Page 31 of The Spirit of the Wolf

But it was too much for him. He felt too much, he desired too much, and the craving tore at him.

Barely able to contain this woman’s effect on him, he broke off the kiss. He knew he must put a stop to what he was doing immediately, or he would have to take back all they had thus far discussed.

Unable to set her away from him completely, he pulled her into his embrace and hugged her, much as he had been dreaming of hugging her all evening. Her head fitted perfectly into the crook of his neck, as though she were made exactly for him.

He couldn’t help but whisper in her ear, “Perhaps now is not the time to tell you that I desire you, and have done so from the moment I first saw you. It is this desire that I fight.”

“Yes,” she said as softly as he. “Perhaps now is not the time.”

He set her away from him, running his fingers over the smoothness of her cheek to her neck, on down toward her chest. “But we should not do anything further. You know this. I know this. We must not. You do agree?”

Again, she nodded. “I know. And yes, I agree. After all, our time together will be short.”

However, no sooner had the words been spoken than they rushed into one another’s arms.

All thought fled. The only consideration in Grey Coyote’s mind was how good it felt. Her arms had entwined themselves around his neck, pulling him down to her. His arms had fastened around her waist, bringing her in so close he feared she might feel the imprint of his passion.

And the sweet scent of her… His head reeled.

It felt good to hug, too good. It felt good to have her arms around him, also. He whispered, “It is up to the man to think reasonably, to call a halt to the passion of the moment, for a woman, once pushed too far, can be convinced of most anything. Therefore, it is my responsibility to tell you we must stop.” He set her away from him, but he did not relinquish his touch of her. His hands had dropped to her waist while his throat worked convulsively.

Again, she agreed, nodding. But her gaze was centered on the ground. When she raised her eyes to his, his heart soared, for he recognized the passion that stared back at him. He groaned.

But this was all he did, fearful that if he took any further action, or if he even said another word, he would betray all he had thus far settled. He dropped his hands.

After a moment, she said, “You are right. I should go to bed. I will do so now.” Her attempt seemed halfhearted, and when she made a move to leave, she brushed against him, her breasts rubbing across his own.

He sucked in his breath, and she looked at him. A simple action, yet potent. Their gazes clung together, as though, because they each knew this was all they could share, they would commit the act of love with a look alone.

She swallowed. He did the same. Then she said, “Good night,” touching him on the breast.

And then…rapture.

Suddenly, they were wrapped in each other’s arms, and they kissed and they kissed, in such a way that the action might allow them to crawl into each other’s skin. Neither came up for a breath. Neither had any thought of stopping the assault.

It went on and on. His hands came up to cup her face, then down, down, he felt her, down to her neck, down to her waist.

To his horror, his fingers shook. But luckily, she seemed to be unaware of it. Or perhaps if she did know, she chose to make no mention of it.

Still they kissed, their tongues mating in the time-honored dance of love. His fingers tangled with the buttons at the back of her dress, although he was unable to undo a single one of them. Coming up for air, he gasped, and in a last-ditch effort to control himself, said, “If you can stop me, do so, for I appear to have lost my will to do anything but make love to you.”

She made a high-pitched sound, deep in her throat, and whispered, “Mr. Coyote, I fear you cannot depend on me for this. You will have to think for us both.”

He inhaled noisily. “If it be so, then you must know I want to make love to you.”

She swallowed hard, and his heart tripped over itself. When she said “I too,” his body throbbed maddeningly, his spirits soared.

Barely daring to question his good fortune, Grey Coyote forced his stumbling fingers over those material-covered buttons at the back of her dress yet again, and he managed to undo…none of them. It took her steady hands to reach up and undo the buttons herself.

It was over in a few moments, but in that short time period, he had begun to kiss every part of her fragrant skin, there at her neck, at her throat, and he made several daring forays downward to the cloth that covered her breasts. All the while his hands massaged the sides of her waist, up and down, over and over.

Though the dress fell to her waist, she was still almost fully clothed. Beneath her outer garment was yet another, a white dress. And beneath the white dress, another article of clothing. But her fingers were nimble, and soon it was done.

Her clothing fell forward, exposing her snow-white breasts to the air and to his hungry eyes. For a flash in time, he forgot to breathe.

Was this real? Was he dreaming? Had his luck changed? For, although he was no stranger to the act of love—having lain with several of the widows of his tribe—he had never dared to court a maiden, knowing he could not give a woman the possessions she desired most: a home, a steady food supply, children. Thus, his sexual experience had been relegated to a casual night here and there. Never had his heart been involved.

But this was different, and he realized its difference at once. This was a meeting not only of the heart, but of the soul. Odd that it would be a white woman who would affect him so.