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The Flood of the Tide	By : LadyOfTheSouthernIsles Category: M through R > Poldark Views: 2812 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Poldark or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter List
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Chapter 2

As he neared Demelza, Ross slowed the pace and reined in his horse. A light sheen of sweat covered his body and he was breathing hard. He leaned down and patted the mare's shoulder whilst he recovered his breath. After a moment, he lifted his head.
And promptly had the breath knocked out of him again as he looked at his wife properly for the first time that day. For the Demelza who stared back at him was not the one he'd been expecting – not the matter-of-fact, daytime Demelza, with her ready grin and friendly face. It was the other Demelza, the alluring stranger of candle-lit nights, with a mysterious smile and dark, lambent eyes. Unsettling enough to catch as much as a glimpse of that one during the waking hours... impossible to comprehend her under the blazing light of the sun.
He looked down at her feet, away from that enticing, disconcerting gaze. And caught his breath for the second time in as many minutes. She was clad only in her shift: a thin scrap of cotton, damp and transparent. Of course! He had seen her in the surf; she'd been swimming. His eyes travelled slowly back up the length of her body, noting how the material clung to the long, slim lines of her legs, the gentle curve of her hips, and the rose-tipped tilt of her breasts which rose and fell with every breath she took. He knew how they felt in his hands, how they tasted… He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle.
Lifting his gaze to her face again, he discovered that there was still no help to be had from that quarter; the stranger continued to stare back at him, a siren risen from the sea. He took in the damp mass of hair piled atop her head, loose tendrils curling sweetly around her ears and neck. Her soft, pink lips were parted as if waiting for his kiss.
"Good day to ye, Ross," she called out then, the rich warmth of her voice rising above the soughing sound of the waves.
The way she said his name – it was like a caress. He couldn't think of a single thing to say in reply.
"I bin thinkin' of 'ee, husband," she continued. "Of how I missed 'ee this mornin'."
Husband! The effect on Ross was visceral. She was his to take, his to own; he could do more than kiss her if he wanted to. Lust bit deep. He'd missed her too. He became aware of the heavy thud of his heart, the surge of his blood. Muscles clenching, his body hardening in readiness…
The mare skittered sideways under him, unsure of how to respond to the sudden press of his knees. It was the excuse Ross needed to tear his eyes away from the vision in front of him. He wheeled his horse round, steadied her, and swung down from the saddle, keeping his back to his wife the whole time. Another few comforting pats for the horse, some deep breaths for him, and he felt in control enough to face her again.
Only she was still that other Demelza, and she'd moved closer now. She was looking at him too, much as he had looked at her just moments beforehand. Her eyes traced the sharp lines of his face and hard planes of his body before coming to rest on his hips, giving new life to the straining flesh beneath his breeches.
So much for contenting himself with a simple 'good day' and a kiss. He'd have a great deal more from her than that. In a few swift strides, he had crossed the distance between them.
"I missed you too, wife," he said, taking her into his embrace. Then he bent his head and slanted his mouth over hers.
Demelza sighed and wound her arms around his neck. Parting her lips, she kissed him back and pressed into the warm length of him, breast, hip and thigh. She had wanted this since she'd woken that morning and found him gone, ached for it just now as she watched him thunder along the beach towards her. Judas! She'd seen the lust in his eyes as he stared down at her from his horse, and now her own burned for satisfaction. Without conscious thought, she started to circle her hips against the hard heat of his arousal.
Ross groaned at the exquisite sensation. She was soft and warm in his arms, and he needed to be closer. He rocked back against her, instinctively seeking relief. For a moment, he found it but even those pleasurable feelings could not satisfy him for long. His control had reached its limits; they needed more privacy and comfort than this open stretch of sand afforded. He broke off their kiss and set her back a little so he could search out somewhere more suitable. Her moan of disappointment was almost enough to make him pull her close again.
"Soon, Demelza," he murmured, his hands restlessly stroking her arms as he scanned the area directly below the cliff. "We need more… amenable surroundings for what we intend." His movements stilled and he flashed her a rare grin as he said that last.
Amenity be damned, she thought. She needed nothing more than him.
"There!" he said, nodding over her shoulder towards a small gouge in the base of the cliff. It provided a reasonable amount of cover on two sides and was as private and comfortable a spot as any they were likely to find here. Without giving her a chance to even look, let alone reply, he seized her hand and pulled her along after him as he strode off up the beach.
Demelza had to skip to keep up. By the time they'd reached the shelter of the cliff, she was laughing and out of breath. Ross had kept looking back at her every dozen or so steps as if to make sure she was still following though with him having such a tight grip on her hand, she didn't know what else he thought she'd be doing. That in itself was amusing enough but there was something else in his glances that made her unaccountably happy as well.
He stopped abruptly, causing her to stumble into him, and turned to face her. His hands went to her shoulders, to steady her, and the laughter died on her lips as the full force of his undisguised hunger hit her once more.
He can look at me like that forever, she thought. Her own desire flared back into life – a fluttering of butterfly wings, a wonderful melting feeling, in her chest and lower down. In no way diminished even after nearly four weeks' worth of satisfaction in the marriage bed and the weeks before that when they'd first become lovers. If anything, it had only grown stronger.
Suddenly, Demelza forgot how to breathe; Ross had let go of her now and was taking off his shirt. She watched, transfixed, as he pulled the coarse linen garment up over his head. He cast it aside and looked up at her again, seeming more than ever like some wild, pagan god as he stood there, bare-chested. It was hard to believe he was hers to call husband. Of its own accord, her hand reached out and stroked the light dusting of hair on his sun-bronzed muscles, just below the base of his throat. She liked to kiss him there too.
"Help me with my boots, Demelza." The words burst forth, startling them both. His voice sounded strained, even to his own ears but by God! Did she have any idea just what her touch did to him?
She looked up, uncomprehending.
"Help me remove my boots, Demelza," he repeated, more evenly this time.
Her brows knotted together in a frown; she knew how long that would take. Longer than she liked.
"Judas God, Ross! Leave 'em on. I don't want t' wait. These are all w' need worry about." Her hands went to work on the fastenings of his breeches. "An' if you want any other reason fur leavin' things on, then think of it as preserving your modesty!"
He let out a shout of laughter at that. "There'll be precious little left of modesty by the time we're finished, Demelza, whether we leave anything on or not."
She shot him a saucy look and continued to work on his breeches. "Oh, I don't know 'bout that.
He sucked in his breath, whether at the wicked sparkle in her eyes or because her knuckles were brushing against his stomach, he couldn't say. Truth be told, he didn't want to wait either but he wasn't going to take her like a doxy with her shift rucked up around her ears and him still in his breeches and boots. He seized hold of her forearms to stop her, so he could remove said boots, but she had the fall front of his breeches undone now and his objections were forgotten altogether as her hand slipped in through the opening. He groaned and rocked into her touch. Burying his hands in her hair, he claimed her mouth again as desire thudded hot and heavy in his belly.
They sank to the ground, still kissing, and Ross lay back, taking Demelza with him. She removed her hand from his breeches and straddled his hips, gasping as she felt his arousal pressing against the soft folds of her sex. They both silently cursed the layers of material still separating them. Ross anchored her in place – one hand on her backside, his other arm lashed around her back – and pulled her down to his chest so he could kiss her again.
"Kneel up, Demelza," he ordered roughly after some moments. "Lift up your shift." Whilst she did that, he freed himself from his breeches. "Now sit back down."
She shivered at the hoarse note of lust in his voice and then shivered again as she braced herself on his broad shoulders and sank down onto the thick, hard length of him. He felt utterly wonderful.
"Would you not say your modesty's properly preserved now, husband?" she asked breathlessly once he was fully seated.
Ross had just been thinking how good she felt and her words took him by surprise. He understood her meaning though and his shoulders started to shake with suppressed laughter.
"I'll admit it, wife," he managed to say, with more steadiness than he felt. "My modesty is well in hand."
"Well, 'tis certainly in something, Ross."
He gave up at that. Pulling her down onto his chest again and hugging her tight, he burst into laughter outright and in the next moment Demelza was laughing with him. But being as intimately joined as they were, their mirth soon had other effects and their laughter quickly faded.
Demelza levered herself up and stared down at him. Her hair had come loose from its pins and tumbled about her shoulders. Ross thought she'd never looked more beautiful; they had waited long enough. He took hold of her hips and thrust up into her, revelling in the tightness of her body, in the pleasure she gave him. She gasped and threw back her head as exquisite sensation rippled through her. As it receded, she looked at him again, and he thrust into her once more. This time, she matched him and he was the one who gasped. And so the pace was set. Their movements were steady, unhurried at first as they enjoyed each other's body but as the delicious friction built and tension coiled, they moved with increasing urgency until only one thing would do for either of them. Demelza found her release first and as she clenched around him, Ross's belly suddenly pulled tight. He thrust up into her one last time and was overtaken by the pulsing heat of his own pleasure.
When it was over, when they were sated and spent, he gathered her close again and they lay quiet together in the aftermath of passion and the warmth of the day.
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The Flood of the Tide