Loving Lies. Tina Donahue
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toward her, obviously wanting her to continue. When she did not, he muttered what sounded like an Arabic oath and glared.
She curled her fingers more tightly around his sex and worked him harder, faster than before.
His head dropped forward, hair dancing in the breeze. He grunted repeatedly, yet didn’t climax. She sensed he was fighting pleasure to prolong the feeling. His response increased her determination to bring him full joy. She stroked fast and slow, hard and soft. He growled and panted, finally pressing his face to his arm to quiet his lusty groans.
His hot, creamy seed spurted across her palms. Fascinated, she stroked his flesh.
His groans turned to gasps. He lowered his arms and pulled her hands away.
She frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Stopping you.” He shuddered before pulling in another rough breath.
“Why? Did I do something wrong?”
He lifted his head. His face was flushed with pleasure, eyes hooded, his breathing even harsher than earlier. “No.”
“Then allow me to continue.”
Again, he pulled her hands from his shaft and sac. “To what end? You want to kill me?”
“Without a sword or a dagger?”
“Your hands are weapons enough.”
How true. Spying on her cousins had told Isabella how sensitive a man’s flesh was after he’d found release. Recalling those moments, she grinned.
He did too, quite sleepily. “Gracias, Isabella. You honored me with this act.”
She’d duped him with it. He didn’t belong to her. She’d never belong to him. She lowered her face and wrapped her arms around herself, shame and worry returning.
After yawning lustily, he touched her arm. “Are you cold?”
Despite the sun warming her shoulders, she shivered and lied. Always she had to lie. “Sí.”
“We best finish bathing.” He stretched and rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes. “We need to resume our journey.”
She needed to delay their arrival at her papá’s estate but hadn’t a plan on how to do so.
Fernando washed the dark stain off the backs of his hands, neck, and the sides of his face. Water drizzled down his bristly cheeks and fell onto his lightly furred chest, where the beads sparkled like dozens of diamonds.
She grew limp with longing. He gave her an odd look. “What are you doing?”
Falling under his spell, what else? “Nothing.”
“I know. You need to bathe, not watch me. Go on.”
“I shall.”
“Now.”
Under his watchful eye, Isabella had no other choice, though she still concentrated on delay. She poured water over her shoulder, pausing to regard the ribbons of moisture coursing down her arm. Once the water had fallen from each fingertip, she poured some over her other shoulder, waiting as it flowed down.
“Isabella.”
She looked at him. He was quite beautiful even when he frowned.
“Do you always bathe like this?”
Pretending not to understand his question, she glanced at their surroundings. The lovely trees, fluffy clouds, brilliant sun. “I never bathe in streams. The servants always fill a tub with heated water and scented oils.”
“Do you bathe as slowly in a tub?”
“I do, if the day happens to be as warm as this one.”
“I thought you were cold.”
She suddenly recalled her lie and added another. “Only because the sun had gone behind a cloud.” She scooped water into her palm and poured it over her chest. The threads of moisture separated around her tightened nipple.
Fernando cupped her breast, lowered his head, and latched onto her tip.
Her mouth sagged open at his tongue rasping her flesh. His moves were so wanton, his mouth so wet and hot she moaned indelicately. He rewarded her by suckling her nipple without restraint, making her weak with need. When he enjoyed her other nipple, she trembled in delight.
He eased back. “You enjoy this, no?”
She cleared her throat in order to speak. “Very much.”
“Then you must hurry so our wedding is not unduly delayed. Allow me to assist you.” He cupped the back of her head, bent her at the waist, and unceremoniously pushed her head into the water.
Startled, she flailed her arms. When Fernando pulled her back up, she coughed and shouted, “What are you doing?”
“What you will not. You seem incapable of washing yourself, señorita.”
Isabella yanked away and had to right herself quickly so she wouldn’t fall in the stream. Clawing wet hair off her face, she glared. “I am most capable, señor.”
“Prove it by promptly finishing the task, understand?”
“I do, my lord, as I have no desire to have you drown me.”
He stepped toward her. “Why are you delaying our journey?”
Heat rose to her throat and cheeks.
He frowned. “You refuse to answer me?”
She refused to speak the truth. “I was abducted and taken to the slave market, Fernando. I fear what others might think of me.”
“They will think only the best or face my sword. You have my protection. It should suffice. Or do you still doubt my honor and fidelity?”
How could she after what he’d done for her in Granada and continued to do here?
Ashamed of her behavior and giving him even a moment of doubt, she pressed the back of his hand to her cheek. “Never. Forgive me.”
Fernando’s anger receded as quickly as hers had. He curled his fingers around hers. “We need to be on our way. You have only a moment to finish bathing.”
Her shoulders sagged. She unbraided her hair and washed. Once they were both finished, Fernando helped her from the stream and back to their garments.
She made a face. “I have to clean my robe.”
“Wear my shirt until we reach our supplies.” He tossed the garment to her.
Isabella clenched her teeth as she pulled the linen over her scraped elbows. Once she had the shirt on, she regarded her calves, exposed to anyone she might encounter. “I need only a moment to wash my robe.”
“No. Leave the thing here.”
Fernando dressed quickly. Taking her hand, he led her toward the wild wheat.
* * * *
They reached the crop within the hour. To Isabella’s relief, the plants came to her waist, concealing her partial nudity. Sadly, countless insects buzzed about, dank earth squished beneath her toes, and stalks whipped, flaying her scraped knees, making the rest of her skin itch.
She paused repeatedly to scratch her legs. Fernando sighed. “You keep making it worse.”
“Scratching relieves the maddening itch.”
“It delays us even more.” He tightened his fingers around hers and set a swift pace.
She was soon panting. “Do the garments awaiting me include shoes?”
“Boots. And all else to disguise you as a boy.”
Isabella held back. “You were unable to secure female clothing?”
“I