He swept her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing, carrying her to the large, canopied bed that dominated the room.

He laid her down amongst the furs and silks, his eyes devouring her.

With impatient hands, he found the laces of her gown, his fingers, usually so deft with a sword, now fumbling with a lover's urgency.

She helped him, pushing the rich fabric from her shoulders until she lay bare before him.

The cool evening air whispered over her skin, pebbling her large, dark areolas and tightening her already prominent nipples to hard, aching peaks.

She saw his eyes darken with pure, unadulterated lust as he gazed upon her full breasts, the generous curve of her waist, and the thick, dark triangle of hair at the junction of her thighs.

He could see the red vertical lips glowing with her wet juices already. She was wet for him, so much so that she could melt down with just desire alone.

"By the gods," he whispered, his voice reverent.

"You are… magnificent."

He shed his towel, and her breath caught.

He was beautifully, savagely erect, his length thick and straining, a glistening bead of moisture already at its tip. It was long and thick enough to stretch her velvet walls and big enough to make her scream his name.

He joined her on the bed, his weight dipping the mattress, his body surrounding hers.

He did not pounce. He worshipped.

He started with her mouth again, a slow, deep kiss that promised everything.

Then his lips trailed down her jaw and her neck, nuzzling the sensitive hollow of her throat. He moved lower, his hot mouth closing over one taut nipple.

Ahh!

Emmanuelle cried out, her back arching off the bed.

His tongue was exquisite, laving and circling the areola before drawing the entire peak deep into the heat of his mouth. He suckled strongly, rhythmically, sending jolts of pure pleasure straight to her core.

Mmmmhhhh!!!

Her moans escaped her lips as she clutched the sheets, her writhing against him.

His hand found her other breast, kneading the heavy flesh, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger until she was mewling, her hands tangling in his damp hair.

He moved down her body, his lips and tongue painting a wet, blazing trail over the soft plane of her stomach. He kissed the crease of her thigh and nuzzled the coarse, dark curls of her bush. She was panting now, her hips making small, involuntary circles, seeking friction, seeking him.

"Jaenor… please…"

"Shhh," he murmured, his breath hot against her most intimate flesh.

"Let me love you."

And then his mouth was on her.

His tongue, that clever, wicked tongue, parted her folds and found the swollen, hypersensitive nub of her clit.

Emmanuelle gasped, a sharp, broken sound.

Her eyes rolled back.

Oh, my Jaenorrr!

It was not the rough, frantic coupling she had expected from him.

This was… devastating.

This was attentive.

This was skilled.

His tongue moved in slow, agonizingly perfect circles, flicking and pressing, then flattening to lave broad, tender strokes that made her thighs tremble. He explored her with a lover's patience, learning her taste and her rhythm, murmuring his approval against her wet flesh.

One hand slid beneath her, gripping the generous curve of her ass, holding her open for his feast, while the fingers of his other hand found her entrance, sliding inside her with an easy, torturous slowness.

She was so wet, so ready.

Her hips lifted, meeting the slow thrust of his fingers, the maddening dance of his tongue.

The coil of pleasure within her tightened, a brilliant, unbearable pressure.

She was babbling half-formed words and his name, a prayer and a curse.

AHh!!

Mhhh mmmhh!

The pleasure of sounds made by her filled the silent room.

The maidservants have long since retired; otherwise, they would have heard the lewd noises their lady was making.

The world narrowed to the points of contact: his mouth, his fingers, the building, and the cataclysmic wave of her climax.

It broke over her with a force that stole her breath.

AAAHHH!!!

A raw, guttural scream was torn from her throat as her body convulsed, shuddering around his fingers, her vision whiting out at the edges. He held her through it, gentling his mouth, drinking every last shuddering spasm until she collapsed back onto the furs, boneless and panting.

Before she could even catch her breath, he was moving over her, his body aligning with hers. The broad, slick head of his cock nudged at her soaked entrance.

His eyes, blazing with a feral light barely contained by his promised tenderness, locked with hers.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice thick with need.

"Look at me when I take you."

He pressed forward, and her eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of being filled, so completely, so perfectly.

"Look. At. Me."

Her eyes snapped open.

He was watching her, every flicker of feeling on her face.

He sank into her inch by excruciating inch, a slow, stretching, magnificent invasion that made her whimper. He was so big, stretching her deliciously, filling a void she had lived with for years. When he was fully sheathed, buried to the hilt within her, he paused, letting her adjust, his body trembling with the effort of his control.

He began to move.

She was wincing in pleasure of pain, so ecstatic and thirsty.

It was a slow, deep, rocking rhythm.

Each withdrawal was an agony of loss, each thrust a homecoming.

And she moaned louder with each stroke.

He braced himself on his arms, his face above hers, and she could see the love for his grandfather in his eyes, the twisted, passionate devotion that drove him to become the ghost for her.

He kissed her deeply as his hips pistoned against hers.

The tenderness was its own kind of intensity.

It allowed her to feel everything.

The drag of his length along her inner walls, the crush of his pubic bone against her sensitized clit with every deep stroke, and the way his balls slapped against her ass.

THAP! THAP! THAP! THAP!

The room filled with the sounds of their joining: their ragged breaths, the wet, slick sounds of their bodies, and the soft creak of the bed.

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