"Oh, Eustace!" she gasped, turning crimson.
He wound his arms about her, holding her two hands imprisoned. "Oh,
Daphne!" he mocked softly. "I've caught you--I've caught you! Here in
your own bower with no one to look on! No, you can't even flutter your
wings now. You've got to stay still and be worshipped."
He spoke with his face against her neck. She felt the burning of his
breath, and something;--an urgent, inner prompting--warned her to submit.
She sat there in his grasp in quivering silence.
His arms drew her nearer, nearer. It was as if he were gradually merging
her whole being into his. In a moment, with a little gasp, she gave him
her trembling lips.
He uttered a low laugh of mastery and gave his passion the rein,
overwhelming her with those devouring kisses that from the very outset
had always filled her with an indefinable sense of shame. She was quite
powerless to frustrate him. The delicate barrier of her reserve was
rudely torn away. The burning blush on face and neck served but to feed
the flame. He kissed the panting throat as if he would draw the very life
out of it. There was fierce possession in the holding of his arms. She
thought she would never be free again.
The first fiery wave spent itself at last, but even then he did not let
her go. He held her pressed to him, and she lay against his breast
trembling but wholly passive, overcome by an inexplicable longing to
hide, to hide.
Pages:
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362