiting to be devoured. It was an enticement that Tyrone no longer wished to ignore. She was his, and she was offering him what he had been lusting for ever since their first naked embrace.

  Slipping off his shoes, he dropped his breeches and kicked them aside. A brief glint of awe flickered in Synnovea’s eyes as she eyed the stalwart blade. It seemed immensely bold and threatening, yet this and oh-so-much-more were what she had been yearning for since their wedding day. In welcoming invitation, she smiled and lifted her arms.

  Tyrone felt the hot blood coursing through him, and in mounting eagerness, he dropped to his knees and leaned forward between her eagerly parting thighs to hungrily mouth her soft, round breasts, caressing the sensitive peaks and evoking ecstatic gasps from his wife. She arched her back, thrusting the delectable fullness upward to meet the sultry heat of the torch that branded her as his mouth stroked across the pale peaks. His hand moved over her thigh in a sweeping caress, moving along her flank and then inward and upward over her sleek limb. Synnovea caught her breath as he intruded into the dewy freshness, making her writhe at the bliss he created within her womanly softness. She breathed an anxious plea for him to join himself to her. He readily complied, pressing the hardened shaft into the velvety sheath, drawing a muted gasp of awe from her.

  “Oh, Ty, it seems so long ago since we came together like this,” she whispered near his ear, clutching him to her. “I was afraid you’d deny me forever.”

  His hands clasped her buttocks, fitting her snugly against the vibrant hardness that filled her as he lifted her up to him. He moved his hips with slow, purposeful strokes eliciting blissful sighs from her lips until she was nigh giddy with the ecstasy washing through her. In rapidly advancing degrees the manly thrusts quickened and became more dedicated until the billowing spasms began to wash over them. Joy filled Synnovea’s heart when she heard her husband mutter her name in the throes of his passion, and then, just as quickly, astonished gasps were wrenched from her as she joined him in that lofty climb. Together they soared to heights far beyond the silky white clouds that seemed to shimmer all around them. It was rapture in its most sensual form, the sweetness of marital union, a blissful haven for each to savor and the coming together of two beings beautifully formed for one another.

  When at last they grew still within each other’s arms, Synnovea crooned near her husband’s ear, “That was much nicer than it was before, very, very pleasurable, in fact.”

  “Aye, madam, we were interrupted before we were able to finish.” Tyrone kissed her again, feeling as if a weighty burden had just been lifted from him. “I should have done this sooner.”

  Synnovea smiled beneath his caressing lips. “I’ve been wanting you to.”

  “I never expected it to happen like this,” he admitted with a chuckle. “Not with such a sumptuous chamber at our disposal.”

  She laughed, thoroughly content now. “You were so wary of our chambers, I didn’t seem able to approach you with an invitation.” Her eyes glimmered brightly in the shadows. “I was beginning to think you hated me.”

  “I was afraid of the pain your nearness would inflict upon me,” he rejoined with candor. “I was too susceptible to even think of trusting myself around you.”

  “Are you sorry now that you made love to me?” she queried diffidently.

  “Nay, only relieved that my foolishness has finally been put to an end.”

  “We could have dinner sent up to our chambers,” Synnovea suggested coyly. “No one but servants will be in the house.”

  “After we bathe, madam,” he assured her. “You caught me when I’m smelly and dirty. Hardly what a bride appreciates when her husband wants to mount her.”

  “You smell nice and very manly, and you’re not dirty,” she argued, “but even if you were, I wouldn’t be able to deny you after I’ve waited so long for you to make love to me.”

  “We’d better finish what we were doing so we can get on with more important things.” Tyrone grinned as he pushed himself away and sat back on his heels. “I’ve been beset long enough by fantasies of making love to you in a bathing pool, and I’m most eager for that event to take place.”

  Synnovea rolled away and came to her knees, but when her husband clasped the back of her thigh, she looked back at him in curious wonder. Her eyes fairly flamed as he clamped his arm around her waist and lifted her back into his lap. Willingly she nestled against him and leaned her head aside as his lips nibbled at her creamy throat.

  “Perhaps we could delay a few moments more,” he suggested, cupping a pale breast within his hand. The fact that he was already aroused again didn’t surprise him in the least, considering his lengthy abstinence.

  “I was rather anticipating making love in the pool,” she murmured with a flirtatious smile, moving her buttocks teasingly against him. The delectable delight awakened by her soft flesh stroking across the flinty hard shaft made her shiver with renewed desire. “But what you’re doing now is very nice. Shall we dally in the hay some more?”

  “The pool awaits, madam.”

  Slipping a hand beneath her buttock again, he boosted her to her feet and then followed, springing upward with a swift, effortless movement that clearly evidenced his strength and manly grace. After scooping up her kerchief, he dipped it into the watering trough and, beneath her fascinated gaze, began to wash himself. A moment later, he nearly took her breath away by performing the same service for her, being incredibly gentle and deliciously thorough in his bathing techniques.

  “We’ll never make it to the bathing chamber if you continue,” she breathed shakily. “I like what you’re doing too much to even think of waiting until we reach the bathing chamber.”

  Tyrone had become caught up in the stimulating task as well and extended his ministrations far beyond what was required. “Another taste of such blissful fare wouldn’t take that long,” he rasped softly, making her catch her breath in delight at his bold intrusion. His free
hand came around to cup a breast, and as she leaned against him, his thumb stroked across a soft peak. “And right now, I’ve no heart for tending the stallion. To be sure, my lengthy wait has made me greedy.”

  “The door is locked, and we have all the time in the world,” she crooned invitingly with a sensual smile as her eyes caressed his handsome face.

  Half turning, Tyrone tossed the kerchief into the pail and then swept his wife up into his arms. With a playful growl, he made a pretense of devouring her breast, evoking a dreamy mewl as his licking tongue plied its crest. Whirling her about, he drew her breath out in an excited little laugh before he sprawled back upon the mound of hay and pulled her down astride him. A small, ecstatic shiver went through her as he lingered over the delectable merging, pressing the vibrant hardness upward, seemingly into the core of her being. Synnovea’s breath quickened as his throbbing heat filled her, and with eyes that had grown dark and sultry, she held his gaze imprisoned as she swept her hands over her own body, encouraging his to follow wherever she led, over the swelling mounds, along her narrow waist, and into the moist crevice. Nearly shuddering with her rapidly intensifying excitement, she slipped her arms beneath the ebon tresses, sweeping them off her neck as she arched her back and stroked against her husband’s loins. Her rhythm intensified with her increasing fervor, drawing his breath out in harsh gasps. Though Synnovea hadn’t thought it possible for her to transcend the heights to which she had recently climbed, he seemed intent upon eliciting every degree of delight she was capable of experiencing, making her writhe and shudder with the sensations he created within her until she felt as if she were dissolving in a warm, blissful flood.