The Savage and the Saint Read online

  Oh God, how I had missed him.

  His body was grounding, his legs slipping between mine as he pulled the flap of his leathers to the side. Tears sprung from my eyes as he pushed into me, forcing a sharp cry with the sheer brunt of his entry. The pain was only diminished by the look in his eyes, the deep, desperate yearning that took root there. My body bent to his every whim, aching as he ached, burning as he burned, my hips meeting his, thrust for every hurried thrust.

  I could feel him deep inside of me, the obscene length of the hardness between his legs filling me to the very center of my stomach.

  If there was a part of him that I could have picked to miss most, it would have been this—the things he taught me, the way he made me feel. I felt him everywhere: on my skin, in my hair, the deepest, darkest corner of my still beating heart. It stopped and started with him, skipping inside my chest with every thrust he made between my thighs. His hands were as needy as his hips, running up the length of my legs to rest in a tight grip on my waist. He filled me completely, beckoning that familiar fire, the tingling in my toes, with hardened swivels of his hips. The effect was dizzying. Running my hands over the mountain of muscles in his strong arms, I fingered the strain in his shoulders and neck. Heat spread through my spine and I cradled his jaw, my back arching out of the silky mud below when his eyes shot up to mine.

  “Nash …” His name fell from my lips just before he crushed them with his, the movement of his hips turning jerky and animalistic. A low groan clawed its way up his chest and out of his throat, the sound tearing throngs of pleasure from the inside out. A fire ignited, its flames roaring between us. It ravaged and we burned, our two bodies melting into one as he collapsed in a cocoon of spent muscle and bone, tender touches and soft kisses.

  "Beth,” he quietly breathed against my lips, the sound of my name on his voice causing my eyes to burn and blur. Tears spilled over the edges, their hot streaks searing the sides of my face. He soothed me with kisses to my nose and my mouth as he wiped them away, looking over me as if he was waiting for me to push him away.

  Kissing his cheek, I nudged him to his back, rolling on top of him before climbing to my feet. Snapping up, he followed closely behind me, his hands sewn to my hips and his nose nudged into the unfeathered side of my hair. It was a chore to pry him loose, his desperate nestling of my body tickling my skin and making me laugh.

  I had no desire to wash him from the insides of my thighs. I liked the way it felt cool and sticky when they rubbed together. Kissing my way down his body, I cupped a pool of water in my hands, bringing it up and over his head to let it pour over his face. I rubbed it clean with my fingers, washing away the faded juices that had once parted us. How I wished to sit upon his lap again, but not to help him hide his face—never to hide his face from me. Never again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Fall turned to winter and winter into spring, the blessed proof of our love thriving inside of my growing belly. It was the perfect resting place for Nash’s overworked hands. They were always on me, cradling and coddling the life that we had made the day he had returned.

  Nash and I spent every passing moment together, exploring each other’s bodies and teaching each other new things. Communication eased as our patience bloomed, a very real need making itself known. If we were going to be a family, there were things we both needed to understand. Frustration clouded us most days at first, but the nights were always the same. All forgiven and forgotten, we were lost in each other’s eyes and needful bodies.

  We taught each other the most with our first child. Each one after that easier than the last. I grew to love him more and more with every breath that I took, every time I saw that smile as he birthed one of our babies into this new world.

  My love grew so much that it hurt to look at them, but not nearly as much as when I wasn’t. It was a constant ache. A sweet, sweet ache that never faded away—not after they had all grown, not even after they had all gone off and formed families of their own.

  Family.

  I never truly knew the meaning of the word, not before Nash and his people came into my life. They taught me so much of patience and acceptance, loving unconditionally and in the most dire conditions. Sharing was surviving, and we did so only because we had each other.

  I quickly came to realize everyone was wrong about them. They weren't savages. They were people, a family who did anything to protect the ones they loved. In some ways they were so much more civilized than the people from my past, especially my first husband. Nash cherished me as John never had, wearing the title of my husband well and with pride. He loved me and I loved him. If given the chance, I wouldn't have changed one thing about our life together, not one thing.

  Sitting on the porch swing of the home we now shared, I rocked in time with the wind, watching him teach our youngest grandson the secret to splitting wood.

  Shirtless with sweat glistening in the sun, time had not hindered his strong body, only grayed his long hair. His muscles were still as large as the day I met him, the day he saved me, back when I was so young and naïve.

  I smiled to myself.

  It was days like this that I missed those times the most. They had changed some years ago when tribes had thinned and parted ways to live as townsfolk.

  It was an adjustment and still felt that way some days. I didn’t like seeing him so covered up, no longer liked the fuss it took to get me into and then out of the fabric heap of my dresses, having long since lost the desire to hide behind them.

  I guess life was just funny that way.

  Fingering the hummingbird he'd tied around my neck so long ago, I tore my eyes away to look down at the preserved wood, smiling at the unfinished portion. He’d tried numerous times to take it off in order to whittle it to my liking, but I'd always just tell him it already was to my liking, the same as my life with him.

  Unfinished yet perfectly complete.

  Want to follow me for future publications? You can find me, along with author Jessa Kaye, at

  www.literoticaontherun.com

  About the Author:

  L. C. Morgan resides with her husband on the outskirts of a small town in the heart of it all. A lover of many things, she puts family first and diet Coke second. When not working she can be found spoiling her new nephew with lots of love and kisses or at home, face shoved in her Kindle, fingers typing away to free the words from her head. She writes them for you and hopes you enjoy them as much as she enjoys yours.

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