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Page 154
Simon's mind could hold no more at the moment than the bloody fight, his terror for Alinor, the pain that was beginning to press upon him. Overriding all when Alinor touched him came a wave of unthinking passion. He tightened his grip again and his mouth responded to hers, hard and dry at first with the thirst of battle, then softening as his blood answered to this new demand and left the fighting muscles to course through groin and mouth.
Alinor had kissed the lips of many men, young and old. She had kissed them in greeting and parting in her grandfather's day, and she gave the kiss of peace to her vassals and liegemen. A kiss to her had been a physical contact little more meaningful than a pressure of the hands. Occasionally, as when she kissed Sir Andre, she had felt a stir of affection. Nothing had prepared Alinor for the sensations that enveloped her now. It was as if her flesh had developed nerves in new places. Her breasts rose and the nipples filled; her loins grew warm and soft. Regardless of the fact that Simon was crushing her to him so hard she could scarcely breathe, she attempted to press still closer. His lips parted; hers followed. His tongue touched hers; the tip of hers slid under his, caressed its root.
In his life Simon had had many women, willing and unwilling. There had been the greensleeves and the prizes of war; the serf girls who had fulfilled a sudden animal need and the castle ladies who had wished to taste a new delicacy. But before he had seen Alinor, Simon had loved only one woman deeply and devotedlythe Queenand he had never, even in his dreams, associated her with sexual passion. Topping the physical stress of battle and fear, the onslaught of combined love and lust nearly felled him. His knees trembled and tears filled his closed eyes and oozed under the lids to mingle with the sweat of exertion on his face.
Through mail and clothing, Alinor felt him shake.

 
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