“Not… very much longer,” he rasped. “Johanna—”
“I’m not being too rough?” She smiled serenely and reversed the direction of her caress.
He groaned in answer. After a few moments of experimentation she found just the right rhythm. He gave up any effort to speak and closed his eyes.
She loved the feeling of pleasuring him as he had done for her. Still it was not enough. Her innate, driving curiosity remained unassuaged.
One thing remained to be tried. She adjusted her position so that she could bend over him without losing her balance.
Quentin’s eyes shot open. He muttered an oath, his whole body going rigid as she proceeded with her explorations. His fingers caught in her hair. His breathing grew more and more uneven. At what she perceived to be the last possible instant, he pushed her away and swung his feet over the side of the bed, shuddering.
“I wasn’t finished,” she protested. “Come back here—”
“No.” He turned about in one motion and bore her back onto the bed. “Not this time.”
Her heart began to pound at half again its normal speed.
This was it, then. He lay over her, braced on his arms, the sleek and now-familiar shape of his manhood pressed into her belly. Her insides had become liquid with wanting him; her body couldn’t be more eager to accept him.
He would enter, and thrust, and move within her. She knew what it would be like. She could imagine it so well that the excitement sparked all over again, threatening to burst out of control before he so much as breached her maidenhead.
“Quentin,” she whispered. “I am ready. Now, mein Herz.”
He repositioned himself, nudging her legs apart. He slid into place like a key ready to enter a well-oiled lock. Just the smallest movement, the merest thrust…
And he withdrew, clumsy with unfulfilled desire. Johanna bit her lips to keep from crying out in frustration.
“Not today, Johanna,” he said, turning his head from her.
“Why?” Tears collected in her throat—rare, unwelcome visitors. “Why?”
“It isn’t your fault, Johanna. Never think that.” He looked at her, all humor fled from his face. “I can’t, Johanna. It isn’t for lack of wanting you.” He tried, and failed, to smile. “I’ve never wanted a woman so much in my life. But the time isn’t right. You know it as well as I do. Too much is at stake, too much uncertain.”
“But I explained to you—”
“I know. I wanted to share what I could with you, Johanna. While I still had the chance. But if there’s ever to be—more between us, things have to be different. Don’t you see?”
She folded her arms across her breasts, bereft, somehow ashamed. Though her body wailed protest and her emotions seethed with anger and sorrow, her intellect understood him completely.
One night wouldn’t be enough. Not for her. Once they joined, she’d want him for all time. But such promises could not be made, such castles built, while Fenris stood by and waited to usurp Quentin’s place.
She pulled the tousled sheets up to her shoulders and drew them tight. “I see,” she said.
“Don’t hate me, Johanna.” He knelt before her, pleading with his eyes—this aristocrat, this fine and handsome madman who had loved her so magnificently. “I couldn’t bear it if you hated me.”
“Hate you?” Mein Gott. Hate him… how could she hate the man she loved?
A shot of ice water mingled with the blood in her veins.
Love.
She smoothed her face to serenity and took his hand. “I could never hate you, Quentin. Not for any reason.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it lingeringly. “My dear Valkyrie.”
Her heart stopped and started again, heavy and sluggish. She turned her hand to cup his cheek.
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for tonight.”
Mute, he kissed her palm and rose from the bed. He flipped back the sheets and gathered her up in his arms, lifting her against his chest. In a few long, silent steps he carried her from his room to hers, and laid her down in her own cool bed.
“Sleep, Johanna,” he said. He kissed her forehead and then her lips, almost chastely. “Sleep well.”