...Jennara clung to Bramwell in the soft summer darkness, his burgeoning beard caressing her face, his lips warm and compelling on hers. Behind them, the camp was quiet, the only night sounds a chorus of frogs from the trees by the stream. Nothing was real to her except his firm back muscles under her fingers, the exciting heat of his body pressed against hers, the urgent pressure of his mouth.
Her lips parted and, as his tongue eased inside, an arrow of fire penetrated deep into her body, spreading flames along its course until she burned with an all-consuming need. She’d never expected to feel an uncontrollable desire for a man, but Bramwell’s embrace ignited a passion she didn’t know she possessed. She pressed closer to him, desperate for more.
Was this what prompted women to lie with men, this wild chaotic yearning for fulfillment? Always before she’d supposed only men were driven by lust, now her body’s increasing demand for assuagement frightened her. Women often claimed they married for love, but what did love have to do with this animal passion? Her need was no different than that of a mare for a stallion and fully as insistent.
In the wild, stallions fought for the right to mate, only the best winning. If he were a stallion, Bramwell would be an unsurpassed leader, king of the stallions—strong and swift, with a heart-stopping dark beauty.
Jennara struggled to think coherently, to regain control, but his touch sapped her will as his hands caressed her breasts. She moaned, her nipples aching and tingling, a moist throbbing warmth spreading inside her pelvis.
She must stop but she didn’t want to, must free herself from his arms but she couldn’t put her mind to it. Jennara wrenched her mouth from his to cry, “No, stop!” but found herself breathing his name instead.
“Bramwell,” she murmured, “oh, Bramwell.”
In answer he cupped her buttocks with his hands and brought her hard against him. A spinster she might be, but her doctoring had made her well aware of a man’s anatomy and she understood he was showing her how badly he wanted her. The realization added fuel to her own inner fire.
Why should she stop? She’d always listened to and heeded reason, must she go on doing so all her life? Why shouldn’t she continue on this exciting journey until she reached the ultimate, unknown but oh-so-desirable destination? Why not yield to this insatiable craving, abandon all control?
Bramwell’s ragged breathing rasped in her ear, telling her he, too, was passing beyond reason into the realm of pure sensation.
Are you a naught but a mare then, Jennara? a voice in her head asked. Where is the love and tenderness of your secret dreams? She tried not to listen to the voice but it persisted. You told your father the only man you’d ever have is one you loved. Do you call this love?
No, this wasn’t love. Or was it?...