THE TARNISHED LADY By Sandra Hill

This coupling business was all a puzzle to Eadyth, a wondrous puzzle, one she could not yet fathom. Even looking at Eirik’s body made her feel strange, rather restless. Wanton. She wanted to touch all of his body, learn his secret places, what brought him pleasure. And she wanted him to do the same to her.

Why did he have to ruin everything with his silly rules?

With a deep sigh of regret, Eadyth knelt upright and was about to lie down and try to sleep again when she glanced at Eirik’s face and saw his eyes, wide open and staring at her.

Their gazes held for a long, interminable moment. He said nothing, but his glazed eyes and parted lips told her of his desire. Still, he did not reach for her or ask her to make love with him. Then she remembered. He had told her he would not beg.

“I do not want to make love with you,” she said defensively, then realized she was kneeling before him, naked. She sat and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her calves.

Eirik said nothing, but his ragged breathing spoke for him.

She slanted a look at him. “Men make such a pother about their bodies. I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

He snickered softly in disbelief.

“Well, ’tis true. Besides, men are always assaulting women, forcing their favors on them, making them submit. I wanted to see how it would be to reverse the order, to be in control.”

“So why stop now?” he asked thickly, as if he had trouble speaking.

“Huh?”

“Making love is not about control, Eadyth. But if you think you would enjoy being the aggressor, please… please, be my guest.”

She blinked at him, not understanding. Then he leaned forward and lifted her over his body, high up, with her knees on either side of his hips. Before she could protest, he lowered her onto his hard staff, filling her, causing the walls of her womanhood to shift and expand to accommodate him. By then, Eadyth could not have protested if her life depended on it.

A light sleeper, Eirik had known the moment Eadyth moved to his side of the bed. With rigid self-control, he had forced his breathing to an even rhythm, his eyes to remain shut.

Eirik had counted to one hundred in his mind, trying desperately not to react to his wife’s light touch. Easy, easy, he had told himself, and had been forced to start his counting over three times.

When Eadyth had taken his staff into her hand, Eirik had gritted his teeth. Surely, his eyes had been rolling in circles behind his closed lids. He had willed his body to stay motionless, but his staff had a mind of its own.

Eirik had lain with so many women he had lost count years ago, but he did not know how to handle this wife of his. She sat astraddle him, the hot sheath of her womanhood clasping him in welcome, her passion dew flowing over him like warm honey, but her pale violet eyes were wide with fear and confusion.

“I suppose you think you have won,” she said.

“Won what?” he asked on a groan, having difficulty reining in his body’s raging need.

“This war betwixt us. This need you have to control me.”

“Eadyth, you have me pinned to the bed with your woman heat. My bones are melting for need of you. If I do not touch you soon, or taste you, I fear my mind will splinter apart. Now, I ask you, who is controlling whom here?”

She smiled in satisfaction. The minx! Then she turned more serious. “I do not understand what you are doing to me. You twist my passions ’til I can barely think.”

Good. “Eadyth, come here,” he coaxed, pulling her down onto his chest. “Kiss me, Eadyth… do you hear me, just a kiss, that is all.”

“Hah! Just a kiss! I am not so besotted yet that I do not recognize a hot poker quivering in my belly.”

Taking advantage of the momentary lull in her hostility, Eirik rocked his hips against her moistness.