Charlotte Boyett-Compo- WIND VERSE- Hunger's Harmattan by Unknown (best management books of all time TXT) 📗

stiff cock into the warm, wet channel of a woman. But it wasnot just any woman whose body he impaled with that hard shaft but his woman,his companion, his life-mate.

The sensation rocking his lower body wasglorious as he withdrew and thrust into her again. The silky moistness thatenveloped him, the feel of her sheath, the heat that flowed along his rod was aheady awareness that made him shudder with delight. He shoved his hand backunder her hip and lifted her to him to better penetrate that luscious heaventhat tightened around his turgid flesh.

He slammed his mouth down over her, thrusthis tongue deep between her lips and began pumping his cock in and out of herwilling body so fast and with such power, the sound of their bodies slappingtogether made him that much lustier.

Shanee was digging her fingernails into hisbare back and her arms were so tight around him he was having difficultybreathing. Her mouth was fastened to his, her thighs squeezing his waist. Shewas as attached to him as any of the moles that peppered his back.

The itch was beginning high up in his bellyand fingering its way down through his cock. Her honeyed warmth was milkinghim, drawing upon his rigid length, and he could feel the first faint wave thatstarted somewhere near her womb then rippled down.

She cried out—her voice lost in therecesses of his mouth. She tensed—her body pushing up to meet his.

He grunted as the first spasm shook him andhe felt her climax begin. It was such an intense, overpowering feeling wrappedaround his cock that increased the speed of his thrusting.

The moment the release washed over her, shefelt the first spurt of his juices spilling into her, the jerk of his cock, thehard power in his thighs as he strained against her. As wave after wave ofpure, concentrated pleasure undulated through her, she felt his shaft pulsinghard.

Ailyn tore his mouth from hers and threwback his head, howling as he pulsated one last time within her. Pushing hardagainst her, stabbing his cock as far inside her as it would go, he held stillas the last faint jerk signaled the end of his release.

Breathing hard, sweat glistening on hisbody, he rolled with her until he lay on his back with her blanketing him. Shehad released her hold on his waist and shoulders so that her legs and armsstretched out alongside his, his hands clasped together at the small of herback.

“By the gods, I’ll never walk again,” hegasped. His heart was pounding so violently, he feared it would burst.

“You’ll never walk again?” she countered.She too was heaving in breath. Lowering her head to his chest, she could hearthe thunderous beat beneath her ear. “You’ve crippled me, Harmattan.” She heardhim snort.

He had not slept in days and he was sotired he could barely keep his eyes open. He was drained—milked dry—and soweary he simply could no longer stay awake. He didn’t try. Two more deepbreaths and he was sound asleep.

Shanee lifted her head and realized he wassleeping. Tariq had told her he would not have had much sleep—if any at all—andso she gently lay her head down again and there wrapped in the safe, protected,loving embrace of his arms, fell asleep atop him.

* * * * *

Every villager on Theristes was inattendance the next night. It was close to midnight—the traditional time atwhich Ceangals were performed. Torchlight wavering from tall brassbraziers on tripod bases ringed the Ciorcal Beannaithe—the SacredCircle—and flickered on the pristine white stones that rimmed it. Even thosewho had no love of clothing were dressed in the required maize-colored robesthat symbolized both thanksgiving for the couple having found one another andhope for the joy and inner harmony wished for their Joining. The high priestwho would perform the ancient ceremony was dressed in the white robe thatdenoted his authority. The two acolytes who stood beside him were clothed inwhite robes with gold cord cinctures at the waist.

Quietly in the background, three young menbeat the limed goat hide drumheads of the bodhrán with double-headedtippers, the tribal beat announcing the arrival of the groom.

For the first time in his life AilynHarmattan was dressed entirely in black from long-sleeved silk shirt to tightleather pants in the time-honored uniform of a Reaper warrior. He wore blackboots polished to a high sheen and a black leather tie and belt. On the collarsof his shirt were pinned a set of silver ravens. The only color on his ensemblewas a blood-red triangle with twin silver slashes bisecting the center, nearthe shoulder seam of his left sleeve. He came to the gathering from the westalong with his best man Tariq, who was also dressed in the stygian clothing ofa Reaper.

From the east Shanee came attired in a gownof silver, her long white hair flowing freely to her hips and pinned back fromears with jasmine blossoms. She wore soft dark gray kid slippers and in herhands was a bouquet of tropical flowers that trailed down to the hem of hergown. Following her was her matron of honor Bahiya clad in a dark rose gownthat swept the ground just above her bare feet.

Ailyn’s heart thudded hard in his chest ashe watched his bride approaching. She was so lovely his entire body clenchedwith desire. The elegant gown fit her like a second skin with thin net strandsof silver wire flowing from scooped neckline to the deeply scalloped hem.Sparkles of light flashed from the silver net so that as she moved, the gownsent out shards of multi-colored luminance. His palms were sweating as she drewnear and he swallowed hard. He had never wanted anything in his life as much ashe wanted this woman and the very soul inside him sang.

Shanee could not take her eyes from hergroom. His uniform heightened the tan of his skin and the muscularity of hisfinely honed body. Someone had shaped his dark hair expertly so that it wasabsolute perfection curling gently at the collar of his silk shirt. His ambereyes glowed with an inner light that lit up his handsome face. She had neverfelt such love and