seemed a little crisper, the warmth of sunshine felt a little kinder, gentler.
They had spent the day together so far, laughing at the squirrels, the prairie dogs, at that animal’s incessant chatter. And now they lay under a tree, a gurgling stream beside them, rushing on its way to carry its waters into some bigger stream or perhaps even a river. But they paid it no mind, their attention only half aware of the budding nature all around them.
He held her in his arms then, closely, as if he never wished to relinquish her, and she smiled at him, barely daring to believe that this handsome warrior stared back at her, his passion, his love for her clear to see.
“Mato Sapa,” she said, gathering a handful of his long, black hair in her hand. She lay on her back, and he positioned himself on his side so that he lay half over her, staring down into her eyes. “Will your mother welcome me into her family? I am, after all, white and her father was killed by white trappers.”
“She will love you as I do. She already does. She will welcome you into our family. It is not as though you are still white. Are you not a part of our tribe? Do you not have parents among our people? Will I not have to honor your father with many horses to make you mine?”
“Yes, but—”
“Shh.” He touched a finger to her lips. “You worry over much. I love you. It is enough.”
He kissed her then, and Estrela, or Waste Ho Win, Pretty Voice Woman, as she was called by the rest of her tribe, was lost to the consuming power of sweet passion.
She closed her eyes, his lips warm and responsive beneath hers. She let go of his hair to pull him closer to her, running her fingertips over the smooth expanse of his chest, glorying in the sensation that swept through her at his sharp intake of breath.
It was good, their love. It was sweet, wonderful. These were her last thoughts, for he was slipping his tongue into her mouth, letting her taste the heady flavor of his breath.
Rational thought ceased for her, replaced by raw feeling, and when he untied the straps of her dress, pulling it down farther and farther, slipping it off her completely so that she lay naked beneath his touch, she didn’t think once of protest. It was all she could do to keep up with the delicious sensation. His hand played over her skin, held her breasts, caressing them, his palm circling her nipples, and a response began to build between her legs that demanded all her attention, demanded appeasement.
She gyrated her hips toward him, wanting…wanting more—but what?
Mato Sapa seemed to know. Gliding his hand down over her stomach; he reached that place between her legs, letting his fingers explore her most secret, feminine beauty.
“Open your legs, my love.”
She did.
Ah, the feeling, the excitement, the sensuality. It was almost more than she could take, until…
Shuddering, he drew away, falling upon his back, away from her.
Estrela lay still for a long while, the shock of his withdrawal playing havoc with her own sense of propriety. She didn’t bother to dress. She didn’t cover herself. Unsure what to think, unsure what to say, she remained silent. And as the heat of passion grew less, she began to think, began to reason, and all at once she realized that by her actions today she brought shame to herself.
How could he possibly respect her now, want her for his wife? Wasn’t it true what the grandfathers said? That a woman who let a man lay with her before marriage, was worthless? She berated herself silently before venturing to say, “You are ashamed of me. I have let you go too far. I have lost my dignity. I—”
“ Hiya ! No!” He lay his hand on her then, on her stomach, still bare. “It is I who have gone too far. It is I who has lost control. We are not yet married, and I have taken too much liberty with you. But do not fear, you still have your dignity. You have your virginity. I would not take that from you until the day we marry. I will not mar
They had spent the day together so far, laughing at the squirrels, the prairie dogs, at that animal’s incessant chatter. And now they lay under a tree, a gurgling stream beside them, rushing on its way to carry its waters into some bigger stream or perhaps even a river. But they paid it no mind, their attention only half aware of the budding nature all around them.
He held her in his arms then, closely, as if he never wished to relinquish her, and she smiled at him, barely daring to believe that this handsome warrior stared back at her, his passion, his love for her clear to see.
“Mato Sapa,” she said, gathering a handful of his long, black hair in her hand. She lay on her back, and he positioned himself on his side so that he lay half over her, staring down into her eyes. “Will your mother welcome me into her family? I am, after all, white and her father was killed by white trappers.”
“She will love you as I do. She already does. She will welcome you into our family. It is not as though you are still white. Are you not a part of our tribe? Do you not have parents among our people? Will I not have to honor your father with many horses to make you mine?”
“Yes, but—”
“Shh.” He touched a finger to her lips. “You worry over much. I love you. It is enough.”
He kissed her then, and Estrela, or Waste Ho Win, Pretty Voice Woman, as she was called by the rest of her tribe, was lost to the consuming power of sweet passion.
She closed her eyes, his lips warm and responsive beneath hers. She let go of his hair to pull him closer to her, running her fingertips over the smooth expanse of his chest, glorying in the sensation that swept through her at his sharp intake of breath.
It was good, their love. It was sweet, wonderful. These were her last thoughts, for he was slipping his tongue into her mouth, letting her taste the heady flavor of his breath.
Rational thought ceased for her, replaced by raw feeling, and when he untied the straps of her dress, pulling it down farther and farther, slipping it off her completely so that she lay naked beneath his touch, she didn’t think once of protest. It was all she could do to keep up with the delicious sensation. His hand played over her skin, held her breasts, caressing them, his palm circling her nipples, and a response began to build between her legs that demanded all her attention, demanded appeasement.
She gyrated her hips toward him, wanting…wanting more—but what?
Mato Sapa seemed to know. Gliding his hand down over her stomach; he reached that place between her legs, letting his fingers explore her most secret, feminine beauty.
“Open your legs, my love.”
She did.
Ah, the feeling, the excitement, the sensuality. It was almost more than she could take, until…
Shuddering, he drew away, falling upon his back, away from her.
Estrela lay still for a long while, the shock of his withdrawal playing havoc with her own sense of propriety. She didn’t bother to dress. She didn’t cover herself. Unsure what to think, unsure what to say, she remained silent. And as the heat of passion grew less, she began to think, began to reason, and all at once she realized that by her actions today she brought shame to herself.
How could he possibly respect her now, want her for his wife? Wasn’t it true what the grandfathers said? That a woman who let a man lay with her before marriage, was worthless? She berated herself silently before venturing to say, “You are ashamed of me. I have let you go too far. I have lost my dignity. I—”
“ Hiya ! No!” He lay his hand on her then, on her stomach, still bare. “It is I who have gone too far. It is I who has lost control. We are not yet married, and I have taken too much liberty with you. But do not fear, you still have your dignity. You have your virginity. I would not take that from you until the day we marry. I will not mar
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