Chapter 12
990 Words
to his face. His heart beat like galloping hooves.
Domenic slammed his laran barriers shut. Like him, Alanna was psychically Gifted; they had each studied at a Tower, he for almost three years at Neskaya and she for one brief season at Arilinn. By every standard of proper behavior among telepaths, what he had just done—his lustful thoughts
—amounted to assault.
How could he treat her like this? Domenic asked himself, horrified. How could he behave in such a barbaric way to this tender, lovely young woman, someone he had loved since they were children together?
Oh, Alanna! he thought, even though she could not hear him, I would not for the world offend you, but I had no idea I felt this way, or what you could do to me …
Alanna gave no sign she was aware of what had just transpired. Instead, she radiated almost childlike innocence. Yet there was passion, he sensed it deep within her, and laran too. Both her sexuality and her psychic talents seemed strangely muted.
Domenic shivered, suddenly sober. She studied at Arilinn … once the most prestigious of all the Towers…
Arilinn, where even now the leroni preserved the old ways of training Keepers. Because the same channels carried laran and sexual energy, Keepers once endured unimaginable training, remaining not only chaste but incapable of normal sexual response. It was all nonsense, of course. Cleindori Aillard, the Golden Bell of Arilinn, had proven that generations ago.
Surely, the workers at Arilinn would not have… no one today believed in such superstitions.
Gently, as if she were glass about to shatter, Domenic took Alanna’s face between his hands. In the dim light, her eyes shone. He could not read what lay in their depths— -fear, willingness, desire? Or did his own wild hope put such answers there?
She did not resist as he bent his head and touched her mouth with his own.
Her lips felt as soft as new-opened petals, yet firm and warm.
Domenic kissed her more deeply, moving his lips over hers. She tasted like honey, like flame…
She made a sound deep in her throat, or he thought she did. Had there been a flicker of answering desire in her kiss? Or had he imagined it, created it from his own yearning? He drew away, once more gazing into her eyes.
“Is this distasteful to you?” he asked, hoping that his voice did not tremble.
For a long moment, she was silent, and he wondered whether he had indeed offended her. His senses whirled, and he could scarcely hear his own voice over the pounding of his heart.
In response, she reached up and pulled him toward her. Her lips moved against his with an odd combination of hesitancy and eagerness. The touch of her fingers on his neck excited him more than he had believed possible.
The kiss seemed to go on forever. Domenic’s blood sang in his ears, and waves of dizziness shook him.
He could hardly believe this was happening to him. He wanted to touch her throat, her breasts, her thighs. Yet he was afraid to make the slightest move, for fear the movement would shatter what was building between them.
Alanna shifted, pressing her body against his. He tightened his arms around her. Wherever they touched, his skin seemed unbearably sensitive. A throbbing began from the deepest core of his pelvis, streaming upward along his laran channels through gut and lungs and heart. When Alanna opened her lips and ran the tip of her tongue over the inside of his mouth, the contact ignited a cascade of molten pleasure.
Domenic broke away, gasping.
“Is it—is it all right?” she asked, her voice a breathless whisper.
Gods, yes! When had he ever felt so intensely alive, soaring on each pulse beat?
He recollected himself enough to ask, “Do you want to go on?”
“I—I feel so strange, Domenic, as if my body belongs to someone else, and yet I am remembering something. Something strong and deep. Some almost-lost part of who I am. Do you recall how I once thought I was two people—”
“Hush, love. Don’t think about that now.”
Alanna took his hand and, wonder beyond wonders, placed it over her breast. She closed her eyes, curving his fingers around the soft flesh. Through gown and chemise, he felt a point, like a small nut, growing harder. She murmured—in pleasure, he thought—and each tiny sound reverberated through him.
Domenic slipped his free hand under Alanna’s hair, aware that in the traditions of the Domains, the only man who might see—or caress— the nape of a woman’s neck was her lover. Sweat dampened her skin.
He cupped the back of her head and tilted her head up for another kiss.
When her lips met his, parting eagerly, he gave himself over to the answering surge of exhilaration. Was he drunk on wine from the dinner or her closeness?
He didn’t care.
Somehow, his mouth slipped from hers. He covered her face with kisses, then the side of her neck and down the sweet slope of shoulder and the swell of her breast. The fragrance of her skin filled him, heady and compelling. He wanted to draw her in, to inhale her, to bury himself in her.
“Oh, Alanna… Oh, my sweet love…”
She shifted, her arms tightened around him. “Don’t ever leave me,” she whispered. “Don’t ever let me go.”
Some harmonic in her voice, a shade of childlike pleading, broke through his surging arousal.
What was he doing?
Domenic caught his breath and sat straighter, cradling her close. For a long moment, he could not speak as he wrestled himself under control. No matter how
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